A fast food cashier/service crew (McDonald, KFC... ) become a mother in the peak hours inside the busiest franchise. If she take maternity leave earlier, maybe it is not enough to raise the triplets in her belly?
Working while pregnant is difficult. Working while pregnant with triplets through your due date is another level of tough altogether.
You're a cashier at a popular fast food place, but even though you're employed for over 30 hours a week, you don't work enough to be eligible for maternity leave and other benefits. So you've been forced to continue working long after others would have tapped out, despite the fact that you're carrying triplets. Your massive belly makes it hard to get around the kitchen and your coworkers, which is probably why you've been banished to the little side office to take care of the drive-through.
You woke up this morning with cramps, but since you've been dealing with them for weeks now, you didn't want to make an issue of it. So you stand by the register, one hand clutching your tight belly while the other takes payments, and do your best to soldier through another day.
You start at 8 AM, and by 10 AM the cramps are bad enough to leave you gritting your teeth. Two of your coworkers have called out sick today, so the restaurant is understaffed with the lunch rush looming on the horizon. You can barely step away for a bathroom break, so when you feel something trickle into your underwear, you just squeeze your legs together and hope no one notices. You've only got to make it a few more hours.
By noon, cars are lined up around the building and you're panting through what can only be contractions, each one lifting your belly and leaving it rippling under your overstretched shirt. It's all hands on deck right now, though, and there's no one to take your place. You have to hold on. Labor takes a while, right? You can manage two more hours until the end of your shift and then drive straight to the hospital.
It's nearly 1 PM when something lurches deep in your pelvis and you're struck with the instinctual need to push. Offering your current customer a shaky smile with their change, you wait until they drive away before reaching between your legs. Something bulges there, round and firm beneath your stretch pants. You're moaning and leaning against the register to rock your hips when the next customer arrives. "Everything okay, ma'am?" they ask.
"Everything's fine," you manage, widening your stance and bearing down as the baby slips a few more inches into your birth canal. "D-did you want fries with that?"
During pandemic, is it possible to witness Frontliners who are about to pop going into labour and finally give birth in their PPEs while they still need to serve the patients ?
A PPE being a slightly more casual version of a hazmat suit? Fuck yeah, we can.
It'd been nearly two weeks since the epidemic went global, and the government had declared an 'all hands on deck' situation at every local hospital and clinic in the tri-state area. It didn't matter what a healthcare provider's age, gender, or work status might be; if they were healthy, they were expected to be doing shifts somewhere to keep up with the growing need.
And apparently a provider's current state of pregnancy didn't matter either if your own condition or that of several of your fellow nurses said anything.
You and at least two other heavily pregnant Frontliners waddled through the halls of an overpopulated city hospital, your bellies straining the front of your PPE suits to the limit as you struggled to keep up with the patients assigned to you. The fully enclosed suit sealed you inside of its protective antimicrobial fabric, leaving only your face visible behind a thick sheet of clear plastic. The powered, belt-mounted respirator took some getting used to, but at least you gained some small comfort knowing that you breathed filtered air.
You'd been drafted into a large quarantine section under heavy lock-down-- meant to keep infected patients from escaping and with all interior methods of communication cut off to prevent the outside world from realizing how dire the situation had grown. Staff was stretched thin with only a few to a wing as it was, and every set of hands mattered when every room held as many beds and patients that could possibly be jammed inside. It was the same hospital you'd left on maternity leave only a short while before, but even with your due date fast approaching, you couldn't bear to leave your coworkers hanging.
Though you couldn't help wondering what idiot had put together your current staff roster.
You kept catching Jenny, one of your trio, grabbing at her swollen abdomen on occasion, but she kept insisting that she was fine. Marisha, a heavily pregnant pediatric nurse who made up the remainder of your group, paused to rub at the small of her back every few minutes but merely shook her head and shot you a strained smile through her mask when you asked how she was doing.
You'd probably do the same if anyone asked you a similar question. The Braxton Hicks contractions you'd been feeling on and off all afternoon were only growing worse, and you feared that they weren't quite as harmless as you initially thought.
None of you were 'fine', but what choice did you have but to press on towards the end of your shift?
Six hours. You could make it six more hours.
It was Marisha who was the first to succumb to your silent, shared suffering, letting out a pained groan as she curled over the handle of her crash cart and clutched at her gravid middle. "Oh fuck," she whimpered, instinctively dropping into a half squat in the middle of the hallway. "Oh fuck, I think it's coming!"
"What's coming?" you asked, though you had a sinking feeling that you already knew the answer. It only took a glance between her legs to spot the bulge of what could only be an emerging infant's head.
"I've-- I've tried to hold it back, but I can't do it anymore." Marisha groaned, her head falling back as she grimaced in pain. "I need to push!"
Grabbing her arm, you tried to pull her upright as you looked frantically up and down the hallway for someone who could help you get her out of quarantine and somewhere safe to give birth. With the threat of the virus looming overhead, there's no way she could take off her PPE without exposing herself and her baby to its virulent effects. But the three of you were the only staff currently assigned to this area. "You can't push, Mars! Not here, not now!"
"I don't have a choice-- I've got to push!" she wailed, her back arching as she instinctively bore down. "This baby is coming!"
Shit. You turned to seek out Jenny, desperate for her assistance, but found the other nurse slumped against a nearby counter and panting softly. She offered you a weak smile. "My water broke a couple of hours ago," she admitted, just before her belly visibly quaked and tightened under the grip of a powerful contraction. The young woman grunted and sank into a squat of her own, her arms wrapping around the large mound of her belly. "I think… I think it won't be long for my twins and me, either."
Marisha cried out again, widening her stance as more of the baby slid out of her, distending the crotch of her PPE with its emerging bulk. "Oh god, oh god, I can't get him out!"
You'd just opened your mouth to beg her to stop when your uterus suddenly contracted with punishing force at the same time that an odd, heavy pressure filled your pelvis from within. You nearly staggered, grasping blindly for the edge of the counter as dawning horror filled your mind.
No amount of screaming on your part would permeate the thick walls and locked doors of this quarantine wing, and you weren't due to be relieved for six more hours.
If another overworked staff member didn't happen to enter your wing soon and find the three of you, Marisha wouldn't be the only one giving birth in her PPE.
What if an overdue Nurse/ doctor/ ObGyn/Midwife/ Doula / any other healthcare staff like pharmacist still working while in Labour with multiple babies, (extra ; orgasmic, public birth, sensual, a lot of moaning) 😋
Hurricane season was a terrible time to work at a hospital. And working during hurricane season while heavily pregnant? That was about a hundred times worse.
But there wasn't much you could do about it. You'd gone on maternity leave about a week before your due date, but with the hospital filling with patients thanks to one of the worst storms in recent history, you'd agreed to come back in a couple of weeks later to help out. Your Braxton-Hicks contractions hadn't been too bad, and the triplets were mostly behaving. You could manage a few hours at work, right?
So there you were, waddling quickly around the ER and doing your best to ignore your condition while you helped others in need. Every once in a while you had to pause and bite back a moan when the false contractions hit a little too hard, and you even had to take a reluctant break at one point when you realized you'd accidently wet yourself.
God, pregnancy could be such a gross, uncomfortable mess sometimes.
Maybe you were just too busy to pay attention to your own body, or maybe it was a solid case of denial, but you ignored all of the obvious signs of your oncoming labor right up until the point when the sudden, intense urge to push made you drop into a squat in the middle of the waiting room. You moaned loudly, clutching desperately at your belly, your face aflame at the realization that countless eyes had snapped in your direction.
But there was no stopping the growing pressure between your legs, nor the strange pleasure-pain that seemed to be building the lower the baby slid into your pelvis. You had a feeling that things would get a whole lot more embarrassing before this was over.
