“Not necessarily this room, but yes. I like it here.”
“Me too.” Patrick nodded. “Oh, I almost forgot! I had a phone call from the Board of Nursing this morning. About your mother.”
“You did?” With everything else going on I’d forgotten about the investigation. “What did you say?”
“I told her what happened. That the baby and the mother were never in any danger and that Gillian was in as good hands with your mother as she would have been with any ob-gyn.”
“You said that?”
“It’s true. Hopefully that will be the end of it. What a waste of taxpayers’ money, investigating someone like your mother when there are all sorts of cowboys around claiming to be medical professionals.”
His face was completely earnest. It occurred to me that he was exactly the kind of person I wanted to spend my life with. “You are a good guy, you know that?”
“Don’t tell anyone. Speaking of your mom, is she going to deliver the baby?”
I snorted. “What do you think?”
“Then who is?” He sprawled onto the bed on his stomach and rested his chin in his hands. “I guess I should know this.”
“Susan,” I said.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to be there?”
I hesitated. I’d assumed it was a given that Patrick would be there. It hadn’t occurred to me to even ask. “Oh, um … well it’d be good to have a pediatrician in the room. And people will expect it. You being the father and all.” I watched for a reaction, but Patrick remained infuriatingly blank. “Do you want to be there?”
He crossed his arms, making a great show of thinking it over. “I think I would, yes. I can hand you ice chips and mop your forehead, that sort of thing.”
I suppressed a smile. “Good, then.”
Patrick rolled onto his side, his hand skimming the length of my belly, back and forth. He frowned, then pressed down sharply just above my pubic bone.
“Um, ow!” I half laughed, half gasped. “What are you doing?”
Patrick ignored me, feeling along the curve of my stomach, pressing down now on the highest part of the mound. “Did you know the baby was breech?”
“It’s not.” I smacked his hand playfully and replaced it with my own, feeling what he had felt. I located the head and pressed down. “See. The head.”
“Hey—I’m not an ob-gyn, but from the lie, I’d say it was back here, legs here, head here”—he pointed to the pelvis—“breech here.”
“Um, I think I would have noticed if my baby was breech.” I lay flat and felt my stomach properly. Back, legs, head … bottom … I paused, felt again.
Patrick winced. “Told you.”
I felt again. He was right. Right down at the bottom of my pelvis were the soft edges of the buttocks.
“It could still turn,” he said.
“Maybe, but…” I felt it a third time. “It’s unlikely at this stage. Guess I won’t be delivering at the birthing center after all.”
I tried to roll into a sitting position, but got only halfway up before I started to fall back onto the bed. Patrick gave me a push. “Hey. You okay?”
“Not much I can do about it, is there? I guess I’ll need a C-section.” I shimmied to my feet.
“We don’t know that for sure.” Patrick also stood. “Why don’t we go see Sean, see what he says?”
“No. It’s fine. A C-section is fine.”
“Seriously? You’re so dedicated to natural birthing—”
“Are you trying to upset me?” I smiled.
Patrick continued to frown. “Why don’t I take you home? You must be tired.”
“Thanks, but I’m on until five P.M. And since I’ve slept most of the morning, I’d better get busy.”
“There’s no one in labor.”
“We do other things besides deliver babies, Patrick.” Again, I smiled to show I was being lighthearted. I didn’t want Patrick worrying about me. He was doing enough. “I’ve got postnatal rounds. You go. It’s your day off.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll see you later.”
Patrick leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Later.” He ducked and planted a kiss on my stomach. “See you later too.”
I smiled until he was out of the room, and for a good minute after he left. But once I was sure he was definitely gone, I sank back onto the bed.
My baby was breech.
All the images I’d had of myself pacing the floor, sitting on a birthing ball, lying in the tub, panting and pushing my baby out—it juxtaposed starkly against the image of lying flat on my back, having my baby extracted from me like a tumor. All the women I’d seen turned into warriors before my eyes—it would never be me.
It didn’t escape my consciousness that I was being a hypocrite. All those women I’d reassured on the operating table that the magic of motherhood had nothing to do with how the baby came out? At the time, I’d believed that was true. In theory, I still believed it. But now that I was charged with the same outcome myself, I felt a little cheated.
Abruptly, I stood. I slipped into my shoes and told Anne to call me if anyone came in. Then I hurried toward the hospital maternity ward. Sean was at the nurses’ station, leaning over the desk and telling a joke or story that, judging from the stifled laughs from other staff, was either inappropriate or about one of the patients. Marion stood nearby, her lips pursed. Her frustration at not being able to get into Sean’s inner circle had clearly morphed into intense dislike. I’d seen it happen before, with other doctors, but I doubted Sean would care. I waited until the punch line had been delivered, then tapped Sean’s shoulder.
“Hey,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure thing.” Sean was unnaturally cheery. “What’s up?”
I was about to ask him the same thing when I noticed his wife, Laura, standing beside him.
“Oh, Laura. Hi.” I swallowed.
“Hi, there. Neva, right?”
Neva. She knew my name.
I nodded. “How are you doing?”