What does it look like? Her voice was barely audible through the contraction, but she sounded a little more like herself now. Maybe she wasn't in transition.
It looks miserable, he said honestly, worse than that.
It is worse than that. It's like having your guts ripped open with a chain saw.
What happened to the thing with the upper lip?
That comes later.
I can hardly wait.
They wheeled her into a room on the third floor, and she exchanged her clothes for a faded hospital gown, and they handed Jack a shower cap and a pair of green pajamas.
What's that for? He looked panicked.
You, if you want to see your baby born, the nurse told him without ceremony, and then called for a resident to check Amanda.
He appeared in the labor room two minutes later, while Jack was changing, and announced that Amanda was at eight centimeters and going fast. She was at nine by the time he was finished.
Get me an epidural, she said, clutching the bars on the side of the bed through the next contraction ' morphine ' Demerol ' anything ' give me something. '
It's too late, Mrs. Kingston, the nurse said soothingly. You should have been here at seven centimeters.
I was busy. I was driving to the hospital in my husband's fucking Ferrari. She was crying then. This wasn't funny. And she turned around to look at the resident and the nurse with fury. Are you telling me that if I had been here half an hour ago, I could have had an epidural? This is your fault, she said to Jack miserably as he emerged from the bathroom looking like a scrub nurse.
What's my fault? Oh this ' he looked at the enormous belly, I guess it is. And by the way, he turned to the doctor imperiously, she's not Mrs. Kingston.
She's not? He looked startled and picked up the chart. It said it plainly. It says here she's Mrs. Kingston.
She's Mrs. Watson, Jack corrected, still drunk from the unknown quantities of Champagne he had drunk at their wedding.
It was going to be hours, possibly days, before he was sober, and Amanda knew it.
Never mind who I am. Just get my doctor. Where is he?
I'm right here, Amanda, a voice from the doorway said coolly.
Good. I want drugs, and they won't give them to me. He talked to the resident for a minute and then nodded.
How about a little morphine?
Sounds terrific. They attached her to a monitor, gave her the shot, and started an intravenous on her, all in under five minutes. But just watching them do all of it had made Jack violently nauseous. He was sitting with his eyes closed in a chair in the corner, with the room spinning around him.
Let's get Mr. Watson a cup of coffee, black, shall we? the doctor said, and the nurse raised an eyebrow.
IV?
Good idea. The medical team chuckled, and Jack opened one eye and looked at them as Amanda suffered through the next pain, but the morphine had at least taken the edge off.
Why is everyone so loud here? Jack complained just as Jan and Louise walked in, and went straight to their mother.
You shouldn't be here, she told Jan groggily. The morphine was making her sleepy.
Why not, Mom? She touched her cheek gently and stroked her hair, as Louise went to get her ice chips. When she was in labor, it had been all she wanted.
Because you'll never want to have children. This is awful, and then she added as an afterthought, having closed her eyes for just a minute, but it's worth it. I love you, baby, she whispered to her and then drifted off again, as Louise came back into the room with the ice chips. I love you too, Louise, she said, and gratefully accepted the ice chips. Jack was still sitting in the corner, drinking coffee.
And at five o'clock, when the doctor checked her again, they decided she was ready to go to the delivery room, but the morphine was wearing off by then, and Amanda was complaining.
I feel awful ' why do I feel so awful ' ?
Because you're having a baby, Louise told her, as Jack walked over to stand beside her. He was looking a lot more sober.
How are you doing, sweetheart? he asked, looking sympathetic.
I feel awful.
I'll bet you do. And then he looked at the nurse with annoyance. Can't you give her something? Why don't you put her out, for chrissake?
Because she's having a baby, not brain surgery, and she has to push now.
I don't want to push. I hate pushing. I hate everything. I hate this. All the morphine had done was make her feel groggy and out of it, but she still felt every pain.
It'll be over soon, he said as he followed the gurney to the delivery room, wondering how he had gotten roped into this. He didn't want to see it, but he didn't want to leave her either. And her two daughters were following right behind him. The equipment in the room alone made him feel dizzy. They offered each of them a stool near her head, and propped her up to a nearly sitting position with her feet in stirrups, and over in the corner was a small plastic bassinet, with a heat light on it, to keep it warm for the baby. It suddenly made it all so real to him. They were here for a reason. Something great was happening. They weren't there just to watch her suffer.
But after a while, it began to feel as though that was why they had come here. She pushed for two hours and got nowhere. The baby was enormous. There were whispers among the medical team, and the doctor glanced at the clock and nodded. We'll give her another ten minutes. But Jack was alert by now, and he had heard them.
What does that mean?
The baby's not moving much, Jack, the doctor said quietly. And Amanda's pretty tired. We may have to give her a hand here.
What kind of a hand? He looked panicked. He knew even before they told him. The training film. The caesarean. The one that looked liked they had cut the woman in half with the chain saw. And he looked at the doctor in open terror. Do you have to?
We'll see. Maybe not, if she helps us. Amanda was miserable by then, she was crying and clutching his hands, and both her daughters looked worried. But Jack looked worse than she did. And five minutes later, there had been no improvement. They were standing around waiting for the next pain, when an alarm went off, and the entire room seemed to be filled with buzzing and everyone leaped into action around her.
What is that? What happened? Jack looked panicked, and totally sober.
It's the fetal monitor, Jack. The baby's in trouble, the doctor explained, but he was too busy to say more. There were instructions flying everywhere, and the anesthesiologist was saying something to Amanda and she was crying.
What kind of trouble? Jack was desperate to know what was happening and no one would tell him.
You have to leave the room now, all of you, the doctor said loudly, and then to the anesthesiologist: Do we have time for an epidural?
I'll try it, he answered. More running, more instructions, noise everywhere, and Amanda reaching for Jack's hand like a wounded animal as she lay there. The girls had already left the room by then, but Jack knew he couldn't leave her. He couldn't do this to her.
I took the class, he told anyone who would listen. I took the Lamaze class with the film on C-sections. ' But no one was listening, their eyes were glued to the monitor, and they were still trying unsuccessfully to wrest his son from Amanda.
The epidural was in place by then, and the doctor looked at Jack sternly. Sit down, and talk to her. They put a screen in front of her so he couldn't see the surgery, only her face, and the anesthesiologist seemed to be doing a thousand things at once, and there were trays of instruments being moved around as Jack tried not to watch them. But all he could see now were her eyes, her face, and the terror he saw there.
It's all right, baby, I'm here. It's going to be fine. They'll have the baby out in a minute. He found himself silently praying that he wasn't lying to her.
Is he okay? Is the baby okay, Jack? She was crying and talking all at once, but she felt no pain now, just a lot of tugging and pulling. And Jack kept his eyes on her, telling her how much he loved her.
The baby's fine, he kept telling her, willing it to be true, praying that nothing had happened to the baby. He didn't want that to happen to her. She had been through too much now. The baby had to come through it. But the surgery seemed to take forever. There was sweat falling off Jack's face onto the drape next to her, and his tears mixed with hers as they waited. There was an endless ticking in the room, and then a sudden silence as she began to cry harder. It was as though she knew, as though she sensed that something terrible was about to happen, and all he could do was kiss her and tell her how much he loved her. But how would he ever make it up to her if the baby died? He knew that no matter what he did, he couldn't. And as he looked at her, willing their son to live, they suddenly heard a small wailing sound that filled the room, and her eyes opened wide in wonder.
Is he okay? She was completely worn out, but it was all she wanted to know now, and the doctor was quick to reassure her.
He's fine. They cut the cord, and put him in the scale to weigh him as Jack went to look at his boy, his son. Nine pounds twelve ounces. Almost ten pounds. He had fought hard to get here. He had her big blue eyes, and a look of astonishment on his face as though he had arrived sooner than he meant to. And he had. He was almost three weeks early.
They cleaned him up and wrapped him in a blanket then, and lay him next to his mother, but her arms were still strapped to boards and she couldn't hold him. Jack held him for her, and his eyes filled with tears as he watched Amanda look at her son for the first time, and touch him with her cheek. Nothing had ever moved him more than this woman he had come to love so much, and the baby neither of them had expected. He was a small dream being born, a large hope for the future, a special delivery from heaven. And suddenly Jack didn't feel old, but young, as he looked down at them. It was a gift of magic for the future. Like opening a window onto sunlight.
He's so beautiful, she whispered as she looked up at Jack. He looks like you.
I hope not, he said, with tears rolling down his cheeks as he bent to kiss her. Thank you, he said to her ' for not giving him up ' for wanting him when I didn't.
I love you, she said sleepily. It was eight o'clock in the morning, and their baby was ten minutes old now.
I love you too, he said, watching her as she drifted off to sleep, and they took the baby away to the nursery, while they finished ministering to his mother. He sat for a long time, watching her, and when they rolled her back to her room finally, after the recovery room, she was still sound asleep, and he was still with her.
The others were waiting for them there, they had already heard the news, Paul was there too, and they were all smiling.
Congratulations! Louise was the first to say it, and for once, she meant it.
Published byDell Publishinga division ofRandom House, Inc.1540 BroadwayNew York, New York 10036
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright -! 1997 by Danielle Steel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-56684-3
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