Never Giving Up (Never #3) (19 page)

“I can’t imagine what it feels like to be pregnant, but I can tell you that you’re doing a wonderful job. The baby will come when it’s time.” I groaned into his naked chest. After a moment, I pulled away and waddled into the shower. When I emerged, feeling clean again, I smiled at the fresh pajamas folded neatly on the counter. The gross ones were gone and I decided my husband needed some sort of award. I dried off, dressed, and then made my way back into the bedroom only to find Porter putting clean sheets on the bed.

“You’re the best. I’m sorry you have to clean up after me.”

“If I could take all the pain and uncomfortableness from you, I totally would. But if all I can do is change some sheets, you best believe I’m gonna be the best sheet changer there is.” I walked to him and wrapped my arms around his waist as he placed a kiss on the top of my head.

“We’re going to laugh about this someday, right? Like, one day this will be funny and not mortifying?”

“Honestly, Ella, I’m already laughing.” I smacked him on the stomach and then looked down at my legs.

“Mother Fucker.” This shit was not funny. “I think I just peed again.” I shook my head, still looking down, confusion taking over. “This is weird. I didn’t even feel like I had to go.”

Porter gave me a look that probably mirrored mine, confusion furrowing his brow. “This might be the weirdest question I’ll ever ask you, but, are you sure it was pee?”

“What do you mean?” I asked him, but I knew what he meant. “I’m not due for two more weeks.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Due date or not, the baby comes when the baby wants to.” Even as he said the words I could feel more liquid oozing out of me. Not a lot, but enough that I could feel it and it made me squirm.

“Let’s call the hospital.” I said the words and then I felt the nerves take over. I called the number for the labor and delivery wing and spoke with a very nice nurse. I explained the situation to her, much to my embarrassment.

“Well,” she said sweetly, “if you’re feeling fluid coming from your vagina, and you don’t have to urinate, there is a good probability that your membrane has ruptured. What did the fluid smell like?”

“Uh,” I stammered. “I didn’t smell it.” I tried to hide the disgust from my voice. Who goes around smelling the sheets they just soiled?

“Well, amniotic fluid smells different than urine, so that’s one way you could rule out urination.”

“I’ll go smell it,” Porter said, standing up from the bed.

“You will not!” I yelled. There is no way that I would ever recover from my husband smelling my sheets. I just couldn’t. All the mystery would be gone. I could never,
ever
, feel sexy around him again if he smelled my sheets. “I’ll smell it.”

“Amniotic fluid smells sweeter than you’d imagine and, funny enough, a little like semen.”

Gross. “Ok, so what if it is amniotic fluid?”

“You should start to experience contractions and we would want to see you in the hospital when your contractions were three to five minutes apart.”

“I haven’t had any contractions.” I said, immediately worried I’m doing this whole labor thing wrong. I couldn’t even contract when I was supposed to.

“It might take a few hours, but you should start contracting soon. It was more than likely contractions that ruptured your membranes. You just couldn’t feel them because they aren’t strong enough yet. You could be contracting right now. It’s just a matter of waiting until they’re strong enough to do some damage.” I cringed at her nurse jargon; I didn’t need any damage done to me. “However, it’s important that we deliver the baby within twenty-four hours of the membranes rupturing, so if you aren’t contracting within the next, oh say, ten hours, you should come in anyway.”

“Then what happens?” I asked, horrified.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mrs. Masters. First, determine whether or not it was urine on your sheets and go from there. I’m looking at your chart and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t expect a totally normal delivery. Is this your first?”

“Yes.” I said sadly, suddenly wishing I knew what I was doing.

“It’ll be ok. I would bet money that you didn’t wet the bed. It sounds like you ruptured.” Again, I cringed. She needed some different verbiage. I hung up with the helpful nurse and went to smell the sheets. I lifted the offending linens to my nose and gave then a hesitant sniff. I immediately and unconsciously felt my lips turn into a surprised pout.

“Huh,” I said out loud to Porter who stood just outside the door. “She was right. It does smell like semen.” I smelled the sheets again to confirm my opinion and then stopped, realizing what I was doing.

“Wait,” he said, a huge smile coming across his face. “It doesn’t smell like pee?”

I shook my head and then, damn it, smelled the sheets again. I stopped mid-sniff and threw the sheets to the floor to discourage my nose from trying to smell them again. “No, it’s definitely not pee.” I saw the smile on his face and it took me a few more seconds to put all the puzzle pieces together. “Oh, shit,” I whispered as soon as I caught the wave he was already riding.

“Babe, your water broke.”

“Holy shit.”

“Stop swearing. The baby can hear you,” he said with a warm smile, joking with me.

“Oh my God.”

He shrugged. “That’s a little better.”

“Porter! Stop it! This is serious!” I squealed. I pointed down to the sheet. “That’s not pee!” Now he laughed, beautiful joy shimmering all over his face. I heard big belly laughs and saw his gorgeous smile. It was contagious. I started laughing too. At first, just small spattering laughter. Then it grew into the kind of laughter that made your eyes water, laughter that bent you in half and made you grab your stomach. My stomach was huge, but it still shook heavily with laughter. Then I laughed even harder as more fluid trailed down my legs. The whole situation was hilarious.

But then all the hilarity ended when my stomach was ignited in hot fire as I experienced my first honest-to-goodness contraction.

“Oh holy shit,” I said as I grabbed my belly, wincing in pain. Porter had no jokes about language as he flew to my side, instantly alarmed by my discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, panicked.

“Contraction,” I managed to utter, still clutching my belly. The pain started very low, but shot out and felt like my entire belly was in a vice grip. It lasted forever, or about thirty seconds, which in labor time
is
forever. When it was over I took a few deep breaths to stop myself from vomiting and then stood up. “That was terrible. I thought they were supposed to get worse as labor progressed, not start off so painful you wish you were unconscious.” I looked at Porter for answers, but his face looked pale and confused. He would obviously not be offering me any labor advice at the moment.

“Maybe . . .” he managed to speak. “Maybe you are really good at labor and skipped the easy part.”

I laughed, forgetting the pain I had been in just minutes before. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said through giggles.

Three hours later I was no longer laughing at Porter. It seemed as though he’d been partly correct is his assessment of my situation. I was really good at labor. Within an hour of my contractions starting they were four minutes apart and I was in some serious pain. Pants were pointless because with every contraction I leaked even more fluid and couldn’t stop chanting “Ew, that’s gross,” through each one. We did the stereotypical speeding car race to the hospital as I was sure the baby was going to fall right out of me. This was pain like I had never experienced.

You could imagine my surprise when, after arriving at the hospital and making quite a fuss about how I was going to give birth right there in the emergency room, I found out I was actually only dilated three centimeters. That’s right, seven to go.

“Are you sure?” I asked the nurse with her hand shoved uncomfortably up inside me. “Can you check again?”

“I am checking, Honey, and you’re only at a three, maybe three and a half.”

Well, for goodness’ sake, don’t rob a woman of that half a centimeter.

They hooked me up to monitors and that was, by far, the best part—getting to listen to the heart beat all the time. It was a soothing sound, however, it did nothing to make the pain go away.

Porter tried his hardest to make me feel as comfortable as possible, and in return I tried my hardest not to physically harm him. The contractions came and I turned into a woman I had never met before. I swore. I yelled. I was just plain rude. But when the contractions went away I apologized and promised to be better during the next one.

It was a vicious cycle of pain and lies. It hurt more every time and I never got any nicer. Eventually on a down swing, I told Porter that I wouldn’t hold it against him if he left me.

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I don’t know why I’m being like this. I wouldn’t want to stay with someone like me. You can go, in fact, I insist. I don’t deserve you.” I blubbered. I had come unhinged.

“Baby,” he said sweetly as he brushed the sweat-soaked hair from my forehead, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re doing great. I love you and you’re not doing this without me. You swear at me and call me names all you want. I promise I won’t hold it against you when all of this is over.” His words just made me cry harder. He was a saint. “Now, Ella, don’t get upset, but what do you think about getting some pain meds?” He looked as if he was waiting for me to smack him upside the head.

“We said we were going to try to do it naturally . . .” I whined. We had a plan. I wanted a peaceful, calm, productive labor. Ha.

“Baby, you’re doing so well, but I think maybe it would be good if you got just a little help with the pain.” He ran the back of his fingers down my cheek and I leaned into him. Pain relief sounded wonderful, but admitting that was breaking my heart. I had wanted so badly to do this right.

“There is no right way to have a baby, Ella,” he said, reading my mind. “You’ve put in a lot of work, but maybe your body is trying to tell you that it needs a little help.” He kissed my brow.

“You won’t think less of me if I get an epidural?”

He laughed a little. “No, Baby, I won’t. I think it might save our marriage.”

“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” I whispered as he leaned down to embrace me.

“It’s up to you, Ella. I’ll stand here until the end of time listening to you yell, taking your insults, but it’s killing me not being able to help you at all. Watching you in this much pain tears me apart. Plus,” he said with a gentle smile, “I think you’re scaring some of the other moms in the maternity wing.” My lips turned up into a smile, but then turned right back around as another contraction came upon me. This time I buried my face in my pillow and stifled my screams until it was over, trying not to break Porter’s fingers as he held my hand. When it finally subsided, years later, I looked up at him with fresh tears in my eyes.

“Ok, I think it’s time for an epidural.” He let out a huge sigh of relief. I pushed the little button on my bed and heard a voice come over a speaker system telling me she’d be there soon. When the nurse appeared, I was just finishing another torturous contraction.

“How are you doing?” The nurse asked with sincere concern.

“I think I want an epidural.” I said, trying to hide the shame in my voice.

“Ok, well, there are a few things to consider. First, let’s do an exam to see how far along you are now. If you’re too far along you won’t be able to get one. Do you feel any pressure when you have a contraction? Urges to push?”

“No,” I answered. “Just the distinct feeling like someone is ripping my stomach to pieces.” My comment came out more snarky than I had anticipated.

“Ok, you’re going to feel a little pressure now,” she said, breezing past my rude comment. She lied when she said ‘a little’ and I cried out from the seriously uncomfortable feeling of someone trying to shove their fist inside my cervix. “Alright, you’re at four centimeters so you can still get an epidural if you want one.”

“FOUR?” Porter and I both cried at the same time. The nurse tried to hide the fact that she rolled her eyes at us and then patiently continued.

“Yes, four. Would you like me to call the anesthesiologist?”

“I’ve been sitting here in agony for hours and you’re telling me I’m only at FOUR centimeters?” This woman was a pro because she did not even bat an eyelash at me.

“This is very typical, I can assure you, Mrs. Masters. This is your first delivery. You could be here for hours and not make any progress. Now, would you like for me to call the anesthesiologist?”

Oh, she was good. “Yes, I would very much like the epidural.”

Epidurals are scary. In theory, you go into it knowing what is supposed to happen, but when someone actually tells you to sit still, through your contractions, while they put a needle into your spine, it very quickly becomes terrifying. There’s no way I would have been able to get through it had I not been leaning up against Porter’s chest. I think the doctors planned it that way. They know you’re going to freak out, so they tell you to lean against the one person who is supposed to make you feel better. Leaning up against him, smelling him, almost took away the fear, but not totally. Wood and soap, those scents are what got me through it.

Slowly and gradually, over the next thirty minutes I started to feel the pain lessen until, eventually, I felt nothing. Well, I felt nothing except exhaustion. It was four in the morning and I could barely keep my eyes open.

“Babe,” I heard Porter’s raspy voice but couldn’t bring myself to turn my head to look at him. “Get some sleep. I’m going to be here the whole time.” I felt him take my hand and it was the last thing I thought about before I fell asleep.