(no subject)
Oct. 12th, 2002 07:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningHe turned away from her, stripping off the gloves and washing his hands up to the elbows in the sink across the room. When he turned back, he was smiling. "Another few days, maybe a week," he said. "Are you ready?" Her lips curved almost imperceptibly. "I've had the bag ready for two weeks already." He nodded. "You're in great shape for this, and I'll be there, of course, or one of my partners will." She nodded, but the smile faded slightly. Sitting up and dressing quickly even as he left the room and shut the door, she hummed the tune, half lullaby, half lament, that had become habitual with her. Then she made her way to the front, ignoring the solid thuds of a little appendage against her ribs. She accepted the appointment card and the nurse's inane chatter with no more than a nod, then made her way through the waiting room, and out the door, hands hovering protectively over the swell of her stomach.
The tightening across her stomach woke her the next morning, pressure without pain that commanded attention. Eyes immediately open, she looked at the bare walls of the apartment they had found for her before releasing her from the hospital so many weeks ago. Already a wooden crib took up a corner of the room, fitted with flannel sheets she had cut and hemmed herself. The clean, smooth wooden slats were also her handiwork; she had hated the bright pink paint on sight, but loved the carving, the curves and planes that must have taken forever to get right. So she had brought it home, had stripped and sanded it herself in several evenings, sitting outside in the fading sunlight and letting her mind go elsewhere while her hands worked. Her bag sat under it, reassuring in its presence and overstuffed condition. A small plastic toybox sat next to it, empty but for a teddy bear, a child's radio, and a set of stacking rings, early gifts from her coworkers at the little store she had walked into a week after her release, when the bruises were close to gone from her arms. She had worked until a week ago, anxious to have her bills paid as far ahead as she could, although she planned on returning, after. Looking around again, she sighed. She was prepared, as prepared as was possible. Lying back, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing her body to relax. For awhile, she drifted.
When she woke again, it was with the sense that something had begun. She got up, and chose her most comfortable dress. The muscles of her stomach rippled as she did so, tightening in another contraction that brought no pain, but lasted longer than any before. She did not have another, though, while she showered and dressed, so she settled in to wait, tidying things and then eventually going for a walk. She had taken to doing this almost every day, walking the main road for awhile and then picking a side street she had not explored before. Today she picked paths she knew, unwilling to chance becoming lost. Still, it was not long before she relaxed enough to slip off her sneakers, scuffing through the leaves that littered the seldom-travelled road and padding quietly along the blacktop. At one point she paused, sitting down and relaxing completely, enjoying the thrum of energy that seemed to start at her feet and course through her, flowing out at some imaginary spot on the top of her head that she could almost feel. Her fingertips tingled, and in another moment, she was on her feet again, feeling that she really could not bear to stay still any longer. She walked that way for hours, and turned back only when she had come to a place where the road branched in several places, and she would not have been able to simply follow the road back home. By the time she turned the key in her door and walked gratefully into her own space, there had begun to be slight pain, and the contractions were only a few minutes apart. As yet, her water had not broken, but that didn't matter. It was time.
She picked up the phone and dialed her doctor's number. She told the nurse who answered how close the contractions were, how long they lasted, and how long it had been since she had felt the first one. One occurred while she was on the phone, and they timed it together. She was told to go to the hospital, to which she nodded calmly. It was within walking distance, and she was ready. Ducking into the bedroom and picking up her bag, she walked out, locked the door behind her again, and retraced the steps she had taken weeks ago, feeling as though she were closing a circle, completing some long-neglected chore.
She had preregistered at the hospital, and they admitted her almost immediately. She was made to undress, examined dispassively, and told that she was progressing nicely. The contractions were very close together now, one flowing into another with very little break in between. She was a low-risk pregnancy, and too restless anyway to lie still, so she was allowed to walk. She did walk, circuit after circuit of the floor, barely pausing at the height of each contraction, until she was called back for another examination. Then, with a smile, the nurse informed her that she should stay put now; things were progressing quickly, and her doctor had been paged. Ten minutes after that, at the height of yet another contraction, she felt a gush, and then a slower, steady trickle. Her water had broken. She pressed the button, and summoned the young nurse back.
"I can't believe this doesn't hurt," the nurse said as she completed yet another examination. The contractions were almost indistinguishable from each other, and dilation was complete. "You've not complained at all. Most women are screaming by this point." She shrugged. "It's not that bad. When's the doctor going to get here?" "Soon, I hope," came the response, and the nurse frowned a little. "You've progressed more quickly than we expected, but still, he should be here soon." She nodded, and relaxed deliberately. With the doctor or without, it was not going to be long now.
The tightening across her stomach woke her the next morning, pressure without pain that commanded attention. Eyes immediately open, she looked at the bare walls of the apartment they had found for her before releasing her from the hospital so many weeks ago. Already a wooden crib took up a corner of the room, fitted with flannel sheets she had cut and hemmed herself. The clean, smooth wooden slats were also her handiwork; she had hated the bright pink paint on sight, but loved the carving, the curves and planes that must have taken forever to get right. So she had brought it home, had stripped and sanded it herself in several evenings, sitting outside in the fading sunlight and letting her mind go elsewhere while her hands worked. Her bag sat under it, reassuring in its presence and overstuffed condition. A small plastic toybox sat next to it, empty but for a teddy bear, a child's radio, and a set of stacking rings, early gifts from her coworkers at the little store she had walked into a week after her release, when the bruises were close to gone from her arms. She had worked until a week ago, anxious to have her bills paid as far ahead as she could, although she planned on returning, after. Looking around again, she sighed. She was prepared, as prepared as was possible. Lying back, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing her body to relax. For awhile, she drifted.
When she woke again, it was with the sense that something had begun. She got up, and chose her most comfortable dress. The muscles of her stomach rippled as she did so, tightening in another contraction that brought no pain, but lasted longer than any before. She did not have another, though, while she showered and dressed, so she settled in to wait, tidying things and then eventually going for a walk. She had taken to doing this almost every day, walking the main road for awhile and then picking a side street she had not explored before. Today she picked paths she knew, unwilling to chance becoming lost. Still, it was not long before she relaxed enough to slip off her sneakers, scuffing through the leaves that littered the seldom-travelled road and padding quietly along the blacktop. At one point she paused, sitting down and relaxing completely, enjoying the thrum of energy that seemed to start at her feet and course through her, flowing out at some imaginary spot on the top of her head that she could almost feel. Her fingertips tingled, and in another moment, she was on her feet again, feeling that she really could not bear to stay still any longer. She walked that way for hours, and turned back only when she had come to a place where the road branched in several places, and she would not have been able to simply follow the road back home. By the time she turned the key in her door and walked gratefully into her own space, there had begun to be slight pain, and the contractions were only a few minutes apart. As yet, her water had not broken, but that didn't matter. It was time.
She picked up the phone and dialed her doctor's number. She told the nurse who answered how close the contractions were, how long they lasted, and how long it had been since she had felt the first one. One occurred while she was on the phone, and they timed it together. She was told to go to the hospital, to which she nodded calmly. It was within walking distance, and she was ready. Ducking into the bedroom and picking up her bag, she walked out, locked the door behind her again, and retraced the steps she had taken weeks ago, feeling as though she were closing a circle, completing some long-neglected chore.
She had preregistered at the hospital, and they admitted her almost immediately. She was made to undress, examined dispassively, and told that she was progressing nicely. The contractions were very close together now, one flowing into another with very little break in between. She was a low-risk pregnancy, and too restless anyway to lie still, so she was allowed to walk. She did walk, circuit after circuit of the floor, barely pausing at the height of each contraction, until she was called back for another examination. Then, with a smile, the nurse informed her that she should stay put now; things were progressing quickly, and her doctor had been paged. Ten minutes after that, at the height of yet another contraction, she felt a gush, and then a slower, steady trickle. Her water had broken. She pressed the button, and summoned the young nurse back.
"I can't believe this doesn't hurt," the nurse said as she completed yet another examination. The contractions were almost indistinguishable from each other, and dilation was complete. "You've not complained at all. Most women are screaming by this point." She shrugged. "It's not that bad. When's the doctor going to get here?" "Soon, I hope," came the response, and the nurse frowned a little. "You've progressed more quickly than we expected, but still, he should be here soon." She nodded, and relaxed deliberately. With the doctor or without, it was not going to be long now.
