laurie rachkus uttich

Too Blue to Become Brown

My son is coming. The cord is tight around his neck, but I labor for hours, my body a channel my son drowns in. The cord becomes a noose and a nurse places an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. My doctor comes in and out, time blends into the mauve walls and rose curtains. I breathe and try not to push. I am told the cavities in my back are too small for an epidural. I am told to lie on my side. I am told that everything is fine, everything is just fine.