Twenty-Nine
Stan
I’d had very little sleep as the nurses were in and out of the room all night checking my blood pressure and temperature. They’d inserted a catheter as they wanted to see how much urine I was producing and also didn’t want me getting in and out of bed.
More blood tests followed, and I resembled a pincushion as it was getting harder to find a vein. There was another ultrasound plus blood pressure medication. I’d never had high blood pressure in my life.
Chet was in the corridor getting a cup of coffee and drinking it out there. I wasn’t a coffee snob, honest, and certainly not now when all my focus was on the baby. But the aroma—or should I say odor—of hospital coffee, that looked more like pig swill, had me wanting to throw up.
Maybe that should be our next project. Hospitals focused on making people well, and the food situation had improved dramatically over the years. But just because people were sick or having babies didn’t mean they shouldn’t be treated to good coffee and cookies.
Thinking about coffee and work was me avoiding the realities of the dinging and beeping machines. The monitor measuring the baby’s heartbeat was the only one I welcomed, though the probe wrapped around my belly was uncomfortable. It reassured me that the little one was okay.
The possibility of delivering the baby today or in the next few days had me counting the days until my due date which was six weeks from now. I did it more than once, thinking I’d made a mistake. And during the night when Chet had dozed off in a big armchair in the corner, I grabbed the phone from under my pillow, though the IV line in my left arm complicated things.
In my head, there was a huge red flag attached to researching medical conditions online. Some of the sites were informative while the purpose of others was not to educate but terrify. Despite the doctor going through the different scenarios before she went home, my finger hovered over the search page. Do it. Don’t do it.
The baby had an excellent chance of survival, but I wanted him or her inside me. “This is where you belong, little one. You’re not ready for the big wide world. Stay in there a little longer, okay? Pinky swear?”
Chet wandered in chewing a breath mint. Spearmint scent instead of boiled coffee stench. Much better. “Hey, we need to talk,” I told him as he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked my palm. The dark rings under his eyes were a testament to his own lack of sleep.
“Did something change?” His eyes flicked to the monitors beside the bed.
“No. But if something happens…”
“Nothing’s going to happen other than you delivering a healthy baby. Both of you are going to be fine.”
I sensed what he was doing. He had to say the words as the alternative was too awful to contemplate. But we were grownups. I’d stared into the depths of hell after the accident and remembered the ghostly fingers of dread stroking my cheeks. I’d teetered on the edge and almost fallen in.
And while this was different in that other than staying in bed and doing what I was told, I had little control over what was happening. But I could plan for the future. “This baby will survive. I’ll make sure of that. But if in helping the little one live, I…” I stumbled over my words as Chet’s face crumpled, and there was wrenching pain in his eyes. “…You will be an amazing dad.”
“Stan, I…”
“Let me finish. And if, after a while, you meet an omega and fall in love, that’s okay.”
“You and the baby are going to be fine. Fine. More than fine. Both of you.” The way he spoke reminded me of a mantra. If he said it often enough, it would happen.”
“I love you, Chet. You came into my life at the right time. Any sooner and I wouldn’t have been ready. After the accident, I was so damaged and fearful, you might have drifted toward me and then hurried away. Thank you for loving me.”
“Always.” Chet swallowed. And swallowed again before resting his head on my shoulder. “And when you and the baby come home, I want to dance with you. Forever.”
I dissolved into floods of tears remembering that night in the kitchen. Through the times when Chet was away, I’d held the memory close.
Chet held my face in his hands and kissed away each tear until one of the damned machines made a weird beeping sound. My eyes locked on his as he pushed the buzzer for the nurse. But three people rushed into the room while his thumb was still on it.
“What is it?” he asked as the nurses shooed him away from the bed. Losing contact with his hand had me trembling and whimpering, “Chet! The baby!”
“Mr. Price, your baby’s heart rate is dropping.” A doctor raced in and scanned the printout from the monitor.
“What does that mean?” My hand rested on my bump while the other clawed at my face.
“Do something, please,” Chet begged as he stood at the bottom of the bed and held my feet. I needed him touching me because a huge yawning abyss had opened up and I was sliding toward it.
“We have to do an emergency C-section. Now. Once we get to surgery, we can have the baby out in one minute if we have to.”
One minute. One minute. I held on to that as Chet took my hand while the staff raised the bed’s side rails. He kissed my palm as I gazed at the fear etched on his pale face. Did it mirror my own? “Come with me. Don’t leave me alone.”
He ran along beside me as I was pushed along a long corridor. There were bright lights, and terse statements, and noises that hurt my head. I clutched my belly, sending what little strength I had to my baby.
“I’m sorry. But your husband can’t come in.”
“But I need him.” A stabbing pain in my head blinded me, but his scent was all around. The warmth of skin pressed on mine. Our breath mingling. I would carry that with me into the operating theater. With us. The baby and me.
“Please, I’m begging you,” Chet’s voice tore me apart.
“This is as far as you can go, sir. I’m sorry.” There was no time for goodbye. The blurred shape kissed my head, and I outstretched my hand until our fingertips brushed over one another, and he was gone.
The last words I heard before they wheeled me in was someone saying, “I’ll show you to the waiting room, sir.”
Lights. Voices. Unfamiliar sounds and smells. What I assumed were masked faces appeared over me, and I blinked. But I still couldn’t see properly. There was a gentle tugging on my arm, and a voice in my ear said I was going to fall asleep. “My baby,” were the last words I said as my eyes closed and everything went dark.
“Mr. Price. Mr. Price. Can you hear me?”
“Mmmm. Where’s… the baby? Baby. What… my baby?” My arms flailed, though I didn't have the energy to open my eyes.
“You have a beautiful perfect daughter.”
Thirty
Chet
I used to make fun of the “bad acting” when I saw people on television pacing in the hospital waiting rooms, yet here I was...pacing away. Things had gone so terribly wrong so quickly. He’d been fine. Not once had his blood pressure been an issue at any appointment, and then boom—he ended up here.