Anyway, I'll share with you here something I enjoyed scribbling in class. The prompt was "Write about a physical hardship/injury you've endured."
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"Push! Push! Push like you're going to the bathroom!" Hitler's little sister screamed at me.
"What do you think I'm doing?" I squealed back. My now ragged fingernails dug into the vinyl where I half-sat, half-lay. I felt another one break and bit back a curse.
"You're not pushing!" Hitlerita barked.
"Yes I am!" I attempted to bark back, but a contraction spiked on the monitor and then in my gut and the words slid out on an impotent groan. Bad enough I knew the pain was coming--with that damned machine I could tense up in anticipation of the next fresh wave of hell, which was super helpful, by which I mean not at all. "Please," I panted, "give me an epidural." Another violent cramp gripped me, like a hand had shot up my ass, grasped the base of my spine, and wrenched it like the arm of a slot machine.
"It's too late for that," my OB-GYN said as he fake-jogged into the room. "You're nine centimeters along, we need you to be able to feel so you can push."
"Like you're going to the bathroom!" the Nazi in the surgical mask helpfully reminded me.
On the verge of telling them that I bloody well was pushing, I felt a shift within and held my breath.
"He's coming," said the doctor.
"PUUUUUUUUUUSH!" yelled Eva Braun.
But even as my innards roiled and surged, even as every muscle poised to shoot out the little parasite, I clenched. I was suddenly afraid to see it through, afraid of that final thrust and what it might bring. Or what it might take.
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*If you're not local to NY but interested in writerly type classes, Gotham Writers does offer online classes. Mind you, I've never done any kind of online class, so your mileage may vary. Anyway, I'd say they're worth checking out.
