Rough Road A-head

Liam has been gone for two days and he must have called at least sixty-three times. Isla has been a trooper, helping me whenever I get stuck, whether or not I’m clothed. I’m pretty sure she’s never having kids now. She’s traumatized for life.

I’m resting as much as possible, but even for an introverted bookworm, that gets boring, so I’m trying to make dinner for Isla and me then we’re planning a movie night. A good-old-fashioned rom-com sesh featuring Jennifer Lopez because she can sympathize with my current condition.

As I’m standing in front of the stove, arms outstretched to their limit so I can tend to the pasta without burning my belly, I feel an intense tightening of my abdomen. I’ve been cramping since yesterday, but it never evolved into anything and wasn’t too painful. This, well it’s like someone put my stomach in a vise. I drop the wooden spoon and let out a loud groan.

“What’s wrong?” Isla comes running to my side. “Chels, what’s wrong?”

Her repeated pleas do nothing to encourage me to speak. The pain is intense, but the panic, even more so.

“Should I call an ambulance? What do I do?”

A few deep breaths, all I can say is, “call Dola.”

Isla helps me get to the couch while she’s on the phone with my mother-in-law and lifts my feet. I hear her saying “I don’t know,” repeatedly before placing the phone on the coffee table on speaker.

“Chelsea. Tell me what’s happening? I’m on my way now.”

I feel a wave of relief knowing she’s coming. Not just because of her medical expertise, but because I know she loves these babies as much as I do, and she’ll make sure we make the right decision.

“It hurts.”

“Okay, Love. What hurts? Does it get worse, then relax?”

“Uh-huh.” I let out another pained groan as the pain surges again.

“I’m a few minutes away. Isla, hang up and call an ambulance, okay? I think Chelsea’s going into labour.”

That’s what I was afraid of. “Liam.”

“I know, Love. I’m going to call him now. Just breathe, and I’ll be right there.”

Isla disconnects the call and immediately dials 911. She’s still speaking to the dispatcher when Dola barges through the front door, clearly on the phone with Liam. “Okay, dear. I’ll call you back when I know something.” She rushes over to me, examining me briefly. “Liam is going to head to the airport now. We just need these little guys to hang on. Do you think we can do that?”

The pain has eased for a moment. “They seem to have plans of their own. It feels like they’re tearing me in twoooooo…” That didn’t last long.

I try to focus my breathing as I wait for the paramedics to arrive, hopeful they have some magic concoction that will make this pain stop.

Two hours later, I’m lying in a hospital bed at Mount Sinai. Dola insisted I be brought here and she was determined enough, no one argued. Dr. Steel came in to check on me when I arrived, and they gave me Terbutaline to slow the progression of labour.

A thorough inspection of my ‘love tunnel’ reveals I’m three centimetres dilated. I’m told this means I’m not quite in active labour, but they’ve given me a needle in my butt that’s supposed to help the babies’ lungs develop. Hopefully I can hold them in for twenty-four hours. I’ll have to stay in the hospital until the babies are born, which could be today, or a few days from now, depending on what the monitors pick up.

Dola hasn’t left my side and promises she won’t. Isla went home to update Zara and Zach. They’re staying put for now until we have more information about when the babies will arrive. There’s no use in them coming to hang out in my hospital room when I’m meant to be resting.

When Dola’s phone rings, she answers in a whisper. A second later, she passes the phone to me with a sombre expression. “It’s Liam, Love.”

“Liam?”

“Hi, Babe. How are you holding up?”

“I’m scared, and I wish you were here. But your mom is taking good care of us.”

“I wish I was there, too. That’s why I was calling.” He releases a frustrated sigh. “I’ve spent ninety minutes trying every option, but nothing is available to get me home until tomorrow.”

My heart drops. He promised. He told me he’d be here. I don’t get to respond before another wave of pain takes over. I let out a wail.

“Chels? Oh, Babe. I’m so sorry. I’m going to find a way. I love you.”

I hand the phone back to Dola, who relays updates to Liam before hanging up.

The tears that had been on account of the pain earlier are now attributed to my heart breaking.

Dola grabs my hand and wipes my cheeks. “He’s going to find a way, Love. One thing I know about my son is that he’ll make things happen when he’s determined enough. And until then, I’m not going anywhere.”

I close my eyes, squeezing the remaining tears to slide down my face.

“You know, I only had one child because Ian and I weren’t able to conceive more. I always wanted to have a daughter. Even though I wasn’t able to have one in the traditional way, I couldn’t be more grateful to have you now. I know you have Zara, but I love you like you’re my child, and I hope you see me as a bonus mother.”

Well, she’s not doing much to quell my emotional outpour. Her admission opens my floodgates until she grabs a damp cloth to dab my forehead, brushing my hair from my face, and helping to keep my body temperature comfortable.

“Thank you, Mom,” I choke out. It took me years to refer to Zara as my mom because I didn’t feel I deserved the love of someone befitting that moniker. It wasn’t until Liam and I had been dating for a few weeks that I felt comfortable calling her mom. Imagine that. Having a twenty-one-year-old reformed drug addict calling you mom for the first time. You would have thought I handed her the moon. But now, I’m lucky enough to have two inspiring women, each with their own talents and strengths, to see me through the most challenging parts of my life. That’s saying a lot given my life has been a sequence of trials and tribulations.

I’m able to get comfortable enough to catch a few hours of sleep, waking up briefly when the nurse comes in to check the beeping monitors and write down any changes.

Glancing at my phone, I have no updates from Liam and I hope that means he’s on an airplane to somewhere that will lead him home. Dola is asleep in the vinyl recliner situated beside my bed and would hear nothing of going home for some proper rest. I was relieved she refused to leave.

She stirs when I set my phone back down on the table. “Anything from Liam?”

“No. Nothing.”

Offering a weak smile, she gives me some more reassurance and I can only hope I’ll be as confident in my sons when they’re older. I rub a hand across my belly, willing my babies to sense how much I love them. They’ve been uncharacteristically lazy the past day or so, and if it weren’t for the rhythmic beating of their heartbeats on the monitors, I’d be even more of a mess right now.

I allow the steady rhythm to lull me back to sleep.

When I’m awoken by tensing in my stomach and beeping alarms, I see the commotion of two nurses through my bleary eyes.

Dola is standing at my bedside, holding my left hand in hers, and her right hand on my shoulder. “Love. It’s time. They can’t wait any longer.”

“What? No. Liam isn’t here. What’s wrong? Why can’t they wait?”

She rubs my shoulder as her soft eyes express one of my worst fears. “One of the babies’ heart rate keeps dropping, and they need to get him out. He could be in distress.”

Distress? No. The only thing I want more than Liam being present is for our babies to be healthy and safe, so I nod my understanding. I may not have Liam, but I have the rest of my family and an expert medical team.

The medical staff are coming and going, writing things down, checking my IV, prepping me for a spinal, and giving me the rundown about what will happen. I don’t know if anyone ever feels prepared for this moment, but ready or not, here they come.

They give me the go ahead and start wheeling my bed out of the room. They usher Dola off to scrub in and change her clothes. She’s in her element, but I can’t help but wish it were Liam in her place.

As I enter the bright operating room, my heart rate is accelerating, and I’m trying to suppress the impending panic vomit. When the anesthesiologist comes to insert the spinal, I’m asked to drape my legs from the side of the bed, fold over as much as I can, and stay still. I’ve been terrified of having an epidural or spinal since before we started talking about getting pregnant and I feel an overwhelming sense of panic. “Please, can my mother-in-law come in?”

The anesthesiologist replies, “unfortunately, no. This is a sterile procedure.”

My eyes, which seem to have a never-ending supply of tears, are pouring again, but my panic turns me into a possessed psychopath. “Then hose her down and put her in a HAZMAT suit!”

The doctor pauses for a moment and gestures toward a nurse who walks closer to me, probably deciding if she gets enough danger pay to approach. When she stands in front of me, I cling to her like a baby opossum latches on its mother.

After two attempts, on account of me not being able to stay still, the spinal is inserted, and my lower half is well on its way to being numbed.

I’m equipped with an oxygen mask to help keep my breathing in check, and a curtain to prevent me from seeing my guts being emptied. I’m grateful for both. The doctor is speaking to me, asking if I have questions, but I’m so focused on keeping calm, there’s nothing else I want to know. I close my eyes and vow to keep them closed until I hear my babies cry.

A warm hand touches the bare skin on my arm, and when I glance up, I see the watery eyes of my husband.

“Hi, Babe. I told you I’d make it.”