Big Girls Do It Pregnant (17 page)

She was in pain, contractions ripping through her in relentless waves, pain turning her lovely features into a rictus of agony. Sweat dampened her hair, fine strands sticking to her forehead, lines etched into her brow, mouth set, full lips pressed flat. Fingers clutching the bed rail so hard her knuckles turned white.

And Jeff could do nothing. Nothing.
 

They were only giving her another hour before they did an emergency C-section. Before they cut her open and pulled the babies out. He knew it was normal, but the idea of C-section still freaked him the hell out.

Jeff found himself at the end of the hallway, fists clenched, head pressed against the cold wall. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around.

“Hey, man. You all right?” It was Chase, of all people.

“Do I look okay?” Jeff knew he was being a dick, but he couldn’t help it.

He’d learned to get along with Chase to an extent, but he’d never be best friends with him.
 

Chase withdrew his hand and stood a few feet away from Jeff, spinning his cell phone between a thumb and forefinger.
 
“I know you and I aren’t, like, best buddies or whatever, Jeff, but…look, I know it’s hard, okay? It sucks, not being able to do anything.” He shoved his phone in his pocket and moved to stand in front of Jeff. “It’s going to be okay. Anna’s tough. You and I both know that.”

“She’s in pain, and there’s nothing I can do. It fucking sucks. I need to do something, help her, I don’t know. Not just stand there and hope for the best.”

“I know. How do you think I felt when I found out Jamie was getting induced and I was in fucking Chicago? What if something had happened and I wasn’t there? But you gotta know they know what they’re doing. They’ll take care of her. She’ll be fine. Just be there with her. Be there for her.” Chase clapped Jeff on the shoulder. “Like I said, I know we’re not necessarily friends, Jeff, but I do still care about Anna, in that I want to see her happy and healthy. You make her happy, and I can see you’re a good man. If you need a friend, you’ve got one.” Chase turned away then, leaving Jeff stunned.

He stood watching as Chase slowly walked away, only finding his voice after several heartbeats. “Chase?” he called out, and the other man stopped, turned around. “Thanks. And congratulations. Samantha is beautiful.”

Back in the room with Anna, Jeff found her in the same basic position, clutching the railings, sweating, grimacing through the pain. He sat beside her, soul wrung dry, hands trembling with raw emotion. When the contraction subsided, all he could do was whisper love to her, hold her limp hand, and wait some more.
 

Each time a contraction ripped through her, she tried to tough it out in silence but couldn’t, and long, groaning, soul-searing screams of pain were drawn from deep within her. Each scream, each moan, each gasp shredded Jeff. Then she went limp when the contraction passed, and her eyes turned to him, fixed on him with such complete adoration that he wanted to weep.
 

An hour passed, taffy-stretched slow in some moments, and rocket-ship fast in others.
 

A technician moved an ultrasound wand over Anna’s belly, and even Jeff could see the truth: Caleb was still breech.
 

Chapter 8: ANNA

I didn’t want to scream anymore. I wanted to be that tough kind of woman who endures the pain of childbirth in silence; my throat ached, scraped raw, because I wasn’t that kind of woman. I sucked in long breaths, eyes closed and knees drawn up, fingers clutching the bed railing so hard I didn’t think I could let go on my own.

I felt Jeff next to me, and I knew he felt helpless. I wanted to tell him it was okay, it would be worth it all when we held our little babies. Words wouldn’t come out, though, stolen as another wave of excruciation sliced through me.

I heard voices, felt something wet and cold on my belly, then a hard probing and sliding across my skin: an ultrasound. I tried to pry my eyes open to see the screen, but my sight was blurred and wavering.
 

“He’s still breech,” a voice said. “We’ll have to do an emergency C-section.”

I wanted to cry, but I also knew it would mean an end to the pain.
 

I saw ceiling tiles overhead, moving. Long breaths in and out, wrenching pain, more voices, fluorescent lights, doors opening, Jeff telling me to breathe,
it’s okay, baby, just breathe for me, in and out, breathe in and one, two three,
more pain, things happening to my body, motion, blue papery fabric wrapped over me. Things happened around me, and then the massive clenching pressure of contractions stopped and I could breathe. The absence of pain was so blessed, so incredible that I was woozy, dizzy, disoriented with relief. I felt Jeff’s hand in mine. I forced my eyes open, relieved all over again that the pain had stopped, and I knew I should know why, but didn’t.

“Hi.” It was all I could manage.

“Hi, baby. We’re in the OR.” Jeff’s voice was tender and quiet.
 

“I can’t feel my toes.” I tried to wiggle them; nothing. “What happened to my toes?”

“Anesthetic, Anna.” Jeff’s fingers squeezed mine. His strength and warmth was reassuring.

“So I still have my toes?” It seemed important, but I wasn’t sure why. I felt foggy and delirious.
 

“Yes, honey. You still have your toes.” Jeff was laughing, and I saw his face above me, smiling at me.

I sucked in deep breaths, blew them out, and gradually clarity returned. “They’re doing the C-section?”

Jeff nodded. “There you are. Back with me now?” He brushed strands of sweat-damp hair away from my face.
 
“Yeah. Caleb is still breech, and they can’t wait any longer.”

A wall of blue blocked my sight of my body from the waist down, but Jeff was by my head, dressed in scrubs, with worry etched on his rugged features. I felt pressure on my belly, tugging. Voices issuing calm instructions floated to me from the other side of the partition. I was glad I couldn’t see what was going on. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a nurse turn away from my body, and her gloved hands were coated in blood. I had to look away, focused on Jeff’s jawline, hard and strong and rough with days’ worth of beard. It kind of suited him, actually.
 

“I don’t think I tell you enough how handsome you are, Jeff.” I was filled with fear and excitement and panic and worry, and it seemed like an important thing to tell him.
 

He looked down at me, carving a caressing line down my cheekbone with his thumb. “You’re amazing, Anna. I love you so much. You’re doing great. They’ve almost got the first baby out.”

I felt a strange pulling sensation, and then I heard a sound that would forever be imprinted on my soul: the shuddering breath and stuttering cry of a wailing infant. Jeff’s face contorted as he watched over the top of the curtain, and I could read the play of emotions across his face: awe, amazement, wonder, love, shock.
 

“It’s Niall, honey. They have Niall. God, she’s beautiful, she’s perfect. Just like you.” His voice caught, and he blinked hard several times.
 

A few heartbeats passed, and then a female voice spoke up. “Dad? You want to cut the rest of the cord?”
 

I turned my head to the side. A warmer sat a few feet away, this side of the curtain and away from the sterile surgical area. Niall lay on the warmer, mostly cleaned up and kicking and wailing, waving tiny fists. A nurse had a length of purplish-red umbilical cord clamped off and held it out to Jeff, while another handed him a pair of odd-looking scissors. Jeff turned to look back at me, and I smiled my encouragement at him, barely recognizing the activity still happening to the rest of me. He slid the scissors between the clamps and cut the cord, and then Niall was wrapped in a blanket and handed to Jeff.
 

Just as I’ll never forget the first time I heard Niall’s crying voice, I’ll never forget that image: Jeff, huge arms flexing in the sleeves of his scrub shirt as he reached for his daughter, a tiny, wailing bundle of swaddling blanket and waving fists fitting snugly into the crook of his arms. His face, so handsome, turning soft and tender and awestruck. The feather-light kiss of his lips to her forehead, the barely contained emotions warring on his features. His eyes smiling at me, looking at me with such love that my heart couldn’t contain it all.
   

The strange tugging sensation came again, and then I heard Caleb’s voice cry his displeasure.
 

Jeff was next to me again, and this time he couldn’t hold it back. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he bent over me, kissed my forehead, then my lips. “Anna, god, Anna. Caleb is here. Caleb is out. He’s so amazing.” He looked down at me, his deep brown eyes soft with emotion, wet with tears. “I love you so much. You did it. God, Anna. I’m so proud of you.”

The cord-cutting ritual happened again, and then Caleb was hurried away, all too soon. I barely got a glimpse of him, and then he was gone.
 

“Will I get to hold them soon?” It was all I could think of. I reached for Jeff, now cradled in Jeff’s arms, only to discover that my arms were strapped to the table.
 

A young male face, acne-scarred, hair contained in the stupid-looking sterile hat, a mask around his mouth, appeared from behind the curtain. “You’ll get to hold them soon, Mrs. Cartwright. You have to get stitched up first, okay? As soon as you’re able, we’ll bring your babies to you.”

“Can I at least kiss Caleb?” I had to touch one of my babies at the very least. I had to know it was all real, that this was happening, that it wasn’t a dream, that my babies were healthy.

The nurse nodded his approval and Jeff brought Caleb over to me, crouched down and put Caleb’s forehead to my lips. When my lips touched his skin, when I saw his thick thatch of dark wet hair, I lost it. Tears streamed down my face, and I couldn’t wipe them away.
 

Another nurse took Caleb from Jeff and set him in the warmer, recording his weight, stretched him out and marked his height at head and foot on the paper liner with a pen, and then Caleb was gone and Jeff was next to me, wiping my face with gentle fingers.

The next few hours passed with startling swiftness. I was wheeled out of the OR, unstrapped—to my great relief—and brought to a recovery room. I was shaking uncontrollably, my hands trembling so badly Jeff had to hold the straw in a can of soda to my lips, because when I tried to pick up the can on my own, I shook it so bad it sloshed over my hand. I ached so badly. The anesthetic was wearing off, and my entire lower half was a knotted mass of pins and needles, as if my legs had fallen asleep. The pins and needles got so bad that I wanted to scream. It felt like a thousand bees were buzzing under my skin, crawling and stinging. I rubbed my thighs almost frantically, trying to erase the sensation, but it didn’t work. Eventually, Jeff took one of my legs and settled it across his lap and began massaging the muscles, starting at my thigh and working his way down to my calf and then my foot, moving to the other leg and repeating the process.

It was the best massage I’d ever gotten.

An older, silver-haired woman in the colorful pattern-printed scrubs of an NICU nurse entered the recovery room, followed by two other women in plain dark blue scrubs.
 

“Ready to meet your babies?” the NICU nurse asked.
 

“God, yes. How are they doing?” I tried to stand up, but didn’t even manage to rock forward to a fully sitting position.

“Why don’t you let us help you into a wheelchair, and we’ll take to them so you can find out for yourself?” The nurse, whose name tag announced her name as Sheila, helped me get my feet under me.

I was helped into a wheelchair, and they pushed me down endless corridors and around corners and through open doorways to the NICU ward. It was a wide room with rows of incubators and warmers, smelling of baby and milk and hospital. Machines buzzed quietly and efficiently, a baby fussed hungrily in one of the warmers, and in one corner a nurse cradled a baby in her arms, teasing the baby’s lips with a bottle of formula.

Jeff walked beside me as I was wheeled to a stop between side-by-side incubators. I looked from one baby to the other, drinking in their features, seeing my nose, Jeff’s eyes, a mixup of both of us. I couldn’t tell them apart. I didn’t know which was which. Shouldn’t I be able tell? Guilt hit me. These were my babies, and I didn’t know which was which? Did that mean I was a bad mommy? I had to hold back tears.

“Which one is which?” I asked, my voice quavering.

Sheila smiled at me, understanding pouring from her in nearly visible waves. “It’s perfectly normal to not be able to tell them apart yet, hon.” She reached into one of the incubators and carefully lifted the swaddled bundle out, settling it in my arms.
 

It? Had I just thought of my baby as an it? Another shudder ran through me.
 

“This is your daughter,” Sheila said, fussing with the little cotton cap on Niall’s head, tugging it farther down around her ears.

Niall was awake and quiet, brown eyes wide, searching, roving, and then…she fixed her eyes on me, focusing. A hot rush of emotion hit me, a Niagara flood of love and overwhelming protective need and awe and wonder. I’d made this warm thing in my arms, this little human, this tiny person. She was mine. Mine and Jeff’s. I looked up at him, smiled at him, felt his love wash over me.
 

Sheila smiled at us, patted me on the back. “Dad, you can hold Caleb if you want, then you can trade. They’re doing very well, both of them. They have mild jaundice, but that’s normal for any baby, premature twins especially. They’re breathing fairly well, although they’ll need some help now and again. We’ll have to see how they eat, though.”

“How big are they?” I asked.

“Niall is three pounds, nine ounces, seventeen point three inches,” Sheila answered. “Caleb is three pounds, four ounces, and sixteen point eight inches. They’ve both taken a bottle, but Caleb had a bit of trouble latching on. His sister didn’t have any trouble, though. She latched on right away and sucked the bottle down like a champ.”