Page 89 of The Game Plan
I barely make it down the stairs as my driver arrives. His wide eyes tell me I look as freaked out as I feel. He helps me get in the car, and I grip the door handle, teeth clenched, and pray I’m not going to give birth in the back of this Ford Focus.
Time moves at a snail’s pace as we fight the incoming game traffic, which I didn’t even think about. One minute, I’m staring out the window, begging for a break in traffic, and the next, I’m being wheeled into the hospital through the emergency room doors by an older woman in scrubs.
My contractions seem to be coming every six minutes, but they’re intense. The nurse wheels me over to reception, where I get checked in before I’m wheeled off again. As the elevators open to the labor floor, I’m handed off to another nurse, who guides me to an empty room.
I barely register the words. All I can focus on is the pain and the fact that I’m going to become a mom today. The nurse helps me into a gown, and I crawl into bed as she hooks up the machines. The process is smooth, and I’m grateful to be in capable hands.
As she’s checking my blood pressure, a soft knock comes on the door before it’s pushed open. Dark hair and a beaming smile greet me.
“Hey, mama,” Bret coos.
I let out a sigh of relief at a familiar face. “Hey.”
She walks closer to me and takes the side of the bed opposite the nurse. “You could’ve led me on a little before you blurted you were in labor.”
I huff a laugh. “I was in full panic mode.”
“No shit.” She laughs. “I freaked the fuck out in line to scan my ticket.”
We share another giggle as Dr. Sinclair enters the room.
“When I said it could be any day, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” Her warm voice is laced with humor.
“Tell me about it. I thought for sure it wouldn’t be until next week.”
“Guess she isn’t as stubborn as her mom,” Bret jokes.
Dr. Sinclair walks to the foot of the bed and lifts the blanket, exposing me. She places her hand at my entrance before applying pressure to check my dilation.
“You’re already five centimeters dilated, Savannah.” She removes her hand and slips out of her latex gloves. “Settle in for a bit, and I’ll be back to check on you.”
I nod. Another contraction hits me, and Bret offers me her hand to squeeze. I’m grateful she skipped the game to wait at my bedside.
“I tried calling Grant,” she says, pulling up a chair when I let her hand go.
“I did too.”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I called Mom and told her. She said she’d call the numbers she has until someone gets a hold of Grant.” She smacks her forehead. “I’m an idiot. I should have scanned my ticket and rushed down toward the field to tell him.”
I shake my head. “No, no. I’m glad you came when you did. I was freaking out that I’d be delivering her alone.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as time ticks. I’m hit with wave after wave of contractions, each one getting closer andcloser. After another hour, Dr. Sinclair returns to check my progress.
A smile spreads across her lips as she looks at me. “Ten centimeters. It’s time to start pushing.”
I shake my head. “Please, can we wait?”
Weariness settles on her face as she hesitates. “Savannah…”
The door slams open, and a breathless Grant comes rushing inside.
“I’m here!”
Relief has my shoulders sagging and tears filling my eyes, but it’s short-lived; sharp pain hits, and I push instinctively. Amid the chaos, Bret slips from the room, and Grant takes her place, gripping my hand and leaning down to kiss my temple.
“Let’s meet our girl.”
Lennon Katherine Campbell was born at 3:54 p.m., weighing seven pounds, four ounces, and measuring twenty-one inches long, and my heart has never been fuller.
