Two Punks In Love

Emergency Measures

Kat

When I wake because of a jolt, the first thing I notice is the stinging in my right arm, a fiery uncomfortable flood. I reach over to see what's wrong before I even open my eyes. A hand catches mine.

"It's okay, ma'am, that's just the IV getting started. Sometimes it stings a little. Please don't pull it out."

I look up into the face of a woman in a blue uniform with concerned eyes. The motion I'm experiencing and a quick glance around lets me know I'm in an ambulance.

I try to sit up but realize I can't, because I'm strapped to a board and I have some very uncomfortable thing around my neck.

"Take this off," I say hoarsely, clawing at my neck. "I can't breathe..."

They stop my hands and tell me I had a pretty significant fall, and the neck brace is just a precaution. They try to give me oxygen, and ask me questions about my pain and sensation all at the same time. I can't answer the questions of course, because of the fucking oxygen mask.

Don't these people know I can't fucking breathe? Why won't Trace make these people back the fuck up? It's not like him to be so...absent when I'm freaking out.

I ignore the questions of these two people, as I strain to extend my field of vision. I figure out Trace isn't yelling at them because he's not here in the back of the ambulance.

I claw off the oxygen mask. "Is...my...fiancé...with the...driver?" I ask, slinging a hand above my head to gesture to the cab.

They don't answer. They replace the oxygen mask and keep asking me if I can feel them rubbing on my sternum and drawing some kind of sharp pen up my feet and stuff. I nod, but I'm irritated because there's something more important, right? I'm trying to make my brain prioritize and then I feel the familiar heaviness in my lower abdomen and I remember what I can't believe I forgot for a second.

The babies.

Oh god. The babies.

I reach up and grip the EMT's arm hard to get her attention. I tell her that I'm pregnant but she just pats me and tells me that they know. She says everything is going to be okay and they will check on the babies as soon as we get to the hospital.

I start to cry and choke for breath, but the woman with kind eyes folds my hand in hers and says, "Honey, listen to me. The best thing you can do for your babies is stay calm, okay? Moms can't fall apart."

And in that moment I realize she's right. I'm growing two tiny babies and that makes me a mother, of sorts, because no one on the planet can take care of my babies at this point but me. Their health is dependent on my health. So I can't fall apart.

My right hand finds my left wrist and scrabbles at the elastic bracelets, finding one with enough give. I snap and breathe.

Snap and breathe.

Over and over, I snap and breathe.

The EMT's exchange a glance between them, but they don't object, because I've stopped crying and gasping for air.

###

The most alone I have ever felt in my whole life is right now—in this MRI machine. They took my bracelets. I can't snap and breathe. I can't scratch and breathe because I have to lay perfectly still. The most annoying part is that it's pointless, because now that I know the babies are okay, I know that I'm okay. I can feel every bruise and ache all over my body, so obviously I don't have any kind of spinal cord injury or internal injury, which would surely hurt worse than the minor soreness I feel.