Lucky

Bob’s grip tightens on his steering wheel. He glances over at Lucy. She doesn’t look back at him. Her right arm is stretched upward, with the SUV’s mounting grip clutched in her fist. The fingertips of her left hand dig into his arm. “Lucy, loosen up. I can’t steer properly.”

“You’re an idiot. We should have left earlier. But, oh no!” She emits a piercing scream.

“Remember to pant. Deep breath now and blow, blow, blow it out.”

She gasps. “You frigging moron. I’ll never let you near me again.”

Bob scowls. The cultivated diction of Lucy’s normal voice has disappeared. Today she sounds like her mother, Lucinda, who could scare the heebie-jeebies out of the wicked witch of the west. Her hair and face are drenched with sweat. She doesn’t even look like herself.

He glances and sees it’s 1:05. They have traveled less than a block in the last few minutes. He pounds his steering wheel, adding his horn to the cacophony of other vehicles.

Lucy yells with another contraction.

Bob says, “Remember, you must blow and pant.”

“Frigging nightmare. I need outta this car you asswipe!”

He grimaces. “This garbage strike isn’t my fault! People have clogged the streets with their trash.”

“Aaaaarrgghhhhhhhhh!” She pants then screeches, “Damn you!”

He bites his lip to hold in his response. He really hadn’t wanted to move to the suburbs. If they had remained in their apartment, they would probably already be at the hospital.

Bob inches his vehicle closer to the stoplight. Lucy screams again. It’s 1:10. Her contractions now 2 minutes apart. The light turns green. Bob gasses the car to cut off a driver who is trying to turn into the lane ahead of him. He rolls down the window and puts up a middle finger in response to the blaring horn.

“Aaarrggggghhhh!” She pants, then screams, “I hate you!”

They are now two blocks from the college campus. The teaching hospital is at the far end. Sorority sisters are directing guys unloading furniture from a U-Haul.

Bob again thumbs his window down and yells, “Move that truck outta the way!”

The beefiest football player scowls and approaches. Lucy screams in agony. Hearing her, he turns back to his cohorts. “Josh drive it around the block.”

1:18. Bob follows the lumbering truck. He passes as it moves to turn and narrowly avoids hitting two students who have stepped into the crosswalk.

Lucy emits another scream. He accelerates to 50 and the next block passes in a blur. She yells again as he swerves into the parking lot, barely slowing as he rounds the curves. The tires squeal as he brakes at the emergency entrance. He fights with the seatbelt, frees himself from Lucy’s digging fingernails, then he is free, racing inside the gliding doors. “Help! Help! She’s having a baby!”

An orderly rushes outside. A nurse follows with a wheelchair. Two moments later, the young man says over his shoulder, “Grab some towels. There’s no time to get her inside. She’s going to deliver right now.” He turns to Bob. “Need you to rotate her seat.” He moves so Bob can do this.

Lucy screams into Bob’s ear.

The orderly says, “Get back inside. You must push on her back until she’s almost reclined.” He takes her hands. “Everything will be fine little lady. We just need your butt off the seat. I know it’s uncomfortable, but your baby wants out now. No, no! Don’t push yet.”

A sea of hospital personnel flood from the entrance. A smaller woman pushes forward. “Quick update Jackson.”

As Jackson moves out of the way, he says, “Head already crowning doc. She’s already begun pushing.”

She nods and puts her hands under my wife’s nightgown. “What’s her name?”

Bob answers, “Lucy.” But he can’t be heard over his wife’s scream, so he repeats her name when she stops.

The doctor says, “Lucy, take a deep breath. Next contraction, push and pant. All right, push, push, push. That’s good. Another breath. Push, keep pushing. It’s a girl.” She hands the blood-drenched babe to a nurse who wraps it in a cloth then rushes indoors. “Lucy, you’re not done yet. Another breath and push again.”

His wife’s groaning turns into the loudest scream yet. Within moments they’ve loaded Lucy onto a gurney and wheeled her inside. Everyone has disappeared by the time Bob parks and enters.

A nurse finally leads him to Lucy, who asks, “Where’s my baby?”

The nurse frowns. “Doc Lewis will see you momentarily.”

Two minutes later, the small woman from earlier pushes the curtain aside. “I’m Dr. Sylvia Lewis. Your daughter is doing fine now. Her first Agpar score was concerning. Lucky you arrived when you did.” She departs.

A nurse wheels a bassinet into the enclosure. She lifts our girl up, places her in my wife’s outstretched arms, then leaves us alone.

Bob stares down at them, then pats his wife’s hand. “You’re so beautiful. Thank you darling.”

Her lips quirk into a smile. “I love you and know you dislike the name Lucinda. How does Lucky sound?”

Bob grins. “That’s perfect.”