A Rising Hope

“Push, Sarah, right now—PUSH!” She felt as if her diaphragm was ripping from its anchor on her ribs. Time seemed to hover over her bed, mocking any attempt to push it forward through each contraction. She clamped her eyes closed and began the effort of pushing as the pain reached its unbearable crescendo. A moment of panic found her flailing, actively batting her hands against the arms and face of the nurse who hunkered close beside her left shoulder. "Something is wrong. Don’t they know?" she thought as a contraction subsided slightly. Stealing a moment to draw in breath, she attempted to prepare for the next wave of pain, but found it ready to pounce before her lungs could relax enough to expand. The low groan that accompanied the sensation grew into a near scream as she forced her muscles into action. "This is taking too long." She focused briefly on the splash of bright red that glared at her from the sheet draping her knees. Nausea threatened as she released the cry that had been building since the onset of the pain. Gripped in the ever-tightening hold of her body, she was no longer able to respond to the insistent voice in her ear. Releasing her grip on the cold rails of the bed, she felt her shoulders fall back to the mattress below and allowed her head to rock frantically from side to side of its own accord. No comfort came in abandoning the attempt to work through the pain. "There's too much blood, too much." She heard the open discussion in the room and searched frantically for Mama. "Isn’t she here? I know she was here!" “Baby’s heart rate’s at sixty—five and falling.” Sarah did not recognize the voices around her. “Let’s go guys. NOW!” “Blood pressure, Doc, falling fast!” Pain wracked her body at a level that caused the blocking out of everything around her. Her head snapped cruelly to one side as she felt the bed slam against the doorframe. The sudden jar refocused her attention on her immediate surroundings. A muffled shout came from some distance away, “Go, GO, GO!” Recognizing Dr. Gileon’s voice, she pushed her eyes open, fighting the darkness that threatened at the corners of her mind. Mama’s face appeared by the bed, but was gone in an instant. "She looks scared," Sarah thought. The grinding motion of her stomach cut off the thought and covered her in a cold, leaden blanket of agony. The low guttural moan that escaped her lips sounded foreign to her ears. Bright light cut through the fog. Then the face hovering over hers demanded attention. “Sarah, would you like to sleep now?” "Sleep. Sleep." She grasped the word instantly and reached upward for the hands that gripped her face. Darkness settled in, wrestling her will into submission. "This is dying. I’m dying." She could feel the rocking motion of her body but no pain. Some brutal tug of war was taking place, and she attempted to fight it but her body refused to respond to her commands. Then the sudden release of pressure found her falling back to the bed, the stillness a relief. The first sharp cry split the air, and Sarah’s mind, dimming steadily, took immediate notice. "He’s alive. The baby’s alive." She heard plainly the sound of Dr. Gileon’s voice, “It’s a boy!” When the room erupted into applause and quick, victorious shouts, Sarah succumbed to the press of the sleep that she was sure brought death. Chapter One In the last six months, it never occurred to Sarah Whitehead that this pregnancy could cost them their very lives. Her plan had been so simple. She knew her choice had caused difficulties for all of them, but easy never suited her well in any case. She always seemed to perform much better when the odds were stacked against her. She had immediately quit cheerleading at the school and attempted to pull away from those activities that brought attention to her growing belly. She planned to re-enter the world, after the baby was born, still moving toward the completion of her high school education and medical school. This would provide for the child eventually. Today, the idea that she was actually alive stole most of her attention and left little to give emotionally to the immediate situation. Sarah glanced at the thin gold band around her finger. It provided ever-present proof of her marriage to Mike Whitehead, the seventeen-year-old-boy who had become the willing father of her child. She stared with dismay at the image looking at her from the bathroom mirror and took note of the puffiness around her lips and jaw line. Mama assured her that the swelling in her face and hands would go down, but she found little improvement today. Sarah tried to ignore the drooping skin of her stomach and the deep red stretch marks. She looked back at her face in the mirror and stuck out her tongue at herself. Only now realizing the massive impact the pregnancy had had on her body, she was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel good again, much less look good. It seemed only moments ago that she had looked into the face of a child in this very mirror. Normally, she would have taken quite a bit of time to be sure that she twisted her auburn curls into a becoming arrangement and sprayed it mercilessly into place. Today her hair hung limp, as it had for over a week now. The dark shadows that formed crescents under her eyes added to the appearance of exhaustion. Her arms felt like great weights when she woke from the surgery and she had been unable to hold Cody without a nagging certainty that she would drop him. She had regained some of her strength now, seven days later, but her endurance level was still low. She found it impossible to maintain any activity without overwhelming fatigue. She and Cody slept side by side on the bed throughout the day while Mike was at work or in class. With the thought of Mike came the slight press of jealousy that fringed the edges of Sarah’s emotions periodically. Since the onset of this pregnancy and their marriage, she had been counting the months until she could return to school. Mike’s enrollment in the local community college this semester only fueled this desire for her. Now, with Cody at home, it was surely only a matter of time until she could refocus her energy on the normal activities that would lead from high school graduation to college and, eventually, to the degree that would seal her career. The sound of Mama's voice shook Sarah from her thoughts. “Are you actually going to feed this baby today, Sarah?” "Well, I was considering it," Sarah retorted, reaching for her jeans on the counter top. She pulled her clothes on slowly, ever mindful of the staples that formed a track down her lower stomach. Entering the dining room, the sight of her father sitting with his chest pressed tightly against the dining table greeted her. Cody lay on a pillow directly in front of him, the object of Ben's unconcealed adoration. Ben Bradley was enthralled with the child from the moment of his arrival. He had begun the morning and evening ritual of studying each small expression, yawn, and movement. Pawpaw Ben witnessed the first tiny smiles from his view at the head of the table. He did not hold the baby, saying only, “He’s still too little for all that.” He sat, instead, looking almost directly down at Cody, laughing at his changes in expression and responding to even the smallest whimper. Ben was creating quite the habit of explaining to anyone who would listen, exactly what Cody was thinking, what he wanted, and what he liked and didn’t like. Even now, he was holding a running conversation with the baby about the fact that Mama was being late with dinner. When the bottle was prepared, Sarah gathered Cody into her arms and took a seat across from Mama at the table. She teased him slightly, allowing the nipple to graze his tiny lips and smiling as she watched him search for a grip on the bottle. He had made it through the delivery with bruises along his temples as the only sign that they had suffered any trauma at