"How many weeks are you?" She had no answer. She'd never seen a doctor. She guessed 5 months. Please, God, no. Her bright red hair twisted and streamed down her face livid. "Give me something for pain!" she demanded. Her teeth yellow, her eyes fierce. She could not remain still for the life of her. The contractions were close.
I forced an exam and looked into those hostile eyes, "I'm so sorry, the baby's going to come."
"No!" she screamed, "I can't do this, I can't do this!" All of the sudden her anger turned into remarkable fear. She looked wildly around, frantic, begging, "Please give me something for pain, please!"
"You can do this," I said calmly, sternly. "You must."
She became even more uncontrolled. A doctor burst into the room as the baby's head started to crown. She screamed agony, crawling back in the bed, legs kicking, arms fighting, her back arched. Nothing I could do or say would help her now. Then I looked over at the man in the corner who was just about to turn and leave the room.
"Wait! I need you to hold her hand," I more or less ordered him. I didn't mean caress and support her, I meant grip her hand and keep her still because it was taking all my strength to hold her other hand as she fought back, nearly missing my eye with one blow.
A second nurse and a tech were already on her legs, trying to force them back so her baby and the doctor would not be injured in the delivery. A woman knows not her strength when met with the incredible pain of labor. Either she will channel it with great love or the fear of it will warp her into a monster.
And in one monstrous cry, the child was born all round and red and beautiful. Thank God he looked term, and screaming. The NICU team rubbed him down and told her they needed to do some work-up since she had received no prenatal care. She did not look at them; she did not look at her baby. "I don't want to see," she told me in a quiet voice, barely a whisper, eyes now sunken in.
I gave motion that they could leave and in a whirlwind of helpful hands she was cleaned up, wrapped in warm blankets and passed out asleep in her terror bed-turned oasis.
I let her rest for an hour, checking on her every so often to assess her bleeding. When she finally awoke, I gave her food to eat and helped her to the bathroom. It was then I learned the whole story...
She had a four year old daughter whom she was struggling to raise. When her daughter's father called last night she agreed to go out with him, even though they had been on bad terms. She was secretly hoping he would return to support her, to support his child, maybe he had changed. And as the night went on she became even more desperate, and the intimacy induced her labor and he was her only ride to the hospital. He was not the father of this child. He was not interested in staying in her life. And he never came back in the room after the task I assigned to him was done.
And now this baby whom she never intended to keep was here too early and the adoptive parents had not yet agreed and now what was she to do?
"He will be fine here," I promised her. "We can find parents for him. You are so brave to let him go."
She smiled for the first time. Her red lips smudged on but beautiful, her eyes now sparkling with tears. "I think," she said tentatively, "I will see him before I go. I want to say goodbye."
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