“Nine centimeters. The doctor is on her way.”

One look at my sister told me Dean wasn’t going to make it in time. Unless the doctor was parking her car, I didn’t think she was going to make it either.

“Is the anesthesiologist coming soon?” Ivy asked hopefully, miserably.

The nurse’s face melted into pity. “The doctor will be here in a few minutes—she’ll tell you everything, okay?”

“So that’s a yes? I’m getting drugs, right?” Ivy’s voice rose, the pitch edging on shrill.

“Ivy, look at me,” I commanded, and the wide, scared eyes of my sister fixed on me. “You don’t need drugs. You’ve already made it through the worst part, the really grueling, terrible, never-ending hours of contractions. All you have to do is push.”

“But not yet!” a nurse chimed from across the room.

Ivy began to weep.

“Your body knows what to do,” I insisted. “All you have to do is go along with it, and it’ll be over soon.”

“B-b-but Dean’s not here,” she wailed. “I want Dean. I want Mom. I can’t do this,” she said frantically, trying to get out of the bed. She barely made it to sitting before another contraction came. “Ahhhhhh—I have to poop,” she announced to the room, clutching her belly like she could squeeze out the pain.

A nurse ran up, palms out. “Nonononono—No pooping!”

“But the book said pooping is normal,” Ivy whined.

“Honey,” the nurse said gently as a fleet of women began stripping off blankets and breaking down the bed, “you don’t have to poop. You have to push.”

“No, I’m sure I have to poop,” she insisted. “I haven’t pooped in at least three days!”

“Ivy”—the nurse’s face hardened with authority—“if you try to poop, you’re going to have a baby. You don’t want me to deliver it, do you?”

Her chin wobbled. “N-no, thank you.”

“I didn’t think so,” she said, returning to her task.

“Just hold on for a few minutes, Ivy,” I said.

Her shoulders shook with sobs she tried desperately to keep in. “T-this wasn’t supposed to be how it went,” she said. “Dean’s not here, I have no drugs, I—” Ivy sucked in a breath and curled in on herself. When the contraction passed, she flopped back in bed, panting and sobbing.

“Ivy,” I said in that commanding voice again, “I am going to get you through this. Okay? Do you trust me to get you through this?”

She blinked tears from her eyes, nodding. “More than anyone. You do everything you ever say you’re going to do. Could you tell me you’re having my baby for me?”