Hey guys!

I can't believe this is only the second story I've posted on here. I hope you guys like this one. I'd really like to submit this to the fiction section of a magazine called St. Anthony's Messenger, so I want to make it as perfect as possible (wouldn't we all, lol). This story definitely isn't finished yet, so watch out for more soon! I'd like to have the rough draft done by the end of Christmas break, but I don't know if that's going to happen.

This story involves a crisis pregnancy and delivery, so if anyone knows about that type of stuff, please post here or pm me. Some specific questions:

Where are the babies delivered in a crisis pregnancy (ICU, etc.)?

Are husbands allowed in the room?

How many doctors are there in the room, and how many people are allowed?

What is the way the babies are delivered?

If I think of any more, I'll post here. Thanks for your help in advance, and without further adieu, here's the story (with tentative title)!

Wiggy

_____

“All things came to be through him, and without him nothing came to be. What came to be through him was life…” (John 1:3)

Jack buried his face in his hands. He concentrated on breathing—slowly, in and out—just like the respirator Amanda was on. Slumped against the wall, he peeped through his fingers at the vending machine a few feet away. A line of glaring red Cheetos bags caught his eye, and he fished in his pocket for some change.

He slowly rose up and stumbled over to the snacks. Pushing the money in, he massaged his temples until the machine acknowledged the receipt of the coins. He punched in “E6” and waited. The silver rack circled closer, closer—and stopped.

“Come on!” he muttered. He pounded his fist against the plastic, causing the machine to quiver slightly. “No!” he shouted. “Come on, she needs it!” Sobbing, he wrapped his arms around the machine as far as they would go and shook it violently. Glasses askew, he sank down to the floor, clutching the ends of his brown hair as hard as he could. Sobs racked his body. He slowly banged his head against the hard plastic, tears streaming down his face and over his fingers like diluted syrup.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He slowly looked over his right shoulder, eyes ambling up to gaze into warm, blue-gray ones etched with concern.

“Are you all right?” a soft voice asked. Smiling, she offered a hand. “I’m Peggy. Let me help you up.”

He grasped her outstretched hand and hoisted himself off the floor. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“No problem.” She tucked a stray blonde hair behind her ear. “I saw the whole thing, and, well, no offense, but you beat any snack machine blues I’ve ever seen.” She smiled again. I’ve got some spare change, if that would help any.” She glanced over at the machine and eyed the contents. “What did you want, anyway?”

“Cheetos.”

“Ah.” She retrieved a dollar from her pocket and held it out.

He held up his hand. “No thanks,” he said. “I’ve got enough change for another try.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He scuffed his boot against the floor and thrust his hands into his pockets. She neatly folded the dollar in half and placed it back in her pocket. After a moment of silence, she reached out and grasped his shoulder. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it,” she whispered.

He looked up, alarmed. “Wha…?”

“Come on,” she said, taking his arm and leading him to two vacant chairs by the front entrance. Plopping down, she rubbed her eyes and folded her left leg under her right one. “Well?” she inquired.

He hovered above her uncertainly. Glancing over his shoulder, he shook his head and took a step backwards.

“My wife…” He gestured with his hands toward the ICU sign a few feet away. “Sh-she’s delivering…I don’t know if she’s gonna make it…they won’t even let me in!” He angrily swiped a tear that had trespassed on his gaunt face. “Dr. Black said there was too much risk of an infection, but I just need to see her, you know? Hold her hand, stroke her hair, something.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and began to pace back and forth. “The Cheetos weren’t for me,” he continued. “Amanda, my wife, just has this fetish for them. Ever since our first date when I found out how much she loved them, I’ve always brought her a bag. The puffy kind are her favorite, a-and when I saw them in the vending machine…” He broke off, sank down into the nearest chair, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, I guess I just kinda went crazy. If I could just do something for her to help her get through it…”

Peggy stared intently at him the whole time he was talking. After he finished, she rested her chin on her hand and let out a whooshing sound. “Wow,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled wanly at her. “The doctor said he’d have one of the nurses call me if there was any more news.” He sighed. “All I can really do is wait.”

She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “My husband died three years ago from lung cancer.” Her voice got quiet as she removed her hand from his and began to trace the simple oak pattern on the armrest of the chair. “You never really get over death. It creeps up on you like that bogeyman we were all afraid of when we were younger—you know it’s coming, but when it does, it’s just as surprising as if you had never known it was lurking behind you.” She looked up at him again. “No matter what happens to your wife and child, you do have one thing that can never die.”

“What’s that?”

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she asked, “Do you know what today is?”

A tired look came into his eyes. “Some time in December, last time I checked. I’ve been here for over twenty-four hours, and slept for about three of them, so I’ve kind of lost track. The 22nd, maybe? No, wait, that’s the day we went in…the 23rd, then?”

“Close. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Oh my God, tomorrow’s Christmas?”

Peggy looked at her watch. “In about twenty minutes it will be.”

He sunk into a chair. “What a way to spend it.”

“Fear not, I am with you; be not dismayed; I am your God. I will strengthen you, and help you, and uphold you with my right hand of justice.” (Isaiah 41:10)

Suddenly, the vibration of his cell phone caused Jack to jerk forward. He whipped it open.

“How is she?” he asked breathlessly. A pause. “How soon? Are you serious? No, no, please, I need to see her—you don’t understand! Doctor, please!” After a few more seconds of conversation, he slowly closed his phone.

“Jack,” Peggy whispered, “what happened?”

He didn’t seem to hear her. Gripping the edge of his chair, he stiffly rested against the back of it. His face could have been made of cold marble, he sat motionless for so long. Finally, he turned his head toward Peggy.

“She’s having trouble breathing. If the baby doesn’t get enough oxygen before it comes out, it…it might not survive.” He choked down a sob and continued, “They’ve still got her on a respirator, but that baby needs to come out—soon. Th-the contractions are coming in faster, but there’s still too much risk of an infection, so I can’t be with her till the baby’s born…if it’s born.”

“Oh, Jack, don’t give up hope!” Peggy cried. “’member how I was saying you have that one thing that can never die? You know what it is? It’s God! I don’t know if you’re much of a praying man, but I know I’m a praying woman. Good heavens, it’s the only thing that got me through Parker’s death, and I have a feeling it’s the only thing that’s going to get you through the next few minutes.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden cross. “Now,” she continued, “will you pray with me?”

Jack’s mouth gaped open. “I-I don’t pray much,” he stuttered. “Not for awhile at least…” His eyes flashed. “Besides, where’s God when I need him? Why should I pray to someone that hasn’t cared about Amanda so far?”

Peggy’s eyes shone. “Look at this, Jack,” she said, gesturing to a tinsel-happy Christmas tree a few feet away. A beautiful Nativity set was carefully set up under it; the baby Jesus’ luminescent halo was the focal point of the wooden figures. “It’s that little boy’s birthday in about ten minutes. What better time to ask for favors that at a celebration?”

Jack’s eyes lingered over the baby Jesus. “I may not be much of a praying man,” he said softly, “but I still believe. Come on, Peggy.” He led her over to the Nativity set and sat right down in front of Jesus.

“Might as well let him see us, too,” he said, winking.

She smiled. “You lead.”