Big Girls Do It Pregnant (14 page)

“Well, things seem to be progressing pretty quickly, especially since this is your first baby. It’ll still be several hours more before the baby gets here, if everything happens like it should.” She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Dr. Clayton should be here to check how far you’ve progressed in a little while, and Dr. Henry should be along with the epidural any minute.”

“Awesome,” I muttered, thinking about how large Dr. Clayton’s hands had been when he’d first checked me upon admittance to the L and D ward. Large, hard, and cold.
 

Not a good combination when your profession was shoving your hands up the hoo-ha of unsuspecting women. There should be a requirement that all OBs have small, warm hands. Careful hands. I also thought the idea of a male OB was kind of contrary. What the hell does a man know about girly bits? He doesn’t have them. Clinical knowledge only got you so far, after all.
 

What it amounted to was me wishing for Dr. Rayburn to get her ass to the hospital for the actual birth. She’d been paged when I had first arrived at Beaumont, but there hadn’t been any word as yet. Dr. Rayburn’s hands were perfect, small, gentle, sure, and not frigid. She also possessed the ability to make me feel like it would all be okay with a few calm words. There was just something about her demeanor that set me at ease.

Dr. Clayton? Not so much. He was over six feet tall, middle-aged, built like a grizzly bear, and not given to talking unless necessary. He wasn’t surly or taciturn, just gruff and quiet. He really was a nice enough guy, and if he’d been any other kind of doctor, I would have been reassured by his quiet competence. As an OB/GYN, though, he put me on edge.

Speaking of whom…. Dr. Clayton strolled in at that moment, reading something on a tablet. He slid the pad in his lab coat pocket and went to the monitoring station, glancing through the contraction chart and checking the pickups for the monitor. Still without speaking, he snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, kicked the door shut, and plopped onto the rolling stool, scooting into position between my knees. He pushed the sheet up to my hips, and without so much as a preparatory how-do-you-do, slid his hand between my legs.
 

I winced and tried to contain my curses as he wiggled his huge finger around inside me, then sighed in relief when he withdrew his hand and stripped the gloves off. A quick hand-wash, and the doctor resumed his seat on the stool, repositioning the sheet to cover me.

“Well, Mrs. Delany, you’re progressing pretty quickly, actually. You’re about sixty percent effaced and dilated to almost five. You have a ways to go yet, but at this rate it shouldn’t be too much longer.” He scratched the salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw and stood up. “Just sit tight for now. I’m going to leave the pitocin where it is for now, since you seem to be progressing nicely. I’ll check you again in a few hours. I saw Dr. Harris just a minute ago, so that epidural is on its way.”

And he was gone, just like that. I wondered why he thought it necessary to to tell me to sit tight. Like I was going anywhere? I sighed and gripped the railing as another contraction ripped through me. This one lasted longer, clenched me tighter, and left me breathless with relief when it finally passed.

In the background, Tom announced the next dancers on
Dancing With the Stars
, and I tried not to cry. I knew Chase was on his way, but that didn’t help me feel any less alone in that moment.
 

“Come on, Chase, hurry up, baby.” I hissed through my teeth as the next contraction hit me like a ton of bricks, barely five minutes after the last one.
 

It was another hour before the anesthesiologist showed up. Dr. Harris was an older American-Asian man with thick black hair barely contained by some kind of scrubs-hat. He helped me to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and wiped my back with iodine from the kit he’d unpackaged on the moveable table. I tried to keep my breathing even and pushed away my desperate wish for Chase’s hands to hold as the needle—which looked about eight feet long—pierced through my skin and slid, cold and alien, into my spine. Sharp lances of pain shot through me with each motion of the doctor’s careful hands, with each sliding inch of the needle. I held as still as I could and tried not to breathe as he inserted the line and taped it to my back with medical tape.
 

I couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping as a contraction clutched me in a vise-like grip. Sweat beaded on my forehead and dripped down my cheek, tangling with my hair and causing strands to stick to my skin. My eyes squeezed shut, I started when I felt Dr. Harris’ hands touch my shoulders as he urged me back to a lying position.

“I got it in first try,” he said, touching buttons on a box attached to the IV hook of my bed. “There, the drip has started. You should feel relief almost immediately.”

I whimpered again, this time in relief. Numbness spread through my lower half, cutting away the spearing pain of an onrushing contraction. I still felt pressure, but not pain. It was odd, actually. The contractions clenched me still, and I felt the vise-grip pressure around my womb, but it was pressure absent pain.

“Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.” I closed my eyes and relaxed into the uncomfortable bed.
 

I heard the doctor chuckle as he cleaned up. Exhaustion stole over me, and I felt sleep tug me under. The contractions gripped me every few minutes, but I was able to doze off into a restless sleep. When I woke up, Chase was sitting with his elbows on the edge of the bed, worry etched on his gorgeous features.
 

“You’re here,” I mumbled, reaching for his hand.

“I’m here, finally.” He scooted the chair closer, reaching out to brush a tendril of hair away from my eyes. “There was a huge accident on seventy-five, so I was stuck for a fucking hour and a half. I almost got arrested for trying to go on the shoulder around the pileup.”

I laughed. “You did not, did you?”

Chase grinned. “Yeah, I did. For real. The cop only let me go when I told him who I was and why I needed to get here.”

“You missed the giant needle,” I said, scooting slowly and awkwardly up to a reclined sitting position. “It was seriously like a fucking sword.”

“What giant needle?”

“The epidural,” I said, holding my hands about two feet apart. “It was seriously, like, this big.”

“Honey, it couldn’t have been
that
big.” Chase laughed.

I huffed. “It was, too. Six inches at least.”

“Did it hurt?”

I stared at him. “I have a six-inch needle sticking out of my spine, Chase. What do you think?”

“The needle is still in?” Chase asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but it’s not like I could see what he was doing. Yes, it hurt, but it makes the contractions bearable.”

“What are the contractions like?” Chase threaded his fingers through mine and shifted in the visitor’s chair.

I widened my eyes as I felt the squeeze of a contraction. I glanced at the monitor readout and saw that the contractions had ramped up significantly while I dozed. They were frequent and powerful now, the chart looking like a mountain range of peaks and valleys.

“Before the epidural they were, no lie, the most painful thing I’ve ever felt.
 
I don’t even know how to describe it to you. There’s nothing like it, especially that a man would experience. It’s like menstrual cramps, but times a million, but you don’t know what that feels like.” I adjusted the blanket to better cover my toes. “The best I can put it is like a giant fist squeezing your stomach. Now that I’ve got the epidural in, it’s more like how you feel something happening when you’re getting dental work done under local anesthetic. You can feel the tugging and the pressure, and it’s kind of uncomfortable, but it doesn’t exactly hurt, you know?”

Chase nodded. “I guess I get that.” He ran a hand over his head, the already-messy black spikes getting even messier. “So what’s happening? I mean, where are we, or whatever?”

I shrugged. “Just waiting, I guess.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For my body to be ready to have the baby?” I reached for my cup of ice, discovering it to be empty. “Can you get me more ice? There’s a little room down the hall, a pantry kind of thing. You can get something from the fridge if you want, or coffee.”

“All you want it is ice?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get me started. If you have anything in your stomach, the epidural makes you nauseous, so you’re not allowed to eat anything. It’s awful. I’m so hungry, but all I can have is liquids and ice chips.”

Chase stood up and leaned over me, pressing his lips to mine. “I’ll be back, then.”

He left, and I watched through the open door as the nurses all stared after him, whispering behind their hands. One of them glanced at me and blushed, then came in.

“That’s your husband?” she asked.

I grinned. “Yeah. I know, I’m a lucky girl.”

The nurse, a tiny blonde thing in the maroon scrubs of an intern, giggled. “What’s it like being married to a rock star?”

I shrugged. “It’s got its ups and downs. I mean, he’s Chase Delany, and he’s even more awesome than you can probably imagine, so there’s that. But he’s also gone a lot, so it’s hard not being jealous of the fans that are getting more of his time and attention than me. In the seven or eight months I’ve been pregnant, I’ve seen him in person exactly three times, four including today.”
 

“God, that sucks! I’d go crazy.” She glanced over her shoulder at the nurses’ station to make sure she wasn’t needed. “Does it bother you when girls like me get all giggly around him?”

I shrugged again. “No, not really. I mean, he’s hot, you can’t deny it. I get it. I just happened to be lucky enough that he fell in love with me. What drives me nuts is the groupies that follow his band around on tour and try to seduce him even knowing he’s got a wife.”

The nurse’s eyes boggled out. “They do that? For real? I mean, yeah, he’s hot, and it’s fun to imagine—I mean, um—yeah. He’s hot, but I’d never
do
anything.”

I laughed. “You’re funny. The sad thing is, there are girls who’d do anything for a hot guy. It’s kind of ridiculous. I mean, there are so many men out there, why do you have to be so deprived of morals that you’d seduce a married man?” I looked up at the little blonde nurse. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Andrea.” She bit her lip and blushed scarlet when Chase came back in, carrying a styrofoam cup of coffee, another mini-can of Vernor’s, and a cup of ice.

He smiled at Andrea as he handed me the ice. “I’m not sure I remember the last time I had coffee this burnt,” he said, chuckling.

I glanced at Andrea, who was slowly edging away toward the door. “Andrea, this is my husband, Chase. Baby, this Andrea, one of our nurses.”

Andrea shook his hand, her eyes wide. “Hi, Mr. Delany. I can make some new coffee for you, if you want. I’m not really a nurse yet. I’m an intern, so I’m really just here to observe and to help, but I’ll do whatever you need, so if something comes up, just—” She cut herself off as if realizing she was rambling. “Anyway. I’ll just—I’ll go. Nice to meet you, both of you.” She scurried out of the room and vanished before Chase could get a word in edgewise.

He laughed, giving me a puzzled look. “Well…that was odd. She didn’t even give me time to see if she wanted an autograph.”

I shook my head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. “She was starstruck, baby. We were just talking about you, too, so she was probably kind of embarrassed.”

Chase frowned, then shrugged. “Oh. She ran off like she was afraid of me or something.”

“You
are
intimidatingly sexy, babe.” I said, crunching on a piece of ice. I glanced at the group of nurses behind the desk, the number of whom seemed to have grown. “Maybe you should go out there and take some pictures with them or something.”

Chase pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not here to take pictures with the nurses, Jay. You’re about to have a baby. I’m here for you. For us.”

 
“I know that. But they’ll just keep clustering there and staring at us. Maybe if you take a few pictures and sign a few autographs, they’ll be more likely to leave us alone.” I sipped the soda and then tugged Chase closer by his hand. “Plus, it’s hot watching you be all celebrity.”

Chase winced as he swallowed a mouthful of coffee, which to my nose did smell incredibly burnt. “Yeah, I guess.”

He set his coffee down and moved to stand in the doorway, waving over one of the nurses. He said something to her, too low for me to catch, then smiled at her, the brilliant, brain-melting smile that I realized was his professional smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I watched the shift in him, the straightening of his posture, the eyes darting everywhere as the room filled with women of varying ages in scrubs of all colors. I watched in amusement as he worked the room with ease, spending a few minutes with each person, completely attuned and focused on the person he was talking to. He took individual pictures, then a couple with the group as a whole. He signed cell phone cases, scrub sleeves, receipts, a $20 bill, the inside of a romance novel cover, and the back of an e-reader.
 

His smile never faltered, and even in the midst of it all, he glanced at me frequently, a question in his eyes. I knew he’d clear the room out in an instant if I asked him to.

Eventually, the nurses left Chase slumped down into a chair. “God, that’s exhausting,” he said.

“Is it?” I said, genuinely interested. “It seems like it would be fun.”

“It is fun, but it’s tiring. Each person wants to feel special, wants your attention on them, but you can’t ignore everyone else. So you have to be focused on whoever you’re talking to, but still be aware of the people waiting. I’ve had people show up to more than one show and wait in line to meet me several times, and they always hope I’ll remember them from show to show. And it’s like, I try, but I meet hundreds of people at the post-show signings, and I just can’t remember them all.” Chase waved his hand, dismissing it. He leaned closer to me and touched my belly beneath the monitor lead. “How are you doing?”