by Judy Duarte
Juliet wasn’t sure if Mark had already left the hospital or if he was waiting outside the room until after she’d been examined. Of course, she couldn’t blame him for leaving—if he had. And it was okay. She’d never planned on having a birth coach or anyone to support her during labor.
But when Dr. Hart stepped out of the room and Mark popped his head inside the door, she felt a rush of relief.
He made his way to her bedside. “How’s it going?”
“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “And scared.”
“Are you hurting?”
“It’s tolerable.”
He took the seat beside the bed. When the back of his chair swayed in movement, a little-boy smile lit his face. “Hey, it rocks.”
Before she could respond, Beth Ann, the dark-haired nurse she’d had last time, entered the room. She greeted them, then started an IV and hooked up a monitor to Juliet’s tummy.
Mark looked a bit sheepish at first, but before long he was asking questions about the screen that graphed the baby’s heart rate and another squiggly line that reflected the length and duration of the contractions.
“What’s normal for the baby’s heart rate?” he asked Beth Ann.
“She’s sleeping, so one-twenty seems to be normal for her. But when she wakes up, that will increase to one-forty or so. And you’ll see some little black lines along this area that will indicate her movements.” The nurse handed Juliet a remote call button. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while. And I’ll come back and check on you in about two hours.”
“You’re leaving for two hours?” Mark stood and raked a hand through his hair. “What if something goes wrong?”
Beth Ann smiled. “We’re constantly monitoring her from the nurse’s station. We can see this screen in there. And if anything changes, I’ll be right in.”
Mark shoved his hands in his pockets. A grimace indicated he wasn’t pleased that the nurse was leaving. He slid a look at the monitor.
“Hey, wait,” he called to Beth Ann. “There was a little green light that looked like a bell. And now it’s yellow. What does that mean?”
“It means that something is happening in one of the other birthing rooms.”
“Is someone in trouble now?” he asked.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean trouble. It means that something is happening. In this case, the woman in birthing room three is being prepped for delivery.”
“Oh.” His words indicated understanding, but his expression was clearly one of concern, worry. He glanced at Juliet, a fish-out-of-water expression in his eyes.
She would have loved to have taken a picture of him at that moment, something to keep forever. But another dull pain began in her back, then spread to her stomach, as the womb that had once sheltered her baby began to force the child out into the world.
Juliet closed her eyes, breathing with the contraction like she’d learned from the birthing video she’d checked out of the library. She wasn’t sure whether the Lamaze techniques worked or not, but it did keep her mind focused on something other than the pain.
“It’s winding down,” Mark said, coaching her to hang on, to stay on top.
He’d said he would stay for “a bit,” and she appreciated whatever time he shared with her.
But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss him when he decided to leave.
Thirty minutes later, Mark had gotten into the swing of the labor routine. He kept track of the contractions, telling Juliet when to expect another, when a pain was peaking and when it was starting to ease. He even found himself breathing with her, which was probably goofy. But what the heck?
More than once, he thought of his sister, Kelly. Thought of her going through this by herself. Alone. Frightened. In pain. Bleeding.
But if he focused on that, if he allowed the guilt to slip back in, he’d drive himself crazy. So he forced the image from his mind, zeroing in on the petite woman who held his hand and the child who was struggling to be born.
Time was measured by the minute lines on the monitor, as Juliet’s contractions came quicker and lasted longer. Still, he repeatedly looked at the clock, hoping the two hours would be up and the nurse would return. Juliet was really hurting, and he hoped they would give her something to ease her pain.
As the door creaked open, Beth Ann entered the room. “I think I’d better check you. Your contractions are getting closer and appear to be quite strong.”
“I hope I’m four centimeters,” Juliet said. “Dr. Hart said she’d order an epidural then.”
Mark stood, but instead of leaving, he pulled the curtain, giving Juliet privacy. Surprisingly, he was feeling more comfortable about being in the room. And she seemed to be glad he was there and had thanked him more than once.
About an hour ago, she’d asked him to massage the small of her back, something she’d said helped. So they’d fallen into a routine. Each time a contraction started, she’d roll to her side and he’d rub until the pain eased.
“Well, I’ll be darned,” Beth Ann said.
“What’s wrong?” Mark flung back the curtain and stepped forward, just as the nurse was removing her gloves. “That was quick, Juliet. You’re almost eight centimeters dilated.”
“What’s that mean?” Mark asked.
“It means I’m in transition,” Juliet said. “And it’s too late for an epidural.”
“It also means her labor is progressing faster than usual, especially for a first baby. I’d better call Dr. Hart. It could be a quick delivery.”
Mark’s heart dropped to the floor. The baby was coming?
Now?
The nurse hadn’t seemed too worried, but then she was probably trained to stay calm in front of patients. But before Mark could give the scary situation much thought, Dr. Hart entered the room and things began happening at a pretty good clip.
He probably ought to slip out during the hubbub and let everyone do their job, but a particularly hard contraction struck, and Juliet’s pain-filled gaze latched onto him like a drowning woman grasping for lifeline.
Mark couldn’t move, couldn’t leave. As if having a mind of their own, his feet slowly made their way to her bedside. “Hang on, honey. You’re doing great. The baby will be here soon.”
That ought to be a comfort for her, but it brought on another flurry of anxiety for Mark. Would the baby be okay? Would it have all its fingers and toes? Would they whisk it away to some baby ICU?
He didn’t know how much time had passed. It didn’t seem like very long to him. All he knew was that Juliet didn’t appear to be hurting as bad.
“I feel like I have to push,” she said.
“Hold on a minute.” Dr. Hart prepared for delivery, then glanced at Mark. “Are you going to stay in here?”
“Who me?” Mark asked.
“I’d…like you…to stay,” Juliet said, her voice coming out in huffs and puffs. “If you’re…okay with it.”
Hell, he ought to escape while he had a chance. But he’d been with her throughout this ordeal. And he’d never been one to cut out in the last ten minutes of a movie—especially one that kept the audience on the edge of their seats.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll stay.”
Beth Ann got on one side of Juliet and asked Mark to stand on the other. “We’re going to help her push.”
Help her push? What in the hell had he gotten himself into?
“I’ll show you how.” The nurse watched the doctor, like a runner on second looked at the third base coach.
“All right,” Dr. Hart said. “Let’s go.”
Mark wasn’t sure what was happening, but he stayed by Juliet’s side, holding her legs, helping her push and strain. Before long, he could see the dark hair of a little head emerging, and his pulse surged with excitement. “Good job, honey.”
About four contractions and a whole lot of pushing later, a tiny baby girl slid into the doctor’s hands. She was kind of purple, and her head was misshapen—a scary mess, in Mark’s opinion. H
e thought they ought to hide it from Juliet, but everyone was oohing and aahing, like everything was just the way it was supposed to be.
When the baby let out an angry wail, Mark realized he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. Nor one that was more precious.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, assuming that it was, since everyone continued to smile and make light of the baby’s color and the shape of her head.
“They’re doing fine.” Dr. Hart laid the naked infant on Juliet’s stomach. “Do you want to cut the cord, Mark?”
He glanced at Juliet, saw her beaming like a blessed Madonna. He couldn’t very well pass on what appeared to be a special opportunity. “Sure.”
The doctor handed him scissors, indicating where to cut, and Mark snipped the cord, freeing the tiny baby and making her an individual.
“Time?” Dr. Hart asked, as she continued to work on Juliet.
“Nineteen twenty-eight,” another nurse said.
It was enough to make a grown man choke up. God, had he ever felt so blessed to be a part of something so special?
Beth Ann whisked the baby to a little bassinette-type bed. All the while, the little one screamed.
Mark made his way to the infant’s side, just to make sure she was all right. Not that he could be of any help, but he wanted to see for himself.
After suctioning out the little mouth, Beth Ann went to work, listening to the tiny chest, among other things. Then she placed the baby on a scale. “Four pounds, eleven ounces.”
Was that big enough? Mark wondered. She looked awfully tiny to him.
Beth Ann took a paper tape measure and stretched out the poor little girl, making Mark think of Popeye and Bluto tugging on Olive Oyl as they fought over her.
“Seventeen and a half inches long,” Beth Ann said.
“She’s petite,” Dr. Hart said. “But she sounds spunky.”
“Like her mother,” Mark said, admiring the tiny head of thick dark hair, the button nose, the rosebud lips. What a precious little face.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, marveling at the baby girl, while making sure she had just the right number of fingers and toes. But he remained long enough for the doctor to finish tending Juliet and for another nurse to put the room back in order, just like there’d never been a delivery.
A young woman with auburn hair entered the room and introduced herself to Juliet as Dr. Hodsman, a pediatrician. Then she proceeded to flip the newborn around like a rag doll, or so it seemed to Mark. He wondered if he ought to say something, tell the doctor to be more careful.
Weren’t people supposed to hold a baby’s head and neck? Watch out for soft spots? Not that he was an expert.
The pediatrician listened to the little girl’s heart and lungs, then bent her legs at the knees and hips. The baby continued to fuss, and Mark couldn’t help thinking the doctor might break a bone or pop a joint out of the socket.
“She may be nearly five weeks premature,” the pediatrician said, “but her lungs are fully developed. She does have a little foot that turns in, probably because of the way she was curled up in the womb.”
Something was wrong with her little foot?
Mark peered into the clear plastic bassinette where the baby lay naked, legs and arms reaching out for someone. Her mom. Or him. But no one seemed to notice.
Her right ankle turned in. Was Juliet’s baby going to be crippled? Would she need surgery to correct it?
“It’s nothing serious,” the pediatrician said. “Her bones are soft and pliable right now. A corrective shoe will straighten it within a few months, but I don’t think she’ll even need that much treatment.”
That was good, wasn’t it?
The doctor pulled the foot. “See how easily it bends back to normal? You can work with it, helping it to bend correctly while she’s eating or when you’re holding her.”
Mark glanced at the young mother. Even in her exhaustion, there was no denying her beauty, especially now. “The baby is beautiful, Juliet. Just like you.”
“Thank you.” She beamed at him, turning him inside out. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, Mark.”
A warm glow lit his heart, causing his chest to swell as though he’d had a hand in creating a miracle, as though he’d actually done something to bring this precious child into the world.
After the baby had a sponge bath and was bundled up like a little burrito in a flannel blanket, the nurse handed her to Juliet. “Let’s try to get her to nurse.”
Mark might have stayed for the birth, but he thought it would be best if he slipped out for a while now. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee before the cafeteria closes.”
“You may as well get something to eat while you’re there,” Beth Ann said. “We’re having dinner brought up to the new mommy.”
“All right. I’ll be back, Juliet.”
After having the Salisbury steak special and a slice of chocolate cake, he savored a cup of coffee, taking time to reflect on the awesome experience he’d just had.
If Mark were a church-goer, he might whisper a prayer of thanksgiving. But he wasn’t. Still, he couldn’t quell a sense of wonder, of awe.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice raspy with emotion. “Thanks. For the miracle.”
Then he put his plate, cup and utensils in the plastic receptacle and headed back to maternity to tell Juliet that she’d done a great job. That she’d make a wonderful mother.
When he stepped into the birthing room, the baby was nestled in Juliet’s arms. The doctor had gone, and Beth Ann was preparing a little bassinette near the hospital bed.
Mark plopped down on the chair, although he wasn’t sure why. Moments later, Beth Ann left them alone.
“Are you going to stay?” Juliet asked.
He glanced up. “Here?”
“You don’t have to.”
Did she want him to spend the night? He tried to read her expression.
She bit on her lip, then clicked her tongue. “It’s just that I was thinking about what the orderly said. About that woman trying to steal a newborn. And I know they’ve got security and all.” She glanced at the sleeping baby in her arms. “But I’m not going to rest very well tonight. I’ll keep looking at her, checking to see if she’s breathing. Checking to see if she’s still here.”
He figured it was just a typical case of maternal anxiety. Both mother and child would be safer here than anywhere. But he wasn’t going to tell Juliet she was a worrywart. Not after what she’d been through.
“I’m sure you’ll both be fine. But I’ll stay, if it makes you feel better. And I’ll keep an eye on you both.”
“Thanks.” She offered him an appreciative smile. “It may sound weird, but this is the first time she hasn’t really been a part of me. And it will make me feel better if you stayed.”
He nodded. “You try to get some sleep. If she cries, I’ll wake you.”
Juliet chuckled. “If she cries, I have a feeling I’ll hear her.”
“Maybe so. But just in case, I’ll stick around.”
She stroked the little girl’s cheek, then looked at Mark. “Can you lay her in the bed?”
What?
Hold her?
Well, he supposed it would be tough for Juliet to maneuver. And maybe she wasn’t allowed out of bed. “Okay.”
Juliet handed him the tiny bundle. The sleeping baby, still warm from her mother’s embrace, felt like a bit of nothing in his arms. An empty bundle of flannel.
He tried not to spend too much time fawning over her, marveling over the healthy pink color and the way her mouth made little kissing movements, but it wasn’t easy. He actually had to make himself place her in the bed.
Then, without thinking, he brushed a kiss across Juliet’s brow, an affectionate gesture he hadn’t planned.
It didn’t seem to bother her, which he supposed was good.
“Don’t worry,” he told her.
“I won’t.” She smiled, then nestled he
r head into the pillow and closed her eyes.
He watched her for a while, saw her grow easy and suspected she’d fallen asleep. He’d promised to watch over her and the little one.
And he would.
He just hoped to God that he’d been right when he told her not to worry. That nothing would go wrong.
Especially on his watch.
Chapter Seven
Juliet sat up in the hospital bed, a tray of breakfast before her. Mark, bless his heart, had gone to the cafeteria. But he’d stayed with her the entire night.
He had to be exhausted, because each time she’d wakened for a feeding, he’d handed the baby to her.
She couldn’t believe how helpful he’d been, how supportive. Nor could she believe how much she’d grown to appreciate having him near. Or how his smile could make her feel as though she didn’t have a worry in the world when that wasn’t the case. Her finances were still shaky, especially since she would need to hire a sitter after her disability ran out.
The baby whimpered, and Juliet turned to see her daughter scrunch her sweet face. Throughout the night, Mark had called her Sweet Pea, referring to the crawling infant in a Popeye cartoon. But the little girl needed a real name.
Over the past few months, Juliet had tossed around some ideas. At one time, while contemplating girls’ names, she’d thought about calling the baby Manuela, after her brother. Or maybe Maria Elena, after her abuelita. But before making a final decision, she’d decided to wait until her daughter arrived.
It seemed logical to make sure the baby looked like a Manuela or a Maria before dubbing her with a name that would stick for the rest of her life. And now that Juliet had seen the baby and fallen in love with her, neither seemed to fit.
But around two o’clock in the morning, she’d gotten another idea. Something that felt more appropriate and more fitting.