Moments.
Split second decisions, the quiet stillness of contemplation or even sudden and unexpected interventions of fate - gifts from the angels themselves. They make up the building blocks of our very existence, commanding the direction of changes and transitions from one chapter of our lives to the next. No matter how hard we hold on, attempting to force moments to align with an idealised perception of the future that we had in our head is entirely pointless; moments can be chaotic little things. They are also not impartial to sneakiness.
Sometimes, and more often to than most people realise, the biggest moments greet us quietly and without fuss. At the time, we may barely notice they are even happening, entirely unaware of the consequences about to unfold. Slipping into our lives like quiet whispers.
For Sanem, falling in love with Can had been one of these moments. It had crept up on her slowly, and when she had finally accepted her feelings for what they were, they had already taken up such a familiar place in her heart that it just felt normal; like something she'd been holding for years, she couldn't remember life without it. Falling pregnant had been the same. The life growing in her womb had started off so discreetly, as if he were a beautiful secret her body was trying to keep. After the initial shock, progressing slowly and gently, allowing her time to adjust to every little change before the next one came along, introducing her gradually and gently to the concept of becoming a mother.
But sometimes - as it would becoming alarmingly obvious to Sanem - moments are not quiet, they are not discreet, nor are they gentle, and they certainly don't give you time to adjust before colliding into your life like a freight train.
The morning had started so peacefully. She'd woken up to find Can had wriggled down the bed, repeating the same ritualistic 'good morning' to the baby he'd been doing for weeks.
Sanem smiled, then rolled over to discover it was well past 10 am. A frustrating and equally endearing consequence of Can's recently developed habit of turning off her morning alarm before she had the chance to wake up. While she'd been working, it had regularly caused them to stumble into the office well past clock in time. Despite the fact she was now abstaining from work, it was still mildly irritating; she didn't want to waste the day away in bed. But she loved him for it anyway.
Can disappeared into the bathroom as she nudged away the dozing cats who were still curled up against her. She groaned, the movement making her aware of an unpleasant ache in her hips.
She wasn't surprised. Her long list of discomforts had been getting longer over the last few days.
She'd been spending most of her time with Aziz, lazying around either her own or Emre's house, watching movies, playing board games or just talking for hours on end. Napping when they needed to and sending the odd message back and forth from the office when someone needed her assistance. Both being equally as physically inebriated as the other, messing around with Aziz wheelchair and taking it in turns to encourage the other on short walks around the garden was about all they could manage. Arslan proved a faithful walking aid. Allowing them to lean on him for balance support.
Sanem wasn't even dissuaded by Huma's presence. And even tolerated her mother-in-law in joining them in her own home when it was Sanem's turn to host. The animals stayed well clear of her, but that was probably for the best.
But today, Aziz was visiting the hospital for some routine check-ups, so Sanem was entrusted under the supervision of Deren for a few hours while Can, Leyla and Emre attended a lunch meeting with the Kırmızı Kurt's CEO.
"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Can asked for the fifth time after dropping her off at the office. "I'll keep my phone on the whole time in case -"
"Can, stop it. My due date is still three weeks away. You're literally going to be a forty-minute drive from here. Nothing catastrophic is going to happen that means you won't be able to reach me if you need to. Stop stressing and go, or you're going to be late." She laughed and gave him a kiss goodbye.
Sanem wasn't going to waste her time in the office. There was work to be done and instead of idle chatter, she set to reviewing the designs for Remide with Deren. They'd clearly been suffering in her absence, none of the others seemed to understand the difference between a full sized chicken and a bantam. They were in need of their ornithologist.
"There is a very big difference, Ceycey." Sanem explained. "Remide would have your head off for saying that. Bantam eggs are far more valuable because -"
"Okay! Okay Sanem, I get your point. We'll draw them smaller." He surrendered.
Naturally, the freight train chose a less than ideal time to arrive.
The waves came more gently than they had the first time. Barely strong enough to register her notice at the start, then developing in intensity until she could no longer ignore them. Okay, just breath Sanem. It's probably Braxton Hicks again. You've been standing up for too long, that's all. They'll go away in a minute.
They didn't.
She was with Deren in her office when the waves progressed slowly into agony. It was the first time Sanem had been unable to mask the discomfort on her face. She turned white, bracing her hands against the table.
Deren stared at her, worry obvious on her face. "Sanem?"
"I'm fine." Sanem winced, closing her eyes and trying to recall the breathing exercises she'd been taught.
"You sure? You don't look it."
"No, I'm fine. I'm just-" She took another deep breath. "I'm just having contractions."
Deren gaped at her in shock. "Sanem! How long have they been happening?"
"For about two hours." She answered, nonchalant.
"Why didn't you say anything? Deren squeaked, bolting out of her chair.
"It wouldn't have made a difference anyway. They told us not to come to the hospital until they were five minutes apart." It had been twelve minutes since her last one and the fact she could still form logical sentences while it was happening must have been a good sign. Right? "Can will be back in an hour. It'll be fine. There's no need to make a scene about it."
"Sanem, you're going into labour. I think this situation allows for a bit of a scene."
Can nearly fell out of his chair when Deren's name appeared on his phone screen half an hour later. He shot up from the table, excusing himself to the baffled CEO as Emre and Leyla shot him a concerned glance.
He pushed his was through the restaurant door, urgently tapping the answer button. "What happening?"
"Can," Deren sounded panicked, her voice was shaking. "You need to meet us at the hospital. The baby's coming."
"Really? Now? Right now? Are you sure it's not just a false alarm?" Naysül had warned it was likely to happen again, but it wasn't Deren he was trying to convince.
In reply, Deren simply turned the phone onto loudspeaker - allowing him to hear Sanem's muffled wailing in the background. Can winced.
Deren continued speaking in a panicked rush. Something about Sanem's water breaking; six minutes apart and - something else? It took him a minute to realise she must have been shouting at Arslan.
"Ceycey! Get the dog." He heard Deren yell in the background. "I'm going to drive her to the hospital. Meet us there."
"Tamam." He was already on his way to the car.
--- --- ---
Can found them still stuck in the hospital car park. Sanem had attempted to exit the passenger side but stalled when another contraction hit, and before Deren could have the sense to fetch a wheelchair, Can rushed over to them.
Sanem reached out for him, whimpering in relief that he had arrived. Instinctively, he swept his wife up in his arms, carrying her into the building, leaving Deren bewildered and slightly shell shocked.
"Why is it always me?" Deren collapsed back into her car, greeted by Arslan's soft, concerned eyes staring at her. Deren groaned.
Greeted by a startled receptionist, Can was quickly directed through to a birthing suite. Sanem's head was nestled into his chest, her hand clutching onto his t-shirt as she breathed through the pain. He felt guilty letting go of her as he put her down on the hospital bed.
The room was spacious, modern, with a large window overlooking a wide view of the bay - perhaps Can would have appreciated it more if his wife wasn't red-faced and bent over in pain. It was tearing his heart into pieces. Yet at the same time, he couldn't help feeling guilty for the quiet excitement brewing in his veins.
In a moment of lucidity, Sanem opted to sit on an exercise ball, swaying slightly as she rested her head and arms against the edge of the hospital bed. Her hair had been hastily tied up into a scruffy bun, but Sanem didn't seem to have the mind to care. Can sat behind her on a chair, massaging her back in the way he'd been taught and doing his best to stop his hands shaking.
A midwife entered the room a while later, smiling softly as she introduced herself as Mari.
Sanem lifted her chest off the mattress on shaky arms. "I'm only thirty-seven weeks along. It's a bit early isn't it, is he going to be okay?"
Mari smiled sweetly. "It's slightly pre-term but nothing to worry about. If the baby is coming now then he's decided he's ready."
--- --- ---
Minutes bled agonisingly slowly into hours as Sanem did her best to concentrate on breathing. She wasn't aware of when she had been given the Entonox respirator but she had been clinging onto it for dear life ever since. Laughing gas. The name must have been a joke because it wasn't making her laugh. The effects were barely negligible, but it was the only small comfort she had, aside from Can, but she wasn't particularly fond of him at the moment. Everything hurt. Her back was killing her. Her pelvis ached. It felt like her uterus was tying itself into damn sailor's knots, every five minutes it would unravel - allowing her a brief respite before it started all over again. The contractions were relentless, and she'd been barred from anything stronger - she should have listened to Deren. Apparently, she'd arrived at the hospital too far dilated to be allowed more substantial drugs. It was awful. And she decided it was entirely his fault.
Can better be happy with just the one kid because there was no way in freaking hell that she was going to -
Owwww. Allah that hurt. She couldn't stop the wail that escaped from her chest. Can's frantic hand cling onto hers.
No. She was definitely not doing this ever again. Even if it meant keeping Can away from her with a five-foot bargepole for the rest of their lives.
It ebbed away. Sanem kept her eyes closed, maybe she shouldn't have spent so much time laughing in those birthing classes. Maybe she would have been better prepared.
Can stood next to her, feeling numb and hopeless. He didn't know how to help. Every attempt he had made to comfort her had been received with a scowl. He'd tried encouraging her, talking to her, but he'd been told to shut up. Can didn't blame her, she looked like she was going through hell, he was aching to find a way to help.
His hand was going numb, which only helped to lessen the pain caused by her gripping onto it so fiercely. It seemed a fair trade.
It all seemed to be happening faster than they'd been expecting. Was everything okay? Was this normal? The midwife had to keep reassuring him it was.
It was not long before another barrage of pain rolled through her. Starting from her lower back and spreading out through her abdomen. Something shifted with this one. She suddenly felt the urge to bear down. She reached out for Can's hand again, clamping down on it like a vice. She went back to focusing on her breathing. She wasn't very good at it. The midwife had to keep prompting her.
Breath. Surely if the baby was coming early, then he should be smaller? Easier? It was the one positive thing she had come up with when the realisation that she was going into labour had struck her earlier. She'd been wrong.
Breath. She knew she was releasing an embarrassing bedlam of noises, but who cared. Who cared when it hurt so much.
Breath. Her knuckles on her other hand were turning white where they gripped onto the side of the bed. Her skin clammy and red from exhaustion and pain. She must have been getting close by now?
Sanem whined in relief as it faded away. She closed her eyes, trying to rest for a moment.
"It's time now, Sanem. Be ready to start pushing with the next one." The midwife finally gave her the go ahead. Sanem whimpered, partially in relief that it was nearly over and partially in fear of what was to come. She glanced at Can who did his best to give her a reassuring smile - he looked terrified.
She let out a pained laugh at his expression. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For being grumpy with you."
Can smiled, the fear in his eyes giving way to their usual brightness. "Don't worry about me. I can take whatever you dish out. Do your worst."
--- --- ---
"Breath, Sanem." She hadn't even realised she hadn't been. "That's it. Push a bit more for me sweetheart."
"Sanem, we are going to need you to move onto your side. The baby isn't quite in the right position. Everything's fine. But it would be better if you could move over." The midwife prompted. Sanem cautiously shifted herself with Can's help. Clutching onto the Entonox respirator and taking another deep breath as she adjusted to the new position. She sighed, this was much more comfortable.
"Sir, would you mind holder her leg out of the way," Mari instructed. Can nodded, breathless, before moving to do as told. Sanem wasn't happy when he let go of her hand, immediately clutching back onto it when he had resettled further down the bed. One arm hooked under her knee and holding it up, allowing her to brace against it, as his other entwined with her fingers. Overwhelmingly grateful that he was here and regretting the countless times she'd sworn at him in the last hour, she gave him a shaky smile, which he returned.
"Okay. That's better, Sanem." The midwife praised. "Not long now."
From this angle Sanem could see the monitor screens, she'd been listening when the nurse explained all the graphs and numbers but she hadn't taken much of it in. There was only one that stood out, her eyes were drawn to it. An electrocardiogram. The result of a monitor strapped to her belly, watching over the baby's heart rate. The fast yet gentle rise and fall of the peaks was warmly reassuring. He was so close. She was going to get to meet him soon.
Sanem banished all thought of pain, exhaustion and unfamiliar, white hospitals rooms from her mind. Watching the lines on the graph flicker up and down and letting it fuel a determination she was sure had run out hours ago. Allowing the remnants of her courage to flicker to life until it formed a burning and unwavering fire in her heart, using it as armor to fight off the agony that was creeping its way back in. She was so achingly desperate to meet him.
All she needed to do was push.