“Oh, um, no.” He shakes his head and gives me a curious look.
“Okay, I need you to come stand in front of her,” he says, positioning Sebastian in front of me. “Lucy, I’m going to move you to get you in the right position, but then I don’t want you to move. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He puts his hands on my back and bends me over my knees, squishing my stomach against my legs. “Keep your head down” he says, running his latex-covered finger down my spine, and I do as I’m told. “Keep her in this position,” he says to Sebastian. “No matter what. Do not let her move.”
“Okay,” Sebastian says, and I hear the concern in his voice.
“Lucy, you cannot try to sit up. Understand?”
“What happens if she sits up?” Bas asks.
“She’s not going to. Right, Lucy?”
“Right.” I hold my breath through the sharp pinch I feel in my back. “I’m having another contraction,” I groan, unable to breathe in this position.
“I know,” he says calmly. “But it should be the last one you feel. Just don’t move.” A rush of cool burns beneath my skin. “Almost done.”
“You’re doing great,” Sebastian says, smiling at me, but his face is a shade lighter than normal.
“Okay, you can sit up.”
“You’re done?” I ask, lifting my head tentatively.
“Yep. You should feel better in a few minutes.”
“Thank God,” Sebastian says quietly, letting go of me. He turns around and inhales a deep breath.
“You okay?” I ask him.
He turns back around and pulls his fist to his mouth. “Mm-hmm.” He nods. “I’m great,” he whispers.
“Okay, well, can you come back?” I ask, noticing that my legs suddenly feel like there are cement blocks tied to them.
He raises his eyebrows and approaches me with caution.
“I can’t move my legs,” I tell him.
“That’s the idea,” the anesthesiologist says. “You won’t feel anything from about your chest down.”
“Really?”
“Look,” he says, pointing to the monitor beside the bed. “You’re having a contraction right now.”
“I can’t feel it.”
“At all?” Bas asks.
“No, not at all.” A huge smile spreads across my face.
“Oh, thank God,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me. He falls back against it dramatically. “I don’t know how much more I could have taken.”
I laugh and try unsuccessfully to move back on the bed. “Could you help me?”
He sits up and helps me scoot back against the pillows. “Seriously, I’m going to kill Sam.”
“Sebastian.”
“Actually, I’m going to kill your doctor for telling him it was okay to leave. And then I’m going to kill Sam.”
“It’s not Dr. Fletcher’s fault.” I watch the contraction on the monitor and exhale a joyful breath. “It’s nobody’s fault,” I say, momentarily blissed out.
“Okay, Lucy, why don’t you try to get some rest now,” the anesthesiologist says. “It won’t be long before you have to push.”
Push? I can’t push until Sam gets here.
Sebastian tries to hide the worried look on his face. “He’s right. You should just try to get some sleep.”
* * *
I wake to a dimly lit room and Sebastian, whose face is glowing in the light of his phone. “Any word from Sam?” I ask him, trying to sit up.
He gets up from the couch across the room and pulls a chair up next to the bed. “No, not yet.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s late. You’ve been asleep for an hour.”
“Really?” I ask, thankful that more time has passed.
“Nurse Meghan was in here a few minutes ago, but she didn’t want to wake you. She said you’ll need your strength to push.”
“Well…” I exhale a determined breath. “I’m not doing that without Sam.”
He presses his lips together and says, “Just try to get some more sleep.”
“I’m not tired now. I just wish Sam would get here.”
“I know.” He puts his hand on mine and gives it a small squeeze. “Me too.”
“Did you sleep at all?” I ask him.
“Yes. No. Not really,” he admits. “I was updating Paul in the waiting room.”
“Paul’s here?”
“Of course. He came as soon as he got my message.”
I exhale a heavy breath and drop my head back against the pillows. “I’m sorry you had to fill in for Sam tonight. But I’m really glad you’re here.”
He gives me a tired smile and sighs. “This isn’t exactly how I saw your birth story going, but I’m glad I’m here too.” He glances up at the screen that’s monitoring my contractions. “Woah, that one’s off the charts. You can’t feel it?”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “I just feel the pressure.” I look down at my contracting stomach and take a deep breath. “A lot of pressure.”
“You thirsty? I can offer you ice chips or”—he shakes the cup—“ice chips.”
I laugh and reach for the cup, but when he hands it to me, I freeze. “I have to get up,” I say, giving it back to him.
“What?”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say again, unable to ignore the overwhelming urge. I put my hand on Sebastian’s arm and try to scoot to the edge of the bed.
“Lucy, you can’t get up,” he says, reminding me that my legs are no longer connected to my brain.
“I have to. You have to help me.”
“Hold on!” He runs to the door and calls down the hall for the nurse.
Oh, God. I can’t stop it. I push into the sensation.
“Lucy? What are you doing? Are you pushing?”
“No,” I say, trying to stop. But. I. Cant. Stop. Pushing.
“Stop!” he orders. “Don’t push. I’ve got to get the nurse.”
“I can’t,” I grit through my teeth.
“Lucy, what’s going on?”
“She’s pushing!” Sebastian exclaims.
“Okay, I’ll go get Dr. Fletcher.”
The sensation leaves me as quickly as it came, and I gasp for air. “You have to stay in there,” I cry to the baby. “Please. Just a little longer. Your dad will be here any minute,” I say, trying to convince myself.
“Where’s my favorite patient?” Dr. Fletcher asks, walking into the room a few seconds later.
I burst into tears as soon as I look at him. “You’re here.”
He walks over to me and reaches for my hand. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I never would have encouraged Sam to go to New York if I thought you’d be going into labor so soon.”
“I know…it’s okay.” I smile over the tears and worry. “He won.”
“I know.” He gives me a small smile and pats the back of my hand. “How are you holding up?”