A continuation of the story of Jack’s early arrival. A story in (apparently) several parts.
I heard a pop, I looked down at my awesome shoes and beautiful white pants to see them literally, and I mean literally covered in blood. I looked like I had been shot in the stomach and all the blood had run down my legs. It didn’t hurt. Or at least I don’t remember it hurting. But it was one of those moments were you could either panic and freak the fuck out, or GET MOVING. I chose the latter.
I remember, I had several thoughts running through my head at the same time:
- it’s way too soon. way too soon. I could feel the boy kicking furiously and I could tell that whatever was going on was really, really bad.
- I had to get to a hospital. I knew calling an ambulance would waste time and I’d have a better chance getting to the hospital in a cab. As a New Yorker you sort of instinctively know that if you’re in an ambulance you’re either dead, dying or very stupid.
- I needed my husband.
Somehow with all of this running through my head, I decided that there would be no way for me to get out of my office building with my white pants soaked in blood. I needed to get to the hospital ASAP and being stopped in reception or in the lobby because I looked like I had been shot wasn’t an option. I changed into my black pants from my overnight bag, but I didn’t have a change of shoes.
I called Arch and told him to meet me at the hospital. I didn’t tell him what happened, I just told him he had to leave now. He must have known something was very wrong because he just hung up the phone and walked out of his office.
The cab across town felt like forever. The baby was kicking furiously, I kept talking to him and telling him it would be okay. I was also thinking of my other friend Katherine, who gave birth to her baby boy in a cab on the way to St. Luke’s Roosevelt because getting through mid-town took forever. I told the cab driver he would get $50 if he ran all the lights. He got $50.
When I made it to Labor & Delivery triage I walked in to a full waiting room. I was shaking and my head was hurting and I had a funny smell in my nose. A nurse named Iris saw me standing at the front desk, I remember seeing her eyes travel down to my blood stained shoes and then back up. All of a sudden I had skipped the line and was in triage. We’d spent some quality time in L&D triage before, during my 1st Trimester, but this time was different. You don’t skip the line unless you’re like 8 cm dilated, or, there is something very, very wrong. They take that line seriously.