“For you,” she cries, grabbing the ice in the cup beside her and chewing it with force. “You’re perfect at everything you do. You’re a goddamn heart surgeon. I can’t even fold a fitted sheet!”
“If it’s any consolation, the fitted sheet is one of the trickiest household items to manage. I read this guide on how to fold and store them. Quite handy if…” I pause, noticing her tight jaw and irritable gaze. “Sorry, let’s not talk about that anymore.”
Zoey might think that I’m perfect at everything I do, but I’m far from it. I am not the perfect husband. I shouldn’t have dropped the bomb about Australia when I did. It was an insensitive move, and if we didn’t get into that fight her water might not have broken.
And let’s be honest—I have a jealous streak. I thought it would disappear once we married, but I think it’s gotten worse. She recently told me this story about how one of the professors teaching her course gave her some inside tips on the best restaurants in town. Perhaps, in her eyes, he is innocent.
My mind thinks differently.
She’s hot, married, and extremely intelligent—the whole fucking package.
He wants to fuck her.
End of story.
I continue to watch that situation like a hawk.
“I’ve got one.” I smile, staring at her beautiful green eyes. “Every time we go to weddings and you make me do the Nutbush, I screw it up.”
She laughs, resting her head back against the pillow. “The trick to the Nutbush is to follow the confident dancer. If you follow the person in front of you, and they’re doing it wrong, it sets you up for failure.”
Her expression shifts, the contractions on the monitor increasing as the pain ricochets through her and into a loud moan. I feel so helpless, praying to the Lord these babies come out safe, and the pain subsides.
“I need something for the pain,” she cries, loudly, “Please, take it away.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” a male nurse, Josiah, tells her while scribbling down her vitals.
“You’ll see what you can do?” Zoey shouts, the shrill in her voice echoing through the room. “Of course, you don’t care. You don’t have a vagina you need to push these babies through!”
“Zo.” I squeeze her hand trying to divert her attention to me. “Deep breaths.”
It didn’t take long for the anesthesiologist to be called by a terrified Josiah. The poor guy needs to harden the fuck up if he plans to make a living in this field. Within minutes, they prop Zoey up, requesting she arch her back and remain perfectly still. I know this position is vital for preventing problems and increasing the epidural effectiveness.
Dr. Malik, anesthesiologist, uses an antiseptic solution wiping Zoey’s waistline to mid-back area to minimize the chance of infection. He remains focused on a small area on her back, and with both her hands clutched in mine, he inserts the needle into the numbed area surrounding the spinal cord in the lower back.
“Are they done?” Zoey whispers, head down and eyes closed.
“The worst is over,” I reassure her.
Dr. Malik threads a catheter through the needle into the epidural space. The needle is then carefully removed, leaving the catheter in place to provide medication through periodic injections or by continuous infusion depending on the progress of the labor. Zoey’s breathing slows, the pain subsiding instantly. The final step is taping the catheter to her back to prevent it from slipping out.
“All done,” he announces. “Feeling better?”
Zoey nods. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good luck, Dr. Baldwin. I’ll be back shortly to make sure everything’s working okay.”
I thank him for his time. With Zoey’s lower body numb, I help her get settled into a comfortable position willing her to rest. It only takes a few minutes for Zoey’s eyes to droop and fall into a much-needed sleep.
My thoughts drift as Zoey sleeps. I want to capture this moment, this image of her because the fear of losing my wife is overshadowing what should b
e a life-changing moment. The surgeon in me knows that fatality during labor is extremely rare unless there’s a pre-existing condition. The husband in me fears the worst.
I recall the beach, the moment I thought I was losing her.
“She got caught in a riptide. I got scared, and I didn’t know what to do,” Rob stutters in a rush, pacing beside me with his hands frantically running through his hair.
Three, two, one.