pressure, the baby’s heart rate, and my contractions. Being tethered to a machine like this had been presented in childbirth class as a nuisance, but once the nurse came back in and hooked it up, I found the whole thing hugely reassuring, concrete evidence of my subjective experience: This is happening but you’re fine, the baby’s fine. The machine was behind me a bit, over my left shoulder, and I lay in the bed and gazed up at it reverently, craning my neck to see the numbers, flashing in digital green. At this point I didn’t believe, really, that either of us, me or the baby, would make it
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