Labor Day

Prologue

Sirens blare as the young couple is rushed to the hospital late at night. "Just keep breathing and the children will be fine, Lib." Prodótis assures his wife. A petite girl, with an overly large stomach, lies on a pristine white gurney. She takes shallow breaths, occasionally slipping into unconsciousness. A heart monitor next to her bleeps slowly, sometimes skipping beats. "You stay with me, Libitina. You stay with me," Prodótis says as he grips his wife's weak hand. A shiny gold band stood out against her bluish skin.

The ambulance skids to a stop just outside the local hospital's doors. The doors fly open. Wind rushed in causing Prodótis to shiver. Libitina is taken from the bed and transferred to a hospital bed.

"Are you the husband?" A woman in blue scrubs asks.

"Yes ma'am."

"Then, you'll want to come with us." The woman rushes off pushing Lib in front of her. Prodótis jogs beside his wife, brushing back a lock of her blonde hair. He checks the watch on his wrist. 9:23.

Less than three hours. The woman makes a sharp turn through a set of double doors before coming to the emergency room. Instantly, the doctors and nurses fly into action. A pair of scrubs were thrust into Prodótis's hands and he was ushered out of the room to change. Hastily, he puts his scrubs on over his blue jeans and flannel. The September air is warm, but still cold enough to catch a cold.

Once properly dressed, Prodótis walks back into the room. Libitina lays on a white-linen bed; machines and tubes protruding from her skin. Voices echo throughout the white room. "Fix the light above her! Make sure we can see clearly!"

"She has a broken rib, be careful of it. Number seven!"

The doctors fling orders around carefully. Prodótis stands off to the side before one of the nurses suggests going and standing by his wife. He walks over and takes Lib's gauze-wrapped hand in his before bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly. "I love you, Lib," he whispers against her skin.

Libitina's eyes flutter before a strangling cry escapes her. "It's okay. Just push honey, push." After a long, painful hour, a new cry sounds through the air. Beneath the sheets, a doctor in light blue scrubs pulls out a small girl. Her hair is matted with blood, but underneath it, you can tell it is blonde, just like her mother's. Prodótis checks the time again. 11: 11. Forty-nine minutes left.

"The placenta is wrapped around the other baby's neck!"

"Prepare for an emergency caesarean section."

Several nurses rush past carrying the small, screaming child. As the team of medical professionals set up, the minutes seem to tick by ever so quickly. By the time they're done it's 11: 47.

They carefully begin the procedure, carrying each action out with caution, as if not to harm the unborn child inside. After several long minutes, Prodótis glimpses a small hand peeking through the cloth covering its mother's stomach. In a few more moments, the child would be fully out and breathing, but at that minute the clock strikes twelve. The time is up.