Daisy floated in a sea of fog. The light varied. Sometimes the fog looked gray and misty, sometimes pitch black. Occasionally, she could hear sounds, someone speaking her name, cold wet applied to her mouth, her arms moving. Most of the time, though, she didn’t hear anything, didn’t know anything, didn’t feel anything. Then, the black gave way to gray, which turned into a mist, which became a bright light, and she ripped her eyes open.
Hospital room. No window. What did that mean? Intensive care?
Turning her head took so much effort. It felt like she had weights strapped to her forehead. The room was small—definitely ICU. Through a glass wall, she could see a circular nurse’s desk. A black-haired woman typed at a computer, and a blond man counted little cups on a tray.
Why a hospital? Had she been involved in an accident? Why couldn’t she remember?
She made the effort to turn her head straight again and stared at the whiteboard on her wall.
Doctor: Mitchell
AM Nurse: Riley
Doctor Mitchell? She didn’t recognize that name.
A whooshing sound made her turn her head again, and she identified the sound as the door sliding open. Ken walked in staring at his phone. When he raised his head and saw her staring at him, he froze. Then he slipped his phone into his pocket and rushed to the bed.
“Hi there,” he said softly, smiling. He had haggard lines on his face, big dark circles under his eyes, and at least a week’s beard growth. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see your eyes.”
“What…?” Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper.
He stepped close and brushed her hair off her forehead. “It’s okay now.”
“I don’t…” Exhausted, she closed her eyes and licked her lips. “Thirsty.”
“I’m not sure you can drink yet. I’ll find out.”
She didn’t turn her head again but listened to the whooshing sound of the door. A few seconds later, the door opened again, and the blond man she’d seen came into her vision. “Mrs. Dixon, I’m Nurse Riley. Just Riley works. It’s great to see you awake.” He checked her IV bag and her arm. “Do you have any pain?”
Pain? Trying to focus, it occurred to her that everything felt like ticklish pins and needles. “No.”
“Good. That means the good drugs are doing their job.”
“Thirsty.” She closed her eyes, unable to take his movement. It made her head swim.
“Doctor Mitchell said you can have ice chips. Let’s start there. It’s been a few days since you had anything on your stomach. I’ll be right back.”
Days? What had happened? She made the effort to turn her head again and saw Ken standing by the bed. She tried to lift her hand, but she could only manage to raise it slightly off the bed before it collapsed back. He must have perceived what she needed because he immediately scooped up her hand.
She licked her dry lips with her impossibly dry tongue and croaked, “What happened? I don’t remember.”
Ken pressed his lips against her wrist and said, “It’s okay. We’ll talk once you have some ice in you. You’re super foggy from the pain medication, too.”
Riley returned with a Styrofoam cup and a plastic spoon. He scooped a piece of ice onto the spoon and held it up to her lips. “Open.”
The cold ice hitting her tongue felt like the most wonderful sensation she’d ever experienced. She closed her eyes and let the water melt and drip down her tongue to the back of her mouth.
The next time she opened her eyes, Ken was gone. The whiteboard had a new name for her nurse. This time it read:
Doctor: Mitchell
PM Nurse: Carla
The door whooshed. This time, her head turned with more ease. Ken walked in, his gaze searching her face as if trying to read her current state of being. “Hey,” he said, walking up to the bed and kissing her forehead. “How are you?”
She lifted her hand, and this time could keep it up. He took it. “Less medicine head,” she croaked. “Can I have more ice chips?”
“Don’t know,” he said with a smile. “Last one knocked you out for about four hours.”
He picked up the cup on the table near her bed and lifted ice with the spoon. It felt so refreshing when it went into her mouth. She sucked and swallowed and tried to let the ice touch every part of her mouth. “Thank you,” she said when she swallowed the last drop. “I am so thirsty. My throat hurts.”
“That’s from the breathing tube, I’m sure. Doctor Mitchell thought you’d be sore.”
She searched his face, looking for anything that would hint as to what happened. “I don’t remember.”
He sat down and leaned his elbows on her bed. “Do you remember Rosita?”
As if unbidden, her free hand moved over the blankets covering her stomach. Flat. “Rosita?”
The smile lit his eyes up. “Yeah. A week old now. I’ve been working on getting her days and nights in the right place.”
A week? She closed her eyes and tried to think of the last thing she remembered. “I remember the Presidential ball,” she said. “When was that?”
His eyes grew serious again. “Six weeks ago.”
“Six weeks?” She gasped, and the sudden inhalation of breath sent pain through her ribs, which made her gasp, and the cycle began.
“Daisy?” He surged to his feet and rushed out of the room. Seconds later, a nurse with jet black hair wearing light green scrubs came running in.
She put a hand on Daisy’s shoulder and read the monitors above her. “Okay, Mrs. Dixon. Is it hurting you to breathe?” Daisy nodded because she couldn’t speak. “I’m going to give you some more pain medicine. It’s about time for your dose anyway.”
A syringe and an alcohol pad swam out of her scrubs pocket. She shifted the blankets on Daisy’s bed, and seconds later, Daisy felt a sharp prick in the back of her hip. The warm rush of numbing medicine rushed up to her chest almost immediately, then over her shoulder and down her body. Everything started tingling but also turning numb at the same time. The pain subsided.
Carla deposited the syringe into the red box hanging on the wall and looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to call Doctor Mitchell and see if he wants to talk to you.”
Ken picked her hand back up. She asked, “What happened?”
“You had that natural birth you wanted. Right after Rosita was born, you had a heart attack. Then you started bleeding. They called it amniotic fluid embolism. You took thirty-two pints of blood, and they repaired an artery with some procedure.” He pressed the back of her hand against his cheek. His whiskers tickled her skin. “You had to have a hysterectomy. It was the only way they could stop the bleeding and save your life.”
Her mind swirled. “Hysterectomy?” She grew more and more dizzy and finally closed her eyes, feeling like the bed spun and wobbled like a top.
When Daisy opened her eyes again, sunlight from a window lit up her room. New room. They must have moved her out of the ICU. She should take that as a good sign, right? This room was bigger, with calmer colors and a television perched in the corner. Her arms felt lighter. Her head felt less encumbered. A gentle cooing sound came from her right. She rolled her head on the pillow and her gaze encountered Ken reclined back in a leather chair, a baby sleeping on his chest.
The image invoked such emotion that it twisted her heart almost painfully. Tears filled her eyes. Her baby was a week old? She thought back, desperately trying to break through the dark patch in her memory. The men having to go to that big meeting, Alex’s water breaking, Valerie’s contractions. Jeremy’s harrowing drive through Atlanta’s streets. Little by little, lights started breaking up the blackness.
“Hey,” she croaked softly.
Immediately, Ken opened his eyes. His face softened in a smile when he looked at her. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
She lifted a finger. “New digs.”
“Yeah. They let you out of ICU so I could bring the baby to you.”
Tears fell down her cheeks. He held Rosita close. He had tightly bundled her up in a blanket covered in pink foxes and put a little pink and green cap on her head. Long lashes rested on her cheeks as she slept. “Oh Ken,” she whispered, brushing her finger over her cheek, causing her lips to pucker and make sucking motions. “She’s incredible.”
He found the buttons for the bed and raised her upper body so he could rest Rosita on her chest. “Is that painful?” he asked. “You have broken ribs from the CPR.”
“No.” She closed her eyes and rested her nose against Rosita’s head, inhaling the smell of her with a slow, deep breath. Then she looked at Ken. “How are you doing with her?”
He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “She was here for three days. I was able to sit with you and leave her in the nursery. I slept in the little room they had for fathers. When they released her, it was a relief to take her home. My mom and your mom have been taking turns watching her in the waiting room here or sitting with you. I didn’t want to be away from her all day long, so I’ve just kept her with me. We go home at night.”
“How is she eating?”
She and Ken had very long talks about their expectations and desires. Both of them agreed wholeheartedly on Daisy breastfeeding. It never became an issue. If she’d been here a week, was it even possible anymore? Did a milk supply even exist? Ken’s answer took her breath away. It occurred to her just how much he had taken care of the details.
“In the ICU, the nurses taught me how to pump your breast milk every few hours, to keep up some production. We couldn’t use it because of the medications they’ve had you on. Alex and Valerie and your cousin Maria have been able to donate for now.”
“Alex and Valerie? Are they okay?”
“Perfectly fine. They’re home with their babies. Brad and Jon are sailing over the moon with me. We’re all in love with our girls.”
She longed for this to be a distant memory. “When can I go home?”
He shook his head. “Doctor Mitchell has no good idea about that. It might be weeks.”
“Weeks?”
“You’re not out of the woods all the way. They have to monitor your liver and kidneys. And they have to make sure your blood clots properly with the medication they’re giving you.” He rubbed his face. “We don’t know what kind of neurological damage was done.”
She shook her head. “I wish I could remember.” Something he said earlier came back to her. “A hysterectomy? That means no more babies.”
He reached out and cupped her cheek. “Good thing we did it so well on the first try, eh?”
“But, Ken, you won’t have…”
He leaned forward and covered her lips with his. Then he said, “I’m sure you’re not about to say what you’re about to say.” He kissed Rosita’s head then sat back down. “Any pain?”
“I feel like if I move wrong, I know there’s going to be pain. It’s an odd sensation. But, mainly, I’m just super thirsty.”
He nodded and pressed a button. A staticky sound came from the speaker before a woman’s voice asked, “May I help you?”
“Can my wife have some water?”
After a pause, she said, “Yes. Slow sips.”
He poured from a little pink pitcher into a little brown cup and unwrapped a plastic straw, bending the top. She took a tiny sip, afraid to make herself cough. As soon as she swallowed, she asked for a little more. After three sips, Ken pulled the straw away. “I think that’s enough. Don’t want to make you sick.”
The weight of Rosita on her chest felt absolutely right. She rested her hand on her back and closed her eyes, relishing in the feel of the perfect little cheek against her collar bone. Her mind started to wander, and without effort, she remembered her dream and how she prepared all of that paperwork and letters for everyone. Silently thanking God for the dream that allowed her to prepare, she asked, “Everything okay legally with you and the baby?”
He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “Your mom thought she was doing the right thing by offering to take her with her. But I was able to talk her out of it without using your letter. My mom helped convince her I was capable of taking care of her.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your dreams seriously.”
Shaking her head, she kissed Rosita on her cap. “You finally listened, even if you didn’t think you needed to. At least everything was ready.”
“Well, we won’t need it.” He squeezed her shoulder with his strong hand.