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steps.
    Eric called his parents to fill them in on what was going on as he ushered me towards the car. “Yes, yes . . . I think she is fine. We’re just taking her in to check her out. Plus the nurse thinks it could be the onset of early labour. I’ll call you as soon as we know anything more.”
    â€œSlow down!” I cried as Eric peeled out of our driveway and raced down the street. My knuckles turned white from holding onto the car door so tightly. “I know we need to get there, but we aren’t going to make it if you crash this car!” Ignoring me, Eric blew through a red stoplight. I cranked my head to look behind us, hoping that I wouldn’t find rotating cherries on top of a police car. I didn’t, and Eric kept his foot securely pressed on the gas pedal.
    About halfway to the hospital, my lower abdomen started to contract and I knew I was in labour. The on-call baby doctor, who introduced herself as Dr. Marlow when she walked into the room where Eric and I were waiting, checked dilation and quickly agreed with my self-diagnosis. Despite being a few weeks shy of full term, our baby definitely wanted out.
    Putting her hand on my knee, Dr. Marlow explained that, typically, a woman in such an early stage of labour would be sent home. It could be days of labour before Ella actually made her grand entrance. But Dr. Marlow wanted to watch me for a few hours to check my progress.
    It was at the precise moment that Dr. Marlow was explaining all of this that my water broke in a huge gush, making the linens I was lying on sopping wet. “Well, looks like you just bought yourself an admission. This is the real thing!” Dr. Marlow smiled. “Let’s take a quick look on the ultrasound to assess final position and we’ll go from there.”
    The nurse wheeled in the portable L&D ultrasound and squeezed the familiar jelly — this time
not
warmed — onto my aching abdomen. She narrowed her eyes at the black and white TV image before her. She frowned. Every muscle in my body matched the contractions that were going on in my gut.
    â€œWhat is it, Dr. Marlow?” Eric asked, his hand squeezing mine a little too tightly.
    â€œLooks like your baby is breech. Frank breech, to be exact,” she responded, her eyes still squinty and focused. They never strayed from the ultrasound picture. When she appeared to feel confident with her image interpretations, she removed the transducer from my belly and wiped away the gel.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I asked. Sweat beads lined my forehead and I struggled to breathe through a heightened contraction.
    â€œThere’s nothing to worry about at all, but your baby is upside down. She must have turned last week and now her bum is where her head should be. A vaginal delivery with a breech baby is risky so I’m going to book an OR and give you an urgent C-section. It is a very routine surgery and it will happen very quickly. My guess is that your baby will be here in the next hour or two, depending on when we can get a room. I’d call your folks or whoever else you might want to be here. This is really it.”
    Eric squeezed my hand again, but this time it felt lighter and more excited. “I’ll go call our parents and tell them to come now. You okay if I leave you for a few minutes? I can’t get reception in the hospital and need to step outside.”
    â€œYes, yes . . . you go call them. I’m clearly not going anywhere.” I smiled at him, wanting to take in every moment of the milestone. In front of Dr. Marlow Eric gave me a long kiss on the lips, which made me blush with embarrassment.
    Fifteen minutes later, Eric returned along with the nurse who had been put on my charge. She introduced herself as Nurse Nancy, which I knew Eric would have found amusing in a different situation, and told us that she needed to take me — without Eric — so that I could be prepped and given my spinal.