Page 77 of Tear Me to Pieces
My husband’s free hand slides down to splay across my giant belly. “Do you feel like anything’s changed?”
I really wish I did, but I don’t think it has. “I guess we’ll find out when they come in to check me again.”
As if my words manifested the nurse, she breezes in, looking fresh and focused and comfortable.
And I hate her a little for it.
“How’s it going?” She snaps a set of gloves free from the station beside the sink and pulls them on.
“Fine?” That’s about the best I can offer her. It’s a stretch, but if Simon finds out how I’m really feeling, he’ll probably lose his entire mind.
And most of it is already gone at this point.
“Let’s check things out and see what we’re looking at.” She comes to stand beside me and I automatically bend one leg out to the side the same way I’ve had to do every other time they’ve come in to check my uncooperative cervix.
I can tell by the look on her face it’s not good news.
Stepping away to toss her used gloves in the trash, she tells me what I already know. “You’re not progressing like we would hope.” She offers me a sympathetic smile. “You should probably start preparing yourself for the possibility of a cesarean.”
I nod because I’ve seen the writing on the wall for the past three hours. I’ve never had a baby before, but based on the stories I’ve heard Felicity and Lydia and Josie tell, what I’ve been feeling—and not feeling—didn’t seem… Right.
“When?” Simon’s one word question is hoarse.
“That will be up to her doctor, but if the decision is made to go ahead, things can usually move pretty quickly as long as we have an OR available.” She reaches out to pat me on the shoulder. “I had C-sections with all of my kids. I know it seems scary, but I promise it will be so worth it.”
I nod, a little confused because my body still isn’t reacting the way I would expect. Surgery should be terrifying—and it is. I justdon’tfeellike it’s terrifying. There’s no panic in my gut. No twist of nerves or fear. I feel mostly... Indifferent.
And very freaking hungry. And also very freaking tired.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to go check in with your doctor and let her know what’s going on.” The nurse gives me another pat on the shoulder before leaving us alone.
I turn to Simon and almost laugh at how miserable he looks. I know I’m the one going through all of this, but he definitely seems to be suffering equally. Maybe not in a painful sort of way, but the man is clearly riding the struggle bus.
“It’s okay.” I try to offer a reassuring smile. “This way I won’t have to go through all the pushingandI’ll get a cool scar.”
Simon’s eyes widen in horror and I know I’ve made a mistake.
“They’re going to cut you open.” The hand on my belly slides down, cupping the spot just above where my pubic bone might be. It’s hard to tell where anything is at right now. Half my parts disappeared and I’m pretty sure the rest are shoved up into my chest cavity.
I’ve still loved being pregnant. Enjoyed every second of every minute of our baby growing inside me. But I’m ready to be unpregnant. Ten minutes ago. And if a C-section is how I have to accomplish that, I’m surprisingly okay with it.
In a few short minutes, my doctor comes bustling in with my nurse on her heels. Again, I repeat the checking my cervix process, staring at the ceiling while yet another person shoves what feels like their entire forearm up my vaginal canal to see if there’s now enough space for a human to crawl out.
There’s not.
“I think we’re going to have to serve this little guy an eviction notice.” My doctor is a super sweet woman who tells the worst dad jokes and wears the most hilarious earrings I’ve ever seen. Today she’s got a pair of miniature roast chickens dangling from her lobes. I love her. I trust her. I know if anyone is going to make this a pleasant experience, it’s going to be her.
“It looks like they have space for us now, so let’s get this ball rolling.” She pats me on the thigh. “Then you can have something to eat and sleep on your belly.” She tips her head. “As soon as your incision heals.”
“Okay.” I pull in a deep breath, blowing it back out. “I’m ready.”
My doctor turns to Simon. “What about you, dad? Are you ready?”
Simon gives her a stiff nod. “Ready.”
My doctor gives him an odd look before offering me another smile and explaining they’ll be back to collect me shortly. She leans into my nurse’s ear as they leave the room, and for the first time I feel a little bite of nervousness. Is something wrong and I just don’t realize it? They would tell me, right?
I don’t have long to worry about it. As promised I’m soon retrieved and wheeled out. Everything is a blur from that point on. My head is spinning a little bit from a disorienting concoction of adrenaline, excitement, and fear. Even though I’m ready, it’s impossible not to be a little worried when you’re about to be strapped to a table with your head partitioned off while they pull your intestines out.
