For some reason, I never thought that events would unfold like this. I always imagined the baby would have to be taken quickly due to some emergency developing with the placenta. I did not expect things to start off this way. It almost feels like I’m any other mother giving birth and not some special case who’s been monitored twenty-four seven for the last few weeks.
But I know things are terribly wrong when Wanda starts wheeling my bed out of the room herself. Who am I kidding? Nothing about this pregnancy has been normal. Why would the birth be any different?
Seeing Wanda struggle, an orderly sprints over to join us, dropping his mop before taking over. Wanda calls to the nurses behind the desk, explaining that she needs help prepping delivery room A. I watch the ceiling tiles fly above my head, and the light panels start to blur. I close my eyes and pray for the best. There’s nothing I can do now. It’s out of my control.
But I need Eric. I can’t go through this without him. But he’s not expected to be here for another two hours. He could miss the whole thing.
“Wanda!” I scream out, trying to sit up, and look back at her, but the orderly doesn’t stop. Instead, he increases his speed, and all I can do is recline against the pillows, too dizzy to do anything more.
***
I don’t know how much time has passed, but it seems like things are happening fairly quickly all around me.
“Ivy, hello!” Dr. P. greets me through his surgical mask. “How are you doing?”
I don’t respond. I didn’t even notice that he had arrived. The pain has been so intense. The contractions are coming fast and furious. I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought they’d be spaced further apart. Something’s not right, but no one’s telling me anything.
Sweat is beading down my face as I strive to alleviate the pressure on my lower back, but Dr. P’s hands gently guide my feet back into the stirrups.
“She’s almost fully dilated,” Dr. P. says to Wanda. “There’s no time to prepare for a C-section.”
Oh God. I’ve had a lot of time to read up on premature births, and this isn’t good. Most are delivered by Caesarean section. Vaginal births are not recommended, especially when the baby is so small. Traveling through the birth canal creates too much trauma for the fetus.
“Did she feel anything earlier before her water broke?” Dr. P. questions Wanda.
“She said she felt some mild discomfort, some light cramping, but nothing major,” Wanda reports. “She must have started earlier in the day. I only wish we had known. We could’ve started a drip to slow it down.”
“Because now this baby is going to have to come fast,” Dr. P. remarks, his brow tense. “I don’t expect the placenta to hold up.”
A contraction rips through my body and I can’t help but push.
“That’s a girl, Ivy,” Dr. P. says, his voice brimming with encouragement. “The head is already starting to crown. Normally, I’d tell you not to push at this stage, but on the next one, I want you to give it all you’ve got.”
I grip the bedrail and hold on.
“He’s here! He’s here!” someone shouts.
“Well, let him in!” Wanda cries, not moving from Dr. P.’s side.
Eric comes charging into the room, a look of sheer panic on his face. But that’s all I see as clench my teeth and move with the pain that unleashes through me. I feel something slide out of me, but I don’t hear a cry.
“You did it, Ivy,” Wanda consoles me as Dr. P. hurriedly carries the baby to a nearby table.
“What’s going on?” Eric asks frantically, but no one will answer him. They’re too busy working on the baby.
I haven’t even seen it yet. Dr. P. and his team are blocking it from view. He didn’t cut the cord, so the placenta must have detached…but when? How long has our baby been without oxygen? I don’t even want to contemplate that it might have been stillborn, that my body might have dispelled it because it was no longer alive inside of me, accounting for the early labor.
I strain my ears, waiting for that cry, but it doesn’t come. Eric stands immobile in the middle of the room, staring over at all of the activity. I want him to come to me, to hold my hand. But he’s transfixed, watching what they’re doing to our baby.
I hear calls for, “More suction!” and “Get me a heart rate monitor!” but my brain blacks out when the accompanying beep doesn’t sound. There wasn’t time to give me a steroid shot to help speed up the baby’s lung development. It’s probably not physically capable of breathing on its own. I should have said something after lunch when I started cramping up, but no one came to check on me so I didn’t tell anyone. I could’ve hit the buzzer and called for help, but I knew they were short-staffed and I didn’t want to be a bother. Now it’s too late.
And I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.
I start to sob violently, snapping Eric out of his trance-like state. He rushes over to me, trembling as he enfolds me in his arms. My legs are still spread out before me. I’m too afraid to move. No one comes to clean me up or tell us what’s happening. Everyone’s attention is focused on our child—where it should be.
A host of machines are wheeled over to the table as I catch a glimpse of the leads covering the translucent skin of our baby. I cry even harder when I see how tiny it is. The digital reading on the scale is displaying just over a pound. I grasp Eric’s arm when I see that they already have a tube attached to its tiny face with white tape as they hook it up to a ventilator.
They pause, giving it a minute. And then, finally…finally…the monitor picks up a faint heartbeat. Dr. P. raises his hands in exultation as his crew whoops and hollers, rejoicing. They did it. They saved our baby.
“Eric and Ivy, you have a little girl!” Dr. P. shouts over to us as we cling to each other, unable to believe our good fortune.
“C’mon over here, Dad, and check her out,” Wanda encourages, holding out her hand for Eric to join her. “Then we can wheel her over to Mom together.”
Eric trips, stumbling to his feet, unable to get there fast enough. The crew laughs at his eagerness as some wipe away the tears that are rolling down their faces. I can’t take my eyes off him as he bends down to look at her.
“Can I touch her?” he asks, hesitating with his hand in midair.
“Gently,” Wanda urges, watching as he lets the tips of his fingers glide over her tiny head.
“She’s so soft,” he whispers, reverently.
Dr. P. and Wanda exchange a knowing glance before they smile over at me.
“I want to see her.” I can’t keep quiet any longer. “I want to see my Natalie.”
Eric looks from one to the other, seeking their permission. “Is it okay to bring her over now?”
“Go ahead, Dad,” Wanda instructs. “Nice and steady.”
They start pushing the table across the room as another nurse follows with the ventilator and heart rate monitor. As they near the side of the bed, I gaze down at her, unable to believe that she made it. She’s here. She’s right beside me.
I want to pick her up so badly, but I know even before I ask that I can’t. She is connected to all these machines. There’s no way. Not yet, but someday. I have to be patient, but it’s hard.
“Welcome to the world, Natalie Young,” I coo as I lean over the plastic partition to touch her tiny fist.
She surprises me when she opens her hand, before closing it over my finger. For such a little thing, she has quite the grip on her. She’s been fighting since day one, and I know she’s not going to give up now.
“Merry Christmas, honey child,” Wanda says, her eyes shining at me. “Didn’t I tell you that you’d get your miracle?”
Eric starts bawling, his emotions finally getting the best of him.
I want to hold him in my arms and comfort him, but I can’t reach him. However, it only takes a second for Dr. P. to draw him in, and he lets him cry on his shoulder. I smile through my tears at him for doing everything possible to make this day a reality.<
br />
Somehow, we all did it. Together.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Eric
There’s something I have to do today. I can only hope that Ivy will go along with it.
I’m standing next to her wheelchair as we stare into the incubator holding our daughter. I don’t think I left this window until shortly after dawn, afraid that she wouldn’t make it through the night. But Christmas Day arrived and she’s still here, small and frail and clinging to life.
She’s going to be in the NICU for probably the next three months, if not longer. There are so many milestones she needs to reach before we can even think about taking her home, everything from breathing on her own to maintaining a steady body temperature. It was all explained to us within the last twenty-four hours, but it’s all been a blur to me. I can’t retain anything more than knowing that she’s alive.
Dr. P. wanted to meet with us tonight to go over the results of her blood work. I know neither of us wants to leave Natalie, but we’re going to have to start heading over to his office. It’s just down the hall, but it seems like a world away.
“Don’t worry. I’ll sit with her while you’re gone,” Wanda says, coming up behind us, placing her hands on our shoulders, and giving us a squeeze. “I’ll take good care of your little girl.”
“I know you will, Wanda,” Ivy replies, smiling up at her.
“Did either of you get any sleep last night?” Wanda inquires, stepping back to get a good look at us.
“They gave me something so I could rest, but I don’t think he slept a wink,” Ivy laughs, jerking her thumb at me.
“He’s a new dad. He’s not supposed to get any sleep,” Wanda concurs, nodding at me.
“I don’t mind,” I say, yawning, causing them both to chuckle.
“Well, we’d better get a move on before he falls asleep on his feet,” Ivy responds, poking me in the ribs. “Thanks for doing this, Wanda.”
“And let us know if anything happens,” I urge, gripping the handlebars of Ivy’s wheelchair. “Anything at all.”
“I will,” Wanda proclaims. “You can count on it.”
She waves to us as we turn the corner, and I already feel a tug like I want to get back to Natalie. I never imagined this connection to her would be so strong, like it physically hurts to be away from her.
The light in Dr. P.’s office is on, and he rises from behind his desk when he sees us coming. He’s still here after we practically made him give up his entire holiday for us. He’s the most dedicated physician I’ve ever met, and I’m glad he was the one who brought Natalie safely into the world. No one else could have done it but him. Of that much, I’m certain.
“How are the proud parents doing this evening?” he greets us as we roll through the door.
“Elated, tired, relieved,” I reply, settling Ivy in front of him, “and everything in between.”
“That’s to be expected,” he agrees, resting his hands on top of the chart he has spread open before him. “Childbirth is an experience that runs the full gamut of emotions.”
“I don’t know how you do it for a living,” Ivy jokes. “You’re the calmest man I’ve ever met.”
“I’m just there to ease things along. It’s the mother who does all the work and the father who has all the stress.” Dr. P. replies, nodding at us in turn. “But I’m here for you whenever those bumps in the road come along to help guide you through them. Natalie is holding her own, but I was anxious to review the results of her blood work with you. I was thorough in what I had the lab look for. As you know, she made it through a very high-risk pregnancy, and the forty-eight hours after birth are going to be a critical time in her life.”
I find it hard to breathe as he goes on, my chest tightening.
“And so far, she’s stable. She’s right where I’d like her to be.” Dr. P. pauses, and I ball my fists, waiting for that dreaded word. “But…”
And in that moment, I feel like I’m outside of myself. Our fate rests in what he’s about to say. I thought last night was hard when I got the call that Ivy was in labor, but this seems so much worse now that I’ve seen Natalie, now that I want to do everything I can to protect her.
“There is something I want to bring to your attention,” Dr. P. continues, never wavering in that confident tone of voice we’ve come to depend on. “It was detected that Natalie has an extra chromosome in her genetic code, indicative of mental retardation.”
It’s like a kick in the stomach as I hang my head and gasp for air. I look down at the top of Ivy’s head and she doesn’t even flinch.
Dr. P. glances from me to her, noticing the variance in our reaction. “Do you need me to give you a minute alone?” he asks, gazing at me in particular. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”
“No, we’re fine, Doc,” Ivy responds, not even giving me a second thought. “Please go on.”
I kneel down beside her, taking her face in my hands. “Ivy, did you hear what he said?”
“I did,” she says, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “And it’s going to be okay. Do you want to know why? Because she’s here with us now, and that’s all I ever wanted. She’s perfect just the way she is. I wouldn’t want her any other way.”
“But, Ivy, it’s going to be so hard,” I protest, not really sure if she’s grasping the full weight of the situation.
“The entire pregnancy was hard,” she replies, placing her hand on top of mine. “This is something we can handle. She’s going to need two parents who are there for her and love her unconditionally. That’s why she was sent to us. She knew we needed her.”
I hear Dr. P. clear his throat, overwhelmed by what she is saying, and I don’t want to argue with her. I don’t, but it’s not that simple.
“Eric, listen to me,” she pleads, taking my hands in hers. “We can do this. I know we can.”
I turn my head away from her and gaze at Dr. P., stricken.
“We won’t know how severe the mental retardation is until she gets older,” he says gently. “She could be very high-functioning.”
“But you don’t know,” I say, pressing him for a solid answer.
“No, I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “But I think it’s safe to say that we’re going to do everything in our power to help her live a full and complete life.”
“Eric, she still hasn’t made it through the first forty-eight hours,” Ivy reminds me, drawing my attention back to her. “We have to take this one step at a time. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“But what if she’s never able to talk or tie her shoes or go to school,” I mutter, my mind spinning as the years flash before my eyes. “What if something happens to us and she’s left with no one to take care of her? What then?”
I feel lightheaded as the lack of sleep catches up with me. I stagger backward, pressing my back against the wall. I’ve never had a panic attack, but it feels like I’m experiencing one right now.
Dr. P. gets up from his desk and guides me into the empty chair next to Ivy. “Take some deep breaths for me,” he commands, and I close my eyes, feeling sick. His hand hovers over my neck, searching for my pulse. “You need to relax. Getting all upset isn’t going to help anybody.”
“Eric…” Ivy whispers, placing her hand on my knee.
“Ivy is absolutely right,” Dr. P. says with gusto, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “You can do this. When you love someone, you’re capable of more than you know.”
“And we’ll make sure that she’s provided for,” Ivy exclaims as I open my eyes to look at her. “No matter what.”
“But—” I falter.
“No buts.” She stops me, holding up her hand. “Dr. P. and I talked about this before and he sees no reason why we can’t have more children. Natalie won’t be alone. I swear to you that will never happen. We’re going to do everything in our power to provide her with a houseful of brothers and sisters who will take care of her when she gets older.”
I take a shaky breath. “I don’t
know about a houseful.”
She smiles at me, tears glistening in her eyes. “Well, we’ll sure have fun trying.”
“We don’t even have anywhere to live,” I groan, feeling ten years older than when I first walked into the room. “I need to start—”
“Eric.” Ivy places her fingers atop my lips. “Natalie is going to be here most likely until Easter. We have plenty of time to sort everything out. I don’t care where we live as long as she’s there with us.”
“Please don’t think that I don’t love her because of this,” I whisper, feeling myself starting to cry again and hating myself for being so weak when Ivy’s being so unbelievably strong. “I love her even more if that’s humanly possible.”
“Eric, I never thought that,” she reassures me, reaching forward to caress my face. “I know how much it means to you to be a good provider and how it scares you when you think you can’t give the ones you love everything they need. But you’ve so got this, you hear me? All she needs is a father who loves her, and I know you’re going to give her more love than she knows what to do with.”
I lean into her, brushing my lips across hers, kissing her tenderly.
I break away when we hear a gentle knock on the door.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I thought you’d like to know that Santa is right outside the incubator room,” Wanda says, popping her head in. “It might be a nice shot if I wheel Natalie over to the glass so you can get her first picture with Santa.”
“Go,” Dr. P. urges, throwing up his hands as he dabs his eyes with a handkerchief. “I don’t want to miss this myself.”
I stroke my thumb across Ivy’s cheek, smiling into her eyes.
I’m just about to follow Wanda when my phone pings. Reaching down, I quickly read the text. My dad was able to come through for me. I’m going to be able to give Ivy the Christmas gift I wanted to.
“And after we’re done there, I’d like to invite everyone down to the chapel,” I announce as Ivy gazes at me, her eyes wide. “I know it’s last-minute, but there’s a minister in attendance waiting to make Ivy my wife.”
Ivy utters a cry, covering her mouth.
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