The Wrong Choices

23. And then there's the babies.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Having a baby doesn't happen like it does in the movies. People don't just walk into the hospital, pop out a baby, then leave with a baby just like that. I wish.

We've been here for over eight hours now. Every so often, a midwife comes in, checking how far Sandra is dilated (8cm as of an hour ago) and I fidget awkwardly, not knowing where to look. Sandra's always had this thing about painkillers, even when she has the worst muscle cramp or a migraine so bad that she has to go into a dark room, she won't take a painkiller. It's crazy, I mean, why wouldn't you take something to take away the pain? It's beyond me. So, for this reason, Sandra wholly turns down an epidural.

"Are you mad? You're actually gonna choose pain?" Mum says, trying to convince her otherwise.

"What did I just say, Lydia? I said no, I don't want it," Sandra snaps. She's always calm and it scares me to see her like this. I suppose everybody has a breaking point and Sandra's obviously reached hers.

Sandra grips my hand again, it's getting tighter every time and with the contractions only a minute apart, I barely have time to prepare myself.

"For fuck's sake cervix, why can't you just open already!" She whimpers, squeezing my hand sharply.

"You're nearly there, Sandra," I say supportively. Over the past few hours there's been loads of women through the ward. They come, they leave, then another replaces them. And then there's the babies. They're everywhere. It's not like you even see them, you just hear the crying everywhere. Who knew that something so small and cute could make that much noise?

The midwife walks into the ward again. I say midwife, but it's a man and I'm debating whether he should be called a midhusband. He's one of those people that carries an aura of calmness around everywhere, spreading it around the patients. He's young, I'd guess that he's around thirty-two or thirty-three and he's got the calmest eyes I've ever seen. They're golden brown and angled slightly downwards but not so much that he looks permanently concerned.

"How are we doing now?" He asks Sandra, a kind smile on his face. He lifts his clipboard up, scribbling something on it with his pen.

Sandra brushes a lump of her auburn hair off her face. "Fan-tastic," she answers, sounding as if she's trying to stop the sarcasm from escaping.

"9 centimetres," he says when he checks how far Sandra's dilated. "You're ready."

"You're ready," Mum repeats, smiling reassuringly.

"Okay," Sandra sighs slowly.

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The room reminds me of a dentist's surgery. Light coloured walls and random equipment neatly ordered on the counter. The only difference is that instead of a chair, there's a bed and instead of a tooth being extracted, it's a baby.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Sandra moans as she gets her next contraction. The midwives are prepping for the birth, arranging the equipment, trying to make Sandra comfortable and just generally whizzing around the place.

"You never told me it took this long, Lydia."

"Don't worry, it's not much longer," she answers.

"You better not be lying to me or- aaaahhhhhhh- I need to push!"

"You have to wait, Sandra," I say.

"Okay, are we ready?" The midwife from earlier says, smiling again.

"You look here, Mister Serenity or whatever the hell your name is, I don't see you having any babies so stop stop acting like its such a fucking breeze," Sandra snaps, her face clenching again with the next contraction. I take her hand in my, squeezing it.