April 5, 1997 [20]

Martha's nail chipped as she dug her fingers into the side of the tub. "Holy shit... Holy shit..." she strained between heaving breaths. "I can't do this... No fucking way..."

"You can," James soothed. "And you will. Remember, the pain means you're getting closer-"

"Godamnit James, you said that six hours ago!!"

Martha leaned over the side of her birthing tub, sitting in the living room of their home in San Francisco, purchased specifically for this day – or days with an 's'! So far, it's only been two. But who knows? Maybe it'll take three... or four... or maybe this is my life now – a wailing heifer forever torn apart from the inside!

The sun peeked over the eastern horizon as another contraction rolled down her back like a wave off an ocean of fire. It was almost comical how naive she'd been. Nope. Not almost. Or even at all. Nothing about this bullshit is funny! The thousand year old girl who'd survived broken bones, car crashes, and a gunshot to the face; who'd studied and re-studied every inch of the human body; who'd delivered dozens of babies as a doctor, herself – was in no way prepared for the sadistic ordeal Mother Nature was putting her through.

The truth, in its wicked irony, was that everything was going to plan. Eight months prior, they'd arrived safely at their secluded property just west of the Mendocino National Forest, where James had pre-contracted the plumbing and concrete foundation. Also waiting for them were the lumber, tools, and remaining supplies they'd need to build their Eden together.

For the first two months, they slept in a tent until the basic structure – a timber framed, two bedroom with a cedar shake roof – was raised. It was a considerable task for just two people. But without school or work, tv or internet, quantum exploration or existential crisis, they had the time and – it goes without saying – the experience to get the job done at an efficient pace. More importantly, they had each other. Not for a second did it feel like work.

The second trimester was spent finishing the interior then filling out the rest of their property. James built a three story treehouse and a chicken coop they'd stock once they returned for good. Martha planted a flower garden to frame the home and a vegetable patch in the front to harvest.

Satisfied with their creation, and not wanting to tempt fate, they moved back to San Francisco and civilization for the last trimester. A token visit to a gynecologist for a checkup and ultrasound confirmed the fetus was healthy. Though at Martha and James' request, the doctor kept the gender to herself.

Over the last two weeks, Martha endured three cases of Braxton Hicks until the miracle finally began one sunny Friday afternoon.

Seventeen hours later, she kneeled, praying for the end, her body bursting and her will deflated. She was eight centimeters dilated at last check, so it was far too late for an epidural. But as with the rest of her first and possibly last life as a mother, Martha had pledged to experience every last second of it – the good, the bad, and the excruciating.

It was more than simply rejecting whatever relief western medicine might provide, however. Martha had to resist aid from the east as well. She and James had spent most of her ninth life in Nepal, dedicating themselves to spiritual enlightenment. And while she couldn't quite match James' parlor trick of slowing his heartbeat to seventeen bpm, she'd developed an impressive mind-body connection nevertheless. To wit, Martha could choose at this moment to mute her pain receptors almost entirely. Or she could choose to dissociate her mind from her body while it finished the job on evolutionary autopilot.

But naive or not, a promise was a promise and this thousand year old girl had also survived forty years of quadriplegic convalescence. James is right... I got this...

"Do you want water? Or granola?" he asked. "Or... or I could put on some music? Something ambient? Gregorian chants? Maybe Enya-"

"No, just the wAAAA TAAAAAAA!!!"

The pain landed like napalm and Martha felt thrown.

Now she is floating and the pain is gone. As if through water, she hears muffled screaming below her. Martha looks down upon herself, squatting naked as the day she was born in the oversized birthing tub as James offers encouragement at her side. They both appear to be moving in slow motion.

Is she dying? Hallucinating? Or has her mind taken its own initiative and jumped ship against whatever will she has left? I promised myself... I promised myself I wouldn't hide from this... But she's too woozy to take back control.

The room around them darkens, yet pops of light flash and multiply steadily until her entire vision burns white. Then in an instant, the light coalesces into a single line shining vertically through the black void in which Martha finds herself.

The line is directly in front of her face, but too far for her to reach. Suddenly, it crashes downward like a building in demolition, crumbling and spreading until it becomes a tree with a single source and countless branches.

The tree magnifies, bringing Martha face to face with a branch in which a version of their son poses for pictures at his high school graduation. It flies sideways to another branch where their young daughter laughs with a friend as they eat popsicles. Then to another daughter being sworn in as a Justice of the Supreme Court. Then to a son kissing his husband at their wedding.

And then another branch shows someone grabbing their daughter and throwing her into an unmarked van. Then another shows their son beaten unconscious by a crowd of goons. Then their daughter, forced against her will. Then their son, sticking a gun in his mouth.

All of these universes are happening. All of them are made possible by Martha and James' decision. And not just hypothetically. They're ACTUALLY happening! And it's... it's all our fault...

The void veers green then white then Martha slams back into her body, the pain returning with interest.

She finished a scream, gasped for air, then said, "Oh my god, no!"

"It's okay. You're doing great," James comforted as he dabbed her forehead with a cold washcloth. He'd taken his shirt off and there were a series of bath towels draped over the side of the tub she didn't remember. She'd also switched positions, now on her knees as opposed to squatting. How long was I gone?

But lost time was beside the point. "What have we done?" Martha sobbed. "What have we done, James?"

"What do you mean? Honey, you're so close, I can see-"

"No. You don't understand. Every possible life is happening – has already happened!"

James' eyebrows arched in confusion. "I really want to have this discussion with you," he said calmly. "But for now, I think it would be a good idea to focus on-"

"As bad as we can imagine – murder, rape, torture – it's happened to her or him because we've set it in motion. And there are plenty where they'll be happy and successful too, but– aahhh, shhhiii," she paused as another contraction worked to squeeze the life from her exhausted body. "But the pain and the fear they'll feel in the other universes is just as real."

"Martha-"

"Imagine, James... imagine watching our daughter as she's raped or our son as he's raped or either as their fingernails are pulled out one at a time, or... or... either of them wishing they'd never been born."

"Honey-"

"And it's real, James. It's so real. It doesn't matter if it's not in our universe. You were never there, but your suicides devastated your mother. I was there. I saw her pain. But the pain would have been there even if I hadn't! And so maybe our kid isn't destined for any of these horrors, but some of the others are. And their pain is real. And we've done it to them! God, my mother was right!"

"Martha!" And now James spoke with the speed and clarity of a legal disclaimer. "You know I love your thought experiments but this one will soon be moot and still I think your theory may be flawed as just because we can imagine something happening doesn't mean it's within the realm of possible universes and these universes you've imagined are 'my Jeep turning into a luck dragon' level impossible because I will not let that happen and you will not let that happen and all the other you's and all the other I's in all the other universes will not let that happen and our child's inevitable sadness and pain will be hard to behold but it will help define their pleasure and joy which is all we can hope for and..."

James took a breath, then wiped the sweat from Martha's forehead and cupped her cheek with his palm. His voice now soft and measured, he said, "I've lived a long, long time. My greatest regret is keeping you from motherhood. It was selfish and I'm sorry. I'm also bursting with anticipation for this ordeal to be over for you and for us to begin our greatest adventure..." He smiled and raised his eyebrows. "An adventure that is imminent. So what do you say?"

Martha stared at James. His argument was sound. Or is he placating? Either way, she had nowhere near the time nor energy to parse his reasoning, and his face – the love and admiration for her shining as bright as the sun rising over his shoulder – was just too much to take.

She sniffled, cleared her throat, then said, "I say you check under the hood and see if this motor's ready to start."

James smiled, tilted his head and said, "Start? Honey, you've been pushing for two and a half hours."

"Two and a ha- Ohhhhhh-kayyyyyyy!" Martha clenched the side of the tub as the contraction seized, wringing her like a soaked towel.

"Remember to breathe," James called, then disappeared behind her. "That's it. Push, push, push!"

Martha had no choice – her body and the baby were running the show now – and she pushed with a strength beyond her own to stretch herself past reason.

Her body gave and Martha collapsed her forehead onto the rim of the tub, gasping for air. "Take a rest. That's okay," James said then she heard water splash as he jumped in behind her. "Almost, honey. Whenever you're ready. I can see the head!" He repositioned her right knee out and her left hip down.

"Head... wha..." Martha panted, then her body clamped again. She closed her eyes and pushed, sending sparks across the darkness.

"Push! That's it! A little more!"

Everything inside her screamed – her anger... her fear... her joy... her anguish... the abandoned girl... the murderous vigilante... the reckless mother... all in violent disharmony as she slowly split herself in two.

Suddenly, she lurched forward and the pain was gone. Not ended – but gone, as if it had never happened. Every last adrenaline-charged muscle relaxed at once and she collapsed in the water then flopped onto her back.

An odd bloom of euphoria dazed her mind and blurred her vision. She could only just make out James kneeling in front of her, his eyes cast down and mouth gaping.

"What?" Martha rasped. "Is something wrong?!?"

He met her eyes and smiled, tears trickling down his cheeks. "It's a girl..." he said, voice breaking, then lifted their child – our daughter! – for Martha to see.

The color of a valentine, this tiny piece of Martha pinched her puffy eyes shut and stabbed her limbs blindly as she took her first breaths. In all of Martha's expansive vocabulary, there was a single word to describe her: Perfect...

She chirped twice before finding her voice in full, crying out in piercing bursts. James placed her on Martha's chest where she continued to cry while her tiny fingernails dug into Martha's skin as if she wished to climb back inside. Martha felt the urge to let her.

"Shhh, shhh. Your mama's here," Martha cooed.

She stopped crying momentarily at the sound, then resumed and Martha felt her own heart, lungs, and rib cage melt beneath her.

Martha looked up to James and he looked back, cheeks drenched. "I love you so much," he said before kissing her forehead and wrapping his arms around them.

And then she knew that Plato had it wrong. Their whole and perfect self was formed from three not two. Full of joy as if for the first time, Martha cried with James and their daughter. She cried with him and Serafina.

Author's note:

Okay.  So... that was significant.

This chapter scared the hell out of me.  I really wanted to make her experience believable.  I didn't want to misrepresent or sensationalize.  I even considered whether it was ethical for me to write it from Martha's perspective – if it was a kind of appropriation for a male author to describe child birth. 

Then I considered whether I was just looking for an excuse to avoid something difficult.  First and foremost, this has always been Martha's story and I think we should be with her for something this momentous.  Feel free to let me know if you feel either way.

Thank you to the mothers who offered feedback.  I made some changes on the second pass and hopefully, it feels more authentic.

Also... maybe it sounds silly, but this chapter made me very happy to write.  I'm proud of Martha and delighted for her and James.  And I've been thinking of Serafina for a long time and now she finally exists!  (as much as one can in this imaginary world)

Thank you for reading!!