Grace looked at me like I was crazy.
“Let it go,” I repeated. “If you let the body hang, the weight will pull the baby down and, with any luck, engage the head.”
Tentatively Grace let go of the baby, leaving it to dangle from Neva. Grace’s body became still. I doubted she was breathing.
“Good,” I said. “With the next contraction, Neva, I want you to bear down with all your might, okay?”
Neva nodded, gripping the sofa. Another contraction came and went. I willed Lil to get back. Things were moving fast, and if anything went wrong, we’d desperately need those instruments.
“Okay, Grace,” I said, turning back. “Is the head engaged now?”
Grace looked, then shook her head. I squeezed my hand into a fist.
“What is it?” she asked.
I hesitated before speaking. “I’m just a little concerned about the biparietal diameter of the head.”
I didn’t need to say any more. If the baby’s head was too large to pass through Neva’s pelvis, she would need a C-section. Without one, Neva and the baby would die. Grace knew that. Unfortunately, Neva did too.
“No!” Neva cried. “My baby—”
“—will be fine, darling,” Grace said simply. “And so will you. I’ll make sure of it.”
Neva calmed immediately. Strangely, so did I. There was something about Grace. She seemed in control. Grace, who lived for adrenaline, was, as it turned out, wonderfully cool under pressure.
“Mom,” Grace said to me. “What are our options?”
I stared at the wall. I’d been asking myself the same question. “If the head is stuck, we might be able to turn it in a way that will allow it to pass through the pelvis.” I thought about it some more. Yes, it could work. The risk of a serious tear to Neva was increased, but we didn’t have a lot of choice. “This is important, so I need you to listen carefully: We need to turn Neva over so I can apply pressure to her abdomen when she starts to push.”
Neva was already turning from all fours into a reclining sitting position. Grace helped her. I said a silent prayer.
“Now, Grace. Let the baby straddle your right hand … Yes, like that. Now, I want you to slide your middle finger into the baby’s mouth and your other fingers over the baby’s shoulders. Perfect. Now, with your other hand, press against the back of the baby’s head. I’ll apply pressure on the outside of her belly at the same time. All right?”
The door clattered shut and Lil appeared beside me with the delivery bag. I opened it and lay out the clamp, the cord, the gloves. I got everything unpacked just in time for the next contraction.
“Okay, Grace—push the head up slightly, rotate, and then pull down. Understand?” I looked at Neva. “Push, dear. Push as hard as you possibly can.”
Neva touched her chin to her chest and squeezed. At the same time, I pressed hard on the outside of her belly. The bones in her neck stood out like kindling.
“It’s coming,” Grace said, her voice barely a whisper. “The head. It’s coming.”
It was only then I realized my cheeks and blouse were sodden with tears. I felt movement under my hand as the baby’s head moved down. Grace lifted the baby’s torso as the head emerged. The baby was out.
Grace placed the baby straight into her mother’s arms. The raven-haired babe let out a soft mew. “Congratulations, dear,” I said to Neva as an overwhelming sense of déjà vu swept over me. “You have a daughter.”