The time crawled by with glacial slowness. Ken felt like he was trapped under water, trying to move weighted limbs, struggling to breathe. His chest felt heavy, and every exhalation hurt. He’d sat for a long time in the waiting room, sandwiched between his mom and Daisy’s mother. No one said anything, as if everyone knew if they spoke even one single word, the air around them would shatter like glass hit with a stone.
Eventually, he couldn’t take the waiting anymore. He surged to his feet and rushed from the room. But once out in the hall, he had nowhere to go. Panting, desperate, he stopped in the corridor next to the double doors that led to the operating rooms and leaned against the wall. He wanted to build something—or demolish something. Either would do. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and bent over double, his elbows against his knees.
Suddenly out of energy, he slid down the wall until he sat against it, his legs drawn up. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as tears wet his temples. When Brad and Jon sat on either side of him, he didn’t move.
Finally, he said, “I can’t lose her. I was created to be her man.”
Jon put a hand on his knee, but he didn’t reply. Brad slipped his arm over his shoulders and squeezed, releasing the dam of emotion Ken held so precariously in check. His entire body shook with silent sobs as he replayed the last few minutes with Daisy in his mind. The image of them doing CPR on her took all the breath out of his body. When the flood of emotion dissipated, leaving him weak, he realized both brothers had their arms around him, shielding him with their love. As he returned to himself, he could hear Brad praying over him, praying for Daisy, and praying for Rosita.
“Mr. Dixon?”
Ken looked up and saw the nurse who took Rosita from him. “Yes?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“You can come sit with the baby any time.” He looked toward the double doors leading to the surgery area as Brad and Jon moved away from him and stood. She spoke as if she knew what he worried about. “We’ll know where you are. We’ll come find you immediately. I have a room for her. You can come sit and be alone.” She looked at the men on either side of him. “Or you don’t have to be.”
Brad held out a hand, and Ken gripped it, letting his brother haul him to his feet. He followed the nurse past the waiting room where their families assembled, expectant for news, down the corridor. She used her badge to grant them entrance through two different doorways. Finally, she opened a door and stepped back, gesturing into a room equipped with a rocking chair and a small sofa. “If you’ll wait in here, I’ll bring her to you.”
He walked into the room, his hands in his pockets. Did he sit or stand? Did specific rules apply?
“Do you want us to stay?”
As he turned to answer, the nurse returned, wheeling Rosita in her bed into the room. Brad and Jon stepped aside as she parked the bed against the wall. “I need to check your wrist band,” she explained.
He looked down at his wrist. When they admitted Daisy, they both were given wrist bands with the same number on them. The nurse looked at his, then compared it to the one on Rosita’s ankle. “If you need anything, press that intercom button on the wall,” she said softly, then left.
Ken walked over to the bed. The name tag on the bed read, “Baby Girl Dixon.” Someone had wrapped her tightly in a white cotton blanket with blue and pink pinstripes. She had a little pink cap on her head. He carefully scooped her up. His hands looked enormous as they lifted her tiny form. Maybe, she just looked unbelievably tiny. When he brought her to his shoulder and inhaled her new baby smell, she made a little cooing sound that broke his heart all over again.
He turned and faced his brothers, the two men who knew him best in this world. “This is the room they save for fathers. I bet your babies are in with their mamas right now. They have this room because we don’t have a room anywhere else. It’s like our manger.”
Brad nodded. “It’s good they have a room like this.”
Ken pressed his lips against Rosita’s little head then walked over to the rocking chair. “You two don’t have to stay. Your wives are probably going out of their minds. Go be with them.”
Jon came fully into the room. “Alex is busy with Anne. I’m here. Unless you don’t want me here. Then I’m gone.”
Brad sat on the sofa. “Same.” He gestured toward Ken. “How could she possibly look so much like you?”
Ken cradled her in his arms and looked down at Rosita’s face. He ran a fingertip over her black hair and down her cheek. “Because God intended me to be her daddy.”
They sat in silence for two hours. At one point, Jon fielded a text and left, bringing back Rita and Rosaline.
“Ken,” his mom said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Still rocking the baby, he looked up at her, then back down at the infant. His mom said, “Go with Brad and get something to eat.”
He stared down at Rosita’s face. She had her eyes open, big black pools of amazement with ridiculously long curling eyelashes. His heart broke in new ways. “No,” he said, his voice still sounded hoarse. “I’m okay to miss a meal. I’ll stay.”
Brad walked over to the window, and Rita took his place, perching on the edge of the couch. “May I hold her?” she asked with tears in her eyes.
He focused on her face and could read the worry etched into every line. Then his brain unjumbled her words, and he stopped rocking. “Of course, Rita. Sure. Of course.”
She smiled down at Rosita and murmured to her. Ken took the opportunity to stand and stretch. His mom said, “Go, Ken. Rita and I are right here, and I have my phone.”
He gave a pained look at Brad, expecting his brothers to come to his defense. Instead, Brad stepped forward and said, “That’s a good idea. Let’s all go get some food. It’s been a long day.”
Ken slipped his hands into his pockets and followed his brothers into the hall. “I’ll stay here,” he said.
Jon turned. “Ken, they’re going to be a while, yet. I checked just a few minutes ago.”
With a shrug, he said, “I know. I just don’t want to leave Rosita.”
“She’s in the safest hands she could possibly be in,” Brad said. “Let us take care of you for a little while.”
As they walked down the long hallway, he paused at the doorway to the waiting room. He could see a sea of bodies on their knees and his father, their pastor Danny Brown, and Marcus standing next to each other, heads bowed.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Prayer vigil. They’ve been at it for about two hours now,” Jon said. “Mom said she and Rita both stood up at the same time with the desire to come pray over the baby. That’s when mom texted me.”
In the cafeteria, they found a quiet table. In the lull after the dinner rush, very few people occupied the space. Some came for coffee and left. Others clearly grabbed a meal while they could. Ken stared down at his sandwich and wondered how he could possibly ever feel hungry again.
He rubbed his finger and thumb over his eyes, then pinched his nose. “Daisy knew something bad was going to happen,” he said.
Brad set his fork down and leaned closer. “How so?”
“She had a dream. Well, same dream a few times. Couple of weeks ago. Sent her into a frenzy. I thought it was in some pregnancy-induced hysteria. I completely patronized her.” Tears filled his eyes. “Stupid.”
“Frenzy, how?”
“She filed all kinds of legal paperwork so Rosita would be fully mine if something happened to her, regardless of whether my adoption of the baby was finalized.” He sighed. “She knew.”
A doctor rushed into the cafeteria and looked around, then headed straight for them. Ken sat up straighter. He looked between the three men and finally asked, “Ken Dixon?”
“Yes?”
“Do you happen to know your blood type?”
“O-negative. Why?”
He sat in the fourth chair at their table. “Your wife has received fifteen units of blood so far, and she’s going to need at least that much more. She’s also O-negative, which means she can only take O-neg blood type. Mr. Dixon, we’re running out.”
Ken stood, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. He didn’t know what to ask first. But he knew how to act. “Take mine.”
His brothers stood, and Jon said, “We’re all O-neg. So’s Dad.”
The doctor nodded. “Come with me.”
He took them back up to the surgical floor. While there, his father must have received his text because several of the parishioners from the waiting room lined the hallway outside of the blood donor room. Everyone who had O-negative blood stepped up to donate.
While the phlebotomist hooked him up for the blood donation, the doctor explained, “Your wife had what we call an amniotic fluid embolism. With AFE, often the first symptom is respiratory distress, followed by cardiac arrest. Then, bleeding from the birth starts, and the blood won’t clot. What happened is some amniotic fluid got into Mrs. Dixon’s circulatory system. That’s not terribly uncommon, but in her case, she had a severe reaction to it.”
Ken processed the information, categorized it, analyzed it. Then, he asked, “What next?”
“When I left, they were performing a hysterectomy.”
A hysterectomy? He felt like the bottom of his world opened up and sent him spiraling down. How would he ever explain to Daisy?
The doctor was still talking. “It’s our only option if we have a prayer of getting the bleeding under control. They’ll keep up with the transfusions and check her arteries, make repairs as needed.”
The doctor crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. “I can’t tell you any more because, at this point, all we can do is react. It’s like plugging a dam. She’s survived this long. That’s a good sign.”
He gestured with his thumb. “Those people praying in the waiting room, that’s definitely a good sign. And the hall is lined up with people giving blood. That might just save her life. She’s going to need every drop. The more, the better.”
After about fifteen minutes, the doctor gathered the blood donated from Ken and his brothers. They each took two bottles of juice and let three more people take their chairs. Ken looked at Jon. “I can’t walk down that hall. I can’t talk anymore. I just can’t.”
His brother nodded, knowing what Ken needed. He asked the phlebotomist for the alternate route out, and she swiped them through a doorway and into a different hall. Soon, they returned to the nursery.
He looked at Rita, who hovered over Rosaline holding the baby, and explained what the doctor told him. “Why don’t you go see if you can give blood, Rita?”
Rosaline handed the baby to Ken and stood. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”
On her way out of the room, Rita paused at Ken’s shoulder and said, “You will come find me if you know something?”
“I’ll call. Mama has her phone.”
“Okay.” Rosaline put her arm over Rita’s shoulder on their way out of the room.
Brad gestured at the door. “Jon and I are going to go update the ladies; give you some alone time.”
He nodded and lowered himself into the rocking chair, snuggling Rosita against his chest.
Through the fog of sleep, Ken heard the cries. He opened his eyes and got his bearings.
His home. His room. His empty bed.
His hungry baby.
He pushed himself out of bed and walked over to the bassinet. Red-faced Rosita kicked her legs, fisted her hands, and screamed to the world that she would like to eat now. Right now.
“Hey, hey,” he said, scooping her up. “Until Mama comes home, this is not an instant thing.”
He’d put his dorm fridge in the spare bathroom and stored the milk in there. Talking to her the whole time, he grabbed a bag of milk and put it in the warmer. Somehow, he found it easy to talk to Rosita. He never found himself at a loss for words.
“Five minutes, pretty girl,” he cooed. “Enough time to get you out of this wet diaper.”
In the emotional and mental whirlwind of hours and days following Rosita’s birth, his mom and Rita had helped him figure out what he needed from moment to moment. He knew how much Daisy wanted to breastfeed, so he worked with the nurses, and his mom made inquiries to find donated milk.
Daisy had a cousin who brought a three-day supply over the day of Rosita’s birth. Valerie and Alex had gotten their milk supply going enough to donate milk after the first few days. He knew as soon as they shifted Daisy’s medications, Rosita could have her milk.
In Rosita’s room, he lay her on the changing table and tried to tease her out of the angry, hungry cry. “You know, they say patience is a virtue. You’re not being very virtuous right now. But you’re beautiful and perfect. Yes, you are. And you’re wet. Let’s fix that.”
She paused and looked up at him with big, brown eyes, then screwed her face up and screamed even louder. Ken chuckled. “I know. It’s so hard being seven days old. You’re unemployed, no bank account, no schooling to speak of, no references. How are you going to get your life together?”
He slipped the mint green gown back down over her legs then scooped her back up. She cried and nuzzled against his neck, seeking solace from the hunger. He walked back to the bathroom and checked the bottle, finding the milk at the perfect temperature. He collected it and gently rocked her as he headed back to his room.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl. You’ve got time. You’ll figure things out. You’ll be up and around and on your feet before you know it.”
In his room, he settled against the corner of the couch and held her the way the occupational therapist had taught him, the same way Daisy would hold her when she could finally nurse her. As he slipped the nipple into her mouth and she greedily latched onto it, he smiled down at her perfect face.
“You don’t know your mom very well yet, but you’re going to love her. And, oh my stars, she is going to love you, sweet girl. They’ll move your Mama into a new room as soon as she wakes up. We get to stay with her there sometimes. Isn’t that cool?”
But what if Daisy never woke up?
Tears filled his eyes before he could stop them. He had set aside emotions for a solid week because the need to make decisions, answer questions, and field phone calls took priority. Suddenly, the questions he had pushed to the back and the emotions he had ignored all overwhelmed him until he had a hard time catching his breath.
What if she dies in that hospital and we never get to speak to her again in this life?
He had always tried to live his life as an example of Christ. He stayed faithful, serving God with his heart and his hands. He avoided temptation and treated his neighbors with kindness.
Unlike eldest triplet Jon, who had always struggled with carnal temptations, Ken had stayed pure and sober, never wanting to treat his body as anything other than the medium through which he could physically work for God’s kingdom. Unlike middle triplet Brad, who had always known he loved Valerie, Ken would have been content to stay single until the day he died. He could have gladly just poured his days and his energy into mission-oriented work.
Then Daisy came into his life, and for the first time ever, he thought maybe God wanted him to have someone beside him. He thought God had made her just for him. He felt certain God had made him for Daisy. Ken and Daisy made a whole unit, helpers to each other, faithful lovers, and much stronger together than when they lived their solitary lives.
Thinking of Daisy’s dreams and how God had tried to prepare them for Rosita’s birth made him realize that, maybe, God never intended for Daisy to come home.
What would that mean? Did she come in to his life only so that Rosita would have a father, not so that Ken would have a wife? Could Ken accept that?
Daisy can never have your children, now.
Ken closed his eyes and shook his head like an angry wet dog, as if he could shake these thoughts right out of his mind. He needed to pray. He needed to pray right now.
“God, please, I beg you,” he said as Rosita’s head lolled back, a dribble of milk sliding down her cheek. Love flowed through him with such force that it caused a painful squeeze of his heart. A more perfect baby did not exist on this planet. He shifted her to his shoulder and gently patted her back as he looked up at the ceiling. “Please don’t let that be Your plan. Please heal Daisy’s body and bring her home to me.”
The loud burp brought a smile to his face even through his tears. He carried the baby back to the bassinet and gently laid her in it. In the dim light, he stared down at Rosita, noticing how much of Daisy he saw in the infant’s features. “I know it’s selfish to even ask, God. But I have to ask. I have to.”
Right there next to the baby’s bed, he fell on his knees and covered his face with his hands. “Please,” he whispered, “bring Daisy home to Rosita. God, please, please bring her home to me. Don’t leave me a fractured whole now that I finally found the rest of me.”
After several minutes of pouring his appeals out to God, he pushed himself to his feet and glanced at the clock. Four-twenty-two. Mentally, he knew he should do his Bible study and get some exercise, but emotionally, he needed some restorative sleep. Without any guilt, he collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes.