A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

“She’s cheating on me,” he says. “And there’s no way in hell that if
and when she decides to leave me, I’m letting her take my baby
away.”
Later, Shelby wakes. The nurse comes in to check on her. Her
dilation and effacement haven’t changed much. We wait a while
longer.
When Shelby fails to progress, the doctor orders Pitocin. This
strengthens her contractions. Soon, Shelby is in pain. Jason wants
to know why. “The fucking epidural isn’t working. Shouldn’t she be
numb?” he asks.
“Even with the epidural, the pressure can become more intense as
time goes on.”
“Call the doctor. Get him to fix it,” he says.
“We need her to feel the pressure of the contractions now. It will
help Shelby push your baby out,” I say, and then I turn my back to
him. My energy needs to be spent comforting Shelby, not mollifying
him. We try again to work on her breathing, but Shelby is too far
gone for that.
When she’s reached ten centimeters, the nurse has Shelby labor
down for a while before she starts to push, in the hopes that the
uterus and contractions will do some of the work for her. But the
contractions are unbearable. There’s the greatest desire to bear
down.
When it’s time to push, I talk to Shelby about breathing, about
effective pushing. When she screams at me that she can’t do it, I tell
her that she already is. “You’re doing it, Shelby. You are doing it.” I
smile encouragingly.
When Jason looks like he might be sick, I suggest he step out into
the hall for air. He does as I say. After a few minutes, he comes
back.
I feed Shelby ice chips during each push. She pushes a long
while. First-time mothers who’ve had an epidural tend to push
anywhere up to three hours, sometimes more, which is fine so long
as the mother and baby aren’t in distress, or the mother too
exhausted to push.
By the time Dr. Feingold returns, Shelby is completely spent.