What's Left of Us
Page 59
Sliding away from Aundrea, I reach blindly for my phone, then answer quickly when I see that it’s Wendy.
“Parker! I’m sorry to keep calling, but it’s time.”
“Time?” I look at the time, not registering what she’s saying.
“The baby. It’s time for the baby!”
“Shit! Okay, we’re on our way. Do we have time?”
She laughs. “Yes, my contractions are only five minutes apart. We’re heading to the hospital as soon as they hit three minutes.”
I practically fall out of bed, twisting myself in our sheets.
“Parker?” Aundrea sits up.
“Wendy called. It’s time.”
“Time?”
“Yes.”
I flash her a grin and she runs over to me with the biggest smile on her face, any sleepiness obliterated by excitement.
I pick her up and pull her into a hug.
She kisses me once, then again.
“Oh, my God! It’s time!” she says over and over again.
Aundrea and I rush through the hospital. I’m practically dragging her on her toes, trying to help her keep up. We pass a security guard and run up the stairs. I expect Wendy to be in the back triage area, but when I give the nurse her name, we’re told she’s already in a room.
Aundrea starts asking a bunch of questions. Her voice is calm, but her body language is anything but. She keeps running a hand through her hair and the normally bright hazel eyes that I love so much are clouded, looking everywhere.
A nurse walks us to the room.
“Wendy, I have two people who seem eager to see you.”
Wendy is sitting on the side of the bed, her face scrunched, her hands on her stomach. Ron is standing behind her, rubbing her back and shoulders. Wendy requested in the contract that he be present for the birth and of course we agreed. Hell, I can use the extra testosterone in the room at a time like this.
“Hey, guys,” she groans through clenched teeth.
I step further into the room and Aundrea moves right in front of Wendy and kneeling down, asks if she needs anything.
She shakes her head. After a few passing seconds, her breathing calms. She sits up taller, smiling. “Sorry. Worst time to enter.” She chuckles.
“How far apart are the contractions?” Aundrea asks.
“Two minutes. It’s moving quickly, but the baby is still a little high. I’m dilated to four centimeters and I’ve asked for an epidural.”
“Good, drugs are good,” I speak up. I’m not opposed to any painkillers that can help Wendy. We left that up to her in our contract. Aundrea and I only wanted what would make her comfortable.
“The contractions have been brutal, but they aren’t lasting very long,” Wendy says.
I read somewhere that the pain of giving birth feels like breaking twenty bones at one time. I’m immensely thankful that someone is willing to endure that kind of pain to give someone else the gift of life. Watching Wendy’s contractions breaks me. It feels like someone is ripping out a piece of me.
When another contraction comes, Aundrea takes her hand, coaching her through it. It makes me so proud to watch her take charge like that. Ron doesn’t say much, giving this moment to us, but he keeps his hand on Wendy’s back, gently rubbing the whole time.
When the epidural finally arrives, we share the same look of relief. “One cocktail coming right up,” the anesthesiologist jokes.
Wendy sits on the edge of the bed and bends forward, clutching a pillow. We’re asked to stand off to the side. When a needle the size of my foot gets pulled out, Aundrea closes her eyes.
“That looks like the needle used for my bone marrow transplant,” she says shakily.
I pull her into my side. “This isn’t the same thing, babe.”
“I know, but I wish I could take it all away for her.” I rub my hand along her lower back, soothing her.
“All right, you’ll feel a little pressure here and then warmth from your waist down. You may feel tingling in your legs and toes,” the anesthesiologist says to Wendy. “Okay, it’s all done. I’m just going to tape this in place. It will take about thirty minutes until you feel the full effect.”
Aundrea helps Wendy get comfortable again. The nurse readjusts the straps that help monitor the baby’s heartbeat and Wendy’s contractions, then Aundrea and I step out while she puts in a catheter. We’re both more than happy to oblige.
“Is there a place to get something to drink?” I ask one of the nurses.
“Yes. There’s a vending machine in the waiting room and the cafeteria is in the basement.”
“How are you doing?” I ask Aundrea as we walk to the vending machine.
“Good. Nervous. Excited.”
“Me too. I can’t believe it’s finally here.” All I want is to be a good father and give my children everything they need. I want nothing but the best for them. I want Wendy to have a safe and easy delivery, and us to welcome a healthy baby. I stop in the middle of the hallway, and kiss Aundrea. I put my hands on top of hers, rubbing my thumbs gently along her cold fingers.
“I love you.”
“I love you more, handsome.”
“You and me. Don’t forget that.”
After getting water, we walk back to Wendy. She’s almost asleep when we enter. I try not to make a sound, but I accidentally squeeze the plastic bottle and the crunching sound startles Wendy.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.
“Parker! I’m sorry to keep calling, but it’s time.”
“Time?” I look at the time, not registering what she’s saying.
“The baby. It’s time for the baby!”
“Shit! Okay, we’re on our way. Do we have time?”
She laughs. “Yes, my contractions are only five minutes apart. We’re heading to the hospital as soon as they hit three minutes.”
I practically fall out of bed, twisting myself in our sheets.
“Parker?” Aundrea sits up.
“Wendy called. It’s time.”
“Time?”
“Yes.”
I flash her a grin and she runs over to me with the biggest smile on her face, any sleepiness obliterated by excitement.
I pick her up and pull her into a hug.
She kisses me once, then again.
“Oh, my God! It’s time!” she says over and over again.
Aundrea and I rush through the hospital. I’m practically dragging her on her toes, trying to help her keep up. We pass a security guard and run up the stairs. I expect Wendy to be in the back triage area, but when I give the nurse her name, we’re told she’s already in a room.
Aundrea starts asking a bunch of questions. Her voice is calm, but her body language is anything but. She keeps running a hand through her hair and the normally bright hazel eyes that I love so much are clouded, looking everywhere.
A nurse walks us to the room.
“Wendy, I have two people who seem eager to see you.”
Wendy is sitting on the side of the bed, her face scrunched, her hands on her stomach. Ron is standing behind her, rubbing her back and shoulders. Wendy requested in the contract that he be present for the birth and of course we agreed. Hell, I can use the extra testosterone in the room at a time like this.
“Hey, guys,” she groans through clenched teeth.
I step further into the room and Aundrea moves right in front of Wendy and kneeling down, asks if she needs anything.
She shakes her head. After a few passing seconds, her breathing calms. She sits up taller, smiling. “Sorry. Worst time to enter.” She chuckles.
“How far apart are the contractions?” Aundrea asks.
“Two minutes. It’s moving quickly, but the baby is still a little high. I’m dilated to four centimeters and I’ve asked for an epidural.”
“Good, drugs are good,” I speak up. I’m not opposed to any painkillers that can help Wendy. We left that up to her in our contract. Aundrea and I only wanted what would make her comfortable.
“The contractions have been brutal, but they aren’t lasting very long,” Wendy says.
I read somewhere that the pain of giving birth feels like breaking twenty bones at one time. I’m immensely thankful that someone is willing to endure that kind of pain to give someone else the gift of life. Watching Wendy’s contractions breaks me. It feels like someone is ripping out a piece of me.
When another contraction comes, Aundrea takes her hand, coaching her through it. It makes me so proud to watch her take charge like that. Ron doesn’t say much, giving this moment to us, but he keeps his hand on Wendy’s back, gently rubbing the whole time.
When the epidural finally arrives, we share the same look of relief. “One cocktail coming right up,” the anesthesiologist jokes.
Wendy sits on the edge of the bed and bends forward, clutching a pillow. We’re asked to stand off to the side. When a needle the size of my foot gets pulled out, Aundrea closes her eyes.
“That looks like the needle used for my bone marrow transplant,” she says shakily.
I pull her into my side. “This isn’t the same thing, babe.”
“I know, but I wish I could take it all away for her.” I rub my hand along her lower back, soothing her.
“All right, you’ll feel a little pressure here and then warmth from your waist down. You may feel tingling in your legs and toes,” the anesthesiologist says to Wendy. “Okay, it’s all done. I’m just going to tape this in place. It will take about thirty minutes until you feel the full effect.”
Aundrea helps Wendy get comfortable again. The nurse readjusts the straps that help monitor the baby’s heartbeat and Wendy’s contractions, then Aundrea and I step out while she puts in a catheter. We’re both more than happy to oblige.
“Is there a place to get something to drink?” I ask one of the nurses.
“Yes. There’s a vending machine in the waiting room and the cafeteria is in the basement.”
“How are you doing?” I ask Aundrea as we walk to the vending machine.
“Good. Nervous. Excited.”
“Me too. I can’t believe it’s finally here.” All I want is to be a good father and give my children everything they need. I want nothing but the best for them. I want Wendy to have a safe and easy delivery, and us to welcome a healthy baby. I stop in the middle of the hallway, and kiss Aundrea. I put my hands on top of hers, rubbing my thumbs gently along her cold fingers.
“I love you.”
“I love you more, handsome.”
“You and me. Don’t forget that.”
After getting water, we walk back to Wendy. She’s almost asleep when we enter. I try not to make a sound, but I accidentally squeeze the plastic bottle and the crunching sound startles Wendy.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.
