Page 8 of Until Waverly

“Hey Waverly, running a bit late this today, aren’t you?” Joyce stated from her seat at the nurse’s station.

Joyce was a couple years older than me, and I absolutely loved when she was my instructor on shift. We worked well together, and my classroom instructors recognized that and often let me shadow her when it was slow or she’d been with someone else.

She’d also become a good friend to me. Both in and out of work.

“One of those weeks,” I said as I placed a twenty-ounce bottle of soda on the countertop. Technically, we weren’t supposed to have food or drink on the floor, but it seemed like the nurse’s station was neutral territory, and everyone ate or drank in the area.

Joyce took the bottle from me and placed it on the desk beside her, then cocked a brow, asking me the one question no one else would voice without prompting—was my night and morning that rough? The fact we could communicate without words, which came in handy when I was in the room with her and family was around, made us more than compatible. We were simpatico.

“Alandria is teething.” I dropped into the chair next to Joyce. “Or having a growth spurt? Or an allergic reaction to breast milk. Pick one. Neither of us is sleeping.”

“Still?”

I nodded. “I’m sure the full moon isn’t helping, either.” I groaned, kicking myself for even mentioning it.

Jinxed us.

Joyce stopped charting. She took a sip from her water bottle, then glanced up at me. The incredulous look in her eyes and on her face would’ve been comical any other day. I waited for her to berate me for commenting on the status of the moon out loud. Instead, she said, “You let me know if you need help or a break tonight.”

I nodded to Amy, my lead instructor, on Tuesdays and Thursdays before she entered the room three doors down from where we sat. “Will do.”

Meri exhaled a heavy breath as she sat beside us. She appeared tired but bored at the same time as she handed off her files to Joyce. “It was a slow morning. Might pick up later. You know how babies can be.”

I groaned, holding up my hand. “Don’t jinx us.” Because I already had.

Meri laughed as she gathered up her things to clock out and head home. “Someone has to say it.” She stepped around the desk and lifted her hand in goodbye. “See you later.”

“Enjoy your night,” I said, holding back a yawn.

I already knew the drill. Joyce would go into each of the assigned rooms, introduce herself and me, and get us both up to speed on what was going on with both the mom and baby. I also liked to read the room. See who was there. Who the mom looked to for help and comfort. Sometimes, I could pick out the troublemakers. I’d also make notes on my pad to keep an eye out for the mom and give Joyce the rundown should anything happen.

I took pride in the fact I’d been allowed to help these moms deliver their babies. I recalled my experiences from the labor and delivery of Alandria and how much my nurses helped me. I wanted to give back in the same ways.

My nurses were amazing. They’d talked me through each step. Encouraged me when I needed it, even being tough when I was exhausted and felt like I couldn’t continue. My nurses had told me to dig deep, and if I gave her five minutes of good pushing, I’d be holding my daughter in my arms in less than fifteen.

They were taskmasters.

Cheerleaders.

Friends.

My nurse had been right about everything. Alandria came into the world, screaming her head off. The moment she was placed on my chest, I knew what true love was, and my entire life changed. The long, lonely months of my pregnancy I’d experienced disappeared between one breath and another. I wasn’t alone anymore. It was me and Alandria.

Sure, going being a single mother had been my choice. Although, in the beginning, I thought I’d have the love and support of Jackson, but I realized it just wasn’t in the cards for me.

So, I soldiered on. Just like I’d done from the moment I found out I was pregnant.

Then, thanks to the enormous drop in my hormones and the adrenaline, everything hit me at once when I was transferred to my postpartum room. I realized how isolated I was. Granted, it had been my choice. Complicated wasn’t even a word I’d use to describe the issues that would arise if my family found out I was pregnant and who the father was.

I hadn’t even told my mom I was pregnant.

I avoided going home once I showed. It hadn’t been that hard. I complained of a new job, new school schedule, of being utterly exhausted to make the trip home every time I was asked.

When mom had enough of my excuses and told me she was going to come to visit, I stalled her by lying. Something I never did. I told her I had to work or that I took on extra shifts because I wanted to impress my bosses with my dedication to my job.

All lies.

The bitterness of those words laid heavily on my heart.

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