Chapter 8 - The Birth of Clara
The drive to St. Jude Medical Center was a blur of flashing red tail lights, howling wind, and Marcus driving like a man possessed through the flooded streets of Chicago.
By the time we pulled into the emergency ambulance bay at 2:15 AM, my contractions were coming every ninety seconds.
"WE NEED A DELIVERY TEAM HERE NOW!" Marcus screamed, jumping out of the driver's seat and kicking open the automated glass doors of the trauma center.
Dr. Aris Thorne was already waiting in the hallway with a specialized labor team. Within twenty seconds, I was lifted onto a mobile delivery bed and wheeled at full sprint down the corridor toward labor suite 1.
" You're fully dilated, Khloe!" Dr. Thorne announced after a quick examination, pulling on sterile gloves. "The baby's head is right there! On the next contraction, I need you to give me everything you've got!"
Marcus was right beside my head, wearing a blue surgical gown, his face pale, his hands holding mine so tightly I could feel his wedding ring digging into my palm.
"You can do this, Khloe," Marcus whispered into my ear, his voice thick with tears, his thumb wiping the sweat from my forehead. "You're the strongest woman I've ever known. Push, my love!"
A massive, overwhelming wave of pressure surged through my body.
I lifted my shoulders, gritting my teeth, and pushed with every ounce of strength remaining in my soul. I pushed for my mother whose life was stolen. I pushed for the months of terror we had survived. I pushed for the man holding my hand.
"That's it, Khloe! I see her head! One more big push!" Dr. Thorne shouted.
I let out a long, fierce scream, closing my eyes, throwing my head back against the pillow, and pushed one final time.
WAHHHHHHHH! WAHHHHHHHH!
A sharp, loud, beautiful cry echoed through the delivery room.
The sound shattered every remaining memory of pain, terror, and blood that had haunted us for months.
"It's a girl!" Dr. Thorne laughed, lifting a perfect, pink, squirming baby girl onto my chest. "Eight pounds, two ounces! Perfectly healthy!"
Tears spilled uncontrollably from my eyes as I looked down at the tiny miracle resting against my bare skin. She had a thick mop of dark hair, tiny delicate fingers, and when she opened her eyes, she looked up at us with bright, clear hazel eyes.
Marcus collapsed beside the bed, burying his face against my neck, weeping openly as he wrapped his massive arms around both of us.
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"Look at her, Marcus," I sobbed happily, touching her tiny velvet cheek. "Look at our daughter."
"She's beautiful, Khloe," Marcus wept, kissing my lips, then pressing a tender kiss onto our baby's forehead. "She's absolute perfection."
