Nevara
“We can begin Pitocin.”
The physician’s words should have felt like progress.
Instead, every person in the room looked toward the medication tray as though it held a weapon.
“What will it do?” Thoren asked.
“Strengthen the contractions and make them more regular. Her cervix has softened enough for the medication to be effective now.”
“And the pain?” Mom asked.
The physician did not soften his answer. “It will increase.”
I closed my eyes.
The contractions were already coming close enough together that I barely had time to unclench before the next one began. The Cervidil had left me raw, sore, and painfully aware of every examination.
“How much worse?” I asked.
“That varies.”
“That means significantly.”
“Yes.”
Thoren’s hand tightened around mine.
“We can wait,” he said.
