I'd always heard giving birth was like trying to push a watermelon through a straw, but I'm pretty sure no one was talking about literal wolf cubs when they came up with that analogy.
Pain has colors. Did you know that? This particular brand of agony came in waves of searing crimson that pulsed behind my eyelids, stealing my breath and making rational thought about as accessible as Victoria's humanity. Which is to say, non-existent.
"Breathe, Arianna. Just breathe," Dr. Westlake instructed as another contraction tore through me. I was flat on my back on an operating table in the medical bay, my ankles secured in stirrups in what had to be the most undignified position invented by modern medicine. The room buzzed with activity—nurses in white coats, security personnel with stun batons, an
