“I’d hoped it might still be possible to have a normal birth, but it seems nothing about these two bopplin is destined to be normal.”
Dr. Kamal’s smile revealed a row of perfect white teeth, as well as the fact that he was completely at ease with what lay ahead. “And this will be your first but not your last lesson that children have their own minds, yes?”
He placed his hands on her stomach as he had done so many times since Leah had arrived. “My colleague, Dr. Reese, will make her incision and lift these precious gifts out of your stomach, out of your womb. Then she will hand them over to me, Leah. You will be awake. You will hear their cry of greeting. It may sound like the mewling of a kitten rather than the bawl of a calf, if you’ll excuse my animal analogies. I anticipate they will be small babies—tinier than what you are used to seeing in your community.”
“How small?”
“Maybe five or six pounds. Could be more or less, but your last ultrasound indicates this range, which is good. It’s a healthy weight.”
“And their lungs?” Leah glanced at Annie. “You were worried about their lungs when I first arrived.”
“We have given them extra time. Now they should be developed enough to breathe on their own, though I suspect we’ll want to give them a little time in an incubator.”
The room grew silent as all of the details sank in.
Leah’s final question wasn’t about the babies or about herself, it was about Adam. “Can we wait long enough for my husband to arrive?”
Dr. Reese’s and Dr. Kamal’s eyes met. Annie could have imagined it, but it seemed they might have discussed this earlier.
“We were hoping that four o’clock this afternoon would work for you. It seems we both have full schedules until then.”
Leah closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and nodded. “Four would be gut.”
Annie noticed she didn’t ask any questions about the actual surgery or her recovery period. Her schweschder had matured a lot from the young woman who was huddled on the bathroom floor two weeks ago.
The doctors had left the room, and Annie pulled up her chair. She handed Leah a cup of water, and then explained to her about the length of the incision, the type of anesthesia she would have, and what the weeks of recovery would be like. No doubt others would be in later to go over the same information, but she wanted Leah to have time to digest what was ahead.
Leah listened closely, asked a few questions, and then they prayed together for the children, the doctors, and Leah and Adam. When they finished, the clock had finally inched its way to ten o’clock.
So Annie picked up the phone, and put through the call to Samuel.
It was after lunch when there was a light tap on their door. Much too early for it to be Adam and Samuel. Leah had been attempting to nap, but without any success. Annie had been working on the quilt, an Overall Sam—purple-colored shirt, blue suspenders, blue pants, and black hat. She had thought about offering a story, a story about goodness, but Leah had seemed to prefer the quiet.
At the tap on the door, a woman peeked inside. She looked vaguely familiar, but Annie couldn’t place her.
“Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s all right,” Leah said.
The woman stepped farther into the room, and that was when Annie saw the boy behind her. There was no mistaking who he was. Her mind had travelled back to her days at Mercy too often, and then there were the letters they had exchanged regularly.
“Annie!”
Before she could store her quilting, he had hurled himself across the room and into her arms. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him. There had been many patients under her care while she worked on the children’s floor, but none she had grown as close to as Kiptyn.
“You have grown.”
“I know. I’m not a boppli anymore.”
He stood straight, and she was surprised to see not only that he had grown but that his color was good and he bore no resemblance at all to a cancer patient. There was no doubt about it though—he was the same boy, with the same eyes that missed nothing, and the same smile ready to pop at the smallest thing.
“This is Kiptyn?” Leah asked.
“Ya and his mother, Nadine.”
“It’s gut to meet you.” I’m Leah, Annie’s schweschder. Leah struggled to sit up straighter in the bed and Annie moved to hand her the controls.
“I hope this isn’t a bad time.” Nadine glanced from Leah to Annie and then at Kiptyn.
“Nein.” Leah tried to wave her left hand, but found the IV had caught in the bed rail.
“I can help you,” Kiptyn said. “I had lots of IVs when I stayed here. Got real good at tangling and untangling them. Wait—you would say real gut at tangling and untangling them!”
He grinned as he freed the IV from where it had snagged.
“Danki, Kiptyn.”
“Gem gschehne.”
Annie clapped her hands. “You’ve remembered all the words I taught you while I was here.”
“And the ones in our letters.”
“How old are you, Kiptyn?” Leah asked.
“I’ll be twelve soon. Mom says I’ll outgrow her before I’m thirteen.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Your dad’s quite tall and it seems you do take after him.” Nadine smiled at her son. She reached out to touch his hair, but he ducked away.
“What’s with the long hair, Kiptyn? Last time I saw you . . .” Annie rubbed her hand on the top of her kapp. “It was shiny up there.”
Kiptyn laughed and the sound did more to heal the lonely corners of Leah’s room than anything could have. His hand travelled down his head, down the hair fastened into a ponytail in the back. “It grows fast now. I cut it once a year, and you know . . . donate it to other kids.”
“Locks of Love,” his mother explained. “They make hairpieces for children who can’t afford them otherwise.”
“That’s wunderbaar, Kiptyn.”
“You taught me that word in our letters.” Kiptyn smiled again, then focused on Leah. “You’re here because of your babies?”
Leah nodded.
“Are they okay?”
“Ya. Danki for asking.”
“My mom and dad only have me,” Kiptyn said, suddenly serious. “It’s the three of us, so we’ve vowed to look out for each other. You know?”
“I do.” Leah’s voice was soft and smooth. Annie could tell that she’d fallen under Kiptyn’s spell. But then, who could resist? The boy had a way about him. Perhaps it was his open honesty or . . .
“We should be going.” Nadine hugged her, hesitated a moment, then added, “We happened to be visiting a patient on the old floor this morning. They told us you were here. I hope it was okay to stop by.”
“It was more than okay.”
Kiptyn held up his hand, and rolled his eyes when she shook her head in confusion. “You’re supposed to high-five it, Annie. You know. Slap it.”
So she did, and it earned her an extra smile.
“I still have the wooden horse Onkel Eli sent me. Tell him. Will you?”
“I will.”
“We’ll be praying for you and your babies, Leah.” Nadine put her hand to Kiptyn’s back to usher him out of the room.
As he reached the door, he turned, waved good-bye, and Annie saw again the young boy she had cared for.
She sat back down, intending to resume her quilting. Instead she stared at the square she’d been sewing.
“Goodness,” Leah said.
“What?”
“Goodness was our next gift from the scripture in Galatians, and our next story.”
“Ya . . .”
“But this time Gotte sent our story. He sent Kiptyn to visit.”
Adam practically jumped out of the car before it came to a stop. It was a good thing he’d been to Mercy Hospital before. He knew the way to the information desk, even if he didn’t remember the way to Leah’s room.
What was he thi
nking? She wasn’t in her room. She was having their babies—right now!
The volunteers at the information desk had apparently been waiting for him. It seemed Annie had called down and alerted them he would be showing up and hurrying to make the birth. But it didn’t account for the fact they knew who he was as he dashed up to the desk.
Certainly, there was more than one Amish farmer in the hospital. More than one Amish farmer, expecting children in minutes . . . or had they already arrived?
“Right this way. I’ll take you to be scrubbed in.”
What did that mean?
He didn’t waste any time asking questions, or waiting to see if the rest of his family was behind him. They’d find their way. Leah needed him now!
Within fifteen minutes, he’d removed his coat and covered his clothes with the surgical gown. He’d also scrubbed his hands and donned a mask over his face and a cap over his hair. It would be a miracle if Leah even recognized him.
A nurse pushed open the doors to the operating room, and his senses were overwhelmed—lights, antiseptic smells, blades on a tray, the beep of countless machines. He felt the familiar nausea, like he’d experienced in Lewistown, but then he heard a voice. One he’d longed to hear, and in person, not over a phone line.
“Adam? Annie, is that Adam?”
“I think it is, though he’s scoured clean and looking dapper in those green scrubs.”
He saw his sister’s eyes first, on the other side of a partition, and his feet carried him there. When his gaze landed on Leah, his beautiful, precious Leah, all thoughts of fainting fled.
Adam grabbed her hand and sank onto the stool that Annie rolled his way at the last second.
“Am I too late?”
“Nein. I knew you would make it. I told Dr. Kamal you would find a way.”
“Everyone’s here? Excellent.” A woman, the one he had met when they’d first admitted Leah, the one he’d entrusted Leah’s care to, peeked over the drape separating Leah and Adam and Annie from Leah’s stomach.
“It seems we have one too many family members, but since one is a nurse, I suppose we can allow it. Are you ready, Leah?”
“Ya.”
“Adam?”
“Yes. Danki for waiting.”
Dr. Reese’s eyes smiled over her mask. “We didn’t wait. Our last delivery ran a little longer. Seems these babies wanted their dad present.”
Adam felt something surge in his heart. This was happening. Suddenly it didn’t matter this birth was taking place in Philadelphia instead of in their home. He was no longer afraid of fainting. He knew he’d stay strong and remain at Leah’s side. He knew, without any doubt, that God had prepared him for this moment.
“I love you, Leah.”
“And I love you, Adam.”
“Soon it will be four of us.” His throat felt as if he’d swallowed one of his mother’s large biscuits whole, and he was glad the doctor began describing what she was doing. Not that he listened to her exact words. It was background music to Annie’s whispered prayers. Before it seemed possible, Dr. Kamal was speaking. His voice calmed the hammering of Adam’s heart. His voice was strong and filled with joy and certainty, like those of the men singing at a church meeting. It sounded to Adam like the voice of an angel. “We have a fine baby boy here.”
Dr. Kamal held the child up, and though he was small and not yet cleaned, he was the most perfect thing Adam had ever seen. His mouth formed a large O, and then he began to cry.
“Oh, Adam—” Leah’s voice was a whisper, a breath against his skin.
“Are you okay?”
“Ya, it’s only . . . it seemed my heart stopped when I saw him.”
A nurse accepted the child and carried him to a table close by.
“She’ll return with him soon,” Annie assured them.
Before Adam could recover from the sight of his newborn, a second howl joined the first.
“And we have another. Two sons, Adam and Leah. You have two fine sons, nearly identical in weight, though it seems the latter has more hair than the first.”
Adam looked up over the drape and saw in Dr. Kamal’s hand a near mirror image of the first babe, but this one had a full head of curly hair.
It was a shock for Adam, seeing their boys, seeing Amos and Ben. Yes, they had thought of names, but he hadn’t pictured them, not as actual boys. By the time they’d murmured prayers of thanksgiving and shed their tears, the nurse had placed Amos on the bed next to Leah and Ben within the crook of Adam’s left arm.
How could anything so small be so precious?
How could he be a father worthy of this family?
He couldn’t, but he would try. With God’s help he would do his best. He made the vow as Leah trailed her finger down Amos’ face and ran her hand over the top of his head, which had brown fuzz instead of his brother’s curls.
“We’ve been blessed, Adam.”
“That we have. Something we’ll need to remind each other of when they let the cow out of the pasture or slip out of school early on a spring afternoon.”
“My boys would never do that!” Tears coursed down Leah’s cheeks, even as she laughed.
“They are Adam’s sons as well,” Annie reminded her.
“A blessing for certain, and it will be years before such pranks.”
Annie reached for Ben, and Adam carefully picked up Amos.
“For now, they are my sweet babes.”
Adam couldn’t argue with that. He’d been given many gifts—faith, love, and family.
He couldn’t help wondering how old they’d need to be before they could ride with him behind the big workhorses. Probably best if he didn’t bring that up at the moment.
22
When Annie had walked out of the surgery room and into Samuel’s arms, she thought she might collapse. It wasn’t from exhaustion, though she was tired. No, it was sheer relief at seeing, smelling, and being with her husband again.
Perhaps she had blocked from her mind how much she had missed him. He held her in his arms, not saying a word, but with their child pressed between them. Annie was sure she could stand there forever.
Samuel finally insisted she sit down.
Sitting now in her room at Vickie’s boarding house, sitting alone, a small part of her wanted to put her head down and weep. How had she ever stood being away from home for years?
Home was where she belonged.
They had spent almost twenty-four hours together. Her mother, dad, Samuel, Adam, even Reba and Charity had managed to fit in the van Belinda had borrowed. They’d slept in shifts, walking the blocks to her room at the boarding house, bringing food back to those still in the waiting room, then switching places. Annie had been afraid to close her eyes, afraid Leah would need her or Samuel would disappear.
“You’ve been a gut schweschder,” he’d whispered before he’d climbed back into the van. “And you’ll be home soon.”
“Ya. Maybe this weekend.” She’d swallowed the tears threatening to spoil their parting.
Four more days. Dr. Reese and Dr. Kamal had both agreed it was possible the babies would be ready to go home Saturday. Leah was doing wonderfully well.
As the van had pulled away, a deep weariness had settled over her and she’d wondered if she’d be able to walk back into the hospital. Foster saved her when he stepped outside on his break.
“Leah’s asleep, honey. She said to tell you to go get some rest.”
“But—”
“No buts. You look as if you’re going to drop in the street. We’ll look after her, Annie. Trust us.”
It was those last words—trust us—that had sent her home, leaving her quilting bag in Leah’s room. So now she sat at the small desk, staring at her Bible, at Paul’s letter to the Galatians in particular, and wondering if she would ever be able to sleep. So many thoughts were going through her mind. So many questions and worries.
Amos had needed oxygen twice today.
Ben’s temperature had dipped
once.
Should she have encouraged Adam to stay as he’d wanted to? But four days confined in the hospital would have seemed like an eternity with Adam pacing and trying to be helpful. At least at home he could prepare for their arrival.
She glanced down at the words in front of her, “Be guided by the Spirit . . .”
Pulling the kapp and pins from her head, she ran her fingers through her hair, releasing her doubts and worries as she did so. God had cared for Leah while she carried Amos and Ben. He’d seen she was in the right place when she needed doctors around her. He’d sent kind and compassionate nurses to care for her.
“If we live by the Spirit, let’s follow the Spirit.” Placing her hands on her stomach, she felt her babe move, kick once, then resettle.
Foster had been right. She needed to rest. It was important to care for her child and listen to the symptoms of fatigue when they overwhelmed her—before they overwhelmed her. Marking the page in her Bible with a slip of paper, she dimmed the light and prepared for bed.
Amos had only needed oxygen twice today.
Ben’s temperature had only dipped once.
The babies were growing stronger by the hour, and Leah was healing quickly.
Samuel was correct, soon they would be home.
Leah was surprised when Annie walked into her room so early the next morning. Penny had started her nursing shift and checked on her already, but the aides hadn’t yet brought breakfast. As Annie pushed open the door to the room, Leah was walking from the bathroom back to her bed.
“You’re up and walking early,” she exclaimed.
“I’m still slow, but actually the muscles feel less sore if I move around a little every few hours.”
“That’s gut, Leah. It’s what you’re supposed to do, but a lot of patients resist.”
“Resistance is futile, or so Foster and Penny tell me.” Leah couldn’t have stopped the smile spreading across her face. She realized she was going to miss the staff here at Mercy. She’d grown closer to them than she would ever have imagined. “You look rested.”
The Christmas Quilt (Quilts of Love Series) Page 17