His grief-stricken expression confused me. Killian just said that the babies were okay. Why did he look so… heartbroken?
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice cracking. Panic rose inside me and fear slithered though my veins. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Tell me!”
My husband pressed his shaky fist to his mouth and I watched him swallow back a cry. “One of the babies… she… didn’t make it. She didn’t…”
My heart stammered as Killian dropped to his knees, as if he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. “You–” I choked out. “W-what did you just say? No. No. NO!”
“Julianna,” Killian started but I was already shaking my head.
“Bring me my baby. I want to see her. I want to see her right now, Killian. Let me see her, please. Oh God, please.”
My heart thudded frantically as Killian nodded. He called for the nurse and then it was the longest minute of my life before the door opened. A nurse walked in, holding a little bundle in her arms.
My chest tightened; the pain almost indescribable. My baby girl was swaddled in a soft purple blanket and I was desperate to hold her, to look at her face and to memorize every inch of her.
I opened my arms toward the nurse. “I want to hold my baby.”
She laid my daughter in my arms and I instinctively pulled her closer to my chest, staring at her tiny face. She was so small; her whole body could easily fit in her father’s palm.
I spared the nurse a look. “Do you think I can do skin to skin with her? Will that work? Maybe she just needs my warmth, to remind her that’s she safe. She’ll be fine, right? Skin to skin care is the best way for mother and baby bond. That’s we need. I wasn’t awake when she was born but I’m here now. She’ll be fine,” I repeated, firmly believing in my words even though they sounded unreal to my own ears.
Killian made a painful sound from the back of his throat but I didn’t dare to look at him. I couldn’t watch him break down. I couldn’t.
The nurse winced and she gave me a helpless look. “Ma’am, she is–”
“Please,” I interrupted. “Just… let me do this. I want to hold my daughter; skin to skin.”
Her eyes were glassy but I didn’t her let dejection sway me. She nodded and then helped me my hospital gown down. I took my daughter out of her tight swaddling and then held her against my bare chest, her cool skin against my warmth.
“Hey, baby girl. Oh, look at you,” I breathed, caressing the top of her head. She had little fuzzy black hair, like her father’s. “You’re the most beautiful and precious thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I whispered, choking on my tears. “You’re going to be okay. Mommy is here now.”
I just couldn’t accept that my baby was gone. So, I spoke to her. For what felt like hours, until my throat was sore from crying and talking. I told her about my dreams of us – our little family, while I silently willed her to breathe. To live.
I yearned to hear her little cry.
But she never did.
I longed to feel her warmth.
But she was too still.
I cried until it felt like my throat was bleeding from the inside. The crumbling of my soul was painful but what broke me was seeing my strong, confident and arrogant husband break down.
“Killian,” I whispered shakily, gingerly wrapping one hand around his. Our fingers entwined together and we desperately held on. He brought his head up, looking at me tearfully. His face was red and wet and his anguished cries filled my ears.
I stroke a knuckle against our daughter’s soft cheek. “God gave us a little angel.”
Agony was written all over his face; his expression wretched and dark torment in his eyes. I had never felt so hopeless before, but I had to accept that our baby girl was really gone.
I gripped his hand tighter. “Hold us, Killian.”
His chest rattled with a sharp inhale and I didn’t have to ask him twice. He sat on the edge of the bed, curling one of his arms around my shoulders. “Don’t let go,” I pleaded brokenly.
“I won’t,” he croaked, his devastation seeping out in his words. “I got you, Princess. I got us.”
I pressed my lips to my daughter’s tiny head. “Alina,” I said in a hushed tone. “It means light or the bright one. She’s our light. Our little Angel. Her name is Alina.”
Killian lowered his head, pressing a tender kiss to our daughter’s little feet. “Alina,” he whispered roughly. “It’s perfect.”
I held our daughter for a moment longer before finally whispering a goodbye in her ears and then handing her back to the nurse. My heart ached as I parted from her, knowing that it would be the last time I was holding my daughter.
I turned toward Killian, burying my face into his throat and letting out a silent cry. I didn’t know how long we sat like this, but eventually I had no more tears left to cry. My head was hurting and my body was extremely sore; while my heavy heart bore the invisible scars of today.
“I w-want to see Alina’s sisters,” I finally said.
Thirty minutes later, I was wheeled into the NICU, where my daughters were staying. They were in two different incubators, with tubes and wires attached to their little bodies.
“They are tiny.” My voice cracked as I placed a hand on the outside of the incubator. “They are okay, right? Healthy? Safe? Are there any complications?”
“Both babies are actually doing pretty good for being preemies,” the doctor announced with a kind smile. “Their respiratory systems aren’t fully developed yet, so they need help breathing. And they don’t have the ability to coordinate reflexes like sucking and swallowing, so they are going to be receiving most of the nutrition and fluids through an IV or feeding tube. Though, you should be able to breastfeed them in a few weeks. Maybe even earlier if they are progressing well. Of course, they need to gain a few more pounds before they can go home.”
He pointed to the incubator on my left. “Baby Number One weighs only three pounds and three ounces.” And then he pointed at the incubator I was closest to. “Baby Number Two weighs three pounds and five ounces.”
They were so tiny; so fragile looking in those incubators with diapers that looked too big for their small bodies.
“Can we hold them?” Killian asked, as he stared down at our daughters in both wonderment and fear.
“Absolutely,” the doctor chirped. “We highly recommend the kangaroo care, which is skin-to-skin. And since both mother and father are here, you can hold both babies.”
The nurses carefully took our daughters out from their respective incubators and brought one to me and the other to Killian. They helped me lowered my hospital gown and then placed my baby between my bare breasts, with her tubes and all.
She let out a tiniest cry and I gently brushed a finger over her cheek. “It’s okay, little one. You’re okay,” I crooned to her. She was warm and alive, the complete opposite of Alina. As much as I was thankful for that, it still hurt.