'Seven Hours' by B F Jones

[CW- birth, child loss]

“It’s happening” she remembers saying in the blur of too long ago. 

How long? Long. Seven hours. 

Seven hours since she got escorted into that pale purple room, a single bed soon to be covered in her blood next to a plastic bassinet. 

And it happened, and it (she) was there and then it (she) wasn’t, spat out and immediately swallowed back into a void. 

Excruciating pain, blood, the tearing of flesh. 

And noises coming from her mouth. Swears. 

One last push, almost there. 

Push. 

Easy now, someone had said. No need to curse that much. 

Cool hands on her lower back. 

Vomiting. 

Breathe breathe breathe breathe 

Something popping, a trickle down her leg. She expected a dramatic gush like in the movies. 

Momentary distraction from the pain. 

They’re 5 minutes now let’s go.

You need to eat something. 

No I don’t want anything. 

You haven’t eaten since yesterday. 

I DON’T WANT TO EAT. 

Back hurting. 

Gulliver stepping on her spine. 

Abdomen tightening. 

So tight. 

Rub my back. Press hard, lower.

Wait until they’re 5 minutes apart.

Wait until they’re 5 minutes apart. 

Wait until they’re 5 minutes apart. 

It wasn’t time.

You’re too early you have to go back home .

It’s time. 

It’s finally time. 

How are you feeling? 

HOW DO YOU THINK? 

Remote control flies across the room and crashes against the wall. 

It’s been hours. 

Pain pain pain but nothing’s happening. 

Back hurting. 

Abdomen hurting. 

The baby has the hiccups. 

I think it might be today. 

I have twinges. 

Yes I think I'll be bringing a baby home today.