“Are you cramping?” he asks from the doorway?
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.
When the conversation is over and my contraction has stopped, I yell for Robert. He is already dressed and is on the phone again. “I need a wet towel,” I say looking at the blood that is everywhere from above my knees to my waist. “I also need a new nightgown.” I barely get the words out before I get another contraction.
He disappears and I can no longer focus on anything but the intense pain. The baby is coming. There is no way they’ll be able to stop the contractions this time. I’m almost 30 weeks pregnant. Better than 27 weeks but it’s still too early to deliver. I pray in between contractions and try to breathe through the contractions.
Robert wipes my legs off with a warm wet towel and tells me calmly that it’ll be all right. He removes my bloodied nightgown and replaces it with a clean one. When the contraction stops, I finally open my eyes. “Did you call Mom and Dad?”
“I did, I also called my parents. They are going to meet us at the hospital. If the ambulance doesn’t hurry, I’ll drive you to the hospital myself.”
“This is all my fault,” I cry.
“Baby, don’t say that. This isn’t anyone’s fault.” He kisses me tenderly and wipes away my tears.
I can hear the ambulance sirens outside and Robert disappears.
Robert
“She’s upstairs in the bathroom.”
“How far are her contractions apart?” One of the two medics ask.
“Shit! I have no idea. She’s bleeding a lot, I do know that!”
I lead them up the stair and into the bathroom where Leah is. I notice a copious amount of blood around the toilet that I didn’t see earlier. “Did you try to get up, Leah?” I ask.
“No, I haven’t moved. I can’t!” She cries some more.
We have a large house and the gurney made it up the stairs with any problems, but the bathroom is a lot smaller. “Can you give us some room?” someone asks me.
“I’ll be right on the other side of the door if you need me,” I say to Leah before I step out of the room to give them some space. I’m out of the way, but still close enough, if Leah needs me. They ask her several questions before they move her from the toilet onto the gurney. I watch helplessly as they start an IV in her left hand and check her vital signs. I hear someone call out some numbers and watch as the other one writes them down. I have no idea what they mean and I don’t ask. I want to focus solely on Leah and the baby. Oh, God! My baby! Leah could deliver the baby today. I’ll be a Dad. I can’t be a Dad. I failed Jamie as a father and what if I fail this child as a father, too?
I back up and sit on the bed. I remember the accident that claimed Jamie and how it feels like it’s my fault. I should have protected her. I should have saved her.
“Sir.” I look up when I hear a male’s voice. “We won’t have room in the ambulance for you. Are you okay to drive yourself to the hospital?”
I stand up and say, “I'm all right. Take her to Lakewood Ranch Hospital.”
“Manasota Hospital is closer…” he begins to say.
I follow them out of the bedroom and down the hallway. “I said to take her to Lakewood Ranch.” That came out as harsh as I intended it to.
As they open the back door of the ambulance, I kiss Leah and tell her I love her. I also tell her everything will be all right and that I will see her soon. As I kiss her wet cheeks, I try to hold myself together for her. I’m falling apart beneath the surface and I don’t want her to see it. She cries and kisses me back with trembling lips. When she cries out in pain, I know that she has another contraction.
When the ambulance pulls out of the driveway, I back out of the garage and follow them. I turn on my flashers so everyone on the road knows that I am with the ambulance in front of me. If he goes through a red light, so do I. I try to clear my thoughts but it’s useless. I call Mom and tell her we are on our way. I also try to fill her in on what I know, which isn’t much. Next, I call Sue and tell her the same thing.
“When we arrive at the hospital, Leah is taken immediately upstairs. Sue, Tim, Mom, and Dad meet us at the emergency room entrance. Sue and Mom cry when they see Leah. Tim informs me that they already registered Leah before he comforts his wife. We are instructed to go to the 3rd floor and wait in the waiting labor and delivery room.
Dad makes a fresh pot of coffee while we all wait. I pace the small room as my head fills with all the things that can possibly go wrong. “Think positively, Son,” my Dad says as he hands me a cup of black coffee.
“I’m trying. There was just so much blood,” I say, attempting to wipe the thought from my head.
He says, “With a birth of a baby, there usually is.”
“It’s too soon. It’s too early for the baby to come,” I whisper.
“I think the baby may have other plans,” he says as he sips his hot coffee.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
I pace the room while the guys try to comfort their wives. “What is taking so long?” I ask.
“I don’t know, Robert,” Sue says honestly.
Just then a nurse walk into the room wearing a green surgical gown with a paper white mask hanging from around her neck. We all stand and she asks, “The Grether family?”
“Did Leah delivery?” my Mom asks.
“No, not yet. She’s asking for you all. You can see her briefly and the doctor will fill you in on her status.”
This is good news, I think to myself as I follow the nurse out of the room. Normally, I would follow behind everyone, but tonight, I want to see Leah first. I’m scared and frightened for her and for the baby. My mind drifts back to Leah delivering and I can’t lose another child. I barely survived the loss of Jamie. I know I won’t survive… I can’t even finish my thought. They both have to be all right.
The nurse opens the door and the room fills with the sound of a baby’s heartbeat coming from the monitor that’s hooked up to Leah’s belly. I don’t have to see it to know what it is. This is déjà vu from a few weeks ago. I try to hide the fear from my face as I walk around the curtain to see Leah. I am relieved to see that she isn’t in any pain and that she is resting comfortably. It looks like she may even be sleeping.
The doctor is standing near the hospital bed speaking to another nurse that is in the room. I don’t acknowledge them as I make my way to be with Leah. I scan Leah from head to toe taking note of the oxygen tube in her nose, IV and fluids in her left hand, and the baby monitor connected to her belly. She also has a blood pressure cuff attached to her right arm. The hospital bed rails are up and Leah is covered to her waist with a white hospital blanket. I hold her fragile hand in mine as I bend down to kiss her.
“How is she?” Tim asks.
“She’s resting comfortably,” the doctor says. “She is in active labor and will be delivering sometime today. We gave her epidural and that is why she’s able to sleep.”
“What’s an epidural?” Sue asks.
“It’s a local anesthetic that will numb Leah from the waist down. We used it on her when she delivered her first child and she asked for it again with this child.” The doctor speaks clearly and slowly so that we all can process his words. “Leah has dilated to four centimeters so she is in active labor.”
“She’ll deliver today?” I ask.
He looks at his watch and says “It’s after midnight, so yes. Leah will deliver sometime today.”
“What about the baby? It’s too soon,” Sue cries.
“We have the N.I.C.U. on standby. I have personally spoken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and they are preparing for the baby as we speak.”
“Oh, God,” Mom cries.
I hold onto the bed railing to keep from swaying. It is finally sinking in. Ready or not, this is it. “She’s almost 30 weeks,” I say.
“We know. We are giving her medication to help build the baby’s lung capacity. We are very optimistic the baby will be born healt
hy.”
“But at 30 weeks?” Tim asks.
“Even at 30 weeks. Leah has had excellent prenatal care and babies born a lot earlier have survived. It’s crucial to stay optimistic for Leah’s sake. This won’t be easy for her.”
“We understand,” they say in unison.
I look down at Leah when she squeezes my hand. I smile when our eyes meet. “You’re here,” she says.
“I am. So we’re going to have a baby, huh?” I bend down and kiss her. I want to sound happy, although worried is a better word.
“We are. I’m sorry. I did everything I could…”
Sue interrupts and says, “Leah, this isn’t your fault. She has other plans.”
“That’s right, Leah,” Dr. Fouch interjects. “This isn’t your fault.”
“But I…,” Leah begins to say.
I stroke Leah’s cheeks and wipe away her tears and says, “Shh, you did nothing to cause this.”
Leah
I close my eyes and cry. I feel responsible for this. I feel like I failed Robert and this baby. I try to be strong, but I can’t. It’s exhausting to pretend all is right in the world, when it’s not. The black cloud is hovering, oh so close. I feel like if I reached out for it, I could touch it.
Mom, Dad, Margie, and Walter are all here. They try to be strong, but they have F.E.A.R. written all over their faces. Losing Jamie was bad enough, but to lose her sister, too, I won’t survive that. I already know it’ll be too much for me. I barely survived Jamie’s death and Robert was in worse shape than I was.
The doctor sounds hopeful, but it isn’t his daughter he’s talking about. I’m thankful the medication makes me sleepy. I don’t think I could pretend happiness today. If I’m not sleeping, I’m praying, or I pretend to nap. I can hear the conversations around me and everyone is concerned for this baby.
The doctor wakes me so he can check my cervix. When I first got here, he removed the stitch that he inserted to close my cervix almost three weeks ago. I’m glad that it worked for three weeks. Every day the baby remains inside me the better it is for her. The steroids they are giving me is to help with the baby’s lung development. I hope they work quickly.
“Well, Leah, you are now dilated about six and a half centimeters.” The doctor says as he stands to remove his gloves and wash his hands. “It shouldn’t be long before you welcome your daughter into the world.” Don’t say that. I want her to stay inside me as long as she can. “Do you have a name for your daughter?”
I shake my head and Robert says, “No, she doesn’t have a name, yet. We need to come up with one for her.” Robert is sitting at the head of the bed and is holding my hand. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I’m afraid to name her. I’m afraid for her to be born so early. I’m scared of losing her. My lips tremble and I still pretend to sleep. I feel the tears slide down my cheek towards my ears. I move me head slightly to wipe them off on the pillow before Robert sees them.
“Would you all mind going to the cafeteria for a food run?” Robert asks. “I’m starving.”
I can hear Mom asking Dad and Walter to go while they stay behind with me. I have my eyes closed so I can’t see what’s going on.
“Let’s all go, it’ll be good to stretch our old bones,” Dad says.
I hear movement and then I hear the door closed. I lie still and when I don’t hear anything I wonder if Robert went with them. I peek one eye open and Robert is very close to me staring. “Good morning, Sweets,” he says and I squint my eyes closed tightly. Might as well open them, Leah. He’s already seen you.
I open my eyes and fake a yawn for good measure. “Good morning,” I finally say.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” he asks.
No, I want to keep all of my fears to myself. “Looks like we’ll be parents sooner than we thought.” I try to sound happy, but my voice cracks and the tears start to flow.
“Oh, Leah. Don’t cry.”
“Robert, it’s too soon. What if something happens to her?” Good job keeping my fears to myself. I know Robert will understand.
“Leah, listen to me.” I wipe away my tears and look up at him. “You’re almost three weeks further along than you were when your labor first started. The doctor is giving you steroids to strengthen our daughter’s lungs.” He smiles and I nod. “If he’s optimistic that our baby will be born healthy, then we should be too. That heartbeat isn’t weak and fragile, it’s strong and fierce. Our daughter is a fighter.”
“But what if…?” I begin to say before Robert cuts me off mid-sentence.
“What if she’s born healthy and we don’t have a name for her? What if she doesn’t have a name and we have to call her, She or Her, her entire life?”
I laugh and Robert smiles his dimpled smile. “But, what if…”
“Okay, Ace. Point taken.”
“Does that mean we can pick a name for our daughter?” he asks.
“It does. Thank you.”
“Do you have any ideas?” he asks. I shake my head, “I don’t. I wanted something to go with Jamie and Madison, but nothing fit. I wish I knew Madison’s middle name. Maybe we could build on that.
Our parents walk in with trays of food from the cafeteria. Robert must have been hungry. “Good, looks who’s up?” Margie says.
I smile when everyone smiles at me. “You’ve been out of it all day. We were beginning to worry about you.” Walter walks over and hugs me.
“I’m just tired,” I lie. “I’m sorry you worried,” I say because it’s the truth. I look over at Robert and he is typing something into his cell phone.
“Sounds like it won’t be long now,” Mom says. “I overheard your doctor talking to someone on the phone. He was saying the baby had a very strong heartbeat and to start getting ready for her arrival,” Mom says has she removes the lids from the plates.
“It must be someone from the N.I.C.U.” I rest my hand on my belly and say a silent prayer that she’ll be all right.
Robert
I finish my text to Gus and focus my attention back to Leah. I know she is worried, hell, I am too. A knock comes from the door before it slowly opens. I’m surprised when Mason and Angel walk in. Mason looks shy to be here, but Angel rushes over and hugs Leah. I can here Leah cry.
Mason says, “I’m sorry. We heard about Leah being in active labor and Angel demanded we rush right over.”
I shake Mason’s hand and say, “It’s always good seeing you.”
“How is she?” Mason asks.
“Scared,” I admit. “She’s dilated between six and seven centimeters.”
“It won’t be long, how are you?”
“Scared. Trying to keep it together.”
Another knock comes from the door and a nurse walks in. “I’m sorry, Mr. Grether. But there is a waiting room full of people here for your wife and you. I wanted to let you know in case you wanted to go out and talk to them.”
“Oh, thank you. I wonder who could be out there.”
Mason looks over at Angel who is in a deep conversation with Leah and says, “Angel called everyone she knew on the ride here. There’s no telling who is out there.”
“We’ll go and talk to them, Robert. You stay here and visit with Mason and Angel.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
When they all leave, Mason says, “Angel knew Leah would be scared about the pre-term birth. Since we had twins born prematurely, she thought she could ease some of Leah’s fears.”
“I hope so. Leah’s terrified something will happen. After losing Jamie…”
“Say no more. That’s understandable.”
We walk over to where Leah and Angel are and Angel is telling her about her twin’s birth, how scared she and Mason were and her experience with N.I.C.U. “I had to have an emergency C-section and the twins were born so small. It was scary, but now they are running around the house like healthy three-year-olds.”
“Thank you, we have been so worried. I appreciate you guys comi
ng, it means a lot to Robert and me.”
Angel hugs Leah and stands from the bed and then hugs me. “Does your baby have a name?” Angel asks.
“No, not yet,” Leah says sadly.
Angel asks teasingly “Whatcha waiting on?”
“We want something that goes with Jamie and Madison. It’s hard coming up with a girl’s name,” Leah admits, but she doesn’t admit she was afraid to name her.
“Figure out a name for your baby and we’ll be in the waiting room. If you need us, send out a nurse.”
“Thank you, Angel,” Leah says.
“Anytime.” Angel loops her arm around Mason’s and says, “Ready, Handsome?”
They leave and Leah smiles. I sit down beside her and ask, “Feel better after talking with her?”
“I do. It helped talking to someone who has been through it.”
Our parents walk in laughing. I smile and ask, “What’s so funny?”
“The waiting room looks like a big birthday party,” Sue says. “Here, see for yourself.”
She hands me her cell phone and I scroll through about a dozen pictures. Happy Birthday balloons are everywhere along with wrapped gifts in birthday wrapping paper. The waiting area is filled with our friends. I show the pictures to Leah and ask, “Who did that?”
“Your friends. They came here to celebrate the birth of your daughter.” I hear Leah cry and it makes me smile. I know that they are happy tears. She hands the phone back to me and says, “I think everyone we know is in the waiting room.”
We all talk about baby names and about our friends being here for support. “I wish we knew Madison’s middle name,” Leah says, again.
I reach for my phone to see if Dove has replied and she has. “Her name is Madison Grace.”
Leah looks up at me and asks, “Do I want to know how you know that?”
I shake my head and say, “No, just be glad I know it.”
Against the Odds Page 9
