I felt them both, my husband and my baby, needing me. Finding strength in me, in my body. Our hands intertwined, holding each other’s bodies, giving what we needed. I felt more courage that day then I ever felt in my life.

Later that night there was panic on the floor. Nurses were running around, visibly upset. Then Omar got a call on his handphone. It was Fairman, his voice so loud Omar pulled it away from his ear.

Turn on the TV, now!

In that hospital room, from a television high up in the corner, we saw the planes fly into the twin towers in New York City, we heard the screams of patients from the other rooms, we saw the collapsing steel and concrete, the inferno. We saw multiple dots falling to the ground, people falling or jumping to their deaths. I felt hot tears on Omar’s cheek. I could not cry. The horror. The absolute, inexpressible horror of it all.

Two weeks later, I was back in the hospital, this time with a dilated cervix, fast pulsating contractions in a tornado of pain.

The contractions were a surprise, at first bearable, but then they bore deeper and deeper into my body, like a drill that charted a course through bone, blood, sinew. It was a primal pain, visceral, profound. She was moving through me, pushing through me. I felt like I was going to break, like the splitting limbs of a doll being torn apart. I had not known that the human body was capable of delivering such pain. I sat up, I sat down, I kneeled, I squatted, I growled like an animal, crawling around on all fours. I breathed in and out and groaned. Deep guttural moans. There was music in the room, and incense, and Omar and Lisa.

I didn’t want any drugs, so the pain was excruciating. I lost track of time, but it had been hours. By the time I was fully dilated, I was on the verge of exhaustion. And then I had to push. Pushing a baby out of your vagina is a wonder, a feat only possible when you’re in the thick of it. When Lisa said Push, Del, push, I did.

Omar was behind me, his arms wrapped around mine. His lips on my neck, whispering. Baby, you can do this. Love you, love you. Come on, baby. Push. My thighs pressed against my chest, my neck arched in pain. I felt a contraction coming, and pushed with all my might. Every bit of strength, with every ounce of the possible, I pushed. I saw the bright flicker of light, the lotus flower of serpent energy, coiling up and up and down and down, the oily scent of blood and birth, and my slippery baby easing into the world.