I worried about seeing my daughter in labour. I don't think any parent wants to see their child in pain. There was already a bit of a complication:  baby was face-up and unless he or she flipped around, such a position might mean a longer and more painful labour.  I was scared for her.  At the age of 27 Lora’s my third, the baby of the family and the first of my children to have their own baby.   But she’s a strong kid, ever the optimist and a great problem-solver.  I had faith in her.

Lora finished work a few weeks before she was due and she and I spent several days together, eating sushi and ice cream, flipping through racks of baby clothes, laughing about everything possible and reveling in that mother-daughter bubble.  I was over-the-moon excited at the prospect of being a granny and also knew that what we had between us was soon to evolve.  

Her stepdad and I were staying at a nearby hotel and Lora and I were emailing each other in the evenings.  On the night of September 7th, I realized that it had been several hours since I’d heard from her but thought she and Matt might have gone to bed early.  I climbed into bed about 11:30, but as soon as my eyelids drooped, they flew open again.  I jumped out of bed.  “I think she’s in labour!” I called to Steve.  Turns out, she was.

It was a long night at the hospital before she was finally admitted and I headed over when she wanted me to, in the afternoon.  By the time I saw her she’d already been through a lot of pain but an epidural had made her a lot more comfortable.  She was joking, excited and ready to meet her baby.  Her older sister arrived at the hospital and we all had some time together.  Danielle had Lora giggling between contractions and I combed her hair and took off her makeup for her and gave her husband a bit of a break to grab a wee nap.  But the break for Lora didn’t last long. 

Painful pushing carried on for few hours.  Baby stayed face up and wouldn't  budge.  Danielle and I went in to see Lora just after the docs decided to do a caesarian.  Lora was calm but shaking, scared but excited.  Her body was stressed.  It broke my heart to see my little girl, who struggled herself to enter the world, being wheeled away.  What if something went wrong?

Danielle and I returned to the waiting room.   Our version of the modern family, parents and stepparents all became quiet.  For many hours we’d been sharing stories and jokes and snacking on vending machine goodies.  But now questions loomed:  Would Lora be okay?  Would the baby? 

I paced in the hallway.  Every nerve in my body was tight.  We were told the surgery would take about 45 minutes.  An hour passed.  Another hour passed.  I choked back tears.  All I could think of was Lora.  She’d had trouble keeping her iron up when she was pregnant and had been told she might need a blood transfusion.  Was she losing blood?  I wanted to be with her but knew this wasn’t possible.  Her husband was with her.  That’s who she needed right now. 

I was cold; I was hot.  We knew which door Matt would come out of to give us the news.  Danielle thought she heard something.  We pressed our ears to the door.  Nothing.  But then, the door opened and there was Matt in his OR gear.  “It’s a boy!”

I asked if Lora was okay.  She was.  The baby had been stuck in her pelvis; there was no way he could have been delivered but by C-section.  “Kieran Thomas Daly!” Matt proudly announced.

I wanted to see her.  I had to see her.  But the nurse said it wasn’t time.  And so we waited. 

Another hour passed.  All I needed to do was lay eyes on my girl, touch her, make sure she was okay.  And finally we were let in. Lora was propped up slightly on a bed.  Her feet stuck out from the blankets, as if she was hot.  She didn’t have much left in her but she was smiling.  She wasn’t able to hold her new son unassisted but I saw a look in her eyes id never seen before.  She was a mommy. I stroked her cheek and her needled hand just before she drifted off into a drugged sleep. 

The next day I went back to the hospital.  When I walked into the room Lora was lying in bed with a tiny baby cuddled up against her skin.  Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail; her skin was pale.  She looked so young.  And she looked so happy.