Perhaps I should hate this man but I don't.
I forgive him. And his wife who is sitting in the backseat. His very pregnant wife may I add. A wife who is currently giving birth to a little baby girl.
"Breathe." Phoebe informs the mother in her high, childish voice. The tears still slide down her face, morning for her lost grandmother. I wonder at how she can so easily help these people when she herself is in so much pain. I feel horrible she has to do this. She’s only four years old and yet she is so mature.
I hold hands with the lady who is currently squeezing my hand tightly. I think she broke at least four bones already. But I can't say as I care much really. Phoebe chatters away in a normal bubbly conversation distracting her. And when the contractions - and the pain - come she calmly tells her to breathe.
And I can't tell her if she's doing it correctly. For once in my life I don't know what to do. I have never witnessed childbirth and the only thing I know to do is tell the mother to breathe, which is a job Phoebe has taken over. I’m so proud of my baby sister.
I ask the father "What’s her name?"
He replies "She’s Marie and I'm Steve." His eyes are glued to the road. His pace is much slower now.
"Step on it." I order.
He peeks at me in the mirror. "I don't want a repeat of..." He trails off.
"The chances of it happening again are probably below zero. I don't want my sister and I to deliver this baby in the car." Steve puts his foot down.
I glance back to Marie "Breathe." I encourage. She gasps in a quick dose of air. Better than nothing I guess. “Deeply.” I add. She tries again and manages to take in more air this time. “Great.” I nod enthusiastically. Phoebe looks at me with concern. I look back and nod in encouragement. Phoebe seems to be a natural. I hope she is, for Marie's sake.
Marie grabs my arm with her other hand. "I need to push."
Is that normal? She hasn't been having contractions for that long! Her water hasn't even broke... "Try to hang on." I whisper to her. I wonder aloud “How long have you been in labour?”
She replies breathlessly “Long enough.” Her face scrunches up into one of extreme pain. She is in excruciating pain, I wish it wasn’t so bad. I wish I knew what I was doing. The car turns into the car park to the hospital.
I yell to Steve, all calm pretence gone. "Get a midwife, or nurse, or somebody! She's in no condition to move anywhere." He does as he's told, but not before Marie’s water breaks in a big gush. All over Steve. Marie’s pain is forgotten for a moment, even by Marie herself. We all burst out laughing at Steve’s condition. Everyone but Steve. He's run off to find a nurse still covered in fluids. Now that’s what you call dedication. On the bright side, at least he won't have to explain himself to the staff.
I turn back to Marie. Phoebe and I simultaneously encourage "Push!" I swear I hear a crack as Marie's tight grip breaks another bone. Marie pants breathlessly before she pushes once more. Where is the nurse? I glance around but no one is here.
Not so long after a nurse comes rushing out of the hospital, Steve leading the way. I glance down at Marie. She’s exhausted but she still has to keep going. Phoebe mutters to her “Come on!”
Marie gasps back. “I can’t.”
Phoebe looks at her. “Try.”
With a tight squeeze of my hand she gives a push with all the energy left in her. It’s not enough. The nurse is coming but she won’t be here in time to help. Marie flop’s her head back exhausted. Her eyelids are heavy. “If you push you get to see your beautiful baby girl.” I hum into her ear.
“You’ll get to choose a name. You’ll make sure nothing ever happens to her. You’ll look after her no matter what.” Phoebe and I tell her. Marie doesn’t have any strength left, but she can borrow mine. She can borrow Phoebes. With one last push a baby is born.
I pick her up and hug her close to me. I take one of the oversized petals from my skirt and tear it off. I wrap the little baby in it and hand her to Maria. “What’s her name?” Phoebe asks softly.
Maria rocks her gently to stop her crying. “What was her name?”
From the ‘was’ I know she means my grandmother. “Asha.” I tell her.
Marie looks down at her little baby girl. “Hello Asha. Is Asha your name little baby girl?” She asks in a cooing voice. The baby makes a sound of happiness. “Asha it is.” She says her voice becoming quieter. She holds her out to me and I take the innocent, newborn baby.
“Did you know Asha means hope?” Marie asks softly.
“No.” I say. “No, I didn’t.” Hope. A warm feeling spreads around me and I hold onto it because it feels like me. The me that doesn’t need to hide her true emotions. The me that’s friendly, happy and caring. The real me. The me that can get through this.
And then the tears come. Not a stray tear sliding down my face, but lots of them. This is a different crying to the last time. This crying is bittersweet. Bitter because I'm upset. Sweet because I'm not alone. Sweet because I have hope, litterally cradled in my arms. But what makes me the happiest is that theres more sweet than bitter.
Just then the nurse opens the car door breaking the silence. “Is everyone okay?”
We all nod and the nurse sighs with relief. She reaches over and takes the baby from Marie’s arms. Marie starts from her half sleep ready to protect her child. When she sees the nurse she sighs thankfully and drops into oblivion.
Phoebe’s eyelids droop too. We should all go inside the hospital now that were here but everyone is exhausted. It must only be around midday but my eyelids feel heavy. I feel tired and I don’t make it to a bed before I drop into a deep sleep.