She nods and says, “I do love the name, Grace.”
“I do, too. It’s a beautiful name for a little girl,” I agree.
Mom asks, “First name or middle name?”
Jamie’s name was Jamie Sue and the Sue was after my Mom. “What about Grace Joy and the Joy is after you, Margie?” Leah asks.
I watch as Mom puts her hand on her heart and a tear slides down her cheek. “Oh Leah, I would be honored.” She walks over and hugs Leah gently.
I repeat the name over and over in my head. Grace Joy Grether, Grace Joy Grether. “I like it. The names sound good together.” I smile when I realize my little princess has a name. Leah said I can’t call her princess because I called Jamie princess. A king can have more than one princess, right? “Grace Joy Grether it is.”
Leah makes a face, squints her eyes closed and says, “I feel pressure. I think she’s coming.”
The nurse comes in, checks Leah, and announces, it won’t be much longer. She says the baby is in the birth canal and it’s time to push. I ask her for a permanent magic marker and she leaves to find me one. Leah doesn’t laugh and no one asks why I need it. They already know. There is no way they’ll mix up this child.
Dad and Tim make their way to Leah and kiss her goodbye. Mom and Sue are next. I knew they wouldn’t stay for the birth. They turn white just talking about it. They leave and the nurse returns with a black Sharpie.
“Thank you.”
“Ace, something small to distinguish our daughter from the others.”
“Something small,” I repeat. “X marks the spot,” I tease.
Dr. Fouch and several nurses come in and set the room up for delivery. They slide the end of the bed out and slide in the stirrups. Suddenly a large mirror appears and it’s lined up correctly for me from where I’m standing. Leah squeezes my hand and I know this is all frightening. I am handed and instructed to glove and gown up. I even have boot covers that fit over my shoes. I snap a few photos of Leah and I even manage to get a selfie of her and me. She doesn’t look happy.
Another team of nurses and a doctor comes in and are introduced as the N.I.C.U. staff. Leah says, “Please do everything you can for our daughter. She’s so young.”
Dr. Murphy says, “We’ll do everything we can.” He pulls out three wristbands and places one on Leah’s wrist and one on my wrist. “This one we’ll save for the baby. It’s identical to the both of yours.”
Leah looks at it and smiles, “Thank you.”
“Rest assured, your baby is in the best hand possible.”
I nod, “Thank you.” He walks away to join his medical team.
“On the next contraction, I want you to push,” Dr. Fouch says as he scoots his stool closer to Leah.
I stand behind Leah, never letting go of her hand. I look down at my shirt and the marker is still attached to my pocket of my gray tee-shirt. A nurse is standing on each side of Leah, ready to call out instructions to her.
“Are you ready?” the doctor asks.
Leah only nods.
“Put your chin to your chest and push with everything that you have.”
“Bobby, count to 10 slowly for her,” a nurse says.
It’s all coming back to me from when Jamie was born. I get in as close as I can to Leah and begin to count slowly into her ear. I tell her how much I love her and how proud I am of her, in between numbers. When I say ten, I lower Leah’s head down so she can rest. I kiss away her tears and talk softly to her.
“Great job, do the same thing again with the next contraction.”
I look in the mirror and I can see the baby’s head. “Look, Leah.”
She raises her head and looks in the mirror. “Look at all that hair,” Leah says, laughing. She has a head full of black hair. “Do you have your marker?” Leah whispers.
“I do, Sweets. Don’t worry, they won’t mix this child up.”
“Do you have your camera, too?”
“I have everything I need right here.” I’m not just talking about the camera and marker, I’m talking about my family.
“Okay, Leah. Chin to chest and push,” the doctor says.
Before the nurses say anything, I scoot in close and begin to count. When I reach ten, I can see that the baby is making progress. “She’s beautiful,” I say, lowering Leah’s head to the bed.
After repeating the same steps several times, Leah is exhausted. “This should do it. One more time, Leah. Push with everything that you have.”
I get in close to Leah and the nurse count this time. Leah squeezes my hand so tight, and it reminds me she can still feel pain. On the count of eight, the doctor says, “Stop.”
“Look, Leah,” I whisper. The baby’s head is out and the doctor is suctioning her nose.
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Leah cries. The baby is facing sideways and it’s really hard to tell what she looks like. But, I have to agree with Leah, she is gorgeous.
“One more slow push and that will do it,” the doctor says.
Leah pushes lightly, never taking her eyes off of the large mirror. When the baby comes out, she fills her lungs with air and cries. Not just a petite little newborn cry, but a scream. Leah laughs and I kiss her.
They quickly place the baby on Leah’s belly and we both touch her. She is still screaming. “Do you want to cut the umbilical cord?” the doctor asks.
I stand tall and proud as I walk closer to where the doctor is.
I remove the pen from my shirt and put a small heart on the bottom of my baby’s right foot. He smiles and hands me a pair of surgical scissors. “Cut here,” he instructs.
I do, proudly. I look up at Leah and she doesn’t take her eyes off of me. I mouth, “I love you,” and she cries as she mouths the same words back.
Dr. Murphy stands beside me. He places the matching wristband on the baby and says, “We need to check her out.” I lightly touch my baby again before I move out of his way. “Strong lungs,” he says thoughtfully as he carried her over to the incubator. I stand up near the head of Leah’s bed and we both watch as they care for our daughter, Grace. When they finish with Leah, I am surprised the baby is still in the room with us. I thought they would have rushed her to the N.I.C.U., but they didn’t.
A nurse comes over and tells us the baby is 16 inches long and weight 3lbs. 4oz. long. She speaks to Leah about nursing and asks does our daughter have a name. She writes everything down and after a few minutes the nurse says, “We’ll need to move your daughter. Dad, do you want to come with us? We have to walk past the waiting area to get to the N.I.C.U. Your friends and family will be able to see her quickly from in the incubator, but a small glance is better than nothing.”
Dad, she called me Dad. I feel like I could burst with pride. I look at Leah and she smiles, “Take pictures.”
“I will, I won’t be gone long.”
Leah
I lie there and watch as Robert walks behind the medical team and the incubator that is housing our daughter. He stands tall, towering over everyone, including the doctor. The nurses remove the stirrups and put the bed and the room back the way it was prior to delivery. I close my eyes and pray to God and talk to Jamie. I thank God for my many blessing and I tell Jamie she has a baby sister. The doctor speaks briefly to me before he leaves.
I shiver and the nurses cover me in a heated blanket and it’s all I need to fall into a deep sleep. When I finally wake up, I am surrounded in a room full of Happy Birthday balloons, gifts, and cards. It looks like a birthday party. I smile as soon as I realize these are all here to celebrate the birth of Grace. I don’t see Robert, but our parents are here.
Walter says, “Robert walked down to see Gracie. He thought you would sleep for a while.”
“How is she?” I ask and I realize how raspy my voice sounds. I take a sip of the melted ice chips on my bedside table.
“She’s great. She’s on some oxygen to help with her breathing,” Mom says.
“No ventilator?”
Mom confirms, �
��No vent, just oxygen.”
“That is excellent news.”
“We have pictures,” Margie says as she walks over to me carrying her cell phone.
I try to sit up and scroll through her phone. There is a picture of everyone in the waiting area. Everyone who attended our gender reveal/baby shower, plus their children, are in the waiting area. I look at pictures of the medical team walking down the hallway pushing the incubator. Robert is standing tall and proud. I see an image of Grace inside the incubator with her tiny feet showing. I tap on the image to blow it up and see a little black heart on her right foot.
The nurse comes in and examines me and tells me that all the nurses are talking about the lung capacity of my daughter. She teases and says, “We may have given you too many steroids in your I.V.” I smile as I remember her screams right after birth. I also smile when I remember her strong kicks when I was upset. My daughter is a feisty one. Nothing like me, but more like her Daddy.
Robert walks in smiling. “You’re awake?” he asks, surprised.
“How is she?”
“Beautiful.”
“Do you want to see her?”
I look into the piercing blue eyes of the nurse, “Yes, I would love to.”
“Dad, do you remember how to get there?”
“I do.”
As soon as I am situated in the wheelchair, Robert spreads a blanket across my lap. “It’s chilly in there. It keeps the medical staff alert,” the nurse says and I hope she is teasing about the medical staff staying awake.
Robert pushes me in the wheelchair to the N.I.C.U. He pushes a code into the keypad and the door unlocks. We walk into a very busy premature nursery. The beeping and alarm sounds fill the room. We see that small babies are on ventilators and some are on oxygen, some babies are under ultra-violet lights and some are lying helplessly in their incubators. Each baby has his or her own incubator, except I see a set of twins lying together. That's a very good idea. Some of the incubators are decorated and some aren’t. A sob escapes my mouth and Robert pats me on my shoulder. He wheels me further away from the door and I soon see a black-haired baby lying still and alone. As we get closer, I recognize the newborn as Grace. She has a small I.V. in her left arm with fluids running into it. She is also hooked up to a heart monitor and a blood pressure cuff is around her right arm, for continuous monitoring. She would be naked if it weren’t for the diaper.
Robert pushes me right next to the incubator. It is covered with a hard plastic top to protect Grace from outside germs. There is nothing on or in her bed, but her. I make a mental note of things I could use to decorate it with. Robert moves to the foot of her bed and looks at her feet. He smiles. I know he sees the heart he wrote on the bottom of her right foot. A nurse comes over and smiles. I ask, “She doesn’t need oxygen?”
“She does, it’s blowing in through here,” she says as she points to an air vent at the head of the bed. “It’s supplying her with just the right amount that she needs.”
“Is she cold?” I whisper.
“No, it’s very warm in there.” She shows me where the thermometer is that reads the temperature inside the incubator. She tells me what Grace’s vital signs are and how she is doing. “To be born at just 30 weeks gestation, she is very healthy.”
“There is any way to know how long she’ll be in here?”
“No, there’s no way of telling. I can tell you that no matter how healthy she is, she needs to weigh 4 lbs., before she can be moved out of N.I.C.U.”
“Gracie weighs 3lbs. 4oz.,” I say.
“I see that. She is actually not a bad weight, especially at just 30 weeks gestation.”
Robert and I watch as she attends to the needs of our daughter. “Did you get to hold her?” I ask Robert.
“No, not yet. You have to put your hands in here to touch her,” he says, pointing to the long rubber-glove-looking things.
I can’t reach them from the wheelchair so I stand on shaky legs, Robert is at my side to help support me. I put one hand inside the long rubber gloves and gently touch Gracie’s cheek, her tiny ear, and then her small arm. A tear slides down my cheek when I watch how helpless our baby is. “She’s beautiful.”
Robert
Leah dozes off and our parents leave for the night. It has been a long and exhausting day for everyone. Leah gave Mom a list of items to get from the house for her. Jamie’s favorite stuffed animal, Jack, was also on the list.
As Leah sleeps I look over the stack of cards and gifts. I’m happy so many people were here to support us. I’m also grateful Angel spoke to Leah about premature births; it helped to ease some of her fears.
“Whatcha doing, Ace?” Leah asks.
“Wondering if you were going to wake up so we can open these?” I say, holding up several cards.
“Giving birth is exhausting.”
I slowly walk over to her and bend down and kiss her softly. “Thank you for giving me another beautiful daughter.”
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
Leah looks concerned and asks, “How is she? Have you been down there to see her?”
“I have and everything is going wonderful. The nurse brought you in a breast pump. She’ll be in later to help you with it.”
Leah and I talk about the baby and how she is feeling. I also show her more pictures I took on my phone.
“I want to see her.”
“You will. I want you to rest first.”
“I wish she was in the room with us. Do you remember how nice it was that Jamie was in the same room with us after her birth?”
“I do, we had so much bonding time with her before we went home.”
“We sure did,” she says sadly. Hard to believe a mentally ill nurse swapped her with another baby during the short amount of time she was out of our sight.” I can see Leah is thinking and she says, “Oh, God, Robert.”
“She’s fine, I was just there and still has the heart on her foot.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky promise,” I say and she laughs. She hold up her pinky and I hold up mine. We loop them together and we each lean in and kiss our pinkies at the same time.
I gather the cards and a few gifts and place them on her bedside table. She opens a few loose cards first. They are from Jo and Carl, Bruce and Lilly, and Bethany and Gus. They each contain money that Leah and I will put back for Gracie’s college education.
She opens a few gifts before she opens a gift from Mason and Angel. It’s larger and heavier than the other gifts. She carefully opens the envelope and it’s a small handwritten letter. She reads it out loud.
Leah and Robert,
A birth of a child is nothing short of a miracle. We don’t know another couple more deserving of this miracle than you two. Mason and I wanted to get you something special for this special gift from God, but we couldn’t find anything that we thought was unique enough, so we made you something instead. You can thank your mothers for their contribution. We hope you love it as much as we loved making it.
Love,
Mason, Angel, Alex, and Ana
xoxoxo
“A handmade gift from Mason and Angel. I didn’t know the doctor had any talent,” I joke.
“What could it be?” Leah asks. I watch as she removes the bow and the wrapping paper. I help her to remove the large lid off of the box. We both remove the top layer of tissue paper and Leah gasps when she sees the handmade baby quilt.
I throw the bow and wrapping paper away as she lifts the quilt from the box. When I turn back around, Leah is in tears. She’s holding the quilt up to her cheek and is crying. I look at the quilt, then I look at Leah, and then I look back at the quilt. I walk over to her and gently touch the handmade baby blanket. Some of the material used to make it looks familiar. I feel a few squares of fabric before I realize the quilt is made up of clothing, blankets, shirts and dresses from Jamie’s, Leah’s, and my clothing. I also recognize that a few pieces of material are from
our parents’ wardrobe. “Is this made from our clothes?”
She nods and continues to cry. “Is this from Jamie’s baby blanket?” I ask.
She wipes away her tears and to look at the square patch I am talking about. “It is, and this is your dad’s shirt.” I help her to spread the blanket out across her lap for a better view. “And this is my church dress,” she says pointing to different squares. “Your mom’s dress, my mom’s shirt, and this is from your shirt,” she adds.
“I liked that shirt, too,” I say. I look at the quilt more closely and see a few squares with a bunny on it. “I don’t remember this from anyone.”
Leah picks it up to look at it more closely. “It’s supposed to resemble Jack,” she says with tear-filled eyes and a quivering lip. I hug her and she continues to cry. All I can do is let her cry. I never would have expected anyone to take the time to make such a sentimental gift.
After several minutes, Leah asks if we can walk down and see Gracie.
Once the nurse examines Leah, I enter the code and push Leah into the N.I.C.U. She doesn’t look around like she did the last time; she focuses solely on where Gracie’s incubator was the last time we were here. Gracie is crying as the nurse is assessing her. Leah laughs when she hears that the crying is coming from our daughter.
I have seen Gracie enough that I can identify her without seeing the marking I put on her right foot. The nurse sees us coming and smiles. “Grace, look, your Momma and Daddy are here to see you. How are you feeling?” she asks.
“I feel wonderful, How is she?”
“Giving her lungs a workout,” she teases. “I don’t think she likes me much.”
She puts her hand in the large glove attached to the incubator and touches Grace softly. She pulls the blanket up and covers her to her chin. Our daughter snuggles into the blanket and drifts off to sleep. “I think she likes you,” I say. I put my hand in the other glove and also touch our baby. Leah looks up at me and smiles. I wrap my other arm around her and kiss the top of her head. “You did it again, Leah.”
“Did what?” she asks unknowingly.
“Gave me another beautiful daughter.”
Against the Odds Page 10
