9 Weeks: Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Onset

My head swam, trying to pull me from my latest nightmare and back into reality. My vision was blurred, and I frantically rubbed my eyes. I slowly shifted into a sitting position, my handing fumbling around on my nightstand for my glasses. Slipping them on, I tiredly looked around the apartment. It was pitch black, sans the stream of light peering from under the bathroom door. Having to “go” at least six times over the course of one night, I learned to keep it on.
“Why am I awake?” I mumbled aloud to myself.
I pushed through the fog of my mind in hope of remembering the dream I’d just had. Nothing specific came up, but the dream had been filled with a lot of pain. Pain so brutal, I swore it was real. I shuddered, shaking it off, and turned my eyes to the glowing blue clock. It read 1:45.
“Oh Cod...” I groaned. I was so tired, but why couldn’t I sleep?
I glanced around the dark room, my eyes settling on the cradle. I often found myself staring at it and the entire corner I’d set aside for the baby. Changing table, stuffed toys, playpen, highchair in the kitchen. Mom had even given me her old rocking chair. Much like the cradle, none of my sisters had wanted it. I took it gratefully, and lately I’d been using it to rock myself to sleep after waking up in the middle of the night. I might have been prepared material wise, but definitely not mentally.
I sat  back against the headboard, letting myself be weighed down by her. I knew I should’ve laid back down and counted sheep-fish, but something propelled me to do the opposite. I swung my tail over the side of the bed and flipped on my bedside lamp. The baby suddenly shifted upwards, causing minor discomfort.
“OK kiddo, you’re awake, so I’m awake.” I sighed, staring down at my bump. “What do you want?”
I felt that familiar feeling from deep within my stomach, like I wanted to skewer a pineapple with a dill pickle. Damn cravings.
“You’re hungry. That means I’m hungry. Fantastic.”
One hand grasped the headboard, the other fisted the mattress as I mentally prepared myself to get out of bed. I exhaled, and slowly got upright once more. Of course, it’d be another struggle to get back in the bed later. I steadied myself and at the same time gently massaged the small of my back.
“Is there a part of my body you don’t bring pain to?”  
I didn’t love the way I’d worded that, but I realized she had no clue what I was saying. It probably all sounded like white noise. I kept one hand on the wall as I moved towards the kitchen, as if somehow trying to keep my balance. I rested the other hand on my stomach, trying to quiet the baby’s erratic movement. Nearly into my 10th week, and with how large she was, it wasn’t at all enjoyable.
I entered the kitchen and flipped the switch, flooding the room with glaring light. Opening the fridge, I pulled out the carton of pineapple juice and the pickle jar. I poured the pineapple juice and pickle juice into one glass, stirred, and sipped. A frightening concoction, really, but she did inevitably quiet down. The pregnancy had possessed my taste buds, and quite frankly the drink tasted pretty good. I gulped the first half of the glass in one go.
“Satisfied?” I asked her.
‘This is wrong on so many levels.’ I thought, but continued to drink.
I took a moment to look out the window. The store was closed, and the lights were off with the exception of one Luxo lamp. It gave off a bluish hue, and provided a comforting glow to the tanks after hours. It didn’t come close to the real moon, I’d seen that, but it was something of a substitute.  
The soreness in my back returning, I decided to take the rest of the glass to the comfort of my bed. Halfway out of the kitchen, I paused. A strange feeling had come over me. The cramping that had begun in my back had shifted, and a new pain washed over my midriff. It was subtle at first, but, as if it had known I’d noticed it, suddenly became severe.  I cried out in a mix of surprise and agony, releasing the glass. It floated away from my grasp as I was brought to the floor from this new level of pain.
“Oh Cod, oh Cod, oh Cod…” I panted, my whole body seizing.  
I descended to the floor into a tense fetal position. My arms were wrapped protectively, almost instinctively, around my bump. A random thought dashed through my head. It was of something I’d read in one of the prenatal guides.
“Seahorses are more likely to begin the delivery process at night, as per ancestral instinct. It is to be ready for the female’s next clutch the following morning.” The book read.
I was in labor. Of course. The pain suddenly worsened. I tried desperately to avoid screaming at all costs, for my neighbors would surely hear me through the paper-thin walls.
‘Neighbors…Marc…’ I thought. Marc would know what to do.
The pain subsided at last, and I shakily got off the floor. I grabbed my robe off the bed post and made my way to the door. I hesitated, waiting to see if more pain would come. Five minutes passed, and nothing happened. I undid the locks and threw the door open. Holding my robe closed with one hand, and steading myself with the other, I carefully made it across the hall. I kept one hand on the wall, preparing myself for more pain, and gently knocked on the door.
“Marc.” I called, too softly. It was in the middle of the night. He was as awake as a corpse.
I pounded on the door harder, carefully checking for disturbed neighbors. No other doors opened. Before I could knock again, another contraction was upon me. My hand moved to the door frame, gripping it in a desperate attempt not to fall again. This time, I didn’t care about volume control. Fear and pain won. My fist slammed against the wood repeatedly.
“Marc! Cora! Anybody! Open the Coddamn door!” I cried with no restraint.  
I leaned against the doorframe the best I could, the tightening encompassing me again. Finally, I heard the sound of clicking locks. The door slowly swung open.
“Dan? What are you…what time is it?” Marc murmured, rubbing his eyes.
“She’s coming…” I panted.
“Huh? What?”
“It’s…time…” I began sliding to the floor again.
Marc’s eyes flew open, and his arm shot under mine, firmly pulling me upward.
“I gotcha’, I gotcha’. You OK?” He asked, slowly leading me inside.
“I think so. The pain’s…ebbing.” I breathed.
“Good, good. Just try to relax.” Marc instructed, sitting me on his couch.
I adjusted myself, trying to get more comfy. My back was still incredibly tight, and I realized that I’d never feel fully comfortable again until the baby was out. My eyes roved around the room, and I spotted Cora lying in the bed, staring hazily at the both of us.  
“It’s almost 2 in the morning. What the hell is Dan doing here?” Cora snapped.
“He’s in labor. Why else would he be here?” Marc answered for me.
“So should I get the towels, boil some water…”  Cora said, practically rolling out of the bed.
“She’s joking, right?” I asked, heart pounding.
“Of course she is. Cora, just put some clothes on. We’re going to the hospital.” Marc said.
I thought about asking if I should get dressed, too. But then I remembered I was just going to be in a gown all night, and kept my mouth shut.  
“Do you mind if I check you?” Marc asked me.
“I guess not…wait, what?” I said, not awake enough.
“I want to check your dilation. You might not need to go to the hospital right away.”
“Um, OK.” I said, not sure how that worked.
“Lift up your shirt.” Marc instructed.
I obliged, watching him wash his hands in the kitchen. I glanced down momentarily, and cried out in shock. There was now what appeared to be a finger-wide opening bridging the gap between my sternum and my stomach.
“Marc! What is that thing?!” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“That would be the opening of your brood pouch. It’s been closed tight until now.” He explained, carefully examining the opening.  
“You’re telling me that’s where she’ll…come out?” I asked, looking away. I didn’t want to look at it.
“It gets wider.” Marc chuckled.
“That doesn’t make me feel a lot better!”
“Now, have you felt any fluid leaking out of this area? Sort of a white or clear substance?”
“No.” I said, raising my eyebrow.
“You sure?” He asked.
“Positive.”  
“You’re pretty far along. How certain are you that the contractions just started?”
“Pretty certain…wait…” I said, pulling my shirt down.
“What?” He raised his eyebrow.
“Well, I don’t remember much about the dream I was having, but I remember a lot of pain. Could it be possible I was…I mean, in my sleep?”  
“Maybe. The pain should’ve woken you up, but if you were tired enough. Oh well, no matter. We’re going to the hospital anyway.” Marc said, leaving to get dressed.  
I was in the middle of tying my robe closed, when the next contraction snuck up on me.
“Ah! COD!” I cried out, gripping the couch cushion.
“Breathe.” Marc reminded me, changing out of his night shirt.
“Helpful…” I muttered sarcastically.
Despite my comment, the breathing did help, if only momentarily. Still, I didn’t need the books to know that the pain could only get worse from here.
“Cheese and crackers…” I hissed, slowly laying down on the couch.
Nausea swept over me, and my tail curled. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to imagine being somewhere more pleasant.
“Hanging in there?” Marc asked.
“If you say so…” I breathed, relaxing my grip on the cushion.
The contraction had dissipated, and I slowly opened my eyes again. I idly looked at my hand, which quickly grabbed my full attention. Its normal green hue had faded to a chalk white. I cried out in surprise when I discovered it wasn’t just my hand, but my whole body.
“What’s wrong?” Marc asked in response.
“Have I been like this the whole time?!” I cried, my gaze shifting between Marc and my quavering hand.
“Huh?” He raised an eyebrow.  
“My pigment is gone! What’s wrong with me?!”
Marc chuckled at my panic, which confused me immensely.
“Did you even READ all those books?” He scoffed.
“Of course I did!”
“Then you would remember that, like chameleons, we can change colors. It’s uncontrollable when we’re under stress. Sometimes I doubt you know anything about your own species.” Marc scoffed.
“No need to rub it in…” I mumbled, staring at my now completely white arm. I flexed it. It didn’t feel different, but it was still incredibly unnerving.
“Cora, are you dressing for the prom? What is taking you so long?” Marc asked, eyeing me anxiously.
“Makeup takes time!” She responded from the bathroom.
“Why in Cod’s name are you wearing makeup? We’re going to a hospital at two in the morning! None of us look good!” Marc growled.
“I just didn’t want to seem too tired.” Cora said as she floated back into the room. She was busily tying up her second pigtail.
“Once again, we’re…oh never mind!” Marc said.  
“Can we, uh, move this along? I didn’t exactly sign up for a home birth.” I muttered, losing my patience.
Marc immediately proceeded to hoist me off the couch. He pinned my arm to his side, in case I’d need the extra support.
“Why are you white?” Cora asked me, taking my other arm.
“I’ll tell you later.” Marc said, ushering me towards the door.
“Wait, wait, wait…” I said, causing Marc and Cora to freeze in place.
“What is it?” Marc asked.
“Contraction?” Cora piped up.
“Don’t freak out. I just want my phone.” I sighed.
“Oh. Is it in your apartment? I’ll get it.” Cora said.
“Bedside table.” I said.
Cora took my keys and rushed off. I leaned against the doorway and breathed steadily.
“You doing alright?” Marc questioned.
I nodded, though grimacing.
“Nausea.” I said.
“I almost forgot, do you have your overnight bag?”
“Trunk of my car. It’s been there for a week.”
“Car seat in there, too?”
“Mm’hm.” I said.
“Got it, got it!” Cora said, speeding out of my apartment.
She shoved the cell phone into my hand and I hastily crammed it into my robe pocket.
“I just remembered something that’s going to irk you.” Cora said, placing her fin in my grip.
“What now?” I asked.
“We’re on the fourth floor, and there’s no elevator in this building.”
Marc and I groaned in unison. The idea of climbing all those flights, even if we were descending, seemed daunting. Though slow and steady, and pausing once for another contraction, we did manage to get to my car.
“So,” Cora said, dangling my keychain in her fin, “who wants to drive?”
I immediately snatched the keys out of her grip and handed them to Marc.
“I’ve seen you drive a motorcycle. No thanks.” I said.
“We didn’t crash, did we?” She said.
“Not a strong argument. And I drive for a living.” Marc said.
“Fine. But I call shotgun.”
“Cora, I love you, but you are so immature.” Marc said.
“Aw, you love me?” Cora said, faking surprise.
“I honestly couldn’t care less right now. Can we get in the car please?” I snapped.
“I’m sorry, Dan. Did you want the front seat?” She asked.
“Honestly, right now, I think I want to lie down.” I breathed, feeling my stomach contracting under my touch.
“OK, OK. Stay calm.” Marc said, helping me into the backseat.
“I’m fine. Drive. Please, please drive.”
I curled up into myself, panting heavily. I bit my fist to distract myself, praying I wasn’t about to be carsick.
“Settled?” Marc asked, buckling in.
“Yeah.” I managed.
“How’s our precious cargo?” Cora asked, smiling coyly.
“I will personally ruin YOUR shirt when time comes for me to vomit!” I glared at her.
“Touchy.” Cora smirked.
“Relax, Dan. We’ll be at Freshwater General in ten minutes or less.” Marc assured me, already pulling out of the parking lot.
“Relax,” I groaned, “right…”
After a minute of the most tense relaxing of my life, another contraction had passed. Gripping one of the headrests, I carefully sat up again. I felt incredibly dizzy, and I was already getting worn out. Having a quiet moment to think, it set in that I was really nearing the birth of my first child. I suddenly felt a welling of panic from inside, and the dizziness intensified. I quickly took deeper breaths in an attempt to bring more oxygen into my body.
Another thought suddenly dawned on me, and I scrambled for my phone. I punched in the number and waited for the dial tone.
“Who ya’ calling?” Cora asked.
I didn’t respond, and continued listening to the phone. I knew she wouldn’t pick up the phone, it was in the middle of the night. Still, I waited patiently for the voicemail message.
“Hi,” the message said, “you’ve reached Marlene. I’m away from my phone right now, so if you could please leave me a message, that’d be great. Leave your number and I’ll be sure to call you back as soon as possible. Thank you.”
The beep sounded, and I hesitated briefly.
“Hey, um, it’s me,” I began, “I realize it’s obscenely late, but being a man of my word, I wanted to let you know that…she’s coming. It’s time, and I would really like it if you were there when she arrives. She’s your daughter, too, after all. Anyway, if you even get this message before tomorrow…I mean, this morning, I’ll be at Freshwater General for the big event. Please think about it.”
I hung up the phone, and realized I was crying a bit. I also realized Cora was staring at me.
“Marlene?” She asked.
“Yeah. Voicemail message.” I nodded, tucking the phone away in my pocket.
“You OK?”
“Mm’hm. It’s painful, is all.” I said, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my robe.
Cora knew I didn’t mean the contractions, and reached into the backseat to squeeze my hand.
“We’re here for you, Baldy. I mean, what are we, chopped chum?” She said.
“Thanks…” I sighed, smiling faintly.
A few minutes later, the car came to a stop outside of the hospital. I was shaking anxiously as I looked out the window at the brightly lit building.
“You help him get checked in, and I’ll park the car?” Marc said to Cora.
“Fine by me. I’ll go find a wheelchair.” Cora said, hopping out of the car.
‘This is it,’ I thought, ‘this is really happening.’
The nausea came back, and I took more deep breaths in an attempt to ward off the vomit. It was anxiety more than anything. A second later, Cora was at my door with a vacant wheelchair and an outstretched fin.
“All set. You ready?” She asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” I responded, deciding it was my best option for an answer.
I took her fin and she slowly but firmly moved me into the wheelchair. As if on cue, another contraction started, my whole body seeming to cringe in response. I gripped the armrests and tried to breathe through it. Cora was about to ask if I was alright, but I waved her off.
“I’m fine,” I said, and in a much braver voice than I felt. “Let’s do this.”