The OB on duty, Dr. Clayton, had ordered a pitocin drip to start labor, but the anesthesiologist hadn’t shown up yet, despite the passage of more than two hours, so I was feeling the full force of every contraction, and they were increasing in intensity with every half hour. Chase still wasn’t here, and all I’d heard from him was a single text an hour before: OTW, driving now, be there soon. Anna and Jeff had gone home, at my insistence; I knew it would be several hours before anything happened, and they had Anna’s complicated pregnancy to deal with. I was, once again, alone and in pain. I breathed in through my nose as a contraction gripped my core and squeezed. It felt like a menstrual cramp amplified by a million. I whimpered, trying to breathe through it, counting in my head, One-one thousand…two-one thousand…three-one thousand…four-one thousand…and then it passed, leaving me slumped back against the thin pillow, sweating and panting. “Where the fuck is the drugs man?”
