Tell Me a Secret (The Story Series Book 4) Read Online Free
Author: Tamara Lush
nearly blinding me with intensity.
“Epidural. I want one now!” I shouted, forgetting about my earlier resolve to ride the waves of pain. Fuck. That.
My doctor, who was staring at a chart, nodded. Why was she so nonchalant when my body was being ripped apart?
“I’m okay with it. Let’s get everything ready for a low-dose epidural.”
I gave up on trying to form thoughts or words and just let out long strings of bovine-like sounds. I sobbed, gurgled, and screamed, as if all of the anger and sadness I’d held inside the past two months could be shoved out of my body.
The next hours were blurry, because time had become warped and slippery. Adding to my confusion: the hospital seemed bright and chaotic. It was the first time I’d been outside of the penthouse in two months, and the effect was jarring. Even though I was in a birthing center with its pale green walls and family-friendly, overstuffed chairs that looked like they wanted to give hugs, it wasn’t my cocoon of Art Deco safety. I was used to diffuse light and cream-colored, plush pillows, sleek lines and food brought to me on gilded trays by people with worry in their eyes.
But having the baby at home wasn’t an option for me, not with the blood pressure problems, so I had to make peace with the new surroundings. Peace wasn’t easy when I felt like I was about to explode from pain, though.
There was the shot in my lower back, more pain, and then immediate relief. I was still sweating and my hips felt like they were being pulled apart, but the physical sensation vanished. Truthfully, I missed it a little, the jagged edge of pain keeping me rooted in the present. I could still feel my legs a little, and there was a weird feeling of pressure in my abdomen so I concentrated on that instead.
The doctor urged me to push. And push. And breathe. And push.
And then, suddenly, relief from the pressure. Sweet smoothness followed by the sound of a baby’s cries. After hours of labor, it seemed like it had all happened so fast.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, and Sarah and Laura put their cool palms on my face.
“Charlotte,” I whispered.
I stared at the baby in the doctor’s arms. Sweat-drenched and hazy, I watched as a nurse gently opened my gown and placed her on my bare chest. For the first time in months, I felt searing, uncontrollable joy. I kissed her little bald head. Her expression was serene, as if she had no idea what I’d just been through to birth her. She looked at me with old-soul, blue-gray eyes, and I melted all over the place.
“We made a human,” I whispered.
Her warm skin felt perfectly in sync next to mine, and for several long minutes, I stared at her, until a nurse cleaned her up and checked her heart rate. I pulled the gown across my bare chest, not because I was feeling modest but because my skin felt cold without Charlotte. They handed her back to me, and the doctor mentioned something about repairing a tear that happened during delivery, but because I’d had an epidural, I didn’t feel anything below my waist.
“Let someone else hold the baby for a few moments while I put a couple of stitches in, just to be safe,” she said. I nodded and looked up, searching for Sarah. At some point—I wasn’t sure when because I’d been so focused on my beautiful Charlotte—Colin had slipped into the room and was next to me.
“She’s perfect. Can I hold her?” His normally smooth voice was strained and shaky.
I handed my child to him. His large hand spanned her entire back. When I saw him clasp the swaddled Charlotte to his chest, a sob tore through me.
Colin wasn’t supposed to be the first man to hold my baby.
Chapter 3
S leep tugged my eyelids downward . I was more exhausted each day that passed, and in a moment of lucidity—probably after I’d had my first cup of post-pregnancy coffee when Charlotte was a month old—I grasped that this was my new normal. I knew motherhood would be difficult, but I had no idea
“Epidural. I want one now!” I shouted, forgetting about my earlier resolve to ride the waves of pain. Fuck. That.
My doctor, who was staring at a chart, nodded. Why was she so nonchalant when my body was being ripped apart?
“I’m okay with it. Let’s get everything ready for a low-dose epidural.”
I gave up on trying to form thoughts or words and just let out long strings of bovine-like sounds. I sobbed, gurgled, and screamed, as if all of the anger and sadness I’d held inside the past two months could be shoved out of my body.
The next hours were blurry, because time had become warped and slippery. Adding to my confusion: the hospital seemed bright and chaotic. It was the first time I’d been outside of the penthouse in two months, and the effect was jarring. Even though I was in a birthing center with its pale green walls and family-friendly, overstuffed chairs that looked like they wanted to give hugs, it wasn’t my cocoon of Art Deco safety. I was used to diffuse light and cream-colored, plush pillows, sleek lines and food brought to me on gilded trays by people with worry in their eyes.
But having the baby at home wasn’t an option for me, not with the blood pressure problems, so I had to make peace with the new surroundings. Peace wasn’t easy when I felt like I was about to explode from pain, though.
There was the shot in my lower back, more pain, and then immediate relief. I was still sweating and my hips felt like they were being pulled apart, but the physical sensation vanished. Truthfully, I missed it a little, the jagged edge of pain keeping me rooted in the present. I could still feel my legs a little, and there was a weird feeling of pressure in my abdomen so I concentrated on that instead.
The doctor urged me to push. And push. And breathe. And push.
And then, suddenly, relief from the pressure. Sweet smoothness followed by the sound of a baby’s cries. After hours of labor, it seemed like it had all happened so fast.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, and Sarah and Laura put their cool palms on my face.
“Charlotte,” I whispered.
I stared at the baby in the doctor’s arms. Sweat-drenched and hazy, I watched as a nurse gently opened my gown and placed her on my bare chest. For the first time in months, I felt searing, uncontrollable joy. I kissed her little bald head. Her expression was serene, as if she had no idea what I’d just been through to birth her. She looked at me with old-soul, blue-gray eyes, and I melted all over the place.
“We made a human,” I whispered.
Her warm skin felt perfectly in sync next to mine, and for several long minutes, I stared at her, until a nurse cleaned her up and checked her heart rate. I pulled the gown across my bare chest, not because I was feeling modest but because my skin felt cold without Charlotte. They handed her back to me, and the doctor mentioned something about repairing a tear that happened during delivery, but because I’d had an epidural, I didn’t feel anything below my waist.
“Let someone else hold the baby for a few moments while I put a couple of stitches in, just to be safe,” she said. I nodded and looked up, searching for Sarah. At some point—I wasn’t sure when because I’d been so focused on my beautiful Charlotte—Colin had slipped into the room and was next to me.
“She’s perfect. Can I hold her?” His normally smooth voice was strained and shaky.
I handed my child to him. His large hand spanned her entire back. When I saw him clasp the swaddled Charlotte to his chest, a sob tore through me.
Colin wasn’t supposed to be the first man to hold my baby.
Chapter 3
S leep tugged my eyelids downward . I was more exhausted each day that passed, and in a moment of lucidity—probably after I’d had my first cup of post-pregnancy coffee when Charlotte was a month old—I grasped that this was my new normal. I knew motherhood would be difficult, but I had no idea
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