As the Indian Doctor murmurs over my collapsed and invisible arm vein in an attempt to get in a line, I find myself hanging onto Doug’s hand. I’m not really a clinger. Throughout the deliveries of three beautiful children I felt like I stayed pretty much in the driver’s seat – excruciating in parts, yes, but out of my mind, no. Right now I’m clinging. And practically begging him for ice – the third time in only a few minutes – while my whole body seizes up. I’m trying to get