hurry
She gripped the door handle so tightly she thought she might break it.
A shuddering bolt of pain ran through her spine and she cried out, immediately regretting it. “Hang in there, baby,” she heard his nervous voice attempting to reassure her, “we’ll be there in no time.”
“What’s with the traffic, oh, oh, oh god,” she wailed. Beads of cold sweat dotted his forehead as he deftly weaved through the thick traffic. “This is the best ambulance you can ask for, hon,” he patted the Beemer’s steering wheel confidently. “German-made, heh heh.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The pain was getting unbearable - she’d made the grave error of assuming that labor only involved abdominal cramps of the highest degree - and silently cursed her mom for not warning her about the back pains. As it seared through her, she felt hot tears coast down her flushed face, and hastily wiped it with the back of her hand.
But he noticed. “Give me your hand, baby.”
“No, no, I’m fine, keep driving.”
“Give me your hand,” he persisted.
“Honey, I’m fine, really, just keep driving.”
“Just take my hand. Don’t deprive me of everything this moment has to offer.”
“It hurts.” She began to cry. “This is so difficult.”
“Take my hand, baby.”
~ hannah p
