THE SIXTEENTH
A low groan escapes my mouth and I clutch my stomach as the pain ripples across my belly. The contractions seem to be coming more and more frequently over the last few days and I am desperately hoping that Bean is not planning on arriving early. Maybe yesterday’s day in bed where Taylor made a point to worship my body over and over again was too much; they do say sex can help bring the baby along when you are overdue. But really now is not the time for Bean to arrive. I still have far too much to do.
“Abs, shit, are you okay?” Taylor calls as he runs across to where I am standing. I try to breathe through the pain like I was shown in those antenatal classes Taylor and I attended last month but it doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference.
“Not really,” I respond through gritted teeth. I am standing in the kitchen clutching onto the countertop as I attempt to stay upright. I start to worry that maybe these are the real thing and not just Braxton Hicks. Taylor is hovering around me, clearly looking like he wants to do something but not actually having a clue what he should do.
At the same time, another bolt of pain seizes me, my nose tingles and suddenly I find myself in the middle of the craziest sneezing fit I have ever had. I mean seriously, what was that all about? It’s only when I realise that Taylor is looking at me slightly aghast that I realise the damp sensation in my knickers is not my imagination.
I glance down to see a wet patch spreading down the legs of my cropped leggings. “Oh shit, I think maybe my waters just broke!” I exclaim.
“Really? Um…um…what the hell do we do? Hospital? Shall I call an ambulance?” I stare in wonder at the normally calm-and-collected Taylor completely losing the plot.
“Calm down, Taylor,” I say. I am about to say that I’m sure it’s just a false alarm when I feel another streak of pain moving across my belly in a vice-like grip. I gasp at the ferocity of the pain. “I think, let’s just get me to the hospital. Didn’t the midwife say we need to go in once my waters have broken otherwise I am at risk of infection?” I’m struggling to think clearly now that the prospect of being in labour seems to have become reality.
In a scene worthy of a comedy sketch, Taylor and I somehow make it down to the car, wet pants and all, and take off to the hospital only to remember when we are five minutes down the road that we have forgotten my hospital bag. Cue a lot of swearing from Taylor and a u-turn worthy of Grand Theft Auto and we are back at the flat where it takes another ten minutes of Taylor going mad trying to find the bag that has been sitting in the downstairs cupboard since I finally got around to packing it that someone saw fit to move into the baby’s room because ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’.
When we are finally back on the road with the bag safely stowed away in the boot, Taylor begins to ask me if I am okay, like every five seconds. “Just drive,” I growl at Taylor, my anxiety going up another notch as I feel another contraction course through me.
“Is she coming?” Taylor asks frantically, glancing over at me as he grinds the gears.
“I don’t fucking know, alright. Just get me to the fucking hospital, Taylor,” I roar, my patience snapping along with my last thread of sanity.
A couple of minutes later we pull up outside the entrance to the private hospital where I am scheduled to have Bean. Something in my subconscious tells me that maybe I should have rung ahead, but there is no time for that now. Not when Taylor is barrelling into the reception and announcing at the top of his lungs that the baby is coming. If I weren’t so bloody terrified, I think I would be rolling about laughing at Taylor’s complete inability to control himself.
A nurse comes rushing out with a wheelchair and helps me into it with brisk, efficient movements. She instructs Taylor to bring my bag which seems to calm him a little and wheels me through to the maternity section of the hospital all the while asking me questions about my contractions and when my waters broke. I give her the information, describing the pain and telling her about how the contractions have been coming more frequently. By the time I have finished telling her about sneezing and my waters breaking, she is wheeling me into a private room and helping me onto the bed.
I feel really embarrassed at my wet leggings and struggle to tug them down over my legs when the nurse tells me a midwife will be in in a moment to examine me. I eventually give in and ask Taylor to help me as the wet fabric is sticking to my legs. My mother told me a while ago that when you have a baby all your dignity goes out the window and I guess I’m now experiencing that first-hand.
Taylor has just freed me from the cold, damp fabric when Janet, the midwife who has been overseeing my pregnancy, pops her head around the door. “I hear Bean has decided to make her appearance a little early, Abby,” she says.
“Yeah, I think so,” I reply feeling strangely anxious, yet relieved at the same time.
“Righto, let’s have a look then. You know the drill, Abby.” I wait patiently while Janet examines me. She mutters something to herself and then pokes her head up. “So, your waters broke when you sneezed, is that right?”
Janet has a strange look on her face that I can’t quite fathom. “Um, yes,” I reply.
“Well,” Janet says clearing her throat, “Having examined you, Abby, I can tell you that your waters have not broken and you aren’t actually in labour. You are not dilated at all.”
“But…then…what?” I say in confusion. I look across at Taylor, who looks as clueless as me. “But what about the contractions?”
“It’s perfectly normal in the later stages of pregnancy to experience contractions, both Braxton Hicks and the normal kind. From what I can see these are just practice ones.”
Janet looks at me calmly and I feel instantly reassured but that still begs the question, “But what about the…fluid?”
“Um, well I hate to tell you this, Abby, but it was urine.” Janet’s look of sympathy has me feeling incredibly embarrassed.
“What?” I screech. “You mean I peed myself?” Taylor snorts next to me as he tries to hold back his laughter. He isn’t particularly successful as he dissolves into a fit of laughter that leaves my face beet red.
“Oh, shit,” I murmur. “I’m never going to live this down.”
“Oh, Abs, that’s brilliant,” Taylor gasps as he gets his breath back. All I want to do is hit the smug bastard.