relax. Put your mind on something else. Think about
your swamp, your animals, flowers, anything," she
said.
A few moments later, Octavious appeared with
a bottle of bourbon. He stood there in shock. Gladys
was writhing on her bed, her eyes closed, moaning
and occasionally screaming.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked Mama. "I wouldn't even try to answer that," she told
him, and took the whiskey. She poured it over her
hands and scrubbed them with the alcohol, while
Octavious went to Gladys's side and tried to rouse her
out of her strange state, but she didn't acknowledge
him. Whenever he touched her, she screamed louder.
He stood back, shuddering, confused, pleading with
her to get control of herself.
Mama returned to my bedside and began her
effort to turn the baby. I thought I must have gone in
and out of consciousness because I couldn't remember
what happened or how long I was crying and
moaning. Once, I looked over and saw the expression
of utter horror on Octavious's face. I knew Mama was happy he was in the room, witnessing all the pain and turmoil, hoping he would see it for years in
nightmares.
Fortunately for me and the baby, Mama had
&nbs
p; miraculous hands. Later she would tell me if she had
failed, the only alternative was a cesarean section. But
Mama was truly the Cajun healer. I saw from the
happy expression on her face that she had managed to
turn the baby. Then, guiding me, coaxing and
coaching me along, she continued the birthing