Becca
I’d worked in hospitals long enough to understand one important truth—no one should ever underestimate a woman. Or her v****a.
“Do women still die in childbirth?” Sydney gasped through clenched teeth. Her bloodshot, round eyes begged me to tell her she’d survive labor pains.
I rubbed a hand lightly across her forehead and used my soothing nurse voice. “Very rarely, especially in hospitals. You’re doing great, and we’ll take good care of you.” I wanted to reassure her but also keep her expectations realistic.
And realistically, she had no baby in sight.
Sydney’s doctor had given her Pitocin several hours earlier to stimulate things, but things, i.e. a woman’s uterus, had a way of ignoring doctors and nurses and deciding to take the scenic route through bumpy terrain for eighteen
