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belly, which had been increasing in size by the day. My intestines were swelling, and, without muscle peristalsis, gas was trapped inside them as well.
    "What do you think?" I said. "They say I'll give birth any minute. Do you still remember those breathing exercises?" I tried to make light of my distended belly, but being so close to the knife, nothing could transform something so serious into a laughing matter. Beth made a genuinely good attempt at smiling anyway. I was proud of her. She'd been so strong through everything, and a little dervish in the background making sure no detail was missed and that only the best folks were on my team.
    "I always wanted another baby," she said. "Maybe we'll have a boy this time." She reached out from my bedside and patted my belly.
    After a moment, I took her hand and held it against me. I looked her in the eyes and said, "I know this looks like crap, but I'm going to be OK. I just know it. I have absolute faith. And besides, we've got Dr. Demarco on our side. He sure went overboard to save your mother when she had her perforated bowel. In my book, he's the best. I can't believe our good fortune having him as my surgeon."
    "Yeah, I know," she said, but I could see she was holding back tears.
    I squeezed her hand and smiled. We shared an uncomfortable quiet after that. It was difficult to have a conversation in such an unusual situation. Unusual for me, at least—I had been in such good health all my life. What I was experiencing was completely alien to me. If I hadn't already personally known the surgeon, I probably would have filled several tissues with tears and snot. My only experience with surgeries had been sitting at my mother-in-law's side in the intensive care unitson multiple occasions, watching the erratic heartbeat on the monitor and wondering if she was going to die right in front of me. It was never a pleasurable experience, but at least she'd always come around and I could forget about the bad parts. I was hoping that's what would happen with me.
    Soon hospital staff began to trickle in: a nurse, an aide, and a patient transport person. The patient transport person was a young girl with blond hair in a ponytail, wearing a black shirt and khaki pants. "I'm Susan," she announced. "I'll be taking you to surgical prep. Do you need to go to the bathroom or anything before we go?" I nearly laughed—one end of my body wasn't working and the other end was hooked to a bag. Before I had a chance to respond, a red glow crossed her young face. "Ah, I'm sorry about that. Let me take care of that Foley for you," she said.
    The pumps went silent as they were turned off, and the vinyl spiderweb vanished as all the lines were disconnected. Aside from the Foley catheter, I was soon free of everything and ready to go. Susan released the brakes on my bed, pulled up the guardrails, and reclined it. Before I knew it, the electric bed was moving at a good clip down the hallway with Beth trailing close behind. I could feel a breeze in my face. It was a wonderful feeling that I'd almost forgotten. It's funny how at traumatic times you can still appreciate such simple things. I counted the florescent light banks as we rolled smoothly down the industrial carpet of the hall—thirteen of them. I found it somehow calming to count them as I rolled toward my uncertain future.
    When we finally arrived at the entrance of the surgical prep area, Beth joined me at my bedside and smiled; despite her best efforts, it was but a half smile filled with worry and dread. I took her hand and squeezed it. "Thanks for being here with me."
    She leaned down and kissed me. "I love you. I'll be waiting for you."
    "I love you, too. I'll see you in a while."
    With that, Susan rolled me through the automatic door of the surgical prep room. There were no walls in surgical prep, just curtained partitions. We rolled past a few and then finally turned into one. Susan parked me there, wished me luck, and said she'd get Ms.