| |
LEXIE GRUNTED. SHE braced her arms on the mattress, pushing herself up in bed before she managed to lean forward, using the momentum to stand. The things she had once taken for granted before she was pregnant amazed her now. She wondered how she went, each day before her pregnancy, completely unaware of the freedom of movement and the blessed ease of sleep.
She shuffled across the room towards the bathroom, thinking of all the errands she had to run, wanting to get an early start. Later, she had a dinner date with Elliot, but first, she planned to check out the local newspapers and magazines to see if they were in need of a photographer. After all, if she was staying, she’d need a job.
Lexie smiled, the thought of Elliot automatically turning the corners of her mouth. He was back in her life, and this time she wouldn’t make any mistakes. This time was their forever.
Lexie opened the linen closet and took out a towel and washcloth, then started to undress. She removed the men’s t-shirt she slept in—the only garment she found comfortable for sleeping—and her flannel pajama bottoms, now fully stretched at the waist.
She put one foot in the tub, ready to get in, when something caught her eye. Her underwear.
Lexie sucked in a sharp breath at the pink stain. The blemish wasn’t very dark, but undeniable all the same—blood.
Her stomach dipped wildly as her mind raced. Was something wrong?
She placed a hand over her womb as if the baby would tell her. The racing of her heart did little to calm her as she tried to think through the jumble of thoughts in her head. Inhaling, she squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to clear her head.
It was just a tiny amount of blood. She was just spotting—maybe. Everything was probably fine. She’d had no issues, thus far. Regardless, she decided to call Dr. McMillan.
She turned to leave, catching her reflection in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door and paused. Her skin was chalky white, her eyes round and wide in her face.
She was fine. She had nothing to worry about, she told herself.
She was not going into labor. No way. It was way too early.
She called Dr. McMillan and explained the situation. When he questioned her about contractions, Lexie scoffed, reassuring him that she hadn’t been having any. Until he described them, and she started to second guess herself.
Her mind flashed to the fatigue yesterday, the subtle tightening in her abdomen, the sensation of a rubber band stretching around her stomach out on the boat.
“Maybe I did have some contractions yesterday. I don’t know. How can I be sure when I’ve never done this before?” she asked, shrilly.
“How often were you having them?”
“On and off throughout the day.”
“You need to come to the hospital so I can examine you. You may be going into preterm labor.”
With a shaky hand, Lexie hung up and dialed Elliot, but he didn’t answer. He was probably working, and she couldn’t waste any more time, so she called her mother and explained everything.
She had ten minutes before her mother arrived to drive her to the hospital, so she took a quick shower and dressed. On wooden legs, she headed into the living room to wait, continuing her attempt at convincing herself that she was not going into labor—until she felt her first real contraction.
Lexie winced as the pain spread across the front of her stomach, squeezing and contracting in waves. She tried to walk but stumbled instead. All she could do was grit teeth and ride it out. Sure enough, after a minute, the contraction ebbed and faded away like she had imagined it.
When her mother arrived, wide eyed, she calmly guided Lexie to the car, then proceeded to break every road law imaginable until they reached the hospital. Everything that followed blurred together.
Nurses ushered Lexie into labor and delivery while her mother filled out her registration. Lexie quickly took in her surroundings, the pale blue walls, the stark white bed with rails, the sink across the room, and the cheaply framed print that hung on the wall. A sterile smell hung in the air, which threatened to turn Lexie’s stomach.
A nurse handed her a soft, cotton gown that was open in the back and told her to put it on. Lexie changed in the bathroom, gripping the sink as another contraction, slightly stronger than the ones before, ripped through her.
When she reentered the room, a nurse patiently waited for her, so she headed for the bed and sat, completely unprepared for what was about to happen. Suddenly, she regretted not taking any labor classes. She hadn’t even done a hospital tour, too busy denying the fact that this day would come, ignoring the inevitability of it all.
The nurse had kind eyes. She spoke softly while her hands moved efficiently over Lexie, the bed, and the hospital equipment. Her dark blond hair was swept up into a knot on the nape of her neck, and she wore dark pink scrubs. She questioned Lexie and took her vitals, raising a brow when she told her she may have been having contractions since yesterday.
When the nurse’s eyes narrowed on something in Lexie’s chart, and she frowned, Lexie’s stomach churned. With deft hands, the nurse wrapped some sort of Velcro strap across Lexie’s stomach, which had a monitor on it. Next to her, the screen of one of the machines came to life with little green and red spikes.
Moments later, after Lexie white-knuckled her way through another jaw clenching contraction, she noticed the spikes had turned into mountains peaks, jagged and sharp. But she had little time to contemplate this change because Dr. McMillan burst into the room, his demeanor gruff as ever. The only difference between his presence from her monthly exams to now was Lexie’s relief at seeing him.
“She’s been having contractions,” the nurse said, glancing at the monitor.
Dr. McMillan nodded. “I’m going to check you. See how far you’re dilated.” He lifted the cotton sheet over Lexie’s legs. “Just relax,” he said.
The doctor stared straight ahead, as he put his hand inside her. Lexie winced, the pain of his hand sharp. “Looks like you’re over four centimeters. You’re going to have this baby,” he said, his voice calm.
“What?” Lexie pushed herself up on the hospital bed, but Dr. McMillan had already turned away from her and was talking to the nurse.
“We’re going to have to get NICU ready. The baby’s only going to be twenty-eight weeks.” His tone was somber, chilling Lexie to the bone.
NICU? The metallic taste of fear coated her mouth as Lexie recalled the term—Newborn Intensive Care Unit. She was only twenty-eight weeks pregnant. The baby needed at least nine more weeks to be considered full-term.
Her hand flew to her stomach, and a second later, a contraction tightened below it. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the rail of the bed until it passed. When she opened the opened them again, slightly breathless, Dr. McMillan faced her.
“Why am I going into labor now? What’s happening?”
Dr. McMillan shook his head, impatient with her. A nurse grabbed Lexie’s hand and told her it was time to insert the IV. She nodded, ignoring the nurse. Instead, her gaze was focused on the doctor, barely feeling the needle as he spoke.
“I don’t know. Most likely an infection triggered the preterm labor,” Dr. McMillan said. “But extremely high stress levels throughout pregnancy can also trigger it.”
Lexie choked on a nervous laugh. Extreme stress was the definition of her life for the past seven months, and a surge of guilt rushed her at the thought. She was going to have the baby early and it was her fault. The baby was too small. It was too early. And if she didn’t survive, Lexie would be to blame.
Then another thought plagued her. Maybe if Lexie had wanted the baby, had planned to keep her, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
Lexie swallowed to find her throat raw. “What will be wrong with her?” she rasped.
Dr. McMillan hesitated. He searched her face, but for what she wasn’t sure. “There are several things. The baby isn’t fully developed, so the lungs will be underdeveloped as well.”
“What are her chances of survival?”
“Let’s not worry about that now,” he said, then turned back to another nurse who entered her room. Both his answer and tone were generic, and it made Lexie want to lash out and scream.
Lexie’s mother stood behind the nurse, her face no longer a mask of calm, but instead clouded with worry.
Another contraction started as her mother rushed to her side and gripped her hand.
This one ripped through her, stronger than the rest. With her stomach in a vice, Lexie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything except the radiating pain, which seemed to go on forever.
When it was over, Lexie gasped for air and slumped back into the bed.
“I called Elliot,” Her mother said next to her.
Lexie looked over at her. “Good. I want him here.”
“He’ll be here.”
Before Lexie could say anything else, another contraction hit and Lexie tensed her body, closed her eyes, and whimpered in pain. Somewhere next to her, she sensed movement and spotted the nurse.
“The contractions have spiked and are close,” the nurse said. “We better check her.”
Once the contraction passed and Lexie relaxed, she opened her eyes to the sight of two nurses, one of which hovered over her. “We need to check you again, honey. Lay back and scoot forward.”
Lexie focused on the nurse’s kind eyes and did as she was told. “That’s it,” the nurse said. “Now if you get a contraction, tell me, and I’ll stop.”
Lexie nodded, too exhausted to do otherwise. She held her breath, preparing herself for the nurses probing hand.
“Just relax,” the nurse reminded her.
After a moment, she removed her hand and said, “You’re six or seven centimeters, which means you’re moving quickly. We’ll check you again in an hour. I’m going to go update the doctor. If you need us, just buzz.”
Lexie watched her retreat, and somehow over the course of the next forty minutes, she managed more contractions than she could count. When a light knock rapped on the door, her head lulled to the side, taking in the sight of Elliot, followed by the nurse.
Lexie sighed in relief at the sight of him.
His forehead creased as he entered the room, his mouth drawn into a tight line of concern. “How are you?” he asked.
When her mother stepped aside to allow him room next to Lexie, he nodded with a smile. Leaning forward, he ran a hand over Lexie’s hair, smoothing back the unruly locks.
Lexie couldn’t imagine how awful she looked. Her forehead and hairline were coated in sweat. Her face was hot and likely flushed.
“Okay,” she said between clenched teeth as a contraction, vicious and sudden, took hold of her and stole her breath away. The muscles in her body tightened through the agony as she reminded herself to breathe, to relax. Tensing up only made it worse, yet she could seem to do nothing else. Her body was beyond listening.
When it was finally over, Elliot came into her line of vision. “You can do this, Lex,” he said, his expression one of grim determination.
An hour later, Lexie thought she would die if she had another contraction, would rather die than have another. She no longer had a break in-between them. Instead, one contraction seemed to bleed right into the next with little more than a second of reprieve. But the pressure between her legs, and the tremors in her stomach, told her she wasn’t finished.
When the doctor came into the room, he checked her, and declared her ten centimeters dilated and fully effaced. She was ready to push.
What happened next was a blur. The doctor left to wash and prep for delivery, while the nurses quickly broke her hospital bed down so that it was no longer a full bed, but instead, a birthing chair. Seconds later, the doctor kneeled in front of her—or maybe he was on a stool, Lexie couldn’t tell. He instructed her to hold her breath and push while one of the nurses, along with her mother held her legs. Elliot remained by her side, his gaze focused on her while he gripped her hand.
All thoughts of modesty were swept away by her desire for the pain to end. But her relief at an end in sight, quickly turned to desperation when the pain of pushing overcame her. Ring of fire, the term often used to describe when the baby’s head crowned, suddenly made perfect sense.
Lexie’s bottom blazed like burning flesh. Her body screamed and spasmed until it felt like she might rip in two. Her world seemed to turn black with agony, making any sense of time impossible, so she gritted her teeth and waited for the doctor to tell her to push again.
He gave her the signal, and the pain sharpened, followed by a warm gush of water and something slippery between her legs. She laid her head back momentarily, panting, and aware of nothing except the absence of the stabbing pain between her legs.
The doctor’s voice echoed in the background. But she could decipher nothing through her haze.
She felt pressure on her hand—squeezing. Elliot?
She glanced up at him, and what she saw made her heart stop.
The edge of fear widened his eyes, as he stared at something in the distance.
Shaking her head, Lexie finally noticed the eerie silence. Shouldn’t she hear the baby?
Her gaze latched onto the doctor. He stood with something too small to be an infant wrapped in a blanket, in his arms, and when she caught a glimpse of the baby’s face, a chill ran down her spine.
She was grey, barely larger than the doctor’s hand and unnaturally still.
Fearing the worst, the pounding of Lexie’s heart filled the ominous silence in the room, too loud for her own ears.
She glanced at her mother—for comfort, reassurance that she was wrong, and everything was going to be okay—but she hardly recognized the woman she saw. The strong woman who raised her was no longer a pariah of strength. Instead, she was a wilting flower. Her hand covered her mouth and tears streamed silently down her face as she leaned, limply against Lexie’s bed.
The doctor moved to Lexie’s side, drawing her attention. “She’s not breathing, and her heart’s barely beating. There’s nothing we can do. Oxygen at this point will be of no use, it will only prolong her dying. She maybe has a couple minutes. I’m sorry...” Despite his usual gruff demeanor, his voice trailed off, and remorse shined in his eyes.
Lexie stared at the baby, the one she never wanted, the one born from the seed of a monster. But nothing about this tiny creature looked monstrous now, only fragile and helpless as she clung to life by an invisible thread. A feeling Lexie had never had before, one she couldn’t name, washed over her.
Maybe this was what it felt like to be a mother.
Lexie reached for the baby, for her baby. “I want to hold her.”
The doctor gave her up easily. Lexie took the baby into her arms. “She’s so cold,” she whispered as tears clung to her lashes. “I don’t want her to be cold.”
Tugging at her hospital gown, Lexie placed the baby over her bare chest as tears spilled down her cheeks. Then she pulled her gown back up over the both of them, locking in her body heat and hugging the tiny infant to her chest. With one hand over the baby, over her still little body, Lexie clung to her, trying not to jostle her through her violent sobs.
She stared at the baby’s hands, the size of nickels and cold as ice. This was the only time she would have with her, and she wanted to remember it always. This one memory would have to last a lifetime.
Lexie had no idea how much time had passed as she held her child. One look at Elliot and she saw her pain mirrored in his eyes. His fierce expression locked on her, his throat working to restrain his emotion. Only when she returned her gaze to the baby did her heart stutter at what she witnessed. The baby took a breath.
Lexie gasped, hardly able to believe what she saw, fearing her eyes were playing tricks on her. But before she could question it, she felt Elliot’s hand on her shoulder and watched as her child took her second breath.
“She’s breathing,” Elliot choked out.
The doctor came into view, leaning over the baby, checking her. “Her heart’s beating regularly,” he said in wonder.
As if in answer, the baby let out a tiny cry and Lexie sobbed.
“Get Dr. England. Hurry,” Dr. McMillan barked at the nurse.
Several minutes passed before another doctor appeared at her bedside, younger, with kind eyes and a soft voice. They proceeded to take the baby’s vitals on Lexie’s chest, and much to her dismay, declared there was still little hope for long-term survival, and they recommended, if she wished, to have a priest or chaplain come in to see the child, to bless her before they took her off to the NICU.
Lexie’s heart broke into pieces and scattered to unknown places in her chest. She nodded in agreement and requested a priest. His voice, everything about him, was kind. He came in and blessed the child, but none of it comforted her.
Lexie looked to Elliot and her mother, but for what she wasn’t sure. Comfort? Answers? But they all had none. They too were heartbroken, devastated.
After the priest left, at her insistence, Lexie lay for another hour with the child on her chest. As the minutes passed, slowly, hope surged, ebbing into her like a drug. The baby no longer felt so cold. Lexie’s body heat had managed to warm her, and she continued breathing on her own, her cries periodic.
When the doctors came in and checked on her, their expressions remained grim, but Lexie refused to listen to them. The baby was alive. Every bone in her body, every fiber of her being, told her that this child, her child would live.
She wasn’t sure when she became hers. Maybe it was the moment she was conceived by pure biology. Maybe it was that first moment on the farm when she felt her kick, or maybe it was the moment of her birth and Lexie held her cold, tiny form to her chest. Whenever the moment she knew now, with certainty, this was her daughter. And her daughter, like her, was a fighter, a survivor.
She would live. She would survive.
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, the doctors moved the baby into NICU at their insistence. Lexie sat up in the hospital bed in her room, freshly showered and in a clean gown. A tray of shaved turkey breast, mashed potatoes and gravy, with a cup of fruit cocktail sat on the table in front of her. She hastily ate forkfuls of the nearly cold meal, not even tasting it. Despite her rumbling stomach, she hadn’t felt like eating. All she wanted to do was see her baby, but at Elliot and her mother’s insistence, she ate. Besides, she wouldn’t be able to see her yet, anyway. The nurses and doctors were tending to her, running tests.
Elliot sat next to her in a blue vinyl chair, his arm awkwardly draped over the bed rails and across her shoulders. His face was no longer pressed into thick lines of stress. Even Lexie’s mother looked calmer as she handed Lexie the cup of coffee she requested.
“You would think this place would at least know how to make a decent cup of coffee.” Her mother scowled, as Lexie took it. “You’re paying enough, ya know. You would think this was a five-star hotel with how much they charge you for the stay after delivery.”
Elliot smirked as his thumb brushed lazily across her clavicle, and Lexie gave him an exaggerated eye roll.
“Do you think it’s time to see the baby yet?” Lexie asked.
At the mention of the baby, her mother’s expression softened.
“No.” Elliot shook his head.
“But, it’s been more than two hours,” Lexie complained.
“They’ll come get us. The nurse promised you a million times already.” He smiled at her, and the softness in his eyes, the love she saw there eased her anxiety.
“You have to give her a name, you know. They need it for the birth certificate. We can’t just keep calling her, the baby,” her mother chided.
Neither she nor Elliot mentioned anything about the fact that, since delivery, Lexie had been referring to the baby as “her baby.” Nor did they comment when Lexie asked her mother to call the adoption agency for her, to tell them that she delivered the baby and no longer needed their services. Lexie was sure she would need to speak with them herself, maybe even meet with them, but that was the last thing on her mind and of little concern.
Lexie heard a knock at the open door and strained over Elliot to see who her visitor was. Her father, followed by Phillip, Heather, and a nurse, all filed into her room.
“You have some visitors.” The nurse smiled. “And just in time. Would you like to go see your baby now?”
Lexie nodded furiously, forcing herself to take it easy as she struggled out of bed. Her stiff muscles and sore bottom screamed as Elliot helped her up.
Once she was standing, she briefly said hello and soaked in the warm hugs and greetings from her family on her way out the door, but her mind was on one thing—seeing her baby.
As they approached the room to the NICU, the nurse smiled apologetically at them and said, “I’m sorry, but only the father and mother are allowed into the room. The rest of you will have to look on from out here.”
Lexie heard the hushed murmur of their agreement as her eyes roamed the room for her daughter, and Elliot gripped her hand.
“Ready?” he asked.
She said nothing, hyper focused on every step into the room that brought her closer to her daughter.
“Here she is,” the nurse said, stopping by the little plastic cube.
The baby was impossibly small, smaller than she remembered. She lay in a plastic cube with several tubes attached to her body and a tiny respirator taped to her nose. But her skin was blessedly pink, and her tiny chest moved with each intake of breath.
A tear slid down Lexie’s cheek. Warmth flooded her veins, pumping from her heart to her fingers and toes.
“She really is a miracle, a mother’s miracle,” the nurse whispered.
Not only was the baby a miracle, but she was Lexie’s miracle.
And suddenly, as Lexie stared at her living, breathing daughter, she wondered how she ever lived without her.