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MidReal Story
The TwoBedroom House
Scenario:In 1940s Two women giving birth together on same bed hard birth
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Delia
and overwhelmed. Delia experiences a difficult labor, sharing a bed with her friend Emily, who is also in labor. The scene is intense and chaotic, with both women struggling through their pain while supported by each other. Delia fears for her baby's health due to the unusual birth circumstances but ultimately feels relieved when her son is born healthy.
I was in labor, and so was my friend Emily.
We were both having our babies at the same time, right next to each other, and we were both scared.
I didn’t know if I would be a good mother.
I didn’t know if my baby would be healthy.
All I knew was that I wanted my husband to come home so I could hold him and tell him about our baby.
The pain came in waves, and with each wave, I felt like I was losing control.
Emily grabbed my hand and squeezed.
"I’m here," she said.
"We’re going to get through this together."
I took a deep breath and tried to focus on her words.
"I can’t do this," I said.
"I’m so scared."
"You can do it," Emily said.
"You are strong and capable. We’re going to have beautiful babies."
Emily’s voice was calm and soothing.
She had always been the one who could calm me down when I was anxious.
I took another breath and tried to relax.
But the pain was too much.
I felt like I was being ripped apart from the inside out.
"I can’t do this," I said again.
"I don’t think I can do this."
Emily squeezed my hand again.
"We’re almost there," she said.
"Just a little longer."
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing.
I could hear the sounds of the war around me, but they were distant now.
I grip Emily's hand tighter as another contraction hits, our shared bed creaking beneath us.
Through gritted teeth, Emily lets out a deep, guttural sound that startles me.
The pain in my abdomen intensifies, and I find myself mirroring her primal grunt.
Our labored breathing synchronizes as we both struggle through the mounting pressure.
The midwife moves between us, checking our progress.
Emily's grip on my hand weakens momentarily, then strengthens as she bears down again.
I follow her lead, pushing with all my might.
Our combined groans fill the small room.
And then, amidst the chaos, the cries of new life pierced through the air.
The midwife kneels between our legs, her weathered hands moving with practiced efficiency as she checks our progress.
Her face is a map of lines and wrinkles, etched by years of delivering babies in the midst of war.
I feel a mix of vulnerability and relief as she examines me first, her fingers probing gently.
"You're doing well," she says, her voice steady and reassuring.
"I can see the head crowning. It's dark hair."
Emily's grip on my hand tightens as the midwife shifts to check her next.
I watch Emily's face contort with another contraction, her eyes closed tightly as she pushes against the pain.
The midwife's hands move deftly between Emily's legs, checking the baby's position.
"Good, good," she murmurs.
"The baby is crowning too. I can see fair hair."
Our bodies seem to be working in strange synchrony, each contraction mirroring the other.
I can feel my baby pushing lower, the pressure building until it feels like I can't bear it anymore. The midwife positions herself between us, ready to catch whichever child comes first.
She looks at us both, her eyes encouraging.
"Push now," she says.
"Both of you."
We bear down together, our faces contorted with effort.
I can feel the pressure building inside me, a mix of pain and relief as the baby moves closer to being born.
And then, in a rush of fluid and blood, our babies' heads emerge simultaneously.