The Unwinding

Emaline’s water broke in the middle of the night. It felt like she had just wet the bed. It wasn’t supposed to be time yet; three weeks were left of her turbulent pregnancy. Before they even got to the OB, she knew what the answer was going to be.

“You see that foggy fluid collecting here?” The doctor gestured with his free hand at the speculum that he held aloft to show, “That’s amniotic fluid. It’s time.”

Dara, her mother-in-law, squeezed her hand twice quickly and whisked her away to the hospital. It was not a small building, but the walls felt closer together than when she had toured it with Ansel. She remembered the painting of a sailboat on a lake that stood across from the elevator leading upwards to the maternity ward. The shape of the hallway leading to the front desk felt familiar. Dara asked for a wheelchair, citing the fact that it was three weeks before the due date. A nurse obliged with a nod and a smile, then carefully strolled with Emaline down the hall and around the corner. There she was deposited into a delivery room with a line of curtained windows facing the suburban city.

Before she stood from the wheelchair, she felt a small, tight grip clench deep within her gut. She sucked in her breath and braced both feet against the ground.

Dara sensed this and took her hand to help her get to the birthing bed. “Should we try to get ahold of Ansel?” Dara questioned softly. Emaline saw a flash of red and shook her head, while at the same time her face crumpled like a paper bag in a strong hand. Even after everything, she DID want him there… but she knew he was long gone.

“No,” she muttered as she slipped into the paper hospital gown. “I wouldn’t know where to call, anyway.”

The older woman sighed and began folding Emaline’s clothes in tight little squares, which she tucked into a large duffel bag she had brought. Inside, there were pillows, blankets, pajama pants, and large plain white underwear. Emaline was grateful to have a woman by her side who had given birth three times, even if it wasn’t her own mother. For all the hurtful things Ansel had done to Emaline, she was continuously shocked by the gentle and sweet nature of her mother-in-law. Where had it all gone wrong?

A vivid memory took hold of her mind like a train. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Ansel’s SUV, huddled against the door and actually debating throwing her 5-month pregnant body from the vehicle. She felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes and the rush of cortisol as the volume of yelling steadily increased within the small confined space. She couldn’t get out: he wouldn’t stop the car. She couldn’t ask him to stop: he didn’t know how. When she started to cry uncontrollably, he threatened to end their marriage if she didn’t stop. There was no stopping him - only stopping herself from acting.

The warmth of Dara’s hand on hers snapped her back into the present moment. She looked up at her and realized that she had begun to cry.

“I know, sweetheart…” Dara patted Emaline’s hand and sat as close as her chair would allow. “I know you want him here. I do, too. But…” Her face darkened slightly as her eyes fell to the side. “Maybe it’s better that he’s not here…”

Emaline nodded weakly. She could feel the vice in her lower stomach tightening again. She tensed and rode the wave through deep breaths. How was she going to do this alone?

Her mother and father lived in separate states. They had divorced while she was a teenager. Neither had been able to come to help when the time came. Dara and her other son, Anwell, had been her only company and support. He was nothing like his brother. He was tall, had gray eyes and a melodic voice, and Emaline had caught him playing guitar softly to himself when he thought no one was listening.

Anwell had been the first person to say something to his brother about… everything.

“You know… pregnancy is already hard enough. Being a dick isn’t going to make her or your kid any healthier.”

Ansel had quickly snapped back, “Whose side are you on, anyway? She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

That had been the end of it.

The sound of her stomach rumbling prompted Dara to grab the hospital cafeteria menu for her. Emaline selected a boiled egg and a can of V8. Her appetite hadn’t been what it used to be, not since the pregnancy began. She had frequently caught herself starving herself for an entire day or week, only nibbling on a cracker or drinking a glass of milk to keep suspicions down. She knew this wasn’t good for the baby - she knew a lot of things weren’t good for the baby. She took pride in not smoking or drinking. Food was just… something she had zero interest in when her gut was constantly clenched in the grip of fear. When any meal could easily end up down the garbage disposal or thrown across the room, anything edible sounded like a nightmare. There had been food cravings, for sure. Macaroni and cheese, cottage cheese, string cheese, cream cheese. Obviously it was a dairy thing.

The egg and can of vegetable juice showed up shortly, and she sipped and nibbled. The quaking in her stomach subsided mercifully, just in time for the cramps to settle in and make a nest out of her intestines. She moaned pitifully and curled on her side, squeezing the sheets in her hands and pulling them up over her. Dara didn’t say anything, simply reached over and petted her hair softly with one hand. After it passed, Emaline looked up with dazed eyes at the clock. It was only 11 o’ clock in the morning. She remembered something about the amount of time between contractions getting shorter and shorter until they were almost back to back. She was not looking forward to that bit.

It was at about this time that Dara pulled out a battery operated cd player and put it on a nearby table. Without asking, she flicked it on and surfed through channels until she reached a lilting flute piece, accompanied by violins and a swell of strings. Emaline felt herself falling into her own mind until another contraction slapped her in the face. This went on for several hours, until somewhere around 5 pm when she lost the ability to float away from what was happening. Her legs felt like the bones were about to splinter from the inside. Her pelvis felt like the floor of a boiling pot of water. She whined in a pitch that she tried to hide in her fist, but to no avail. At this point, a nurse came in and spoke softly to Dara. The elderly woman came close to Emaline and took her hand. “It’s time for the epidural, sweetie,” she cooed. Emaline nodded heavily, unable to look into anyone’s eyes. She felt her head swimming in huge loops that bumped into each wall of the room. Her focus felt like both eyes were looking in different directions. Her stomach twisted and tried to evacuate the small amount of food she had eaten. She felt hands helping her to sit up, heard soft voices asking her to extend her lower back and lift her shoulders. “The doctor’s gotta get in your spine,” they said. “Sit up taller, don’t move. Hold your breath. Close your eyes. Oh, don’t move, honey.”

She sucked in her breath as there was a small pinch in the small of her back. She felt a flood of numbness almost instantly, and the small movements of the doctor’s hands against her back as he fed the medicinal tube into her spinal cord. Then there was a large sticker-like thing applied to keep it all in place and sanitary, and she was allowed to gingerly lie back. The sun began to set, as did the pain and dizziness. She could look into Dara’s face again before too long. How soft it seemed, how concerned but also calm. Dara fed the weakened woman some soup that had materialized from nowhere. Emaline could feel her legs disconnecting from her body, almost as if they had slipped into a pit where she could no longer sense their presence in space. She rolled onto her right side, late at night, and finally fell asleep between the waves of pain.

She woke up to the realization that her right leg had disappeared. “Ma?” she cried, trying to rotate her torso without success.

Dara materialized at her side. “Yeah, baby,” she took Emaline’s hand.

“I can’t feel… my leg,” she whispered in awe. Dara stared for a second, alarmed, and then burst into laughter. Emaline’s face scrunched up as she tried to turn again, but found herself turned to stone. While holding on tightly with both hands around the offered forearm, she shifted until she felt like her hips were something resembling even, though she couldn’t rightly feel whether it was or not. She laid back with a heavy sigh and stared out the windows at the rising sun. Before hardly ten minutes had passed, there was a nurse asking to look between her legs. She knew this was what came next, but she was still reluctant to lift her left and slide down. With some assistance, she was able to bend her right leg.

“Oh! My goodness, we’re already eight centimeters. Someone let the doctor know, we’re delivering any minute!”

Emaline felt her face flush and her eyes darted to Dara, who cupped her hand against her breast and gave a watery-eyed, knowing smile. They began a slow drip of Pitocin, and before she knew what was happening, there were three other people in the room, all introduced with a soft nod and an application of fresh gloves. She was shown how to hold her legs with her own hands, and when a nurse began to push on her right foot she shook her head furiously. She knew what her body needed, as soon as they told her where to put her hands. It was like stepping into a rushing river but knowing innately how to swim. The mild drugs were making everything slur together just slightly, everything except the pressure that built and built at her core. Her breathing began to heave as she was directed by comforting hands, and before ten pushes had passed, she heard everyone let out a cry and she saw something small and red between her legs. She affixed her eyes, noticing the cord wrapped around the baby’s neck and feeling a quick rush of panic. It melted instantly when she heard the cry and saw that, “It’s a boy!!!” The overflow of laughter and sobbing and clutching took her. The child was placed against her naked chest and she clung to him, hushing “I’m here, I’m here,” as he wailed pitifully and grasped at her. A blanket was ushered around them and she held him as tenderly as though he were her very heart, lying exposed on her chest. She knew peripherally that Dara was asked gently to cut the cord, and she obliged with a sweet smile. Her focus was wholly, entirely, almost blindly, attuned to the very small creature that just hours earlier had been pushing on the inside of her stomach. He was beautiful. He was perfect. She wept and held him.