Free Southampton Spectacular by M. C. Soutter Page B

“Out of my way before I have my husband put you in some sort of sleeper hold.”
    The woman glanced uncertainly at Peter, and gave ground.
    She reached her room, and then her bed, and immediately requested an epidural. The nurse in her room pressed her lips together with false patience and nodded. She had just started her shift, and assumed, because she had not asked, that Cynthia had been in labor for less than an hour. “You’ll want to wait on that until you’ve walked around for a bit more, and then – ”
    “My wife has officially asked for her epidural,” Peter Hall said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I am seconding her request. Your advice has been heard, evaluated, and ignored.”
    The girl tucked her chin into her neck and raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. She turned and left the room without a word.
    Cynthia looked at her husband. “Do you think she’s getting the epidural people in here, or going to file a complaint with her supervisor?”
    Peter sighed. So far, this experience had been nothing like what the brochures and books had promised them. “Are you okay here for a second?” he asked gently. “I’ll go out and make sure they’re on it.”
    She nodded, and he was about to walk away when a nurse they had never seen came gliding through the door like a small tugboat. “I am Ms. Greenland,” the new nurse said, pausing to present herself like a cadet, her immense bosom thrown forward. She was black and huge and unsmiling, her uniform crackling with starch and competence. “Let’s get this show started.”
    Cynthia felt as though someone had just injected a powerful sedative into her I.V. tube, and Peter returned automatically to her side. He let himself exhale.
    Ms. Greenland secured the epidural. She had the anesthesiologist at Cynthia’s bed inside of four minutes, and suddenly everything was proceeding according to plan. This was how the books said it was supposed to go. The Ms. Greenland way.
    “Where does it hurt the most now, Dear?” Ms. Greenland asked. Cynthia told her, and Ms. Greenland smiled broadly. As if pain were a wonderful thing. “That’s exactly where it’s supposed to hurt,” she said, and Cynthia found herself agreeing. Yes, it was painful, but it was a pain she had read about. Just as it was meant to be. Ms. Greenland checked the baby monitor and said that their unborn child was in no distress, that she was waiting patiently to come. “She’s strong and happy,” Ms. Greenland said, and said it in a way that was both strong and happy. She calmed them.
    Cynthia began to push. Her effort was fine, but the progress was not as fast as Ms. Greenland wanted it. “You’re doing great ,” she said. “But your little girl’s feeling too comfortable in there. We need to get her moving.”
    After two hours, Ms. Greenland instructed a three-minute rest. And damn the contractions.
    After three hours she began shouting her encouragement along with Peter.
    When the four-hour mark came and went without success, Ms. Greenland looked at her watch and frowned. “Need some help now,” she said briskly.
    In two minutes the delivery room went from nearly empty to nearly full. Ms. Greenland had somehow summoned a doctor and a doctor’s assistant and an entire team of neonatal specialists. The temperature of the room, now suddenly so full of bodies, rose three degrees. Cynthia was beyond exhaustion, her breath coming in long, windy gasps. “What are we doing?” she said between gulps of air. “Why are all these people here?”
    There was a brief silence, and then the lead doctor answered. “Episiotomy and vacuum extraction,” she said. “Piece of cake.”
    Peter and Cynthia hall looked for reassurance from Ms. Greenland, who nodded slowly and seriously. The message was clear: this is not a piece of cake, it’s nothing even like a piece of cake, but this doctor is the one to do it. She’s the Ms. Greenland of doctors.
    They took a breath together