contraction hit and Mackenzie cringed against it. She remembered from the reading that they would only get worse the closer the baby came to arriving. Still, she looked past it all for a moment and nodded.
Yes, she was ready to have this baby. In fact, she could hardly wait to hold it in her arms.
She had only dilated four centimeters by eight o’clock that morning. She had gotten to know the doctor and the nurses well, but when they switched shifts, Mackenzie’s mood started to change. She was tired, she was hurting, and she simply didn’t enjoy the idea of another doctor coming in and poking around under her gown. But Ellington, as dutiful as ever, had managed to get her OBGYN on the phone and he was doing his best to get to the hospital as soon as he could.
When Ellington came back into the room from making the call, he was frowning. She hated to see him having crashed from his high of being her protector last night, but she was also glad she was not the only one who was experiencing a mood swing.
“What is it?” she asked.
“He’ll be here for the delivery, but he won’t even bother coming over until you’re at least at eight centimeters. Also…I was going to bring you some waffles from the cafeteria, but the nurses say you should eat light. They’ll be bringing you some Jell-O and ice chips any minute now.”
Mackenzie shifted in the bed and looked down at her stomach. She preferred to look there rather than the machines and monitors they had her hooked up to. As she traced the shape of her stomach, there was a knock at the door. The newer doctor came walking in, holding her charts. He looked happy and fully refreshed, coming in off of what appeared to have been a restful night’s sleep.
Bastard, Mackenzie thought.
The doctor thankfully kept the conversation to a minimum as he checked her over. Mackenzie didn’t pay much attention to him, honestly. She was tired, drifting off to sleep even when he put the jelly on her stomach to check the baby’s progress. She drifted off into a half-sleep for a while until she heard the doctor speaking to her.
“Mrs. White?”
“Yes?” she asked, irritated that she could not get a small nap in. She had been trying to sneak them in between contractions…anything for just a bit of rest.
“Are you feeling any new discomfort?”
“Nothing other than the same pains I’ve had since we got here.”
“Have you felt the baby moving a great deal in the last hours?”
“I don’t think so. Why…is something wrong?”
“No, not wrong. But I believe your baby has turned. There’s a very good chance that this will be a breach delivery. And I’m getting an irregular heartbeat…nothing terribly out of the ordinary, but enough to raise concerns.”
Ellington was at her side at once, taking her hand. “Breach…is that risky?”
“Hardly ever,” the doctor said. “Sometimes we know the baby is already breach a few weeks out from delivery. But your baby was in the correct position during the last checkup…was even perfectly positioned when you checked in last night. But he or she has turned a bit and unless something drastic changes, I don’t see your kiddo getting back into the right position. Right now, it’s this heartbeat that I’m concerned about.”
“So what do you recommend?” Mackenzie asked.
“Well, I’d like to do a thorough check on the baby just to make sure its sudden position change has not placed it in distress—which is what the erratic heartbeat might be. If it hasn’t—and there’s no reason to believe it has—then we will schedule an operating room for you as soon as we can.”
The idea of skipping traditional labor was appealing, sure, but adding surgery to the birth process didn’t particularly sit well with her, either.
“Whatever you think is best,” Mackenzie said.
“Is it safe?” Ellington asked, not even attempting to hide the tremble of fear in his voice.
“Perfectly safe,” the doctor said, wiping away the excess jelly from Mackenzie’s stomach. “Of course, as with any surgery, we have to mention that there is always a risk when someone’s on the table. But cesarean deliveries are very common. I’ve personally performed more than fifty. And I believe your OBGYN is Dr. Reynolds. She’s older than I am by a stretch…don’t tell her I said that…and I guarantee she’s done more than I have. You’re in good hands. Shall I reserve a room?”
“Yes,” Mackenzie said.
“Great. I’ll get a room and make sure to let Dr. Reynolds know what’s going on.”
Mackenzie watched him leave and then looked back down to her belly. Ellington joined her, their hands interlocking over the temporary home of their child.
“That’s sort of scary, huh?” Ellington asked, kissing her on the cheek. “But we’ll be okay.”
“Of course we will,” she said with a smile. “Think of our lives and our relationship. It almost makes sense that this kid would come into this world with a bit of drama.”
She meant every word of it, but even then, in one of their most vulnerable moments together, Mackenzie was hiding more fear than she cared to let on.
Kevin Thomas Ellington was born at twelve twenty p.m. He weighed seven pounds six ounces and, according to Ellington, had his father’s misshapen head and red cheeks. It wasn’t quite the delivery experience Mackenzie had been expecting but when she had heard his first little cries, taking in his first breaths, she didn’t care. She could have given birth to him in an elevator or some abandoned building. He was alive, he was here, and that was the important thing.
Once she heard Kevin’s cries, Mackenzie allowed herself to calm down. She was lightheaded and out of it from the anesthesia from the C-section procedure and felt sleep pulling at her. She was dimly aware of Ellington at her side, complete with his white operating room cap and blue gown. He kissed her forehead and was doing nothing to hide the fact that he was openly crying.
“You did amazing,” he said through his tears. “You’re so strong, Mac. I love you.”
She opened her mouth to return the sentiment but wasn’t fully sure she’d said it. She drifted off to the beautiful sounds of her still-crying son.
The next hour or so of her life was a fragmented kind of bliss. She was mostly under and still feeling nothing when the doctors sewed her back up. She was out of it completely when she was moved to a recovery room. She was barely aware of a series of nurses looking over her, checking her vitals.
However, it was when one of the nurses stepped into the room that Mackenzie started to get a better grip on her thoughts. She reached out clumsily, trying to garb the nurse’s hand, but missed.
“How long?” she asked.
The nurse smiled, showing that she had been in this situation many times before. “You’ve been out for about two hours. How are you feeling?”
“Like I need to hold the baby that just came out of me.”
This elicited a chuckle from the nurse. “He’s with your husband. I’ll send them both in.”
The nurse left and while she was gone, Mackenzie’s eyes remained on the doorway. They stayed there until Ellington entered shortly afterward. He was pushing one of the hospital’s little rolling bassinets. The smile on his face was unlike any she had ever seen from him before.
“How you feeling?” he asked as he parked the bassinet by the side of her bed.
“Like my insides have been ripped out.”
“They were,” Ellington said with a playful frown. “When they brought me into the operating room, your guts were in a few different pans. I know you inside and out now, Mac.”
Without having to be asked, Ellington reached into the bassinet and took out their son. Slowly, he handed