12th of Never

But it was.
    I reached for my Maglite, accidentally knocked it with the back of my hand, and it flew off the night table, rolled under the bed, and went I don’t know where.
    Lightning branched down and reached across the black sky, as if to emphasize the point that the lights were out as far as the eye could see.
    I grabbed the cordless phone and listened to dead air. The phones were out, too, and now I was feeling that weird wave of stomach pain again.
Yowee.
    I want to be clear. I was feeling a wave, not a contraction.
    My age classifies me as an “elderly primigravida,” meaning over forty, pregnant with my first child. I had seen my doctor yesterday morning and I’d checked out fine. The baby had checked out fine, and wasn’t due for another week.
    I had booked a bed on the birthing floor at California Women’s Hospital, and although I’m not the organic granola type, I wanted to have the whole natural childbirth experience. The truth was, this baby might be the only one Joe and I would ever have.
    Another wave of pain hit me.
    To repeat, it was
not
a contraction.
    I staggered out to the living room, found my handbag—an item I hadn’t needed in several weeks—and dug around until I found my iPhone. The battery bar was showing that I had only 10 percent of a full charge. Too damned little.
    I leaned against a wall and went online to see what kind of storm was beating up San Francisco.
    The squall was even worse than I thought. Twenty thousand families were in the dark. People were stuck in elevators between floors. Signs and other detritus had been flung through windows. Cars had skidded across roads, crashed, and flipped. All emergency vehicles had been deployed. Emergency rooms were flooded with patients and downed power lines were sparking on the streets.
    This was shaping up to be one of the worst storms in SF history. Headlines quoted the mayor: stay in your homes. the streets are unsafe .
    Martha slunk over and collapsed on top of my feet.
    “We’re going to be okay,” I cooed.
    And then that pain came over me. And it flipped me out.
    “Go away,” I yelled at Martha. “Go away.”
    She ran.
    “I’m sorry, Boo,” I said to my whimpering dog. “These are false contractions. If they were real, I would know it.”
    I grabbed my knees—and that’s when my water broke.
    No way!
    I could not comprehend what was happening—it could not be happening. I wasn’t ready to have the baby. It wasn’t due for another week. But ready or not, this baby was coming.
    God help me
.
    My little one and I were really in for it now.

Two
    I WANTED TO abandon my body.
    Yes, that sounds insane, but that’s how I felt—and it was all that I felt. I clicked the light switch up and down, picked up the landline.
    Still no power and no phones; neither would be restored until the sun threw some light on the situation. I had five minutes of battery left on my iPhone, maybe less.
    I speed-dialed my doctor, left a message with her service, then called the hospital. A nice woman named Shelby asked me, “How often are your contractions coming?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t time them. I didn’t even know I was having them.”
    “Lindy?”
    “Lindsay.”
    “Lindsay, your water breaking means you’ll be in labor for a while yet. You could deliver in three hours or three days, but don’t worry. Let me explain about three-one-one.”
    I knew about 311. But still I listened as Shelby explained that 311 was the rule for what to do when your contractions come every three minutes, last for one minute, and that pattern repeats for at least one hour: you go to the hospital.
    “Are you kidding me?” I screeched into the phone. “Because, listen! I’m alone and I’ve never done this before.”
    “Do
not
come in until you’re in active labor,” Shelby said. “Stay home, where you’re comfortable.”
    I yelled, “Thanks!,” snapped off my phone, and walked my enormous baby bump to the window. I was breathing hard as I looked up Lake Street in the direction of my chosen hospital. There was no traffic, no traffic lights. The street was closed.
    A tremendous burst of lightning cracked the sky open and sent Martha skittering under the couch. It was crazy, but I was starting to like the storm, even though it had sucked all the air out of the room.
    It was hot. Damned hot. I kicked off my XXL pj’s and another painful wave took my breath away. It was as if a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around my torso and