Her Designer Baby: (Loving Over 40 Book 1)

by Washington, Shawna

  Angel waved goodbye as she drove off and we cheerfully waved back.

  Daniel held my hand as we walked to my own car a few spaces down from where Angel had been parked.

  “Wow,” he said. “I could not have anticipated this feeling so good.”

  I gave him a side glance and smirk. “Us holding hands?” I teased.

  “No!” He knew I was just picking on him but continued. “I mean starting down the road to parenthood. Starting a life with someone.”

  “Ah,” I sighed. “Yeah. It feels… right.”

  We walked silently, slowly for a moment. “Right,” Daniel said. His voice had a calmness to it and his face showed all signs of comfort and peace.

  It felt right. There was no sign that it would soon go horribly wrong as we got on the highway to go home.

  “This traffic is so awful on this side of town,” Daniel complained.

  “Most have been an accident or something up ahead,” I replied as I looked down at my phone.

  Typically, if there were some kind of incident I would see notifications and alerts on my phone. It took a while but if finally popped up.

  “Yep,” I said from the passenger seat. “Says it’s about a quarter of a mile up ahead. Must be bad.”

  Traffic was nearly at a standstill but slowly began progressing forward. We couldn’t hear sirens any longer but could see the lights from the ambulance and police up ahead. They must have arrived not too long before we had.

  Daniel had been rather relaxed and resolute on the whole situation, but I saw something in his eyes for a moment.

  He began to slowly sit more upright in the driver seat and squinting his eyes as he did so.

  “What,” I said. I followed his glance through the windshield. There was a police officer redirecting people to get into the left lane rather than the right we had been in. Cars in front of our own were making their way over and Daniel followed.

  As we got nearer the accident we saw two more officers and a fire truck further ahead of the wreckage.

  Then, there was the wreck.

  It seemed as if a semi-truck had attempted a sudden stop and just couldn’t. At least not in time. Nearly sandwiched between the semi and a what appeared to be Titan pickup truck was a white car.

  The whole front end looked smooshed but wasn’t nearly in as much damage as the back end of the car. The pickup truck’s bumper was practically sitting on the hood. That pickup itself looked as if it had also tried to stop from colliding with another pickup truck in front of it.

  Someone’s car horn was repeatedly blaring and honking and another sounded as if someone was simply laying on it. As our car finally made its way alongside the wreckage I could see out the passenger side window the sandwiched car was a white Altima.

  I felt my stomach lurch. My heart rate was the fastest I think I had ever felt in my entire life. I whipped my head around to look at Daniel.

  He was white as paste. All the color had left his face and his almost his eyes. The only color that was visible in our world right then was the red light of the ambulance and brake lights. It bathed everything…

  And the sound of car horns that seemed to never end.

  * * *

  The waiting room in the hospital seemed like unearthly silence in comparison to the wreck. There were practically no sounds at all other than my own crying and the occasional sound of medical staff speaking through the overhead or a call light or two ringing at the nurse’s desk.

  From what Daniel and I understood, Angel had survived but had severe injuries to her legs that required her going into the operating room immediately. Looking back, I’m ashamed to admit my tears weren’t just for her but for the fate of our baby she was carrying.

  This was a future parent’s worst nightmare. Whether you’re the one carrying the child or a surrogate, you don’t want to face illness, loss, or tragedy at the beginning or near the end.

  Daniel was still as a statue in the seat next to me. There were only two other people in the ER waiting room which wasn’t the norm. Maybe, it was to our benefit that all the chaos you’d expect in an L.A. ER had taken a break tonight. The Universe was giving us a bit of a reprieve it seemed.

  A physician came out twenty minutes later and told us that Angel was being moved to an operating room since they managed to get her stabilized. She had broken both legs and part of her pelvis.

  I nearly sank to the floor the more the doctor told us about her condition. Daniel still was like a ghost standing there talking to the doctor.

  “What about the baby? She was sixteen weeks pregnant,” he explained to the ER doctor.

  The doctor was dead silent. I couldn’t see his face as my own was buried in my hands as I sat back down. He mumbled something to Daniel and then I heard his footsteps hurry back behind the double doors to the emergency facilities.

  Daniel plopped back into his seat. It was as if he was a shell. Here I was writhing inwardly in heartache and despair and he was… empty.

  * * *

  Eight hours passed by like days. We had been escorted to a more comfortable waiting space up on the same floor as the recovery rooms. I was offered a pillow to sleep on one of the couches. Daniel insisted he would remain awake, even as sunrise approached.

  It must have been the shock of everything taking place in a flash like that. I had the hardest time dozing off. I finally fell fully asleep after about five hours. The next three were spent with me waking up off and on and finding Daniel sleeping briefly. As soon as he realized I was awake his eyes shot open.

  “What are you doing up? Go back to sleep,” he insisted.

  “Have the doctors said anything yet? Are they done? Is she ok?”

  “Nothing, no,” he muttered back.

  He urged me to come closer to him and lay across his lap. I did. I placed my pillows on his lap and rested my head. My eyes closed again and this time I slept a little heavier. It didn’t last long.

  That last hour was interrupted with a sudden burst of the family waiting room flying open. I felt Daniel move and urgently rub my left shoulder signaling me to sit up.

  I groggily got upright in my seat and Daniel stood up to face the surgeon who we could only assume had done most of the procedures on Angel.

  “Dr. Clifton,” the surgeon said as he extended his hand to Daniel. “I understand you’re both a close acquaintance of the patient”.

  “Yes,” Daniel quickly answered. “We’re friends as well as she’s the surrogate to our unborn child. She was expecting.”

  The doctor’s face went solemn. He swallowed and then gave us the news we knew was most likely coming.

  “I’m sorry. The trauma of the accident ruptured the amniotic sac. There was too much fluid loss when her pelvis was crushed,” he said regretfully. “We were able to save her, but not the fetus. I’m sorry.”

  There were no words. None. I simply sat there looking from Daniel to the man in the scrubs and collapsed in my seat. I don’t think I have ever cried so deeply in my life. My shoulders spasmed up and down. I shook all over and my hands were quickly becoming damp as they covered my eyes.

  Daniel was asked if he wanted to see Angel now that they have gotten here in her own room to recover. He hesitated for a moment, then knelt before me and asked if I wanted to come. I couldn’t speak. I simply shook my head. I didn’t want to do anything. I wasn’t sure what doing anything was right then. Walking. Talking. Thinking. I was immobilized with the pain of knowing we had nearly lost Angel, but worst we lost our child. What to do came with no definite answer, even in the immediate sense.

  “I’m not leaving you in here alone, Malaysia,” Daniel said. He sat back down next to me, then asked the doctor if we could have a little more time to just process everything.

  The surgeon agreed and quietly left the room.

  Daniel pulled me toward him and it felt as if I floated into his arms. I eventually went from leaning on his shoulder to sliding down his chest and my head resting in his lap like be
fore. No amount of comforting touches could stop me from crying.

  He finally spoke softly, “Malaysia. She may not be awake but since we don’t know how she’ll recover let’s go see her.”

  I silently shook my head against his legs. I didn’t want to see her. I knew my heart didn’t feel right about it. I knew I had my own selfish reasons for crying so hard and very little of it rested on Angel’s injuries. I didn’t want to see her feeling that way. Not with the wound so fresh of knowing when she recovers our child won’t be walking out the hospital with her.

  I couldn’t find the words to explain that to Daniel now. How do you say that to someone who’s also grieving along with you?

  Daniel managed to get me to a sitting area not far from the nurse’s desk and asked a nurse to sit with me as he went in to see Angel. All I wanted right then was to go home. I wanted to hide away in our bedroom.

  I wanted to not think and at the same time over think everything. But, I was sitting in a place I wanted to simply get away from, crying on a nurse’s shoulder, and waiting for what would have been the father of my first child to return and take me away from this nightmare.

  Daniel

  I stood there by the hospital bed. Angel didn’t look in as bad a shape as one would expect. She had some bandages and ointment on the scrapes and scars across her arms and one on her face. It had been about two hours since they completed surgery. Time had stopped for me and Malaysia in our minds since entering the hospital. The tragedy of tragedy itself is time doesn’t stop for your feelings.

  I was surprised to know she had survived the wreck at all. I hadn’t quite let myself digest the fact that our baby was lost. It just hadn’t sunk in. I was still assessing everything in my mind. I thought of the dreams that had been keeping a bundle of nerves before we ever even met Angel. I knew some day I’d have to sit down and write those out or talk to Malaysia about them.

  Driving past the wreck seemed surreal. I’ve never been a superstitious man. I have no way of explaining how eerily similar characteristics of my dreams had manifested in my waking life. How it felt as if they were pointing to something my conscious mind otherwise wouldn’t have ever been aware of.

  In one of our sessions with Angel, she talked about dreams and their significance. She tried gently coaxing me to talk about them with her or Malaysia, or to simply even write them down in a journal. I never did either suggestion. I thought of that yoga and meditative session with her now as I sat next to her hospital bed.

  She unexpectedly stirred.

  Part of me wanted to jump up from my seat; run for the door. I already knew I had to deal with piecing my own emotions together and help Malaysia make sense of her shattered feelings. I wasn’t ready to tell Angel where she was, what had happened, that she may never walk, or what happened to the baby.

  I wasn’t given a choice by the time she opened her eyes.

  She opened her eyes groggily and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Then her eyes shifted to the window on the right of her, and her head slightly turned toward me.

  “Daniel?” Her voice almost seemed dream-like. She swallowed.

  “Yeah, it’s me. We’re in the hospital, Angel.”

  Before either of us could say much more a nurse assistant entered. I quickly looked up at her as she approached me.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but visiting hours are now up,” the CNA said softly. “If you wish to stay the night we can make arrangements in one of our family overnight suites up on—"

  “No,” I quickly answered. “That won’t be necessary.” I tried to keep my voice low. I noticed out the corner of my eye Angel seemed to doze back off.

  “Has she been responsive,” the nurse aide asked as she made her way around to right side of the bed.

  “Yes, but not for long.” I stood and watched as the young woman began taking Angel’s vitals.

  “Well, if you’re not going to stay the night just know visiting hours are at seven a.m., but since you’re listed as her emergency contact if there are any changes we can let you know before then.”

  I told her ‘thank you’ and quickly made my way out of the room. The air in the hallway was like a blessing. I was feeling every bit of the weight of responsibility and guilt as I sat there with Angel. I asked the crazy questions that maybe anyone would have. Should I have talked about the dreams? Would it have changed anything? Did they mean anything, really? What now? What next?

  I walked toward the row of seats where Malaysia still sat. She looked nearly catatonic. Small puffy bags had developed under her eyes but not from lack of sleep. She had been crying nonstop and this was the first time I saw no sign of tears. There was no sign of anything in her eyes. She didn’t even seem responsive when I got her to her feet and told her we were heading home.

  Malaysia slept the whole drive back to Hidden Hills. I had helped her into the passenger seat and even buckled her in. She was spaced out offering only an occasional blink. I had dealt with family members facing trauma before. It’s the part of your job as a surgeon when you have to give a patient’s loved ones bad news. Maybe, that’s why I was handling things the way I was. Granted, this time the shoe was on the other foot, but it definitely wasn’t my first time being face-to-face with the socially acceptable etiquette and pleasantries of delivering horrible news after a surgery.

  Sometimes, it’s death. Other times it's recovery that’s going to be more overwhelming than anticipated for the patient and the family. It becomes common practice after a few years to find the best way to say the worst thing, then self-asses how you feel as the professional.

  I drove working around in my mind numbers for therapists I had visited before after such situations. There are clinicians who specialize in grief or social work for patient’s families, transitional programs for patients during recovery, but also therapists for the medical professionals themselves.

  I drove thinking of all the things I wanted to do for Malaysia.

  I thought of all she’d need from me to hold herself together; for us to hold together.

  I drove until I reached the house without even realizing it. I pulled into two car garage as if we had teleported there without recalling any of the traffic lights or turns.

  I walked around to the passenger door, opened it, and gently woke Malaysia. She looked up at me with the most solemn look in her eyes. All I could do was offer her a reassuring smile and my hand.

  She took it and got her feet. I scooped her up in my arms and carried her in through the door that entered the kitchen. She never felt so light. I walked all the way across the foyer and paused just long enough to drop my keys on the decorative table midway.

  Once I got her upstairs I pulled the covers back and stood her on her feet. I helped her remove everything except her bra and panties and she instantly flopped on the bed. I watched as she curled herself up in a fetal position and close her eyes.

  I thought back to the first night I watched her fall asleep in my bed in that apartment. I knew I wanted that every night, but I never pictured there would be nights like this. Never.

  I pulled the covers up over her and tucked her in. Then, once I was sure her breathing was steady and she was back asleep, I made my way back downstairs.

  I entered the kitchen knowing exactly what I was looking for.

  The tile floor was cold as ice on my bare feet, but I could have cared less at that moment. I was looking in the dark for the cabinet where we kept our liquors and wines.

  I finally relented and flipped on the light over the six-burner stove. It gave me enough light to recall which cabinet had my whiskey in it. Malaysia found she drank far less wine since moving in with me and I couldn’t recall the last time I had a shot of anything. But that night, I knew there would be no sleep without it.

  I found a glass tumbler on one shelf of the cabinet and the reached above for the bottle of whiskey I hadn’t ever opened. I quickly broke the seal, twisted the cap, and poured myself a shot. I threw it back without hesitation, feel
ing the burn all the way down and it splashing in my nearly empty stomach.

  I hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. I didn’t realize how long we had been at the hospital until right that moment when feeling my stomach nearly lurch at the abrasive liquor landing on nothing more than a pack of cheese crackers in my guts. I poured another shot.

  The second shot quickly caught up with the first and burned far less.

  I stood there in that dark kitchen. I was finally alone. It was just me, my feelings, and my whiskey. I felt my face suddenly contort in agony and grief. I don’t think I’ve cried that hard in years. Just… cried. Perhaps the last time was when my father passed away.