Page 43 of The Lookback
“No,” Donna’s saying, “The last time I had a baby, it didn’t hurt like this.”
“Did you have an epidural?” The tall woman’s pulling her hair back into a ponytail, which doesn’t seem encouraging.
“Right before I had him, but that’s not—” And now she’s screaming again.
It’s a bit of a blur, but in the next two minutes, the tall lady doctor starts putting stuff on her, and a man in a white coat shows up and checks her. . .lady parts. I try to look away, but I can’t entirely. There’sdefinitelya baby head that’s visible when they’re checking things out.
“She’s crowning,” the male doctor says.
“How long has the pressure been like this?” the tall doctor asks.
“I don’t know,” Donna groans. “Does it matter?”
“Its head’s almost through,” the shorter, male doctor says. “But then it kind of sucks back in.”
“That could be a turtle sign. Donna, please listen to me. For right now, don’t push, alright?” The tall woman looks completely calm. “I think you may be dealing with shoulder dystocia, and if you push. . .”
Then they’re wheeling Donna through some doors and into a room off the ambulance bay, leaving Abby and me behind. Abby’s phone is pressed to her ear, so I assume she’s talking to Steve or Will.
“Yes, they’re rushing her back to, well, to somewhere. No, I’m not sure exactly—when are you going to be here?”
Will it is. Steve’s probably with their baby and can’t leave.
“Alright, well, when you arrive, run inside. They won’t let me follow, but it might be a different story with you. But Will, breathe. Do not get in an accident because you’re worried about her. She’s in capable hands. The head of the program happened to be here, and she really knows her stuff.”
The second she hangs up, I grab her arm. “Is she going to die?” For some reason, panic grips me. That baby’s going to kill her, and then Will’s going to be all alone with that tiny little girl and the little boy who isn’t even his. Actually, would that kid go to his awful father if Donna dies?
It’s bad all around.
This is why people shouldn’t have babies.
“Helen, it’s fine, I swear. Shoulder dystocia’s fairly common, and they know what to do about it. Trust me, she’s going to be alright, and so is that baby.”
And then, as if to mock Abby’s words, there’s screaming—so much screaming.
“What’s going on in there?” I’m pacing, and I know I should stop, but I can’t. Why’s Donna screaming so much?
Then, abruptly, it stops.
“They probably had to do an episiotomy,” Abby says. “When the shoulder gets caught, they have to make more space for them to get through.”
I’m swearing under my breath, and now I’m sweating nearly as much as Donna was.
“Are you alright?” Abby asks.
I seriouslycan’tstop pacing.
“Helen.”
What if something like this happens to me? What if they had to do whatever they just did to Donna to me? What if I die? It’s a no brainer. I have to terminate this thing. The sooner the better, really.
“Helen Fisher.” Abby claps right in front of my face. “What on earth is going on in that brain of yours?”
“I’m—” I stop, swallow, and start pacing again.
“You’re not even that close to Donna. Why are you freaking out? Is it making you think about my pregnancy? Because I’m done. That was my last one. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Ma’am.” A man in black scrubs is walking toward us. “Are you alright?”
