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Fighting for Flight

Fighting for Flight

Description : Fighting for Flight
I have a brief moment to catch my breath before it’s time to push again. My head lolls to the side, eyes fixing on the shape of a man. It’s hard to tell through the blur of tears and sweat clouding my vision. The bright light illuminating my body is no help. Everything outside of its glow is darkness. But, even in the dark, I know who it is.

How long has he been here? In my labor-induced dementia I didn’t see hime in. My skin crawls, each tiny hair standing on end. I squirm under the weight of his foreboding presence.

The vise grip on my midsection begins its violentpression. I lock eyes with the doctor between my legs.

“One more push, Milena. Take a deep breath.” He wipes his brow with the dirty sleeve of his shirt. The smell of cigar smoke and liquor wafts from his body in nauseating waves. My stomach roils as my body tightens with a contraction.

“Good. Now, push!” I barely hear the doctor count to ten over my groaning.

My torso folds in half as the force of the contraction racks my body. I bite my lip and taste blood, refusing to give voice to my agony. Sweat beads on my skin. I grip the sheets against the unbearable pain. I want to give up, just lie back and sleep, but my womb is intent on purging this baby. A guttural sound rumbles in my throat. Searing pain. Intense pressure. I’m being ripped into two.

“Baby’s out.” The doctor announces to the room.

It’s over. I fall back onto the bed.

The room is quiet except for my heaving breath and the clicking of the doctor’s tools. I study the ceiling, not ready to face what I know ising.

Exhaustion sets in and my eyelids slide shut, only to fly back open with the shrill cry of new life. Its stuttered vibrato pulls at something deep in my chest. My heart races.


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