Saved by Their Miracle Baby

by Alison Roberts

  Abby was staring at Noah. ‘Why is he always “him” or “he” when you talk about our baby?’

  ‘Ah...because he’s a boy?’

  ‘He needs a name.’

  That shut Noah up. Abby could see the shutters come down in his eyes. He’d flatly refused to discuss any choice of names because he said it was far too early and, anyway, he’d be happy to go along with whatever she chose, but sometimes it was better to wait and see what a baby’s personality might be like.

  Why wasn’t it enough that her baby’s father was committed enough to be planning for the future with such thoroughness being given to every possible scenario? Because it was at the kind of superficial level that came from someone keeping an emotional distance?

  They’d talked about houses and gardens and childcare and schools—everything that could be needed to provide for a child’s happy upbringing except for what their baby needed the most. Parents who loved each other as well as their child. It should be getting easier to get used to this but, if anything, it was getting harder.

  There were moments when Abby wondered if she’d made a huge mistake in dismissing the idea that she and Noah could get married and live together to raise their little boy. It would be better than this, wouldn’t it? This...longing to be touched. To be cherished...and becoming more and more aware of the distance between them.

  Maybe it was pregnancy hormones getting to her. Of course it wouldn’t be better. It would be soul destroying to live with someone and love them as much as she loved Noah and to be reminded, every single day, that she could never take the place of the woman he had truly loved. And she was tired as well. The extra weight Abby was carrying was making everything harder, even a simple transfer from her chair to her car or bed or a couch, but she needed to change her position more frequently because there were some pressure areas on her skin that her medical team were concerned about. So she was moody and sore and tired and Noah didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it all.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘You must be hungry. I reckon you’ll like what I found today at Gourmet to Go.’ Noah stood up and moved to the bench to picked up the discarded wrapping for the foil packages in the oven. ‘How good does this sound? Chargrilled organic chicken breasts in a red pepper sauce, served on mushroom risotto with a side of green beans cooked to al dente perfection?’

  ‘Mmm...’ Abby tried to sound appreciative, even though she didn’t feel at all hungry.

  ‘Okay...’ Noah was giving her that intense look, as if he was trying to decide whether something was wrong. ‘There’s a salted caramel crème brûlée for dessert if that’s more exciting.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m not very hungry, that’s all.’ Abby had her hand on her belly—an automatic reaction to feeling her baby move. She knew better than to offer to let Noah feel that movement—not after it had been dismissed in the past with the same kind of denial that discussing baby names had received.

  This didn’t feel like a normal sort of kick or wriggle—everything suddenly felt oddly tight—but then her ability to feel in her lower body wasn’t exactly normal either, was it? It was probably just her bladder complaining again. It certainly felt as if she needed another trip to the bathroom. Or, oh... God...was it too late?

  Noah had seen the expression on her face. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I...um... It’s nothing... I just need to go to the loo again.’

  But Noah was in front of her chair as she started to move. ‘This isn’t normal,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’

  He put his hand on Abby’s forehead and it felt deliciously cool but Noah swore softly.

  ‘You’re burning up,’ he said. ‘No wonder you look so tired. You’re sick...’

  ‘It’s probably just a virus.’

  ‘You’ve been running off to the loo every ten minutes. Sounds more like a UTI to me.’

  Abby closed her eyes. ‘You could be right,’ she murmured. ‘I did wonder if it smelt funny the last time.’

  Noah flicked the switch off on the oven. ‘We’re taking you into ED,’ he said. ‘You need to be checked and started on some antibiotics.’

  ‘I need some clean clothes. I’m...a bit wet.’

  Even as she said the words, Abby realised it was an understatement. She was more than “a bit wet”. There was fluid dripping from the cushion of her chair to puddle on the floor. Too much fluid for it to be coming from a very recently emptied bladder.

  Noah was clearly thinking the same thing, but if he was worried it wasn’t showing on his face. Abby had never seen him look quite this calm.

  ‘I’m calling an ambulance,’ he told her. ‘I think your waters have just broken.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘WHERE’S NOAH?’

  ‘I saw him when we arrived.’ Lisa bit her lip. ‘He was talking to one of the doctors in the ward reception area. I overhead mention of...um...was it magnesium sulphate?’

  Hugh nodded. ‘They’re planning to add it into what they’re giving Abby to try and slow down or prevent premature labour. It’s been shown to protect brain development and reduces the risk of complications like cerebral palsy.’

  Abby closed her eyes. This nightmare wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. The drugs she was being given to slow her contractions didn’t seem to be working either. And now the beeping of the monitor beside her bed that was recording the baby’s heart rate seemed to be slowing down when her belly tightened for longer periods.

  Hugh was watching the monitor. ‘You’ve had the second of the corticosteroid injections to help baby’s lung development, yes? It’s been more than twelve hours since you came in.’

  Abby nodded. ‘Why?’ She fixed her gaze on her brother-in-law. ‘You think I’m going to deliver this baby, don’t you?’

  ‘You need to be prepared for that.’

  ‘But it’s too early. I’m only twenty-nine weeks.’ Abby was fighting tears. ‘This is my fault. I should have picked up on the signs of a UTI. If I’d started antibiotics earlier, this might not be happening.’

  ‘This isn’t your fault, Abby.’ Lisa took hold of her sister’s hand. ‘And you’re in the best place you could be. St John’s neonatal intensive care unit is second to none and...and babies survive way before twenty-nine weeks these days.’

  ‘She’s right.’ Hugh’s voice was gentle. ‘The odds are totally on your side. Your baby’s got more than a ninety percent chance of making it if he is born now.’

  But Abby couldn’t stop her tears. ‘But he’s not just my baby. He’s Noah’s baby too and...and how can I ask him to be here when he’s already lost a premmie baby? Even if I really, really need him to be here...’

  ‘You don’t have to ask. I’m here, Abby.’

  Everybody’s gaze flicked towards a door they hadn’t heard opening. Behind Noah stood the obstetrician in charge of the team who had admitted her and there were other staff members behind him. Because the information from the monitors in this room had been transmitted to the central desk as alarms had begun sounding?

  Lisa and Hugh shared a worried glance. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ Lisa asked Abby.

  Abby shook her head slowly, her gaze fixed on Noah’s as he walked towards her bed. This was the person she needed with her. The father of her baby who was about to come into the world too soon. Someone who could understand, only too well, how scared she was at this moment. Maybe he was even more scared because he knew what it was like to go through something this traumatic and yet he was here.

  He was here for her and Abby had never loved him more for being brave enough to go through this again.

  For giving her his hand to cling to as things began happening around her and any control had to be ceded to people who knew what they were doing.

  Lisa and Hugh slipped out of the room as more people came in, pushing eq
uipment like an incubator and trollies and more monitors. Just minutes later, the only people here with a connection that was more than professional were Abby and Noah, and it had to be obvious to everyone how close their personal connection was—they were holding hands tightly enough for their knuckles to be white.

  * * *

  So many things were the same as Noah watched what was happening a short time later.

  Those tiny limbs that looked as fragile as twigs as they waved in the air in protest at what so many people were doing to him as they prepared to cannulate umbilical vessels and put the smallest size of breathing tube down his throat. A chest that was so small it was half covered by an ECG electrode and the miniature ribcage so visible with the struggle for each breath. The time it took to get the tube down that narrow airway and get the settings for the ventilator perfect. The woollen hat that looked five sizes too big that was slipping down over the baby’s closed eyes as he was snuggled into the incubator. Wire after wire that came snaking away from that tiny body to be attached to every monitor available.

  That sensation that something sharp was piercing his heart was the same, too. The knowledge that this tiny human was part of him. Was his son. And the fear was the same. Knowing all too well how precarious the next hours and days could prove to be for this new life. It was a fear that had to be somehow locked away securely enough for Noah to be able to stay strong. For Abby. And for the baby.

  It helped that many things were so different at the same time.

  He could focus on the fact that the mother of his child was not lying in front of him, having already lost her battle for life. Abby was very much alive, still hanging onto his hand as if it was the only life belt on a terrifyingly rough sea. She had tears on her face but...yes...she had hope in her eyes. And a love that was making them shine like nothing Noah had ever seen before. Of course it was love for the baby she had just brought into the world but when Abby looked up to catch his gaze, it felt like he was included in that love. Or could be, if he wanted to be.

  Which he didn’t. Or rather couldn’t because that was what everybody really wanted, wasn’t it? To be loved like that? But how could he let Abby feel this way about him if he couldn’t offer her the same level of connection? Being loved could become a burden if it was one-sided and, if he couldn’t feel the rush of that depth of feeling in this moment, it seemed unlikely that he ever would. Either it was still too soon for Noah or he’d been through something so traumatic he’d genuinely lost the ability to let go enough to love anyone like that.

  And that was both heartbreaking but...kind of a relief at the same time because it meant that he could stay strong. That he could care very much but not be destroyed all over again if the worst happened.

  ‘I’ll go with him,’ he told Abby, although he hadn’t let go of her hand yet. Or maybe it was Abby who hadn’t let go of his. ‘They’re going to take him to NICU now.’

  She pulled her hand free. ‘Go,’ she agreed in a whisper. ‘He needs one of us to be with him. Just...’ Another tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Just...in case...’

  Noah wanted to stay. Not just because he couldn’t quite suppress the flash of fear at the thought of being present as the only parent if the worst happened. He wanted to stay here to make sure that Abby was being well looked after. To try and comfort her in some way and reassure her if he could. To care for her. Because he could this time? Because she was still alive?

  But part of him knew he had to be with that tiny scrap of humanity that was their child, no matter how hard it was.

  His head was such a mess that the only way he could take control was to take all those feelings and push them back. To slam a door on them and then lean on it with enough force to stop these confused thoughts and feelings that were so powerful, it almost felt as if he was physically being torn in two.

  Oddly, though, it felt like Abby was still holding his hand as he followed the medical team surrounding the incubator out of the room. And it did kind of feel like a life belt and he certainly needed one. This was history repeating itself in the worst possible way. Was this another life that was going to be measured in no more than hours?

  * * *

  The first forty-eight hours should have been the hardest.

  Abby knew that every time Noah came to the NICU where she was sitting, hour after hour, beside their baby’s incubator that he had to be remembering the last time he’d done this. That he was probably reliving the tragic finale to that terrible time. When two days became three and then four and finally a week—when some of the wires and tubes had gone and she was expressing breast milk every few hours so that it could be fed to her baby, Abby had expected the tension might ease a little but, instead, it was getting worse.

  She had turned her wheelchair to the wall this evening because she had discovered it was the best way to feel as if she and her baby were alone and as close as they were allowed to be. Abby still hadn’t been able to hold him in her arms but she could do this—she could put her hand through the porthole of the incubator and put her fingertip on the palm of that tiny hand and let him close his fingers and hold on—the tiniest fingers imaginable but they could hold on with a strength that never failed to give Abby hope. That made her love him more and more with every passing day they were together.

  Facing away from the rest of a unit that was busy but carefully quiet and without harsh lighting to protect these vulnerable babies meant that Abby didn’t see Noah come in but she was aware of the change in how the space around her felt. Because she was getting used to him coming in at this time of day, when his work responsibilities were dealt with, or was it deeper than that in that it somehow felt safer when he was here—as if their baby could get more strength by having both his parents nearby?

  Abby didn’t move. She kept her gaze on that tiny hand still gripping her fingertip but in her peripheral vision she could see the movement of her baby’s chest wall, and knowing how hard he was still working to breathe made it hard to keep the wobble out of her words. Behind that was a blur of golden fabric—a soft security blanket that had a small, toy lion and its front paws attached to one corner. The cuddly blanket stood out as one of the only personal items amongst all the medical paraphernalia.

  ‘Did they show you the test results? The echocardiogram and the ECG?’

  ‘Yes.’ Noah positioned a chair beside Abby and sat down. He rested a hand on the top of the incubator and leaned closer, as if he was trying to see their baby through the jumble of wires and tubes and sticky tape and the oversized hat and nappy. ‘A patent ductus arteriosus is not an uncommon heart defect in premature babies. It only becomes a significant problem if enough blood is bypassing the lungs to reduce the flow to the rest of the body, which can damage other organs like the intestines and kidneys.’

  ‘If the medications don’t help it close, they’re talking about him needing surgery.’

  ‘I know.’ Noah was quiet for a moment. ‘But it’s a procedure that can be done by catheter now, even for someone as little as this. That wouldn’t be nearly as scary as open chest surgery.’

  It was Abby’s turn to say nothing. It would still be terrifying.

  Inside the incubator the baby moved, stretching legs so that his tiny feet were in the air. One hand also rose but the other was still gripping Abby’s finger.

  ‘Look at that,’ Noah said softly. ‘He’s not letting go, is he?’

  ‘He’s a wee fighter,’ Abby whispered back. She blinked back a tear, shifting her line of vision to the soft toy in the corner of the incubator. ‘Our wee lion.’

  The silence was longer this time. Until Abby audibly caught her breath which made Noah catch her gaze.

  ‘Leo,’ she murmured. ‘It’s the perfect name for him, isn’t it?’

  He was a week old but the name tag on the wall behind him still read simply ‘Baby Phillips/Baxter’ and there’d been too much else to think and feel a
nd worry about to make choosing a name a priority. Especially when Abby knew that it had been something Noah had wanted to avoid. Even now, his gaze was sliding away from hers and she could feel the way his body was tensing—preparing for him to get up and go?

  ‘You said that sometimes it was better to wait and see what a baby’s personality was like, remember?’

  Noah was nodding slowly but he was still starting to move away.

  ‘Leo.’ It sounded like he was testing the name as he looked down at the baby. Abby could see the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. ‘Yes...it’s perfect.’ But he glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got a patient I should check on. I’ll have to go.’

  Abby couldn’t keep the wobble from her voice this time. ‘Me, too. I... I have to go home tonight. Apparently I’m too well to have a bed in the ward now.’

  ‘Oh...’

  Noah clearly understood how hard it was going to be to become like the other parents in the unit who could only come in to spend the day with their babies, even if that day could stretch to ten or twelve hours.

  ‘Are you going to stay with your sister?’

  ‘She suggested that but I’d rather be in my own home where things are, you know...a bit easier. Lisa offered to stay with me there but she’s busy with Amy and I don’t want to wear her out.’ Reluctantly, Abby was disengaging her finger and taking her hand away from the warmth inside the incubator. ‘It’s not as if this is going to be over anytime soon and I might need her even more later.’

  ‘Let me help,’ Noah said. ‘I could come home with you and...and cook dinner, at least.’

  Oh...there it was, just for a heartbeat. That silent communication that seemed to have vanished behind some kind of barrier a long time ago—about the time that Abby had discovered she was pregnant? Anyway...it was still there—just well hidden. This flash of connection acknowledged the only “cooking” either of them was likely to do was to turn on the oven to heat food that someone else had prepared far more expertly than they could.