Chapter 4
Ben had known Dr. Gordon Shepherd literally his whole life, the good doctor having delivered Ben thirty-three years ago. Shepherd was a throwback, an old fashioned family doctor still apt to making house calls, and who still took pictures of every baby he delivered. He knew his patients intimately, taking great pride in remembering a lot of their birthdays, anniversaries, and graduation dates.
When Ben had called Shepherd early that Monday morning, Shepherd was already at the hospital making his rounds. At seventy-two years of age, the doctor had no intentions of retiring anytime soon, and Ben had no doubts that Shepherd accomplished more in a half-day than most doctors half his age accomplished in an entire week. When Ben had found out he and April were expecting a baby, he’d instantly thought of Dr. Shepherd. April had been skeptical at first, but it had taken just one consultation with the doctor for her to change her mind. His mind was as sharp as a tack, and as he told her, “I have over forty-one years’ experience delivering babies. I think I am quite capable helping get these two into the world.”
“Two?” Ben had asked, not quite trusting his ears.
“Two,” Shepherd repeated. “You two are having twins.”
Now it seemed the twins had been just as anxious to get here, as their parents had been to see them. A bit too anxious, Ben thought now as he stood outside the neonatal intensive care unit, watching as his newly arrived boys were each placed into an incubator. “This is all standard procedure,” Shepherd had assured him earlier as the boys were being weighed, measured, and prepared for transport to the NICU. “At thirty weeks, we have to make sure the babies are getting the right amount of minerals and fluids. We also have to monitor their body temperatures. And make sure they’re not losing too much fluid.”
“Are they going to be alright?” Ben asked nervously.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Shepherd told him. “This is not an ideal situation. Nothing takes the place of a mother’s womb. Right now the odds are about 40-60 that we could lose one or both of them. But we’ve been here before. We have experience in these situations. In addition to that, premature care has advanced a lot in the last few years.”
It had been an honest assessment. Ben expected no less from Dr. Shepherd. The doctor was an eternal optimist, but he was also a realist. If the situation was hopeless, Shepherd would have had no problem saying so. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d had to give Ben sobering news.
When Ben was thirteen years old, he’d returned home from school to find his mother lying near death on the sidewalk in front of their home. A puddle of blood from a single gunshot had widened in her chest. Despite seeing his mother in such a horrific state, he’d remained calm enough to go inside their home, dial 911, and afterwards, the number of Dr. Shepherd; a name his mom had scotch-taped to the door of the refrigerator.
Shepherd made it to the emergency room fifteen minutes before the ambulance. As the paramedics rolled Lizzie Lovison into surgery, Shepherd pulled Ben into a waiting area and found a spot on a bench near the back of the room. “They will do everything they can for her,” he assured Ben. All around them the emergency room teemed with activity.
A little boy, perhaps five years of age, had accidently stepped on a rusted nail at his school and now complained loudly about having to get a tetanus shot. Meanwhile, a young mother, her head wrapped in a red scarf, rushed in, carrying a child in her arms and a little brown plastic bottle. She yelled at the attendants that the child had accidently swallowed prescription pills. One nurse grabbed the baby from the woman’s arms, taking it through double doors in one direction while another nurse led the woman down the hall in the opposite direction, all the while trying to calm the hysterical woman. Next, an elderly man came in complaining of chest pains. It was one thing after the other, some major, some minor, and all seemingly happening at one time. It was an ordinary Wednesday afternoon and it wasn’t even quite suppertime. Ben, with blood-speckled shirt and pants, sat stock-still next to Dr. Shepherd who had his arm around him, lightly patting his shoulder.
Thirty minutes later Shepherd said, “I’ll go back and see what I can find out.” A little while after that, he returned and motioned for Ben to follow him to a private room down the hall. Once they were inside the room, Shepherd closed the door, looked Ben squarely in the eyes, and said simply, “She’s gone.”
Ben stood at the glass window of the neonatal unit, quietly staring at the two newest Lovisons.
“…tably,” He turned his head around in the direction of the baritone voice. It was Dr. Shepherd, still wearing his scrubs.
“Sorry, doc,” Ben said. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I said April’s resting comfortably,” Shepherd repeated.
“Good. May I see her?”
“By all means,” Shepherd replied. “I need you as upbeat as you possibly can be. Assure her that everything will be alright.”
“Will it?”
“The odds are as I told you before. But you’re her husband and your love and support will give her better odds. She’s still weak, and I need her fighting to get stronger. So you need to pray for whatever strength and courage you need before you go in to see her. Okay?”
Focusing on the tubes attached to their babies, and becoming increasingly aware of the two of them lying in what looked like little metal coffins, Ben mouthed silently, “Okay.”
The walls in the hospital chapel were decorated in a hodgepodge of religious imagery. There were images of crosses, crescents, Buddhas, stars, moons, suns, Bibles, and all sorts of religious depictions in a harmonious display of spiritual tolerance. It had been a compromise on the part of Lincoln Memorial’s senior administration staff after there had been an uproar against the decision to remove all religious imagery from the hospital, including all Bibles, crosses, Korans, and anything remotely related to any religion of any kind.
Ben knelt on a mat at the front of the chapel in a place where an altar used to be. Now there was simply a table with candles and a bowl containing written prayers from anyone who’d felt compelled to write one. He hadn’t felt so compelled and for that matter, he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say. For the longest time he just stared at the candles. His tenuous belief in God was only there at all because his mom had believed. However, in Ben’s mind, considering the way she’d died, there wasn’t exactly a compelling reason to believe in a higher power. And if he added in the fact that the so called higher power had allowed his father to abandon him and his mother, then God Almighty wasn’t exactly batting a thousand. At the very least, he hadn’t always shined so favorably on one, Benjamin Clyde Lovison.
Still, he loved his wife and their new family, and he wanted them all healthy and home, so he closed his eyes and prayed. He prayed for the wellbeing of his two little babies. He prayed for his wife April to get better, both mentally and physically. He prayed that he’d be a better man and a better father, much better than his own father had been. Finally, he prayed for the strength to face April with confidence, optimism, and knowledge that everything would be okay. After meditating silently for a few moments, he opened his eyes, thanked God for his time, and stood up. When he turned around, he stared right into tear-filled eyes.
She appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Her face was pleasant, but tired-looking. She looked as if she’d spent a night or two at the hospital. Her hair barely held form, strands of it popped out of place like weeds. She wore a knee length white skirt that sported the haphazard creases of having been slept in, as did her blue blouse. She fingered a small cross attached to a necklace which hung around her neck. Ben smiled. She managed to return a half-one as she eased past him to the spot he’d just vacated. He was almost out the chapel when he heard the crash behind him. He turned around. It was a chaotic mess. The woman had fallen over the table, knocking it over, sending the candles and the prayer bowl along with its contents hurtling to the floor. Tiny bits of paper flickered to the floor like disinterested sno
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