Page 2 of A Little Luck
“Can I get the drugs now?” I quickly read her name tag. “Sally?”
“Anesthesiologist is working with another patient at the moment. Your doctor is on the way to check you.” She helps me onto the bed and starts peeling paper off the backs of little round leads. “Let’s get you hooked up so we can hear what’s happening.”
She affixes them to my stomach and chest. Then she holds my wrist and rubs a numbing gel on my skin before sticking me with the IV port, as if that needle stick holds a candle to the pain that hits me every three to five minutes.
Still, I’m grateful for the little things.
All at once, the room is flooded with persistent beeping noises. Green lines trace up and down across the stacked monitors to my left, telling us what’s what.
“Looks like a healthy heartbeat for both of you, if a bit elevated.” She gives me a wink as another contraction hits.
It’s the hardest yet. My hand shoots out to grip the side of the bed, and I try to breathe. It’s not enough. My hand flies to my mouth just as Sally snatches a plastic bin from somewhere and puts it under my chin. Taco Tuesday is back.
“Why hasn’t she gotten the epidural?” Mom’s voice echoes in the room. “Oh, my girl, my poor Piper Ann.”
My damp eyes are closed as Sally does her best to clean the vomit off my face and chin. She sweeps the pan away as a doctor enters the room.
“Let’s see where you are now.” This is not my doctor, but barfing has taken the wind out of my sails. I’m too miserable to fight.
I’m arranged on the bed, my feet in the stirrups, and a cool breeze wafts around my bare lower half. My body tenses at what he’s going to see on my inner thighs. I’m not prepared to answer questions or endure pointed looks. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem to notice.
“It’s time! Nurse, put the bed together!Stat!”
“She wanted an epidural—” Sally tries to argue, but the doctor cuts her off.
“It’s too late for that. This baby is coming now.”
“Just my luck,” I grunt as another, harder contraction grinds through me.
I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. I’m pretty sure my hips are about to pop out of their sockets, and they have me lying on my back when everything in me wants to stand and pace the room.
“I’m here.” Mom’s voice is quietly urgent at my side, and everything seems to slip into a slow-moving tunnel. “Work with your body. Do what it’s telling you…”
The swirl of voices and beeps and busyness blends into a dull roar in my ears. Pain has me tight in its fist, and I howl like a wounded animal. Sally holds my legs, and the doctor guides something warm and wet between them. They tell me to push again, and just when I think my strength is gone, relief comes.
A mirror is at the foot of the bed, and a dark brown bundle pushes through my thighs. I’m crying again, only this time they’re tears of relief, joy,disbelief…
Another push, and his entire body shoots out. The doctor lifts him, and the shrillest, sweetest wail echoes through the room. Fresh tears flood my eyes, and I’m not the only one crying. Looking to the side, I see Mom sobbing. Even Sally’s apple cheeks, lifted by her broad smile, are damp.
After that, it all wraps up quickly. The placenta passes, my son is cleaned and weighed, then he’s in my arms snuggled at my breast and nursing like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.
“He has a perfect latch.” The lactation consultant at my bedside preens.
I’m so exhausted, I only nod, holding him closer as the blankets wrap tighter around us. Everything about him is perfect, from his tiny button nose to his thick black hair, and his giant, dark blue eyes.
My mom stands guard at my side, keeping her eyes on everyone.
Sally walks up with a clipboard and a smile. “If you have a name in mind, I can get the birth certificate filed.”
“First name, Ryan…” I’ve been in love with that name since I was a girl. It always reminds me of the sun rising over the hills. “Phillip…”
“Last name?”
“Barlow.” My mother says fast.
“Jackson!” I glare at her.
“But that’s—”