by K. S. Ruff
I fought the urge to cry. I argued with my physicians and nurses over the magnesium sulfate when they rounded this morning. They refused to discontinue the medication so I could go to the NICU. Rafael’s regular updates and pictures were the only things keeping me sane. “What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty. The NICU nurse asked whether you plan to pump. They’ll store the milk for us. We have to feed Gabriella through a feeding tube for a few weeks at least.”
The thought that I’d be feeding my child through industrial pumps and tubes rather than nursing and holding her in my arms made my heart ache even more. “The lactation nurse is supposed to stop by today. I’ll see if I can rent a pump.”
He stifled a yawn. “She looks so fragile, I’m afraid to touch her.”
“I wish we could hold her.” My body felt like an empty husk.
Rafael smoothed the hair from my face. “How do you feel?”
“Tired and sore,” I answered honestly. “Every time I fall asleep the nurse comes in and wakes me up. The lab technician was here an hour ago, drawing blood. The doctors rounded shortly after that.”
He slid the phone from his pocket. “I’ll text a quick update and ask everyone to hold off on visiting until noon so you can get some sleep.”
Jase’s hand carved a trail through his closely cropped hair. He rose from the chair. “You both need sleep. I’m going to head downstairs for a bite to eat. I’ll ask the nurses to give you a couple of hours. I’ll stand guard outside the door if I have to.” He tugged his boots on and strode from the room.
“Sleep,” Rafael repeated wistfully. He finished the text, sank onto the pillow, and linked his hand with mine.
“I can’t believe we have a little girl,” I whispered.
“Dr. Barriera must have mistaken the umbilical cord for something else.” He chuckled. “Do you think our daughter will be as stubborn as you?”
A smile tugged at my lips. “I hope so.”
He pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Me too, love. Me too.”
* * * * *
The nurse bolted from the room.
Mom froze just inside the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Jase nearly strangled my nurse.”
Dad eyed him warily. “Why?”
“Your daughter was in excruciating pain. The nurse was pushing on her incision, trying to force blood from her uterus. She didn’t offer any pain medication before the procedure, which is completely unacceptable.” Jase folded his arms across his chest.
Dad cracked a smile. “Sounds like you set her straight.”
Jase nodded. Once.
Brady walked in and gave me a kiss. “Hey, pretty lady. What’s the latest on our baby?” He set a cheerful display of yellow and orange roses on the nightstand next to the bed.
“She’s off the ventilator. She’s on a CPAP now.” I showed him the picture Rafael texted from the NICU. “Her liver and kidney function are declining. The neonatologist said those organs could still recover. It just takes time.” I was trying my best to remain optimistic and to focus on the positive.
Dad sank onto the bench beneath the window. “When do you get to see her?”
Pain ripped through my lower abdomen when I tried sitting up. Moisture dotted my forehead while I gritted my response. “Tomorrow morning, as long as my blood pressure continues to improve.”
Mom adjusted my pillows. “Any idea when the rest of us can see her?”
“Tomorrow. Possibly. Only two people are allowed inside the NICU at one time. Every visitor must be accompanied by a parent so Rafael will have to take you back one at a time.”
Jase refilled my water.
“I can stay with Kristine tonight if you’d like to go back to the house to get some rest,” Brady offered.
“I’m not leaving,” Jase growled.
I reached for his hand. “I want you to get some rest. You’re one of the few things keeping me sane, Jase.”
His eyes softened. “I’m not leaving you.”
I squeezed his hand. “Why don’t you take a few hours to shower, change, and rest while everyone is here? You can come back and spend the night if you’d like.”
“I’ll stay here until you return,” Brady confirmed.
Jase conceded with an abrupt nod. “Text me if you need anything.” He kissed my tear stained cheek.
Cenia and Roger greeted Jase when he strode from the room. Roger handed me a gigantic teddy bear. “This is for you, not the baby.”
“Thanks.” I gave each of them a hug.
“How’s Gabri?” Cenia asked.
A smile tugged at my lips. “Looks like Jase won the bet.”
“What bet?” Roger joined my father on the bench.
I sent Jase a quick text. “He bet you’d shorten Gabriella’s name in less than a day. I gave you guys a week.”
Cenia laughed. “What did you bet?”
“ZPizza.” I glanced at the response from Jase. “Looks like I’m buying dinner tonight.”
Kadyn and Shae stepped into the room. “Mind if we join you?”
* * * * *
Rafael eased the wheelchair onto the elevator. “Are you excited to meet your daughter?”
“Yes.” My heart fluttered anxiously.
He pressed the button for the second floor. The doors slid closed. “You shouldn’t stay for too long. We don’t know how your blood pressure will respond now that you’re off the magnesium sulfate.”
“Yes, Mom.” I rolled my eyes at him.
He planted his hands on the arm rests. “I’m going to ask the NICU nurse to take your blood pressure thirty minutes in. If your blood pressure is too high, I’m wheeling you right back to your room.”
“Fine.” I pouted. The shower had proven downright exhausting. My stitches hurt so bad I couldn’t step into my panties or sweats. Thank God my mother had arrived in time to help me dress. I was annoyed by all the limitations. I belonged with Gabriella, but my body wasn’t cooperating.
We scrubbed up and checked into the NICU. The doors clicked open. Rafael stopped at a tall metal shelf. He tugged a gown over my arms before donning one himself. He pushed the wheelchair past the first room.
My eyes widened when I saw all of the Isolettes. “How many babies are there?”
“Eighty-nine, but they’re spread across four rooms. Gabriella is in NICU room two.” He stopped in front of the nurse’s station.
My jaw fell slack. The fact that I didn’t know which infant was mine completely shredded my heart.
A young but confident looking woman looked up from her clipboard. “Good morning, Mrs. Garcia. I’m Faddwa, Gabriella’s nurse. Would you like to help me change her diaper?”
My eyes teared. “I’d love to.”
Rafael eased the wheel chair next to Gabriella’s Isolette. “Our little miracle.”
I choked down a sob. “She’s so small.” I couldn’t believe this tiny baby was the same child who’d been kicking and rolling inside of me for the past few months. She felt so much bigger than she looked.
Faddwa opened the other side of the Isolette. She repositioned Gabriella so she was lying on her back. “No more CPAP. Your daughter’s breathing so well, she just needs the nasal cannula.”
Rafael opened the two circular doors on our side of the Isolette. “She’s determined and strong, just like her mommy.” Gently, he cupped the top of her head.
Faddwa covered Gabriella’s eyes with a foam eye mask before handing me the baby wipes and a diaper that was smaller than the palm of my hand. She pointed to one of many tangled wires surrounding our child. “This is the arterial line, the only line you really need to avoid.”
My eyes raked over the monitor, the electrodes, the tape, the wires, the clamp on her belly button, and the feeding tube in Gabriella’s nose. Fear spiked through me. “Is she okay?”
“Don’t let Gabriella’s size fool you. She’s doing better than a lot of our full term babies,” Faddwa assured me.
Rafael tickled the palm of her hand with his pinky finger.
Gabriella grasped his finger.
Faddwa latched the doors on her side of the Isolette. “Has your breastmilk come in yet?”
I handed her the small plastic container I’d nearly forgotten. “Yes. I’m afraid there isn’t much.”
She gladly accepted the container. “Two ounces is more than enough. I’ll load some into a syringe so you can feed your daughter.”
I rested my forehead against the Isolette. Relief evaded me. Fear permeated my thoughts, but mostly I felt robbed. I also felt like a complete failure as a mom. This wasn’t the life I envisioned for my child. I’d dreamed of soft blankets; soothing music; a safe, pain free world; and long hours nestled inside my arms.
Rafael pulled me into his arms as I began to sob.
* * * * *
Brady wheeled me onto the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor.
I frowned. “Where are we going?”
“Outside,” he answered determinedly.
A sharp, jagged pain ripped through my abdomen when I turned too quickly to look at him. “But I haven’t been discharged yet.”
He shrugged. “We’re just going out for some fresh air.”
I tried not to panic. Leaving the hospital felt wrong. I couldn’t leave Gabriella behind. “Rafael’s expecting us in the NICU.”
Brady wheeled me off the elevator. “Jase has a surprise for you.”
I grimaced when I turned too quickly again. I gaped at him. “A surprise? What kind of surprise?”
He patted my shoulder. “Patience, my friend.”
The doors slid open. I gulped in surprisingly crisp air. A tiny bit of tension eased from my shoulders. “I can’t believe it’s so cool outside.” July was hot and humid most of the time.
“The temperature broke with the storm last night.” Brady wheeled me down the sidewalk to our right.
My eyes widened. “Bosco!”
Bosco’s ears perked up. He sprinted toward me.
Jase had to jog to keep up. He scooped him up and set him in my lap. “I thought this little guy might put a smile on your face.”
I lifted him so I could bury my face in his fur. “Bosco. How’s my sweet boy?”
Gleefully, he licked my chin.
“He cries for you day and night.” Brady rubbed Bosco’s ear. “He’s still my hero, though.”
I eyed him questioningly.
Jase rested his hand on my shoulder. “How much do you remember about the morning we brought you to the hospital?”
“Bits and pieces. Nothing concrete,” I answered honestly.
Brady knelt beside me. “You were sleeping. Bosco started barking, but he wouldn’t let me take him for a walk. He kept circling back to your bed until we checked on you. It’s like he knew you were about to have a seizure and was trying to save you.”
I pressed a tearful kiss to his head. “Thanks, Bosco.” My chin rose. I looked at Brady and Jase. “I want to thank you too. You’ve sacrificed your personal lives so you could watch over me and keep me safe. I know you’re supposed to be my bodyguards, but you’re not. You’re so much more than that. You’re family, my family, now.”
Rafael caressed the top of my head. “Well said, my love. I couldn’t agree more.”
Brady smiled. “You know, we may never move out.”
Jase clasped Rafael’s hand. “You got my text.”
Rafael nodded. “Thanks for bringing Bosco. I’ve missed this little fur ball.” He mussed the hair on Bosco’s head. “Would either of you like to meet Gabriella? They’re allowing extended family to visit her in the NICU now.”
Brady shot to his feet. “Are you serious?”
Rafael winked at me. “Do you think Brady and Jase could pass as my brothers?”
I grinned. “Absolutely.” Jase’s blue eyes might inspire some debate, but I doubted the NICU nurses would look beyond their lethal frames and swoon worthy faces.
“I’ll sit with Kristine and Bosco while you visit Gabriella. I’ll go in with Kristine when you’re done,” Jase offered.
Brady hugged him. “Thanks, Jase. I’ll drive Bosco home while you visit Gabriella. Dinner’s on me tonight, little brother.”
“I’m bigger than you are,” Jase grumbled.
“That may be true, but I’m three months older than you.” Brady chuckled.
Rafael looked at me. “Maybe I should put an offer on the townhouse next door.”
* * * * *
Shae looked up from her Kindle. “Hey, Kri. It’s good to see you on your feet.”
“Easy.” Rafael kept his arm wrapped securely around me.
I shuffled toward my family and friends, who were camped out in the NICU waiting room. Again. “They finally discharged me.”
Shae stood and gave me a hug. “Free but not free,” she noted keenly.
Slowly, I lowered myself onto the chair next to her. “I’m not leaving here without my baby.”
“She could be here for months,” Dad warned me. “You need sleep.”
Rafael sank onto the chair next to me. “I’ve been trying to convince her to go home and get a good night’s sleep. I can stay with Gabriella through the night and sleep tomorrow while Kristine sits with her.”
“We can divide our time as well, so neither of you are sitting here alone,” Shae offered.
Rafael shook his head. “Parents and spouses are the only ones allowed inside the hospital after eight o’clock at night.”
Kadyn looked thoughtful. “The hospital allowed Kristine’s bodyguards to stay the night. Maybe you should assign a bodyguard to Gabri.”
“They won’t consent to a bodyguard when she’s in a locked unit. Besides the NICU staff think Brady and Jase are my brothers,” Rafael answered.
I brightened. A little. “I could do the same for you.”
Kadyn eyed me uncertainly.
“I’ll claim you’re my brother so you can go back and see her,” I explained excitedly.
Kadyn barked out a laugh. “How many pain meds are you on?”
I reached across Shae so I could swat his arm. “I’m not taking any pain medication. I hate the way those drugs make me feel.”
Mom folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t doubt her ability to pull it off, do you?”
Kadyn shook his head. “No, ma’am. Your daughter accomplishes everything she sets her mind to.”
She stood. “The nurse shift change is over. Come on. I’ll vouch for you.”
Kadyn helped me to my feet. “Now I know where you get that fierce determination from.”
Dad chuckled. “Now if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”
Mom looked pointedly at Shae. “Come on, Shae. You’re the closest thing Krissy’s ever had to a sister. You may as well be adopted too.”
* * * * *
After a great deal of negotiation, Rafael and I forged a manageable routine. I spent my days with Gabriella while he spent the night. We ate breakfast and dinner together during the nurse shift changes. We overlapped our visits by an hour or two so we could snag a few precious hours together. Rafael slept during the day. I slept at night, curled around Bosco. Between our friends and my parents, we were never alone. Still, our lives hung suspended at the hospital.
* * * * *
The charge nurse intercepted us on the way to Gabriella’s Isolette. “Thank you for the generous gift.”
My eyes slid toward the brand new rocking chairs scattered between the Isolettes. “Gift?”
She smiled. “An employee from the furniture store revealed your name.”
I sighed. “That was supposed to be an anonymous donation.” The NICU had eighty-nine babies, ninety-five when operating at full capacity, but they only had two rocking chairs in the entire unit. I wasn’t the
only woman recovering from a C-section who was forced to stand if she wanted to see her baby. An hour or two would have been manageable, but for those of us spending the entire day and most of the night by our child’s side, it was exhausting and painful. “Our friends helped pay for the rocking chairs. The donation was a group effort.”
Her eyes softened. “Please thank them for me.”
Rafael pulled one of the rocking chairs next to Gabriella’s Isolette. “Have you received Gabriella’s lab results yet?”
“The neonatologist will be rounding shortly. He wants to speak with you about those results.” She wandered off to speak with another family.
My heart stalled. “Is it just me or was she dodging that question?”
“She was avoiding the question,” Rafael gritted. Today marked Gabriella’s one week anniversary in the NICU. Her liver and kidney function were still declining, which is why we were riding her labs. Her life and ours hinged on those lab results.
I opened the door to Gabriella’s Isolette so I could rest my hand on her chest. I cringed at the bandages on her tiny little heels. Her skin was so thin. Surely, it would rip when they removed the bandages? I cupped her head, and my heart sank. She looked puffy. Her eyes and her skin were tinged yellow. There was no denying something was wrong.
“Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dr. Graham.” The young, lanky physician shoved black rimmed glasses up his nose.
Rafael shook his hand. “I understand you have some news for us?”
He backed away while noting Rafael’s intimidating physique. “Perhaps we should speak somewhere more private. I’ll see if the nephrologist and the gastroenterologist can join us.”
Rafael frowned. “I’d like to know what’s going on.”
He glanced briefly at his clipboard. “Your daughter’s creatinine is one point eight and her BUN is thirty-eight. She’s retaining fluid which could compromise her lungs and heart. We’re at a bit of a crossroads to be honest. We can attempt dialysis. We’d have to perform surgery to place the dialysis catheter. Or…” He swallowed nervously.
“Or what?” Rafael growled.
Dr. Graham stepped behind Gabriella’s Isolette. Clearly, he wasn’t thinking straight because he’d boxed himself in between two Isolettes. “Well, her bilirubin is extremely elevated. While some jaundice is to be expected, her bilirubin is nearing the point where it can lead to brain damage. We still have options, phototherapy and a blood exchange transfusion, but there are no guarantees with those interventions. Your daughter could still end up with brain damage and multiple organ failure. Before we subject her to surgery, you might want to consider taking her home on hospice.”