Important decisions. Those two words scare the hell out of me. “Okay.”
“It’s time for me to go.” There it is. What I’ve been terrified of hearing from her.
“No. You’re not leaving.”
“I stayed because I thought I could change your mind. I see now how very wrong I was to believe that.”
“I’m not ready for you to go.”
“And I’m not ready for you to die. But that hasn’t changed your mind. I have always been all in, Bash. I’ve loved you for so much of our time together, but I can’t keep the flame of hope alive anymore. You have made up your mind. I love you, but I’m deciding it’s time to part.”
“I could argue that I paid two million dollars to have you here with me for thirty-six months or until I decide you go.” It’s a shitty thing to say, but I’m grasping at straws.
“You could but it isn’t going to stop us from leaving.” She puts her hand on top of her belly. “I’m almost six months pregnant. I need to be setting up a nursery and preparing a home for Gus. I can’t do that here.”
“We’ll turn the guest room beside your bedroom into the nursery. You can do anything you want with it. Hell, you can make it adjoining if you want. I’ll call Michelle tomorrow and she can have it done in a few days.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Turning the other guest room into a nursery means Gus will come home to this house. Contact with him will be inevitable. You’ve told me that’s not what you want. Has that changed?”
I can’t see him. I can’t hear him. There’ll be no going back if I do. “No.”
“Then the decision is made. I’m moving out tomorrow, and I won’t be back to work at PPI.”
If she leaves like this, I will never see her. Probably never again.
I’ve lost my parents and my brother, but nothing compares to this very real and agonizing pain in my chest.
But I have no one else to blame but myself.
“Where will you go?”
“Vale said I can have my old room until I find an apartment.”
She has a plan. She’s really leaving. “You’re killing me, Rose.”
She smiles a small smile, but her eyes tell me she’s not sure if she should laugh or cry. “You’ve got that backwards. I’ve done nothing but try to save you. You’re the one killing yourself. Literally.”
“You have to know that none of this is what I want. You can’t imagine how this decision is tearing me apart. I want you. I want our son. I want our happily ever after. But that isn’t the way our story ends.”
“Each of us writes our own story, Bastien. You’ve chosen a tragedy. Trust me. I know one when I see it. That’s what my life was until a few years ago. I won’t go back there, and I won’t drag my son into that kind of agony. So go on and live out your tragedy.”
Looking down at her left hand I watch her do something I never wanted to see. Removal of the ring that has graced her left ring finger. She’s letting me go. Severing us. It feels like slow motion watching her gaze at the ring, then place it on the dresser by the door. “Your tragedy is completely your choice. But you’ll do it without Gus and me.”
That’s the last thing she says before walking out of my bedroom. And my life. It feels so final. Like those last two words at the conclusion of a story.
The end.
***
I’ve been lying awake all night, tossing around everything Rose said. She isn’t wrong. I have chosen to live out a tragedy when I could have an epic love story. Maybe not with the ending I’d want, but isn’t that what would make our story so great? That we took what time we had and made the most of it?
I don’t want to live out this tragedy. I want the love story with Rose. I want our version of a happily ever after.
“Bash!”
I hear Rose scream my name and the urgency in her voice launches my heart into a gallop. I jolt out of my bed, dashing across the hall, my muscles on fire and in overdrive in a way I haven’t felt in months. Like I don’t have a degenerative muscle disease slowly destroying my body.
I turn on the light and see Rose holding her belly, grimacing. “Something’s wrong. My stomach is hard. It won’t relax . . . and I’m having a lot of pain. I need to call the doctor.”
“Okay.” I take her phone off the charger stand on the bedside table. “His number is in your contacts?”
“Yes. Dr. Reynolds.”
I’m scrolling through the names when she tosses the covers back. “It feels like something is coming out down there.”
You never want to hear a pregnant woman say that.
My knees nearly buckle when I see the huge dark red stain on the bedding beneath her. “Bash, I’m bleeding.”
She isn’t just bleeding. She’s hemorrhaging. “We’re not wasting time calling the doctor. You’re going to the hospital right now.”
Rose groans when I scoop her out of her bed. “Ohh, it hurts.”
“I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry.”
I descend the stairs with her, praying with every step that my arms and legs don’t give out and send us plummeting down the staircase. Even almost six months pregnant, she is still so light.
I set her in the passenger’s seat and recline it all the way down before buckling her seatbelt. “I’m losing him, aren’t I?”
“I don’t think so.” I hate lying to her. I’m so afraid she can see the alarm in my eyes. Hear it in my voice. But it’s impossible to not suspect she’s miscarrying after seeing that much blood.
“I am. I know I am.” Her voice is barely more than a sob.
“Hey. Gus is a Pascal. He’s a tough little Cajun fighter.”
She groans and grabs her stomach when I take a turn a little too sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to hurry.”
“It’s not you. The pain is getting worse on its own, whether I move or not.”
The bright lights of the hospital sign are a welcome sight. She reaches for the handle on the door when the car comes to a stop at the entrance to the women’s hospital. “Stay put. I’ll go inside to get someone.”
I return with a trio of hospital employees and turn Rose over into their care. “When you’ve parked the car, go to the admissions desk and the clerk will direct you where to come.”
A staff of four, including her OB-GYN, is surrounding Rose when I’m shown into her exam room. Each is performing a different task at once. Ultrasound. IV. Taking blood. Medical history. Lots of talking going on at the same time.
“You’re abrupting. That means the baby’s placenta is tearing away from the uterus. That’s the source of the bleeding and pain.” The doctor removes the ultrasound wand from Rose’s stomach. “Abruption is a medical emergency when the baby is viable. Viability is considered twenty-four weeks. You’re three days away from that point if your due date is correct.”
Does that mean the baby isn’t far enough along to live?
“Is it possible I’m further along? Closer to viability?” Rose’s voice is trembling.
“It’s always possible but from your early ultrasound I believe your due date is right on target. Your gestation is a gray area. There’s around a thirty percent chance your baby would survive delivery at this point, but not without major complications and likely lifelong deficits. We can go either way with your care. Do nothing, as long as you remain stable, and let nature take its course. Or we can act quickly and do everything possible to save the baby despite the long road he would have. There is no right or wrong decision.”
We need more information to make this decision. “If he survives, what kind of deficits are we talking about?”
“Only around thirteen percent of these micro babies will have no long-term physical and mental problems. The remaining percent will have disabilities that can range from mild to severe. Those deficits can be difficulties with breathing, hearing, vision, muscle control. Some will never walk. They may have very low IQ. Many will be deaf or blind.”
Rose looks at me, tears rolling from the corners of
her eyes toward her hairline instead of down her cheeks. I reach over and wipe them away. “Tell me what you want, baby girl.”
“To do everything we can for him.”
If he survives, Gus could be severely disabled. He’s so premature. I’m not sure trying to save him is the best decision for him.
But how do I tell Rose that?
“I love Gus. I would give my life in place of his in an instant. I want him to live . . . but not if he’s going to suffer. I don’t want that for him. And I don’t think you do either.”
“I can’t bear knowing he died because we didn’t try everything to save him. I would never forgive myself, Bash.”
“I understand that, but his chances of survival without physical and mental difficulties are very low. He could have very severe complications.”
Rose is wearing her blinders again. She can’t consider that letting him go might be more humane than prolonging his life.
“I don’t need him to be perfect. I just need him to be alive. And with me. It’s no different than the way I feel about you.”
The doctor is still standing at Rose’s bedside. “I’m sorry to rush you, but we don’t have a lot of time to decide.”
The harsh reality of our situation hits me—doesn’t matter which way we decide. Rose and I could lose Gus tonight. Suddenly, all the problems we’ve encountered along the way getting to this place seem so insignificant.
Oh God, please take care of Rose and our baby. Please don’t take our little one before he’s had a chance to live.
Rose is right. We have to give him the chance to survive. “She wants to do everything possible for our son so that’s what we’ll do.”
“All right. Let’s get her prepped and moved for surgery.”
I lean over to kiss the top of her head, and she wraps her arms around me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice is a trembling sob. “I didn’t know anything was wrong.”
“This isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything to cause this.” If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I’ve caused Rose so much pain and stress and anguish.
I step away so the nurses can get to Rose. It’s a lot to take in at once, seeing so many things done to her simultaneously. And I have no control over any of it. I’m helpless. All I can do is sit back and watch, hoping these people know what they’re doing.
Nurses whirl around her, and within a few minutes, I’m watching them push her away for surgery. I walk beside her, holding her hand.
“Next time I see you, you’ll be a father.”
You’ll be a father. It’s hard to believe.
“And you’ll be a mother.”
Her hand is trembling in mine. She’s so frightened. I need to reassure her. “He’s going to be okay. You’re going to okay. We’re going to be okay. A happy life. A happy family. That’s what we’re going to be.”
The bed slows as we approach the door entering the surgical unit.
“You can’t go beyond this point, sir.”
“Okay.” I lean down and kiss the top of her hand before releasing it. “I love you so much.”
“Love you, too.”
I stand in the hallway—numb—watching my world, my life—my love—roll away to the operating room. I’m filled with terror and completely uncertain of the turn our lives are about to take.
“Mr. Middleton. Do you have any family with you?”
Mr. Middleton. The irony. At this moment, I have been linked to Rose, and not the other way around like the many times before. Either way, we belong together forever. She will have my name. Soon.
“Not yet but she’s on her way.” Thank God I had the good sense to call Vale while I was parking the car. I wouldn’t have had a chance once the ball started rolling. I can’t believe how fast everything has happened.
I’m escorted to a small waiting room with a half dozen chairs to await word on Rose and Gus. I sit—alone—and the thought of spending the rest of my life without them consumes me to the point that my chest feels like it’s tightening, and I can’t catch my breath.
I’m instantly relieved when the door opens and Vale enters. “Dear, God. What happened?”
“They’re doing an emergency C-section.”
“What happened with the baby?”
I try to recall what the doctor said. It’s all sort of a blur now. “Rose was hemorrhaging. I think the doctor said the placenta was tearing away from the uterus or something like that.”
“Oh, damn. That sounds serious.”
“He was dying, Vale. And despite doing everything possible to save him, he may still die.” I say the words and the gravity of losing Gus sinks in. And I’m so ashamed I didn’t embrace the value of his life from the moment she told me she was pregnant. “We can’t lose him.”
“You’re not going to lose him. Dr. Reynolds is going to do everything within his power and skills to make sure your baby survives.”
Vale and I sit in silence, waiting. And wait some more. My nerves are on edge and I jolt out of my seat when the door of the private waiting room opens.
The neonatologist caring for Gus comes in and introduces herself. “Your son is tiny—but that was expected.”
“He’s alive?”
“Hanging in there. What do you plan on calling him?”
“Gus.”
“Gus. I like that.” She scribbles on a notepad and returns it to her pocket. “We’ve taken Gus to the neonatal intensive care unit. The first thing we’ll do is get him stabilized with all of his lines in place and do X-rays to confirm placement. After that’s done, we’ll let you and his mom come into the nursery to meet him. Usually takes a few hours to get all of the busy work out of the way, but we’ll give the nurse a call and let her know when you can come into the nursery. When you do, I’ll speak with you more about his prognosis.”
“Thank you so much.”
My son survived. I’m actually a father.
Vale wraps her arms around me. “Congratulations, Daddy.”
Daddy. I didn’t think I’d ever be called that by anyone. I can’t believe how much I like hearing it.
I’ve been so wrong about everything. And so stubborn. I’m beyond ashamed of the way I’ve treated Rose and Gus—like they’re less than the most important people in the world.
Shit. I have so much to make up for with both of them. Rose was right. Each of us writes our own story, and I can choose a different ending. I am choosing to live. For Rose, and for Gus. My love. My son. There is no choice. Not anymore. They’re mine.
***
“My belly is burning so bad. On fire. And I need to throw up.”
One gag and I’m immediately standing beside Rose with a plastic basin. “Turn your head. You can get sick in this.”
She dry heaves but nothing comes up. “Oh, God. My stomach. It feels like it’s going to rip open.”
“The nurse said you should hold a pillow over your incision when you cough or strain.”
Her eyes flutter open. “Gus?”
“He’s here. They haven’t let me see him yet but the doctor told me they’d call when they’re ready for us to come into the nursery to meet him.”
“He’s alive,” she sobs. “I was so terrified I was going to wake from surgery and be told he didn’t make it.”
I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be put to sleep under general anesthesia not knowing what was going to happen to your child and wake up, still not knowing.
“He made it, baby. He’s a Pascal.”
Her eyes close but she grins. “Our little Cajun fighter.”
“Our tiny Cajun fighter, according to the doctor.”
Her eyes flutter open again. She’s so sedated. “How tiny?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”
“He’s alive. That’s what matters. He’ll grow in time.”
I want to tell Rose how sorry I am. How much regret I feel for the way I’ve treated her
and Gus but she’s in pain. Medicated. Nauseous. She might not even remember the conversation tomorrow. Now isn’t the right time.
Rose finally gets relief from her medication and relaxes enough to doze off. So I do too. It was a long night.
When I open my eyes again, Rose’s nurse is shaking my arm. “The nursery is ready for you and Miss Middleton to come see your baby.”
I instantly go from groggy to wide awake.
“Rose.” She’s slower to wake than me. “Rose. The nursery is ready for us to come meet Gus.”
Her eyes startle open the minute I say his name. “Gus? We can go see him?”
“Yes. Time to go meet our baby boy.”
***
Our son is tiny—only a pound and one ounce. The nursery staff tells us he’ll probably lose weight before he gains. He’ll be less than a pound. That’s a terrifying thought. His body is already so small and frail that it could easily fit into the palm of my hand.
But he’s a survivor. And he’s ours.
Our boy has been in our lives two days. Only forty-eight hours and my heart is overflowing with love and affection for him. The growing attachment is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I didn’t know a person could become your entire world in such a short amount of time.
I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be alive. And with me.
Rose’s words. They finally make sense.
Gus deserves all the best things in life. That includes parents who are raising him together. And that’s exactly what I will ensure happens. It’s a privilege.
“You’re being discharged tomorrow.”
“I came into the hospital with a baby in my belly and I’m leaving without one in my arms. Everything about that is wrong.”
I pull her into my arms, kissing her head with every apology and word of love I’ve yet to speak. I can’t imagine what it’s like to carry our baby for so long and then leave without him.
“We’ll be here every day, Rose. I promise. Together. We’ll be here together.”
“Thank you.” She has no reason to thank me, my beautiful stubborn woman.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. You’ve given me a child. Carried him. Kept him safe.” I feel ill when I recall telling Rose to abort him. “I was so very wrong. Please forgive me.”
Dear Agony Page 23
