Ethel 'n Opal

epilogue

I mean, just this morning I was making her breakfast. She sat at the kitchen island all glow-y and beautiful. I cooked for her and Miah and fed them to their hearts content, satisfied that my wife was pregnant and happy. But the minute she gave me that look while we were in the shower, I just knew something was wrong. We came in around three this evening. Despite it now being far past twelve a.m., we still haven't left this room since.

Ethel nods slowly, curling into herself while she shifts on her side. "Mmmaauugggghhh..." She starts groaning again. I go to rub her arm gently but the minute my hand comes in contact with her skin, she pushes it away. And then she whines about it a few seconds later. The irony of the situation elicits a small huff. But right in the midst of rolling my eyes, the door opens.

"How are you holding up Mrs. Trevor-Dixon?" Ethel glares at the nurse, not saying a word. "Okay, well I'm just making sure everything is going as smoothly as possible with you." She laughs it off easily, checks on Ethel's vitals, examines how far dilated she is, and adjust the level of epidural coming through her tube.

"From a level of one to ten, how bad is it Ma'am?"

"One fucking thousand! Fuck!" Ethel growls, her response slightly muffled by the pillow. The nurse's brows furrow sympathetically.

"You just hold on for a bit longer okay? You're already six centimeters along, just four more and you're set to start pushing-"

"Mownum?" Ethel doesn't bother to lift her head up, she opts to continue groaning in the pillow instead.

"I'm sorry?"

"She uh," I clear my throat, my cheeks heating when my wife reaches back to pull me closer behind her, "she asked how long?" The nurse nods appreciatively and smiles while handing me a refilled cup of water so I can get Ethel to try and drink some more fluids.

"I say give it another hour, two tops."

"Wmmmyyyy!" The nurse leaves me to deal with the new onset of tears. They're triggered on and off for the next hour of her labor and I do my best to make sure she's comfortable within that time. She needs a blanket? I got it. Turn down the the thermostat? Sure, I don't mind freezing to death. Wanna break my hand? Have at it. 

Our family visits every now and then and I'm lucky if they can distract her from the pain longer than three minutes. Honestly, I'm just grateful Sebastion and Marc stayed at our new home to babysit Mariah. They'd be bringing her over later on tomorrow. 

As restless as I am, there's nothing else to do really but wait. So I do just that. And with every agonizingly slow second that goes by, I make sure to be there at her side. I don't think the moment could come soon enough though.

"Alright Mrs. Trevor-Dixon, I'm going to need one more push. Just one more and it's over." The doctor gently encourages but Ethel sobs, going on to hide her face in my stomach.

"I can't do it O'. I'm scared. I c-can't... It-it hurtsss so ba-ad. They gotta cut him out - I-I-I can't, they gotta."

"Yes you can love." I kiss her clammy forehead, tenderly pushing away some of the loose baby hairs that cling to it. "You've come so far, it's too late to cut him out now." She shakes her head against me stubbornly. Everybody gives us worried looks but I ignore all the doctors and nurses in the room for a moment, whispering softly in her ear.