Caleb

The door was cracked open. I am not sure why, it seemed like a closed door event. Mom stood across the hall that we weren’t really allowed to stand in. Her tiny body stood almost half of the doorway of the public kitchen where we poured our tea and got ice since arriving the night before at 2 something AM. Mom wore shorts and a sleeveless shirt revealing the precipitance with which she left the house last night. She pulled her thin wool sweater pulled across her chest in worry. I stood in the doorway and watched my sister through the reflection of the glass. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back towards me. The doctor was pushing and pulling shot after shot into her back, quickly, precisely, with the confident of a computer. I thought there was only one shot, so I kept telling mom it was over, when it wasn’t. Finally he pulled a long tube with a needle at the end and injected it into her like she was the end of a vacuum cleaner. I tried to see her reaction, her head bent over, her body exhausted from hours of lightning strikes in her stomach. Her head jumped as every shot went in. I looked back at my mom, and told a lie, it was over everything is okay. Then it was. The vacuum shot was pulled, the plastic peeled from her back. Everything was okay.
We waited outside. Until a blond nurse that I didn’t recognize ran into the room. I followed. Of course I did. Mom, wisely, stayed outside. Walking slowly in, I saw them moving her from one side to the next. Then “get on your hands and knees.” Danny stood there, halted. I moved passed him. Leila was holding the oxygen mask to her mouth and holding herself up on all fours. The three women, Dr Jackson, Jordan and the chief nurse that I hadn’t recognized were in control. It was apparent. The head nurse rubbed Leila’s back and told her to breathe deeper, slower. “Relax your shoulders.” She did. Just like she did everything that she was told was right to do. My hands rubbed through her hair like before, like those times before, little Leila. Her long skinny fingers curled around my hand and her eyes looked forward, focusing on her breath, on getting this right. She stayed there on her knees, one elbow and one hand. Danny sat next to her. They found each other’s eyes and tears began to roll down Leila’s chipmunk cheeks. The oxygen mask became fogged up by congestion. A tissue and wiping of her nose. Oxygen mask back on. I told her that all three of the women looked calm. By then the anesthesiologist had come in and injected a drug called ephinedrine or something into her medicine bag. Six eyes stared at the screen monitoring the baby’s heart. I stared at them then back at Leila. Mom had come in by now, unable to withstand not knowing. She was in the corner, tears wetting her face. Stay focused.
Ten minutes later, Leila was on her side, still with oxygen on her mouth. Two hours later, I was asleep on the couch. The doctor came in and checked her, half asleep I heard she was dilated 3 cm. Mom had taken over and was helping Leila watch the heart rate. Leila was elated, she was going to go for it. Wait it out until 10 cm.
Eight o’clock. A new doctor on shift. Third doctor since we arrived. He checked. His face let us know first. Leila brought up c-section. 7 minutes later the decision was made. An hour later Leila was rolled in with a baby, wrapped up like a piece of bread on her chest.