“Hey, Andrea,” I reply, bracing myself for her overly giddy demeanor as she runs right past me to fetch a wheelchair.
“Uh, is it okay if we don’t use that? I’m really fine to walk to the suite,” I say, feeling a pit in my stomach at the sight of the damn thing.
“Oh, of course,” she stammers, perhaps feeling responsible for causing me discomfort.
Adas takes my hand, and we both follow Andrea to the birthing suite. I’ve seen the inside of this room before, but seeing it again, knowing that it’ll soon be the center of chaos in this department, makes me feel like I’m about to be a part of a performance. It’s a performance I’ve been practicing for, but as I feel Iulia squirming around in anticipation of her eviction, I realize it’s just not something that can be rehearsed.
Andrea directs me toward the bed and begins to prepare all of my IV bags and lines as I situate myself in the excessively contoured bed.
Now that I take a better look at it, this room feels like it couldn’t decide between being a hospital room or a hotel room. If a decision had been made between one or the other, perhaps it would function more completely. As a mix of the two, it feels both overdecorated and utilitarian.
Being asked to lie in a bed without any further instructions as medical personnel filter in and out of the room makes me feel completely underdressed and inappropriately prepared.
“Good evening, River!” I hear a familiar voice say just as she walks through the door. It’s Dr. Langdon, the only woman on the planet who could ever convince me that a procedure that involves an episiotomy could possibly be a beautiful miracle.
“How’re you feeling, dear?” she asks, joining the crowd of people who have been trickling in to see me perform one of the most cosmically mundane but individually profound feats of my life.
“I’m not really sure yet. I’m mostly just nervous,” I reply hesitantly, feeling that same awful guilt that I experienced when I didn’t wake up from a coma blindly in love with Adas. Shouldn’t I be blindly in love with my daughter? Isn’t that how these things are supposed to go?
She glances at me knowingly, approaching me and pulling up a chair next to my bed.
“You know, it’s perfectly normal for you to feel that way. You haven’t even seen her face for the first time, but you know for a fact that she’s going to make you hurt. It’s hard to feel nothing but pants-pissing excitement for something like that,” she says, her eyes warm and understanding.
Even though I know she’s perfectly right, I still needed to hear her say it. I’ve felt nothing but guilt over how nervous I’ve been, no matter how many forums I’ve read for pregnancy anxiety.
“Adas, always good to see you. Are you ready to finally meet your baby?” she asks him, her tone changing to match his enthusiasm.
“Hell yeah, I am,” he replies, looking at me with a proud smile.
I force myself to get out of my own head, trying my best to focus on the things that I can control before I become completely at the mercy of Mother Nature.
A blood pressure cuff is wrapped around my arm, my pulse taken, and EKG leads placed on my chest as the room around me begins to spin out into its own orbit.
At that, things start to take off quickly.
It’s not long before I start to feel real contractions attempting to split me apart, growing closer to succeeding with every passing hour. They’re terrible things, like a lightning bolt of cold, malignant pressure in places you definitely don’t want it.
They start to shake me to my core, humbling even the most stubborn, prideful woman in me who believes she can take on any pain after a traumatic brain injury.
I’m starting to writhe in the bed now, and the nurses assemble around me in preparation for the most important part of the night.
Everything I said I wouldn’t do, I end up doing without difficulty. I’m screaming, biting one of my pillows, and squeezing Adas’s hand until I swear it’s going to break. While I’d be impressed with myself for being able to break his hand, the possibility seems all too real for me to allow myself to continue.
I’m being blinded by these goddamn contractions now, and I can feel Iulia pressing fervently and impatiently on my pelvis to let her through, just like we’ve both been preparing for throughout the months.
“Okay, River, you need to push when it feels right. She’s going to come out no matter how much you resist, so you need to surrender,” Dr. Langdon says, coaching me through each contraction as they take over my rational thinking.
I’ve never felt something more natural, more primal than the urge to push a baby out of me. It feels like Iulia, and I are working together, both of us fighting for her to leave my body for good as she begs to come into the world to join her father and me.
“You’re almost there! Keep pushing!”
Adas has enough sense to keep a hold on my hand without coming any closer. I don’t even feel the capacity for guilt or annoyance or any kind of petty, stupid little emotion. All I am right now is a mother, and from this moment on, that’s what I’ll be for the rest of my life.
EPILOGUE
RIVER
Today is the day Adas and I have the wedding we’ve wanted since we knew we were truly in love.