Page 129 of Goal Line
“My water broke.”
My stomach drops. “Wait, what? What does that mean? Are you going to have this babynow?”
“I mean, I assume she’s not just going to fall out of me at this very moment...” she replies, but I can tell from her high-pitched laughter that she’s nervous, despite her attempt at sarcasm.
“But they won’t need to do a C-section?” That’s been a huge concern for Eva since she was hospitalized. Because the recovery time from a C-section is so long, there’s a good chance she wouldn’t have enough time afterwards to get back into the shape required to compete at the level she needs to.
“They’re going to try not to. It all depends on how my labor goes.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. Is there anything you want me to bring with me?”
She laughs. “I’ve lived at the hospital for a week. If I don’t already have it, I don’t need it. Oh, but my water broke on those cashmere PJs you got me, and now they need to be cleaned. I love them, I hope they’re not ruined.”
“Baby, I’ll buy you ten more sets. And I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.” Fortunately, the city is pretty quiet in August because so many people are away on end-of-summer vacations, and the college students haven’t returned for the fall semester. I don’t anticipate it will take me long to get to the hospital.
“Oh!” she says before we hang up. “And...my mom is here.”
“Uhhh . . . everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she says genuinely, with no hint of manufactured happiness I might have expected in her voice. “I’ll see you soon.”
Once we end our call, I turn to my friends. “We’re having a baby!” Despite the excitement in my voice, and the nerves running through my body, I’m frozen in place.
Everyone is congratulating me, and while all I want to do is run out the door to Eva, the room is still in such disarray, and full of people.
“Go,” Morgan insists, “we’ll finish up here.”
“You’ve got this, Evie. One more push,” I say as she squeezes my hand so hard I wonder how many new fathers come out of the delivery room with broken fingers.
Her face is contorted in pain and covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and she sounds like a warrior running into battle as she bears down. She collapses against the inclined back of the bed and gasps for breath as the contraction passes.
“Luke,” she says, her voice weary as she closes her eyes for a brief rest before the next contraction starts. “I love youso much. I love that you’re trying to be supportive here. But if you tell meone more push,even one more time, I’m going to punch you.”
My chest shakes with laughter, and I’m grateful for a break in the tension. I hate seeing my wife in pain. I hate that there’s nothing that I can do to help her. I hate that I can’t take care of this for her, as I did with Hans. I’d switch placeswith her in a heartbeat if it meant that I could take her pain away.
“What can I do instead?” I ask, still holding her hand. I hazard a glance at Dr. Lowery, whose amused look suggests that she’s seen countless couples in this exact situation.
“Why don’t we help Eva get into a modified squatting position, so gravity can help a bit more here,” Dr. Lowery says as she glances at the monitor to see how long we have until the next contraction. Not long.
The nurse attaches a bar to the middle of the bed, then drops the foot and we help to get her situated. Eva pushes through another contraction before her head falls back against the inclined bed and tears of frustration leak from the corner of her eyes. “Why isn’t she out yet?”
“I know it feels like this is never going to end,” Dr. Lowery says, “but your labor is actually progressing really quickly. You’re almost there.”
“I don’t know if I can—” Eva starts, but then her face contorts in pain, and she folds forward as another, longer contraction emerges. Three more pushes, and our baby is out. Dr. Lowery sets her on Eva’s chest.
“I’m not sure how to process what I just witnessed,” I say, wiping away a tear before wrapping my hand protectively over our daughter’s back while she burrows her face into the base of Eva’s neck. She’s still coated in the white, waxy substance that protected her skin in the womb. I press my forehead to my wife’s. “You are the strongest, most amazing person I’ve ever known.”
Her chest shakes with an emotional laugh and our baby startles, her arms flying out over Eva’s chest. I gently rub herback to settle her, and she snuggles back in between her mom’s breasts.
“It’s not like I didn’t know how babies are born, but the reality...I’m so in awe of you.”
“Thank you for staying by my side the whole time,” she whispers, and lies her head back, her eyes meeting mine. “And for telling my mom to go home during the delivery.”
I’d very gently, but firmly, let Helene know that I would be the only one in the delivery room with Eva, but that we’d call and let our parents know as soon as she was born so they could coordinate when to visit their first grandchild. Helene shockingly didn’t make a fuss about leaving, and promised she’d be back as soon as we were ready for visitors.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse says a minute later, “but we need to have the neonatal team assess her. We’ll be right over there.” She nods toward the corner where an additional doctor, two med students, a respiratory therapist, and another nurse stand at the ready.
“Is she going to be able to breathe on her own?” Eva asks, eyes still closed.
