Читать книгу You Knew Betta - Cachet Johnson - Страница 6

"If I have to carry this baby any longer, I'm gonna lose my fuckin' mind!" I yelled at my slow-ass boyfriend, Raimone. "Hurry the hell up!"

I was having my baby today, and I couldn't get to the hospital quick enough. My original due date had been March 19th, and with today being April 2nd, I was two weeks well overdue. So my doctor had scheduled me to be induced.

I had an appointment for 2 p.m.; here it was 1:15, and we're still at the damn house. I was finally going to meet the little girl responsible for packing on all these extra pounds, and I definitely had a couple of words for her for kicking my ass constantly.

I heard Raimone yell from our master bedroom, "Here I come, Sash. Damn, can't a nigga brush his teeth first?"

My eyes instantly dart to the clock hanging above the entertainment center in the living room; it's now 1:20 p.m. Now he means to tell me, that his ass has been in the bathroom for the past hour, and he's just getting around to brushing his teeth? Taking a rest on the leather loveseat, I lay my head back and exhale because I'm really trying to remain calm.

Men kill me with their attitude. Shit, he acts like he's the one with this huge-ass stomach. I should go in there and pop him upside his head, but that's not going to do anything but slow me up more, so I'll give him a pass today. He betta hurry his monkey ass up, that's for sure!Look at me running my mouth, and I ain't even introduced myself yet. Well, my name is Sasha Denise Jones. Me and my boyfriend, Raimone LaShawn Ford, have been together for the past seven years. We've been going strong since the summer of 1997 when I was in the tenth grade; and life couldn't be better.

We live in a two-bedroom, two-bath condo in Stone Bridge Towers in downtown Cleveland, Ohio. After trying for about two years to have a baby, we gave up because honestly we didn't think it was our time. We'd just moved into this apartment, and I was still taking morning classes in nursing school, so I guess God saw it fit for us not to have a baby at that time. I've now finished school and have a full-time job as a registered nurse at Metro Health Medical Center. I was there for a little over a year when it happened; finally, we were gonna be parents! I was able to work up until my seventh month, then my doc put me on bedrest outta fear that I may have her early--what a crock of shit!

I was three months pregnant when I had an ultrasound, which said we were having a girl. Raimone couldn't keep the smile off of his face. He said that he always wanted a little girl; he even picked her name out. I was pretty excited. I always wanted a mini-me. I know that babies are not dolls, but I think it would be fun to dress her up in cute little outfits, put bows in her hair. She's going to be just like her momma--a diva!

"Diva" is the correct word for me, because that's exactly what I am. Other than being a big-ass blimp now, I am sexy! I stand at 5'2" and usually I weight around 128 pounds. But right about now I'm weighed-in at a whopping 165! I am the color of caramel, have doe eyes, a button nose, and full lips. I have naturally long eyelashes, so no need for the fake stuff. You can always catch me with my shoulder-length hair in a wrap. I'm hoping that after I drop this load, I'll get my old shape back. I guess we'll just have to wait and see, but until then I'll keep my fingers and my toes crossed.

After another ten minutes had come and gone, Raimone emerged though the door looking like the thug he was. He wore blue Rocawear jeans, a white tee, and a tan Rocawear hoodie. He topped the outfit off with some butter Tims, his signature diamond-studded cross and two-carat studs. My baby always looked his best, and I loved him for that. He was a tall chocolate brotha that I couldn't get enough of. At six-foot-one, Raimone towered over my small frame. He weighed 185 pounds, had dark brown eyes, and had the prettiest lips a woman could ask for. He always wore his hair low cut and lined up. He was pretty much flawless. The only thing that was even close to being a blemish was a scar that he had on his chest from being shot when he was younger.

With all that said--today was not the fucking day!

In the real world, I'm about to have this baby and this nigga upstairs is primping like he's heading to the damn club. I mean, I like to look good my damn self, but today I look average because I know there's shit to be done. I have on a pink and white Lady Enyce jogging suit, and all-white Air Force 1's. It's time to go, and I'm ready!

"Damn, baby, why you looking at a nigga like that?"

Raimone says with a stupid look on his face. Although I wanted to knock the shit out of him real bad, I kept my cool cause I got his ass!

I struggle to pull myself up off the couch, yelling, "I'm ready to go, and you acting like you're heading to the damn bar! You could've just thrown on anything and brought your ass, I'm ready to end this!" I make the point by gesturing at my massive stomach with one hand while using the other hand to hold on the couch.

Rolling my eyes, I grab my pink duffle bag, car keys, and walk out the door. He dutifully follows me after grabbing the rest of my bags for my stay at the hospital.

He still had that dumb-ass look on his face, though. I was pissed and he knew it.

He offers lamely, "I'm sorry, Ma, but I couldn't have my daughter coming into this world, and the first thing she sees is her daddy looking busted."

"I'm not laughing, Money, cause the shit is far from funny. Let's just get in the car and go to the hospital." I throw the keys to him to my 2004 smoke-grey Chrysler Sebring convertible; it was a gift from him this past Christmas.

Raimone spent money with no problem, due to him having so much of it. He dabbled into a little bit of everything, from gambling to loaning money at ridiculous rates. Even with all that, most of his money came from drug sales. Back in high school he worked for a guy named Chino and made just enough money to trick-out his car or buy a fly wardrobe. That all quickly changed when Chino took him under his wing.

Chino was a drug lord in the process of moving back to his homeland in Cuba. He wanted someone in the States to keep his business going. He had been watching Raimone for the past few years and saw that he handled his business properly and was never late with his money; basically, he found the perfect student. So for the whole year before Chino was to leave, he prepared Raimone to take over the business; teaching him everything there was to know about the drug game. When he finally left at the end of 1999, Raimone became the new King of Ohio. Chino showed him so much love on the prices of the packages that Raimone was making money hand-over-fist. He went from being a corner boy, to having guys on the corner working for him.

"Why can't we drive my car?" he complains, frowning. He hated to drive my car; he said it made him look like a clown. At this moment I really didn't give a flying fuck about how he felt or looked. If he would've hurried his ass, we could've taken his car. He took his time, not caring about how I felt; so right now, I don't give a shit about his feelings.

"I want to take my car, so let's go," I order, exasperated, standing on the side of my car, waiting for him to open the door. He walks over to the passenger door, opens it, and I climb in, reclining my seat back.

Noticing that he's pleading with his eyes, I put on my Chanel glasses so as to let him know that it's the end of the conversation.

Slamming the door, he lifts up the trunk and tosses my bags inside. Then he climbs in the driver seat and starts the engine. "Don't slam my shit no more," I say, nit-picking as we pull off.

To my surprise, we arrive at the hospital right on time, and I am ushered right up to labor and delivery.

It takes an hour for me to get in my room, undress, and for the doc to come in and see me. The contractions come as soon as the nurse places oxytocin in my IV, and I'm telling you now that shit ain't no joke! I mean I thought I was gonna fucking die! Before my labor, people used to tell me that the contractions felt like menstrual cramps. Well BULLSHIT, 'cause I ain't never in my life had cramps that bad! I'm laying here right now trying to tough it out for as long as I can, but it's starting to become unbearable. I'm trying to stick to the whole "natural" birth thing, but this is really getting hard. Looking at the small monitor on the side of my bed, I see another contraction coming, so I brace myself.

That didn't do any good, because it still hurts like hell.

I hold my breath and I squeeze the rails of the bed until my knuckles turn white. I exhale after that one subsides and I start my breathing exercises, thinking that maybe the breathing will help me a little bit. Raimone gets out the chair, walks over to the sink and turns on the water.

After wetting a rag he walks over to where I'm laying and dabs the cold cloth across my forehead, making me feel better; I smile at the gesture.

"Ahhh!" I cry out in pain. I can't take this shit no more! The whole "I'm-not-getting-no-drugs" idea flew right out the window. Pushing the "help" button repeatedly, I buzz the nurse so that I can ask for an epidural. Of course they don't give me one right away, saying I had to dilate some more before they could. An hour later, I'm still in pain and no closer to getting the epidural than I was before.

It seems like nurses are going in and out of my room with no care in the world about me. I say loudly, "I promise you I'm gonna go the fuck off, if they come in this mutha'fucka one more time without my epidural!"

"Calm down, Sash, they are only doing their jobs.

They can't give it to you right now, so chill out."

Raimone was trying to keep the peace--wrong move!

Pushing up on my arms, I sit up slightly and yell in his direction, "Don't you fucking tell me to chill out; you don't know how much pain I'm in. All you doing is sitting your stupid ass over there in the corner watching TV, while I'm over here damn-near dying!" Suddenly another contraction hits me. After that goes away, I start on him again. "So do me a favor and shut the fuck up!"

When he doesn't give me the argument I want, I roll over on my side and stare at the monitor once again.

I hear him get out of the chair and walk over to the door. Once I hear the door close, I look up to see that he's gone. I'm pissed and I really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I'm not about to chase after him. This is the second time that he's showed me that he didn't care about me being angry, the first being when we broke up for a short period of time.

It was two years ago, in October. He disappeared on a Friday night and stayed gone for the whole weekend. I called every jail and hospital in the surrounding counties, searching for him. Saturday afternoon I received a private call. It was him, telling me that he'd gotten pulled over and was taken to jail for a traffic violation. When I asked him what jail he was in, he told me that he was locked up downtown in the city jail and he wouldn't be released until the morning. Which was a crock of shit, because I had called down there numerous times, so I knew he wasn't there. I told him that whatever bitch he was with to enjoy himself, and when he decided to come home I wouldn't be there. I guess he thought I was bullshitting because he didn't attempt to come home at all that night.

When he came home the next day, he found the house empty. I packed up all of my stuff and moved back home with my parents. It took him a couple of days to track me down due to me not answering any of his calls.

But after awhile he convinced me to come back home, telling me that he was sorry and promising that he'd never do anything again to jeopardize our future.

As more contractions started to come, I remain quiet.

My tears flow on to the while hospital pillow. I see the doc enter the room with a smile on his face. He's an older white gentleman, tall with a slim build. His jet-black hair is cut short and looks like it's been dyed to hide the grey.

"Hello, Miss Jones. I'm Dr. Tate, and I'm here to check on how much you've dilated," he said while sliding his hands into a pair of gloves.

I take a breath and grab the rails so that I can turn over onto my back. Placing both of my legs into the stirrups, I allow him to check me out. It's funny how you don't give a damn who sees you naked when you're about to have a baby. You're free to spread your legs at the drop of a dime. I'm ready for the pain to be over; I want to hold my baby.

"Owwww," I groan, biting down on my lip. It feels as if he's sticking his whole arm up in my shit!

"Miss Jones, you're only three centimeters. You have to get to at least seven before you can get the epidural,"

he tells me, smiling once again. He removes the gloves, tossing them into the wastebasket, washes his hands and walks out of the door. Maybe five minutes later, in walks Raimone, but I lay back in the bed pretending to be preoccupied with the TV.

"I'm sorry," I hear him say as he hands me a cup of ice chips; that must have been why he had left. I place a couple of them into my dry mouth, making a crunching sound as I bite down on them.

"Sorry for what?" I was actually happy that he'd come back, but I wasn't going to let him know it.

"For being inconsiderate. I know you're in a lot of pain and if you wanna flip out, you go right ahead." He sits on the edge of the bed; I scoot over to give him more room. "Roll over on your side." I start to ask him why, but instead I grab on to the rail and do as he suggests.

He unties the strings on the back of my gown, causing them to fall open and expose my naked back. I close my eyes and enjoy the massage that he gives me; I love my baby.

Almost two hours later, Dr. Tate finally gives staff the "go" for my epidural. An anesthesiologist walks in with this gigantic needle while the nurse tells Raimone that he has to step out for a moment while they give me my shot. Once he's outside the door, I get into a sitting position with one nurse holding each of my hands. I'm scared, but I don't move because if I do, the needle could hit a nerve and temporarily paralyze me; they didn't have to tell me that warning twice! Taking a deep breath, I feel a small pinch in the lower part of my back when the needle goes in; it didn't hurt bad at all. With the help of the nurses I lay back down on my pillow and they allow Raimone to come back inside.

Raimone stayed by my side the entire time, coaching me on. Even though he helped me out a lot, I ain't gonna even lie, there were times when I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up with all that "keep breathing" shit; but I didn't. I chuckle at the thought of Raimone passing out, which could have been on his mind, from the way he was looking. He was making so many faces, and sweating so hard you would've thought he was having the baby.

Several hours later, I give the final push and out came my beautiful bundle of joy. She was gorgeous! Raisha LaShawna Ford entered the world on April 2, 200 at 11:05 p.m. She weighed 7 pounds, ounces, was 1/2 inches long and had a head full of curly black hair.

Raisha didn't look identical to either of her parents; she actually looked like a mix of both. She was going to be her father's complexion, and I knew that because I checked behind her ears, and they were a little on the dark side. She had my eyes and nose; but other than that, she was all her dad. She even had his small ears.

Raimone's face as he held our daughter will forever be etched in my mind. He looked amazed, and I believe I even saw a tear drop.

"Thank you," he says to me, handing the baby over to the nurse.

"For what?" I ask.

"For giving me a beautiful daughter and making me the happiest man on Earth," he answers quietly. "Seeing you give birth strengthened the love that I have for you. I already loved you so deeply, but now I love you even more." He was looking directly into my eyes. I'm exhausted, but I quickly shake it off when I see him reach into his pocket while getting down on one knee.

Covering my mouth with both of my hands I say, "Oh, my God!" In his hand he holds a small velvet box.

When he opens it, I see that inside there's a -carat, princess-cut solitary diamond ring.

"Sasha Denise Jones, will you make my life complete by accepting my proposal to be my wife?" he proposes with tears in his eyes. I couldn't contain my excitement as I said "yes" numerous times, just to make sure he heard me.

"Congratulations!" the hospital staff cries out as they applaud.

"Thank you," we both say in unison. You couldn't wipe the smile off of my face if you tried as I showed all thirty-two of my pearly whites. I'm finally going to marry the man I love; I can't wait until the day.

Fatigue started to take over; I was getting sleepier by the minute. Giving up the fight to stay awake, I drift into a satisfying sleep. As I doze off, I am thinking about how wonderful life is going to be. But who among us at such moments ever takes into consideration that life doesn't always go as planned.