This
work of
adult fiction, loosely based on
characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and
experiences;
you have been warned. No
copyright
infringement on the original work is intended. Copyright
Reagan Kavanagh 2007.
Author’s
Note: The song
“The Way You Look Tonight”
by Sir Elton John (1997) was the inspiration for this section of the
continuing saga of Maximus and Reagan. You may listen to it by
clicking the link above. Reagan
MAXIMUS
Our daughter – Emily
Mercedes
Fiona Espan – was born at 0622 hours on a Tuesday.
Cassandra called me at the
office at eight-thirty Monday morning saying that her waters had
ruptured; she had called Sharon Fletcher first. Sharon’s advice
was to have me come home and bring her to hospital. Cassandra
stressed that it was not an emergency, as Sharon felt it would be
hours before she gave birth; she had not yet experienced any of the
pains of labour. I told her I would be on my way shortly and
requested she take to our bed and rest until I arrived. Her response
was light-hearted and completely typical of my wife.
“Max, I’m having a
baby, not preparing myself for Last Rites.” In my time the two
were much the same.
“Cassandra, you are my
wife, and I entreat you to do as I ask on this one occasion.” She
sighed dramatically but conceded to my wishes.
“Okay, don’t get your
knickers in a twist. I’ll go park my Shamu shape in bed, and you
can herniate a disk hauling me out when you get here. I love you,
and DRIVE CAREFULLY!”
“I love you,
Cara. I shall drive with all due caution.” I placed the
telephone on its base and began the process of shutting down my
computer; my fingers drummed impatiently on the desk until the screen
went black before turning off the monitor. Gathering my briefcase
and slipping on my coat, I walked down the hall to Dino’s office
and looked inside. He was frowning at the screen of his computer and
looked up when I paused in his door.
“Taking the day off,
Buddy? It’s a little early for that …I usually wait until after
the three-Martini lunch.” I smiled at him.
“I am taking off the
rest of this day and tomorrow as well, possibly the remainder of the
week. Cassandra called a few moments ago; her waters have broken. I
am going home to take her to hospital.” He was out of his chair
and round the desk almost before I could blink my eyes.
“Jesus, Max! How’s
she doing? How far apart are her pains?” His excited tone caught
the attention of both Sooze and Terry; the latter’s head popped out
of his office door, and Sooze left her desk, hurrying down to hall to
where I stood with Dino.
“Reags is in labour?
Mate, you shouldn’t have come in at all today.” Sooze raised an
eyebrow at Terry as she commented.
“She probably didn’t
tell him she was in labor, Terry. Reags is as much a Stoic as Max
is; if I know her – and I do – she won’t make a sound until her
pain level hits 97 on the one-to-ten scale.” She looked at me.
“Get your ass home, Max. Reags needs you.” I held up one hand
in demur.
“Her pains have not yet
begun. She simply called to tell me her waters had broken. Her
physician advised her to call me in order that I might go home and
carry her to hospital. The doctor feels it will be many hours before
the babe is born. I asked her to go to bed and remain there until I
arrived, and she promised to do so.” Dino would not permit me to
leave until he asked two questions.
“You guys still don’t
know if it’s a girl or a boy? You really never asked?” I
shook my head.
“We do not know the
child’s gender; it is unimportant. Cassandra’s comment was so
long as the doctor could assure her the babe was not in fact a rabbit
and prone to hop away immediately following birth, she was satisfied
as am I. It is not as if we could alter the gender of the babe, so
it is insignificant. We will be well satisfied if the child is
healthy, and it will be loved regardless of its gender or physical
attributes.” I looked at my colleagues. “I must go. I will
call and keep you apprised of Cassandra’s progress.” They
followed me to the suite’s door, calling good wishes after me as I
walked toward the lifts.
*
She met me at the door in
spite of her promise to remain in bed until I arrived. I raised my
brows at her as she stood aside to allow me entry.
“Max, I was in the chair
with my feet propped up until the dogs started barking, and I knew
you were home. I’m not so huge that I can’t get myself up and
down without help, and I thought walking before I’m too tired to do
so would likely be a good thing.” It would avail me nothing to
argue her logic, and I put down my briefcase before pulling her into
my arms. Her belly poked mine, and both of us had to lean forward
from the waist to share a kiss.
“Is your bag ready to
go?” She nodded; indeed, it had been ready and by the bedroom door
for weeks past. I asked only because I thought she might have added
something at the last minute and was curious. “You have everything
you need?”
“I’m ready to leave
but for making another potty stop.” I smiled as she waddled toward
the bathroom, turning to look at the photo of her on the mantle; it
had been taken some three months past. We had been at yet another
social function; I picked up the photo, and a smile came to my lips.
She was radiant in her
fecundity, and I regretted not having captured her image these last
few weeks. Perhaps if I took my camera with me to hospital, I could
get a photo of her before she was made to change into the requisite
hospital gown. Today she was wearing a long, loose shift, but the
prominence of her belly could not be denied. She was the most
beautiful sight my eyes had ever beheld. She returned to the room a
few minutes later and saw me slip my camera into my pocket.
“Please tell me you
aren’t going to take another photo of me.”
“You are beautiful, and
I want an image of you on this day. I promise there will be no photo
that you do not wish me to take.” She smiled.
“As long as you promise
me you’ll leave the camcorder at home so there’s no photographic
record of me in the delivery room, I can live with it.” We laughed
in memory of Dino’s asking if I was going to video the babe’s
delivery, a question to which Cassandra and I had responded as one
and in a loud voice, “NO!” I smiled as I put one
arm round her to assist her to the car as I picked up her suitcase
with the other.
“I would never put you
in so undignified a position – physically or emotionally – as to
be embarrassed by having photos of you in the birthing process. That
is private and to be shared by no one other than myself.” She had
asked me some time past if I would consider remaining with her
throughout the process of our child’s birth.
At first I had been
horrified, though not for reasons one might think. I am no stranger
to blood and wounds, but the thought of bearing witness to my wife's
anguish in childbirth was something I was not sure I could bear. In
addition to bearing silent witness to my wife’s discomfort, my own
history as a Roman and the fact that men were forbidden to enter the
birthing chamber initially made me reluctant to be present.
I had thought much on it
and at last realised that if I were not to share this with my wife,
not only would I be always regretful of having missed the birth of my
child, but I would be found lacking in my commitment to Cassandra.
We created this child in love, and I wished to be present when he or
she drew the first breath. When I related my feelings to Cassandra
she had smiled as the tears welled in her eyes. Her response was
simple and eloquent in its simplicity.
“Thank you. I do so
want you there.”
“I will be there.”
REAGAN
There was nothing unusual
that morning when Max and I woke. I had a backache, but I’d had a
backache for the past month. Sharon assured me that was part of the
fun of the last trimester of pregnancy. It went with the
heartburn, swollen ankles, having to pee every five minutes, fluid
retention (how can you pee every five minutes and still retain
fluid?), insomnia, leg cramps, shortness of breath (abbreviated as
SOB and, for some reason, I found that hysterically funny), fatigue,
pressure on your spine, and kicks that made one think you were
carrying the next world rugby champ (Max rather liked that idea). My
breasts were leaking intermittently, and I had problems keeping my
balance.
As for the balance issue,
you try carrying around an extra 25 pounds between your
breasts and your crotch and see how graceful you are. I was doing
well to stand up without falling on my ass. I think the only thing I
missed out on was the haemorrhoids that most women get, and I thank
God daily that I managed to escape that one. On top of everything
else that’s uncomfortable about the third trimester of pregnancy,
haemorrhoids would have been the final blow. I’d been having
Braxton-Hicks contractions for almost three weeks; they'd never
stopped after that weekend at the loft. The first time I'd had them
– and mentioned them – was the weekend Terry, Max, and I got iced
in at the loft. Both of them took me to hospital, convinced I was
about to deliver. I think Max has read every book he can find on
pregnancy and childbirth, not to mention care of a neonate.
Terry and Dino had taken
the bulk of Max’s work load for the last week expecting him to get
a call from me and leave them caught in his jet wash at any moment.
I was at eight months, three weeks, and counting. It’s not unusual
for primiparas – first time mothers – to deliver a couple of
weeks early, but Baby Espan seemed determined to hang in there for
the full 38 weeks.
There’s a lot of
controversy regarding the actual duration of the ‘average’
pregnancy. Some doctors and textbooks will tell you that a full-term
pregnancy is 36 weeks; others swear that it’s 40. The textbook I
was putting my faith in said 38 weeks, and I prayed
they were right. As of this morning, I was at 37.4 weeks – yes, I
DO calculate such things – and that meant I shouldn’t have more
than another three days to go before delivery. This was the first
time in my life I had ever been ready and willing to undergo some
truly serious discomfort.
Max kissed me goodbye
before leaving for work, running his hand over my distended belly and
smiling when the baby kicked hard. I gasped, he laughed, and we
hugged each other again. I stood in the doorway and watched until
his car disappeared at the end of the dirt road leading from the
house to the main road before going back inside. The hormonal flux
that relaxed my abdominal muscles had taken place a couple of weeks
ago, and the baby had dropped almost immediately thus precipitating
the famous ‘pregnancy waddle.’ I had been waddling to
some degree since my fifth month, but now it was really obvious. I
looked like a duck crossing a barnyard.
I waddled to the
kitchen, managing not to trip over Pandora who lay sprawled in the
floor and got another cup of coffee. I made my way the spare bedroom
that served as my office without tripping over Bear who was lying
crossways in front of my desk. I hadn’t seen Bailey in a while,
and on getting Bear to move before sitting and sliding my chair
forward at my desk, I encountered his body under my computer
keyboard’s slide-out tray. Caesar had appeared from somewhere and
was now lying beside Bear with his head on Bear’s back. By the
time I had the computer booted, all four dogs were camped round me
with expectant looks on their faces. I shook my head at them.
“You’ve had your
morning treats …nothing more until mid-afternoon. You don’t want
to get as fat as me.” That got me doggy grins – the word ‘treat’
always has that effect – and they settled though their heads were
still up and alert. Hmmmm …that was unusual. Most of the time
their heads went down, and they started working on their first nap of
the day as soon as I sat at my desk. This morning they were watching
me as if they knew something I didn’t.
I opened my e-mail account
and checked the morning’s offerings …one from Melody saying my
classes were behaving themselves and asking how I was doing. The
requisite morning communiqué from Dee – “Are you in labor
yet?” I smiled as I hit the ‘reply’ icon and typed a fast
note. “Not yet, but I’ll let you know.” There was one from
my dean reminding me that I should have Max call as soon as there was
anything to report. There were others from my friends Gail and Pam
also asking if there was any 'news.' They got the same response I’d
sent to Dee. “Not yet, but I’ll keep you posted.” The last
personal one was from my late mother’s college room mate and
dearest friend, Eleanor Cabot.
Hi,
Reagan,
Just
checking in to see how you’re doing these days. I know the baby is
due soon, and I wanted to let you know that Henry's and my prayers
are with you and Max. Children are one of God’s greater blessings,
and I know the two of you will make wonderful parents.
You
might be interested to know that Noah has initiated an occasional
correspondence with young Dolores Robertson, the lovely girl he met
at your wedding. I still regret our not being able to make it, but
“duty called.” At times I wonder why I married a man with
politics as his career. Noah called Dolores’ mother and asked if
he might write on occasion, and she gave her permission. We’re
planning a trip to Texas next summer while Noah is on his summer
cruise, and he hopes to be able to see Dolores when they put into
Galveston at the end of the cruise. I’ve taken the liberty of
inviting Mrs. Robertson-Vega and Dolores and Ms. Robertson-Vega's
lovely companion Sarah to join us for a few days at our beach house
on Trinity Bay after Noah’s ship puts into port, and Captain Aubrey
gives the crew shore leave. Bye the bye, the good Captain will be
joining us at the house for a few days as well. If you, Max, and the
baby can make the time, we’d love to have the three of you drive
down for a visit. As you will recall from your childhood visits, the
house is large, and there’s more than enough room for everyone;
privacy is not an issue.
Enough
for now, as I know you are busy getting ready for the birth of your
child. Do take care and know that my love and best wishes are with
you. Please have Max give us a call as soon as is appropriate to let
us know that you and the baby are well. Henry sends his regards and
good wishes.
Always
fondly,
Eleanor
I smiled and typed a quick
acknowledgement before moving on to read the online editions of the
New York Times, Washington Post, Chicago Tribune,
and Sydney Morning Herald. I may look like a beached whale
and have no energy, but I still want to know what’s happening in
the world. The ongoing war in the Middle East, rising gasoline
prices, problems with the proposed immigration laws concerning our
national border with Mexico, the controversy over the capabilities of
the attorney general; some things never change. I finished scanning
the headlines and drained my coffee mug before hauling myself to my
feet to get another cup. I got halfway to the kitchen and suddenly
all four dogs were so close round me that I couldn’t move in any
direction. What in Hell was their problem …and then I felt it.
A sudden gush of fluid
soaked me from my groin to my knees, most of it soaked up by the
sweatpants I was wearing under the requisite shift from the local
tent-and-awning company; my waters had broken. The dogs must have
sensed it coming, and that was why they’d been so clingy this
morning. I shooed them out of my way and managed to get to the
bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. I suppose it was
fortunate that I’d decided to check mail and read the news before
showering this morning; at least I wouldn’t have to shower a second
time.
Having my waters break now
meant what Sharon termed ‘a dry birth.’ Most women’s waters
don’t break until they’re well into actual labour. Trust me to
do the unusual. Having my amniotic sac break early didn’t signal
any problem as even though the sac itself had ruptured, the body
continues to produce amniotic fluid, so the birth wouldn’t really
be ‘dry.’ All it actually meant for me was that I could expect
to begin having contractions and go into actual labour within the
next few hours. I had plenty of time to shower, dress, call Max, and
get to hospital before anything truly eventful happened.
Ten minutes later I was
drying my hair and pulled on my underwear followed by another long,
loose, cotton flannel shift and sweatpants. It was time to call my
husband. I lowered myself into my armchair in the lounge and hit the
speed dial number for his private line. He answered on the second
ring.
“Max Espan.”
“Hey, there. It’s me.
How’s your morning going?”
“It is quiet. Terry and
Dino seem determined to keep me from beginning anything they cannot
easily complete. They appear to harbour the notion that I might be
rushing out of the office for some reason and do not wish to be
inordinately inconvenienced.” We both laughed.
“So …you could leave
within the next hour if it was necessary?” I thought I had the
right casual note in my voice to keep him from going into overdrive.
Yeah, right. Better luck with child number seven, Reagan. I
could actually hear his chair catch on the carpet as he pushed
away from the desk. I also heard the keys in his pants pocket clunk
against the desk where he bumped it as he stood.
“Have your pains begun?
Are you in labour, Cara?”
“No contractions yet.
My waters broke about 20 minutes ago, and I’ve taken a shower to
wash off the amniotic fluid. I’m dressed and ready to go. When
you get here, we can go straight to hospital.” That was precisely
the wrong thing to have told him.
“You took a
shower? What possessed you to do something so foolish without me
there to assist you if you had difficulty?” I sighed.
“Max, amniotic fluid is
sticky, and it’s this nasty straw colour. I'd have had to stand
until you got here and wanted to get it off me and get my clothes
into the washer to soak. Besides it smells sweet; I’d have
attracted every insect in a five-mile radius. They’d have thought
I was a walking sweet shop.”
“Cassandra, I ask that
you go to bed immediately and remain there until I get home.” I
had the temerity to giggle at his tone of voice.
“Max, I’m having a
baby, not preparing myself for Last Rites.”
“I do not find that in
the least amusing. I am on my way now; I will be home within
the hour.” I had the feeling this was going to be a very long day.
“Drive carefully, Max.
I love you.”
“And I love you, Cara.
Sum cautio.”
“I promise.”
Fifty-two minutes later the dogs began barking, and I heard the
rumble of the Bentley as it pulled up to the front of the little
farmhouse. That was pretty good time for the drive from downtown
Dallas to our farm in Ellis County. He was inside almost before I
could haul my butt out of the chair and open the door. He’d
loosened his tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck; he was
stripping off his tie as he walked inside. His brow was furrowed and
concern written in every line of his visage. He pulled me gently
into his arms; I could feel the tension in his body. I leant back
and looked up into his eyes, eyes that were grave with what I could
only interpret as fear.
“Maximus, what’s
wrong, Caro? We’re having a baby today; there’s no need
for you to be this worried.” It had been a long while since I’d
called him Maximus rather than Max. After having trained myself to
‘Max,’ ‘Maximus’ generally came out only in the throes of
passion or when I was worried about him. His voice was low and rough
as he held me close; one arm was round me, and his other hand cuddled
my head into his shoulder as he spoke urgently into my ear.
“Listen to me carefully,
and hear with your mind as well as your heart. Your safety is of
paramount importance to me. Childbirth is dangerous. I know medical
care in this time is far advanced from that we had in our first
lives, but women still die giving birth. I do not say this to alarm
you unduly, but we both know it is true.”
His fingers at the back of
my head threaded through my hair and pulled my head back gently so he
could see my eyes.
“I tell you this because
you must know how I feel. Whilst we do not anticipate undue
difficulty, if anything should go wrong …if a choice must be
made in this, I will tell Sharon to save you rather than our child.
I want children with all my heart …you know that, Cara, but
there is no choice for me between you and a child. There is no life
for me without you. Do you understand?”
I nodded slowly, and I did
understand. If the situation were reversed, I would sacrifice my
child without a second thought if it meant keeping Maximus with me.
The mothers of the world would likely hate me for that, but it's my –
our – reality. I want a child – children – as much as he does,
but even with them, if I didn’t have Maximus, my life would be a
cold and endless void. I could only manage a whisper in response.
“I understand, Caro,
and if a choice must be made, I trust you to make it. I love you,
Maximus …first, last, and always.” He hugged me again and tried
to smile as he released me.
“Let us get you to
hospital, else I have to deliver this babe myself!” We were
laughing as we walked to the car.
*
I had been admitted to
hospital and was in one of the labour suites by 1100. Dee arrived at
1115, strolling into the room as casually as if she were on her way
to the supermarket. The fact that she wasn’t casual was
apparent from the ear-to-ear smile she was wearing. She gave Max a
hug before coming to hug me where I sat on the edge of the bed.
“You’re looking pretty
chipper for someone about to undergo hours of pain, not to mention
blood, sweat, and tears.” I couldn’t help but laugh; she can be
a true drama queen when it comes to the travail of someone other than
herself.
“Thanks soooooo much for
the reminder of all that. It’s just what I needed!”
“So, how far apart are
your pains?”
“Haven’t had a pain
yet. They won’t start until the contractions begin.” She looked
from me to Max and back at me.
“Terry said you were in
labor.”
“I am, but there’s a
difference in being in labour and being in active labour.
Labour begins when your waters break; active labour doesn’t
begin until the contractions – and accompanying pain – start.
Sharon’s already checked me and thinks the active bit should begin
within a couple of hours.” She was thinking on that when I asked
the question.
“What did you have for
breakfast?” That got me a look.
“What do you mean, what
did I have for breakfast? You know I don’t eat breakfast.” I
shrugged.
“I hadn’t eaten before
my waters broke, and then I couldn’t. I can’t have anything in
my stomach other than fluid – and small amounts at that – because
there’s always the possibility of a Caesarean and anaesthesia. I’m
starving and was hoping to enjoy your breakfast vicariously.” She
looked at Max.
“Did you have breakfast,
Max?” He nodded as he spoke.
“Yes. I stopped at the
coffee bar in the lobby and took a ham and cheese croissant with me
to the office. Knowing that Cassandra is hungry now makes me feel
guilty for having enjoyed my own repast.” Dee snorted.
“Get over it. She chose
to get pregnant, and she knew upfront that she wouldn’t be able to
eat for hours before the baby was born. She’ll survive.” If I
was counting on her for sympathy today, I could whistle for it.
She’d upped her smart mouth quotient on my behalf for the day,
probably with the hope of entertaining me and keeping my mind off my
labour pains. She did relent a bit with her next statement.
“I’ll go find the ice
machine. I know you can have ice chips. Not tasty, I know, but it
may satisfy your need to chew, and it will help you stay hydrated.”
I was thinking of a smart
retort when the nurse bustled in to take my vitals. She had a little
stack of coloured cloth with her.
“Mrs. Espan?” I
nodded. “I’m your nurse for this shift – hopefully, you’ll
deliver before I go off at three, and you won’t have to get used to
someone else – and my name is Brittany.”
At least her name tag –
“B. Mathis” – didn’t say “Spears.” She checked my
hospital ID bracelet to insure that I wasn’t delusional and only
thought I was Mrs. Espan. Once satisfied that I knew who I
was, she took my pulse and blood pressure, then poked the temperature
probe in my ear.
“Everything looks good
so far. Now, let’s get you into your gown. You get to pick the
color you like best.”
Oh, goody …baby pink (I
hate baby pink), baby blue (no comment), pale yellow, and pale green.
Why are the only choices pastels? Well, silly me. Most mothers are
in their 20s or early 30s and not 40, and they like pastels.
I chose green.
“If you’ll just pop
into the bathroom and change for me – be sure and take off your
panties – we’ll get you settled.” I got off the bed with Max
one side and Dee on the other to be sure I didn’t fall flat on my
arse and headed for the bathroom to change. When I emerged, Brittany
smiled.
“That’s a lovely
color for you. I’ll bet you wear green a lot, don’t you?”
I found myself hoping I wouldn’t deliver until she went off
shift. I was afraid that if my last memory before going to the
delivery room was of Brittany, it would rub off on the baby. I made
myself frame a civil response.
“Yes, I do, though it’s
usually a darker and more intense shade. I like vivid colours.”
“And I’ll bet they’re
lovely on you!” The first contraction hit before I could answer.
I gripped my belly and froze on the spot. Rest assured it didn’t
get past General Eagle Eyes.
“Cara, was that a
contraction?” I nodded as he put his arm round my waist to help me
back into bed. Brittany made a note on my chart.
“Very good!”
She sounded as if she was commending a puppy just learning to sit on
command. “First contraction at … (she looked at the wall clock)
1138 hours.” She looked at Max and Dee. “You two be sure and
keep a record of the next one. She’ll probably be a bit irregular
with them for a while, but we need to know when they start coming on
a consistent basis.” She handed Dee a note pad and pen, waving as
she walked out of the room.
“I have to go check on
another patient, and when I return we’ll talk about your epidural.
You just settle in now and relax. You’re going to have a baby!”
I wanted to slap the silly cheerfulness out of her but restrained
myself. Dee turned to look at me as the door closed.
“I thought you wanted to
do natural childbirth.”
“I do, and I am.”
“Then what’s that bit
about an epidural?”
“It’s standard, and
most women have them as labour progresses. It’s going to have to
get pretty intense before I’ll consent to it, and Max knows that.”
The look on her face as she nodded told me she thought I'd lost my
mind.
“Uh huh ….
So, do you think the lovely Brittany's brain dead or just plain
feeble-minded?” I shook my head. Max looked somewhat pained. I
hoped it was at the air-headed nurse rather than my obvious distaste
for airheads in general.
“Who knows …but I’m
stuck with her until three, so I’d best just deal with it.”
*
Five minutes after getting
into bed, I had to pee again and crawled out of the bed on my way to
the bathroom. I saw the flash of a camera in the bureau mirror and
whirled around to see Dee stuffing her camera into the pocket of her
blazer. She spoke before I could say anything.
“I just wanted to let
Terry know that he isn’t the only one with a Seymour Heine gown!”
I was speechless, but my loving husband stepped into the breach.
“Diana, I do not think a
photo of my wife’s backside suitable for Terry’s perusal.” She
sighed and pulled the camera from her pocket and took what can only
be described as a disappointed look at the digital frame before
hitting the ‘delete’ button.
“Thank you.” Max and
I said it together, and I closed the door to the bathroom.
MAXIMUS
We had been through
birthing classes – Lamaze – and I had practised diligently in
helping Cassandra learn to breathe through her pain. She progressed
well for several hours, though her pains were irregular. It was late
afternoon when they became more regular. Sharon made periodic visits
throughout the afternoon to examine my wife, making Diana and I leave
the room whilst she did so. On one occasion she summoned us back
into the room before departing to attend another patient.
“She’s doing well, but
she’s only four centimetres dilated. She has to reach seven to
eight before she’ll deliver. She hasn’t progressed in that
respect since I was here a couple of hours ago. I’m ordering a
foetal monitor to be sure we catch any signs of distress in the baby
early. I don’t anticipate problems, but Reagan is 40 years
old, and older mothers and their infants are at higher risk.” She
looked at the wall clock; it was just after five in the evening.
“I’m going back to shut down my office. I’ll check in again
around seven or so.”
Twenty minutes later
Terry, Dino, Ellen, and Sooze arrived. Cassandra was becoming testy
from her travail, and though polite, she was a bit shorter in temper
than is her wont.
“Didn’t you guys
forget someone? Where are Dolores and Sarah? God forbid they miss
out on the party.” Ellen was the only one of the four to determine
the meaning behind my wife’s words and hustled her husband, Terry,
and Sooze out of the room to the waiting area for family members.
Diana excused herself and followed them. Cassandra and I were left
alone. I sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand in mine.
“Do you wish me to
leave, Cara? Would you be more at peace if you were alone
with your thoughts?” Her eyes were brimming with tears when she
looked at me.
“No! I want you here,
Max, but please keep the rest of them out for a while. I’m
tired of smiling when I’m in pain.” I removed my shoes and got
into bed with her, lying on my side and pulling her into my arms.
“Close your eyes and
attempt to rest. I am here. I will not leave you, Cara.”
She relaxed and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as she had
been instructed during our Lamaze classes.
*
Sharon Fletcher returned
shortly before eight in the evening and again examined Cassandra,
pronouncing her dilated an additional centimetre and having proceeded
to the second stage of her labour. My wife was becoming more and
more fatigued from her ordeal, and we again began the breathing
exercises we had learnt. Sharon sat on the edge of the bed before
speaking further.
“Reags, we need to
discuss a bit of relief for you. This baby is taking its own sweet
time, and you’re tired. I’m not pushing it at you, and I know
your feelings, but I want you to think about that epidural.”
My wife’s position had not changed since this morning when the
subject was first mentioned by her nurse.
“No.
No drugs, no epidural. If I have to have a Caesarean, we’ll
do a spinal, but aside from that, no drugs.”
“Reags, ….”
“No.” Sharon
looked at me.
“Try and talk some sense
into her, Max. There’s no medical reason for her to suffer for
what could still be hours.” She left, and the look my wife gave me
was more than sufficient to stop any entreaty I might have voiced.
“Cassandra, look at me.”
Her eyes were wide with pain, and she shook her head to clear it.
“When the next pain strikes, I will hold up my fingers for the
number of short breaths you are to take and close my fist when you
are to exhale slowly. Do you understand?”
“Of course I understand.
I’m not an idiot child.” I smiled. Though in pain, her spirit
had returned. Five minutes later her hand clamped down on mine, and
I held up the other with three fingers extended.
“Hee, hee, hee,” she
panted, and I closed my fist. She exhaled slowly through her mouth;
we repeated the process for the duration of her contraction. Her
eyes never left mine. Five minutes later we repeated the process.
Terry and Diana checked in intermittently from their station in the
waiting area, finally leaving at just after ten that evening. The
others had long since gone home after extracting my promise to call
when the babe was born, irrespective of the hour.
Cassandra’s contractions
were three minutes apart at two in the morning. Sharon was in the
room and had checked her again. Cassandra was now almost six
centimetres dilated, and we were hopeful she would now progress
rapidly. She had been in active labour for 15 hours; I was growing
more alarmed with each passing moment. I followed Sharon into the
hallway to speak with her privately.
“She is extremely
fatigued. This cannot be good for her or the child. Is there
nothing that can be done?”
“If she’d let me, I
could give her an epidural, but then she wouldn’t be able to walk.
Max, she’s been very outspoken about not wanting drugs unless she
requests them; she’s coherent, she hasn’t asked for medication,
and she wants to keep moving. The baby isn’t in any distress so
there’s no medical necessity involved in that regard, and Reagan’s
holding up well.”
“Her fatigue ….”
“Is normal. Max,
she’s trying to shit a watermelon, and it hurts. She truly
isn’t having an unusually difficult labour, and women her age tend
to labour longer than someone half her age. She’s a strong woman,
and she’s doing fine. I won’t be more than five minutes away
between now and the time the baby is born, so try not to
worry, okay?” She walked away and then turned back to me.
“Max, come with me to
the Surgeon’s Lounge. Let’s get you into scrubs. With our luck,
she’ll pop that kid out when we’re least expecting it, and I
don’t want to see that suit you’re wearing take any more abuse
than it has already.” I followed her, returning to Cassandra’s
room a few minutes later dressed in a blue scrub suit, my own suit in
a plastic bag that I tucked into the closet with her clothing. My
wife’s sense of humour returned briefly.
“Jesus, Max, if you
wanted to play doctor, you should have got that suit six months ago!”
We had long since raised the head of her bed to enable her to sit,
and now I got into the bed behind her, spread my knees, and pulled
her between them with her back to my chest. She laid her head back
on my shoulder and turned to smile up at me.
“Thanks …that does
make it a little better.” Her next pain hit seconds later.
*
She lay back in
my arms, weak with fatigue. It was just after four in the morning.
I had not known a woman's grip could be so strong; she had come near
to making me shout with pain from the force of her grip on my left
hand, my ring finger still tender from the break earlier in the year.
Her voice was hoarse just above a whisper when she spoke.
“I don't know
if I can do this, Maximus.” Fear gripped my entrails. What might
I say to alleviate her fears? What of my fears for her? And
– selfishly – what of my fears for myself should she not survive
her ordeal? How would I live without her?
“You can,
Cara, you are strong, and I will not leave you.” I could
feel her shudder as the next contraction took her, not having given
her time to fully recover from the last. Her soft cry began as a sob
and rose to a scream as the pain ripped through her.
“Please,
God, no more ...no more ...NO MORE!” Sharon
entered the room at a run.
“Reagan,
Honey, look at me!” My wife managed to raise her head from
my shoulder long enough to speak to her physician.
“FUCK
YOU!” Sharon actually laughed.
“Hey, if she
can still swear at me, she's doing fine.”
REAGAN
By five in the morning,
I’d have given my eternal soul to Lucifer just to have this baby
delivered. I told Max that if he even pointed that thing
in my direction before my next birthday, I’d shoot him on the spot.
He laughed, saying he would not make a promise he had little chance
or intention of keeping.
My contractions were 63
seconds apart at five-thirty Tuesday morning. I cursed Fate, Max,
Sharon for telling me there was no reason I couldn't bear a child at
my age, labour pains, and life in general. I was drenched in sweat
and so was Max. Sharon came in to check on me every five minutes.
The only time Max had left me all day was the five minutes it took
him to change into scrubs in the Surgeons' Lounge. He hadn't eaten
since we got to hospital; barely even drinking even though Sharon had
told him he needed to stay hydrated almost as much as I did. He was
as good as his word; he never left my side. At a quarter after six,
I was dilated six-and-three-quarters centimetres.
Sharon said she’d be
back in five minutes, and that no matter how badly it hurt, I wasn’t
to even think about pushing. Just before she returned, I went
into what seemed like a never-ending contraction and screamed. Max
was back in the chair beside the bed – I'd made him get out of the
bed and rest for a few minutes – and he flew out of the room like
the space shuttle leaving the launch pad. Sharon must have been at
the nurses’ station and heard me; she and Max were back in seconds
with a nurse right behind them. She threw up the sheet to check me,
and even in my state of agony, I could see her blanch as she turned
to shout at the nurse.
“She’s crowning! Get
me an OB pack NOW, because this baby’s going to
deliver right-fucking-HERE!
“Reagan …REAGAN!
LOOK AT ME! Honey, do NOT push until I tell
you to, okay? Max, get your ass in bed behind her and support her
…try and keep her calm.” He moved so fast that he was a blur.
“Okay, Honey, push
…NOW!” I pushed.
“Again!” I pushed
again and felt as though I was being torn in half.
“Once more, Honey …good
girl!” I felt the baby slip from my body and sobbed.
“Max, get off the bed
and get down here if you want to cut the cord.” I felt him leave
me, and I could hear my child screaming. Was it a girl or a boy?
Was it healthy?
“Here you go …clip
between the ligatures, Max.” I guess he did. All I know is that
two seconds later he looked up at me with tears running down his face
as our child kicked and screamed in his arms.
“Give her the baby, Max.
It’s over but for delivering the placenta, and I don’t need you
for that.” I managed to hold out my arms as my husband spoke
through his tears.
“Cara, we have a
daughter.” I’d delivered our child, she was healthy, and after
what seemed a lifetime of trying, we were parents.
MAXIMUS
I do not know how she
endured the hours of pain and the final agony that thrust our
daughter into this world. Sharon checked the child and pronounced
her APGAR score to be a perfect ten. I must remember to ask what
that means as at that moment I recalled the term but vaguely from my
readings.
I placed our daughter in
her mother’s arms and stood there realising I felt suddenly
inadequate in every sense of the word. Truly, there is no miracle
greater than the birth of a child, and no man can ever accomplish it.
Women are truly favoured by the gods.
I watched her face go from
relief to joy to wonder over the space of a few seconds. The babe
was covered in blood and mucous, and it did not matter. She was
healthy; she was perfect. Cassandra’s fingers touched each tiny
finger and toe; she kissed our daughter’s tiny head before looking
up at me.
“Oh, Max …she’s the
most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen …and she kept her end of the
bargain.” I heard my voice break when I answered.
“The two of you together
are the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. Of what bargain
do you speak?”
“When you left for
Nigeria I made a bargain with her. I told her she had my permission
to disobey one thing I would tell her in life if only she’d wait
until you returned home to make her appearance. She kept her side of
it; now I have to keep mine.” I was musing on the entreaties we
all make to our gods when Sharon’s voice brought me to my senses.
“Max, I know your
camera’s somewhere in this room …why don’t you get a picture of
them? It will be wonderful to have in your baby book.” I looked
at the mother of my child; she smiled and nodded. The nurse nudged
me to the sink in the room to wash my hands and arms clean of blood
whilst she sponged off our daughter, and I did before picking up the
camera. I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned back to them.
REAGAN
They let Max take us home
the afternoon of the following day; I suppose it goes without saying
that he took off the rest of the week. We’d settled on names long
ago. If the baby was a boy his name would have been David Marcus
Espan; I’m sure you know where we got Marcus. Her name is Emily
Mercedes
Fiona Espan. We both loved the name Emily. Mercedes
is Spanish and was as close as we could get to Meridius. Fiona is
Celtic for vine …she was the first tendril of the vine from which
future generations of our family would grow; Fiona was also my
mother's name. I'd told Max that when we were deciding on names, and
he thought the gesture beautiful. We would call her Emily. I had
little doubt Terry would call her Ems.
I’d always wondered if
it was true. You know that bit about women forgetting the pain of
birth when they hold their child in their arms the first time. I
can’t speak for all women, but as soon as I held Emily, I was ready
to do it all over again. Emily has dark blondish-brown hair and
bluish-green eyes like her father; she has my fair skin, and she’s
beautiful. I’m hoping that as she grows, her hair will turn black
like her father’s. Unless I totally miss my guess, she’s going
to be a heart-breaker by the time she’s 15.
Max got me into bed and
Emily in her crib beside me; she was sound asleep. There was no room
for a nursery in the little farmhouse, though the new house would be
finished by Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day. It hardly seems
possible that it’s less than three years since Max and I met the
day after Valentine’s in the Albertson’s produce section. It
seems I’ve known him all my life; realistically, I suppose I have.
He sat beside me on the bed and took one of my hands in both his,
lifting it to his lips and kissing my palm.
“I am blessed of all
men, Cara. You have given me my deepest desires. Emily is
all any man could want, and you are every dream of a wife that I have
cherished.” There was that word again. Cherish. I smiled as I
thought of Jack Aubrey.
“Have you called Jack to
tell him?” He shook his head.
“Do it now.”
“Will it not wake
Emily?” I laughed.
“Not unless you shout
and dance round the room. Babies sleep like the dead, Max.” He
laughed and picked up the phone, hitting a speed dial number. We had
long since put Jack on speed dial, and both of us talked with him at
least once a week.
“Jack. It is Max.”
“Max! Is there news?”
“There is, Brother.
Cassandra has given me a daughter. We have named her Emily, and she
is perfect, the very image of her mother.” I could hear Jack’s
shout from three feet away.
MAXIMUS
I carried our daughter as
Cassandra walked to her chair in the lounge. She moved the top of
her nightgown aside and put the child to her breast after I placed
Emily in her arms. I sat in front of them on the floor, watching in
awe as she guided the tiny head to her teat; Emily found it
unerringly and began to suckle. Her tiny fists kneaded Cassandra’s
breast as she nursed hungrily. I looked up into the shining eyes of
my wife, and my own filmed with tears. I had never known a happier
moment. The only thoughts in my mind were those from a song
Cassandra played often when we were in the car.
And I
can't explain
But
it's something about the way you look tonight
Takes my breath
away
It's that feeling I get about you, deep inside
And I
can't describe
But it's something about the way you look tonight
Takes my breath away
The way you look tonight.
My wife. My daughter.
Both of them safely within our home and under my protection. No man
could ask for more.
NOTES
|
Jet
wash
|
The
stream of air coming from jet turbines; I’ve seen it blow loaded
Connexes off loading platforms. Jet wash is a VERY rapidly moving
horizontal column of air that will flatten anything in its path. A
connex is a large metal cargo container utilised by the U. S. Army
for shipping supplies to overseas bases.
|
|
Braxton-Hicks
|
Uterine
contractions that can begin during the first trimester of pregnancy
and continue until true labour begins. Until the last few weeks
prior to delivery of a full-term child, Braxton Hicks contractions
are painless; one can only feel the muscular contraction of the
uterus. As delivery approaches the contractions begin to be painful,
but differ from true contractions of labour in their duration and
regularity. True labour is characterised by contractions of about
one minute in length and spaced at regular – and shortening –
intervals.
|
|
Sum
cautio
|
Use
caution; be careful.
|
|
Neonate
|
An
infant is considered to be a neonate for the first four weeks of
life.
|
|
APGAR
|
Assessment
of newborns. The letters stand for Appearance, Pulse,
Grimace, Activity, and Respiration. A score of
zero to two is awarded each measure, and it doesn’t get any better
than ten. More information can be found here:
http://www.childbirth.org/articles/apgar.html
|
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