Page 113 of Act Like You Don't Care
"Call your father," he reminded me. "I need to call Mom."
Right. Stage Two of the Birth Plan. Let the parents know.
We made our calls, finishing up just as we got to the hospital. If I'd thought Ad Astra had a staff of well-trained, well-organized specialists in place, I was swiftly disabused of the notion that we were anything special compared to the hospital staff. Tam was whisked away to a private room to get settled in and see the on-staff doctor, while I trailed behind with the bags, mostly ignored. At certain points, I had to almost jog to keep up with them.
The nurses got Tam out of his civilian clothes and into a comfortable birthing gown in dark blue patterned with tiny storks carrying babies, and then plopped him into the bed, showed him the remote for the TV and the call button for the nurse's desk, got him a drink and a small tray of fruit, cheese, and crackers, and then I was finally allowed to get within ten feet of him.
Tam pinched up a section of the gown's fabric, caught my eye, and rolled his in disgust. I hid most of my grin and began setting out everything we'd thought to bring. The doctor had warned us several times that first labors could take a couple of days, so most of Tam's bag was meant to keep him from going crazy with boredom.
He ignored it once I had it all spread out, pushing the table out of the way and wiggling over to make space beside him. “Come sit.” His grin was sly, his eyes bright.
“They have a chair here for me,” I told him, amused.
“Yeah, but that’s too far away,” he complained. “You’re sure your parents are okay picking Mom up at the airport?”
“Yeah. They’re looking forward to meeting her.”
Tam wrapped his fingers around the raised railing on the opposite side of the bed and closed his eyes, his knuckles turning white. I started counting. Twenty-three seconds this time. He let out a long breath and leaned back against the head of the bed. “I hope they like each other,” he said.
"They'll be fine," I reminded him calmly. It was unusual for Tam to be so fretful, but this wasn't exactly the life plan he'd so carefully put together all those years ago. He hated being out of control.
Couldn't say I blamed him. I wasn't that fond of it myself.
A nurse bustled into the room before he could follow that rabbit down the hole. She pushed a cart with a small square machine and bundles of cords ahead of her as she came.
"Hello, Mr. Laydon. Exciting day, isn't it?"
"I suppose," Tam said doubtfully, eyeing the contraption on the cart. "What's that?"
"It's a monitor that we're going to wrap around you to monitor the baby's condition. It lets us keep track of contractions and the baby's heart rate and gives us early warning of anything that's less than optimal." She stopped the cart on the other side of the bed from my chair and, before Tam could work himself up--which I could tell he was starting to do-- she soothed him with, "We take all the precautions, even though we rarely need them. And you'll be told everything along the way because we like our patients to make informed decisions on their health care."
That seemed to settle him, but he still reached out for my hand as she strapped two wide black belts around the curves of his belly and turned on the monitor. Bright lines leaped into being on the screen, raggedly horizontal in bright blue on a grid that rolled steadily from right to left.
"There," she said with satisfaction. "The top one is the baby's heart rate. Beautifully steady. The bottom one is tracking your uterine activity. It'll show a large hill on a major contraction."
We watched for a few minutes until Tam's grip on my hand tightened and the line on the monitor began to climb toward the top. Tam's breathing gradually changed to short panicked breaths until the line fell back to its baseline and he let out the last one with a whoosh of relief.
"Perfect," the nurse purred. "That was a lovely contraction. You're doing so well, you should be proud of yourself."
"Thanks," Tam said neutrally. "How long do you think this will be?"
"Oh, it's very hard to tell. Babies come when they're ready, but we'll have someone nearby all the time to keep an eye on things, in case your little darling needs a nudge in the right direction." She patted his hand, checked if we needed anything, then reminded us of the call button in case we changed our minds and told us that our own obstetrician would be along as soon as he finished delivering the baby he was delivering right now.
Just before she left, as she bustled around the bed straightening sheets and adjusting the pillows behind Tam's head, she whispered to me, "Only give him two fingers to hold. Otherwise, your hand is going to get very squished before this is over."
Oh, right. They'd mentioned that during the prenatal classes. Casually, I adjusted the grip Tam had on my hand and smiled at him as she left.
"What did she say to you?" he asked.
"Just reminded me not to let you break my hand since it's hard to change diapers in a cast."
"Huh." He looked thoughtful. "Probably right. Did I hurt you?"
"No."
"Liar."
I shrugged. "I've been hurt worse. How are you doing?"
