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Supertitle: BIRTH
MICHAEL and VERA, in the hospital. The room is white, pristine, clean. VERA is in labor. She has three hospital blankets on her. MICHAEL drinks coffee.
VERA. I’m so cold.
MICHAEL. I’m sorry.
VERA. Are there any more?
MICHAEL. Blankets? I don’t think so.
MICHAEL takes off his sweater and puts it on her.
VERA. I don’t get it. All this, and I’m shaking. Are you cold?
MICHAEL. No. (A beat.) I think it’s ’cause your body’s in shock. Like when someone dies in a movie? They get cold and shake, too.
VERA. Am I… Am I dying?
MICHAEL. Of course not.
VERA. Why would you fucking say that?
MICHAEL. I just –
VERA. SHUT UP!
A flood of light, a ‘white-up’ as opposed to a ‘blackout’.
Things have quickly shifted. VERA squats, leaning on a chair. MICHAEL, in a corner, looks at his phone.
VERA grunts.
MICHAEL. Sorry.
A beat. VERA grunts again. He puts the phone away.
VERA. Tell me.
MICHAEL. They just called Indiana, Kentucky, and Vermont.
VERA. What – ?
MICHAEL. Vermont for her. Indiana and Kentucky for him.
A contraction:
VERA. No no no no no no –
MICHAEL. Breathe. Breathe.
VERA. What if – she loses?
MICHAEL. She won’t. You just have to think about breathing right now –
VERA. But what if she does?
MICHAEL. She won’t.
VERA. Promise?
MICHAEL. I promise.
The NURSE enters. She connects a machine to VERA.
NURSE. This is so we can monitor the contractions, and this is so we can monitor the baby’s heartbeat. Did you say you wanted an epidural or –
VERA. No.
NURSE. Okay. If you change your mind –
VERA. I won’t.
NURSE. Okay. I’ll be back / in about twenty minutes
VERA (holding the NURSE’s hand for dear life). Don’t leave. You can’t leave me.
NURSE. I will be right back.
She attempts to pry her hand out of VERA’s. Finally she exits.
VERA. I. I. Michael.
MICHAEL. I’m so sorry.
He approaches her. The contraction comes and goes.
VERA. Oh my god.
MICHAEL. You’re doing great.
He tries to hold her hand, like the NURSE just did.
VERA. DON’T TOUCH ME.
White-up.
The drugs! I want the drugs!
MICHAEL. She’s coming. She’s going to be here as soon as she can.
VERA. It’s like. It’s like my bones… are shattering.
MICHAEL. Vee, she’s in the ER with a woman who’s hemorrhaging.
VERA. I don’t care. Let her die. I can’t do this.
MICHAEL. Yes you can.
VERA. What – happened? What – states?
MICHAEL. West Virginia and South Carolina. Both for him.
Either because a contraction is starting or because this news makes her unhappy – it’s unclear which –
VERA. FUUUUCK!
White-up. A shift. VERA is not able to talk. MICHAEL reads from his phone as she grits her teeth and makes animal sounds.
MICHAEL. Alabama, Trump. Connecticut, Delaware, Clinton. DC, Clinton. Illinois, Maryland, Massachusetts, Clinton. Mississippi, Trump. New Jersey, Rhode Island, Clinton. Tennessee, Trump. Arkansas, Trump.
White-up. A shift. VERA sits on the edge of the bed.
She’s here! The anesthesiologist is here, Vee.
The ANESTHESIOLOGIST enters with a very large needle – and keeps walking, and walking, until the needle is so enormous that it fills up the entire room. She sticks it in VERA’s back.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST. I need you to tell me when you feel the cold. Not that you feel the contact… But if you feel that this is cold. Okay?
The ANESTHESIOLOGIST moves a piece of gauze around VERA’s thighs.
Here?
VERA. Yes.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST. Here?
VERA. Yes.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST. Here?
VERA. Yes.
The ANESTHESIOLOGIST hands her a clicker.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST. You can press this every fifteen minutes. Don’t worry about timing it. You can click all you want, it’s blocked. It won’t give you another dose until fifteen minutes are up. See?
Click click click click. Each click is amplified; a distinctive, non-naturalistic noise.
VERA. Okay.
White-up. Things have shifted. The ANESTHESIOLOGIST disappears. VERA lies on the bed.
MICHAEL. Okay. He got Kansas,
She clicks. The click is loud, distinctive, amplified.
Louisiana,
She clicks.
Nebraska,
She clicks.
The Dakotas,
Click, click.
Texas,
Click.
Wyoming,
Click.
She got New York.
White-up.
The DOCTOR and NURSE stand by the bed.
DOCTOR. Okay, it’s time to push. You can’t click anymore, it’s disconnected.
The NURSE pries the clicker from her hand.
You have to focus. Okay? Did they teach you how to push?
VERA looks blankly at the DOCTOR.
Do you know if you prefer to hold your breath and push, or slowly exhale as you push? Did they go over that? In your birthing class?
VERA. We didn’t… We were going to…
MICHAEL. We were planning on doing that next week. This is a month early. We thought we had more time.
NURSE. That’s exactly why you start preparing early. With a geriatric pregnancy, there’s no such thing as overprepared. (A beat.) You can take a deep breath and then hold it, and push, like this – (Demonstrates.) Or you blow as you push. Softly. Like this – pffffffffffff – (Demonstrates.) Do you want to try them both? See which one you like best?
VERA tries them both.
VERA. I think I like the blowing one.
NURSE. Great. Fantastic.
DOCTOR. Baby’s coming nicely. Four big pushes and we’ll be done here.
NURSE. When you feel a contraction coming, that’s when you take a breath, then push through the contraction.
VERA. Okay.
Everyone gets into position. VERA pushes. She pushes again. And again. She starts to make a low, sustained grunt – and looks to the NURSE and DOCTOR for help. Head down, both the DOCTOR and NURSE are checking their phones. Her grunt abruptly stops, as –
Ohio –
DOCTOR. Florida –
NURSE. It looks like Pennsylvania –
DOCTOR. The numbers from Wisconsin –
VERA. What do you mean Wisc– ? (To MICHAEL.) Wisconsin?! Wisconsin?! That’s on you.
NURSE. Just push, please.
VERA. Did they call it yet?
NURSE. You have to focus. The baby’s heart rate –
VERA. Did she win?
MICHAEL. Ummm…
NURSE. Okay. Here comes the head –
MICHAEL. Oh my god. A head.
VERA. Did? Did?
NURS...
