Chapter 15 — Divorce During Pregnancy

She slept on the sofa bed in the living room, I slept in the bedroom. Every night she sets three alarms to wake her up to check on me. I said you're not the one taking care of mother and baby. She said I'm your biological sister, more trustworthy than the person taking care of the mother and baby. Examination at thirty-seven weeks, everything was normal. The doctor said that after thirty-seven weeks a twin pregnancy is considered full term and labor can occur at any time. Told me to prepare a birthing bag and immediately go to the hospital in case of any situation. I packed my birth bag a long time ago. Clothes, swaddling blankets, bottles, diapers for the two kids, paperwork, change of clothes, and my menstrual pads. Everything is neatly arranged at the door. Everything is ready. But the actual day of labor was at three in the morning. I was woken up by a dull pain. Not a bike, not a team. It was a painful tension rising from the waist, as if someone was pulling it down. I opened my eyes and lay in the dark feeling for a minute. There was another attack. I turned on my phone to see the time — 3:17 in the morning. From the previous attack to this one was about eight minutes apart. I sat up. The movement pulls on the abdomen, causing both pain and tension. I felt the bedside light switch and turned it on. When I went to the living room, To Tieu was still sleeping. I pushed her: "To Tieu, wake up." She said "Yes" vaguely. I said: "Looks like I'm about to give birth." Her eyes immediately opened wide. Within two seconds, she jumped up from the sofa, her hair a mess like a pothole but her whole body was awake. “Now? How long has the pain been? Every few minutes?” I said: “Just started, about every eight minutes.” She started putting on her shoes: “Go, go to the hospital!” I said: "No rush, eight minutes is still early to give birth to the first child..." She glared at me: "Twins do not follow your rules of giving birth to the first child! Go!" I was pulled and pulled into the car by her. Her driving speed is like filming "Fast & Furious", red and green lights can be overtaken. I sat in the passenger seat, one hand holding the armrest, the other holding my stomach: "To Tieu, please be slow, don't even get to the hospital before I give birth." Her hands never loosened on the steering wheel: "Shut up! Breathe!" It was 3:40 a.m. when I arrived at the hospital. The emergency nurse pushed the wheelchair out. By the time I was wheeled into the obstetrics department, the contractions had turned into every five minutes. After checking, the doctor said: "The cervix has dilated three centimeters, ready to go into the delivery room." To Tieu held my hand throughout the process, her fingernails dug into the back of my hand, but I didn't say a word. Because uterine contractions hurt more than her fingernails. Before entering the delivery room, she was blocked outside. She shouted towards the door: "Giang Niem An, you must be okay! I'm waiting for you outside!" The door closes. The lights in the delivery room were blinding. I lay on the delivery table, my whole body drenched in sweat. Uterine contractions follow one another, the distance becoming shorter and shorter. The midwife at my side guided me to breathe and use force in rhythm. Painful. It's really painful. It's like someone used a blunt knife to pull it from the inside out. I gritted my teeth, not screaming out loud. But tears flowed uncontrollably. Don't know how much time has passed. Maybe an hour, maybe two hours. Time has lost its meaning in pain. Then I heard a cry. Thin but resounding. First child. The doctor said: "The baby boy is very healthy." Before I could breathe, the next wave of power surged up again. It was another long period of exertion. Then — Second cry. Even louder than the first sound. Baby girl, also very healthy. My whole body was limp on the delivery table, sweat and tears smeared all over my face. Something exploded in his chest. It's not pain. It's a giant feeling, covering heaven and earth. Can't put it into words. Just feel — All the misery

In this life, in this moment, everything is worth it. The nurse carried two small babies wrapped in blankets in front of me. One on the left, one on the right. Two small wrinkled faces, eyes closed, small mouth opening and closing looking for milk. I raised my trembling hand to touch their faces. Soft. Warm. Lively. It's mine. Mom finally gets to meet her children. As if they heard it, they both let out a low hum. My tears fell again. This time I really laughed and cried at the same time. After leaving the delivery room, To Tieu rushed over and almost lifted me out of the wheelchair. She cried harder than me. I said: "Don't cry anymore. If you cry, we'll both cry too." She wiped her face: "Aren't I happy!" I was pushed back to the hospital room. Two children lay quietly in a small crib. To Tieu lay face down next to the crib and looked back and forth: "Like you." I said: "All newborn babies are like that, they are not like anyone else." She said: “No, the eyes are like yours.” I tilted my head to look at them. "With your eyes closed, how do you see them?" She laughed: "I just feel the same." In the afternoon, the phone received a text message. Luc Hanh Chu sent. "I heard To Tieu say you gave birth today? Is your mother safe?" I asked To Tieu to help me answer: "It's safe, one boy and one girl." He replied: "Congratulations. Rest well." A while later, he sent another message: "Does the meal after you two are a month old still count?"