Chapter 46: No Time to Die

April

When we return to the front desk, Margie informs us that Gram and Ma are in the labor and delivery waiting-room.

"I should be going now," Peyton says. "It's after midnight."

I don't want her to go, but I get it. "How will you get home?"

"Marshall's been waiting in the parking lot," she says. "Here's Bree's purse." She holds the tiny handbag out to me.  

"He found it?"

"It was under the table."

Can always count on Batman.

"He didn't tell anyone, did he?"

The corner of her mouth twitches up. "He never tells anyone anything, Chaplin."

"True."

"Okay, text me tomorrow and let me know how everything goes."

I stare off in the distance. "What if there isn't a tomorrow?"

"There will be." She touches my arm. "It's not their time to die."

I look into her eyes and see assurance. Truth.

God I hope you're right.

She tilts her head and studies my expression. "It's going to be okay."

I nod.

She hugs me. "Anything you need, just text me."

I nod again. 

*****

"Any updates at all?" I ask Ma and Bree's Gram when I finally find the waiting room.

"Jack!" Ma runs over and throws her arms around me. "Nothing, Bud. What time did she go into surgery?"

"Around ten-thirty, I think. It's all a blur."

Gram looks up from the paperwork. "Jack," she says, "do you happen to know if Bree was using alcohol or tobacco during the pregnancy?"

I think back to the last time she vaped or drank. It was homecoming, the night the baby was conceived. "I don't think she was, no."

She nods and continues writing.

Ma signals for me to come sit next to her. "What happened tonight? The nurses said she's lost quite a bit of blood."

I shake my head. "I don't really know. She said she was fine, but then we found her on the floor of the bathroom doubled over in pain. We didn't even know she was bleeding until we got here. The doctor said something is wrong with the placenta."

"Abruption?" Ma asks.

"I think so. What does that mean?"

"The placenta pulls away from the uterine wall. So the blood that feeds it pools inside the womb. It's very dangerous."

I close my eyes and drop my head into my hands. "Are...is it...fatal?"

She squeezes my arm. "They can save them," she says.

"But it's so early. What if he's not ready?"

"We just have to wait and see." When I look up at her face, tears fill her eyes.

The doors open, and the doctor walks towards us, his expression impassive. "Congratulations, son," he says. "You got yourself a baby boy."

"Is he okay?"

He nods, pulling off his shoe covers. Underneath, he's wearing snakeskin cowboy boots. "Bout as good as can be expected. He's in the NICU. Nurse Annalise will take you back to see him once we get you all suited up."

"How is the mother?" Gram asks, then her eyes cut to me.

"Welp, it's been a little touch-and-go. Went into hemorrhagic shock, so we gave her a transfusion, over a liter of blood. She's in recovery now. I don't expect she'll wake up for some time."

"But she's gonna live?" I ask.

He nods. "The prognosis is good. O'course there are no guarantees."

I close my eyes and exhale. It feels like I've been holding my breath for the last three hours.  

Nurse Annalise walks through the doors next carrying a yellow bundle. "You ready to go meet that baby?" She asks.

"Yes Ma'am."

I'm geared up in the disposable scrubs waiting to enter the NICU.

"I look like that yellow Teletubby," I mutter looking down at myself.

Nurse Annalise laughs. "Yes, that would make you Laa-laa."

She takes me to the incubator where my son is attached to a breathing tube and several sensors. "These are to measure heart-rate, blood pressure, and body temps," she tells me. "He's quite strong for a baby born at twenty-eight weeks. And nearly four pounds." She smiles. "But his daddy is a big guy."

I just gaze down at him, awestruck. Even with the tubes and wires all over him, he's beautiful. He's wearing a diaper that swallows him up and a tiny, yellow knit skullcap. 

"We match," I whisper. I don't even care that Nurse Annalise sees my eyes water. I've never been so relieved in my life.

She smiles. "What are you going to call him?"

I shake my head. "We haven't even talked about it. But if I know her, she's probably got a list of names picked out already."

"Well," she says, "we can ask her when she wakes up."

"So how long will he have to stay...in there?" I point to the incubator.

She shrugs. "That depends on him. But babies born this early usually have to stay in the hospital for a month or two."

I nod. "Can I hold him?"

"Not just yet. But we'll get there. He'll need a lot of Kangaroo care. Preemies respond well to that."

"Kangaroo care?"

"Skin-to-skin contact. You hold him to your bare chest. It's very good for their development."

"Well, Ma'am," I say with a cracked voice, "I have to say I'm looking forward to that."

They move Bree from the ICU to a post-delivery room at around three in the morning. Annalise gives me some bedding and pillows so I can sleep on the little couch next to her. Ma and Gram went home shortly after the doctor confirmed everything was going to be okay. I lay there in the dark, listening to the machines that track her vitals. I'm exhausted, but my mind races. I pull my phone out of the tuxedo pants I've draped over the chair and text Peyton.

Me: You were right. Wasn't their time. Thank you. For everything. For staying calm and being strong. I got to see my baby tonight. He's beautiful. I already love him.

I place my phone face down on my chest and thank God for His mercy, for giving me a second chance to do better.

My phone vibrates.

Peyton: So glad they're okay. Get some rest, Chaplin.

Me: You too, Thomas. Why're you still up?

Peyton: Couldn't sleep. Better now. Goodnight.

Me: Sleep tight.

I don't know why, but her last message feels like a goodbye.

I guess in a lot of ways, it really is. 

The next morning, I wake to the sound of the door unlatching. The nurse was in and out of Bree's room all night long, so I'm expecting it to be her. But it's a new doctor.

"Good morning, Mr....uh...Barnes?"

I'm not about to stand and shake his hand with no pants on, so I sit up with the blanket over my lap. "Chaplin, sir. You can call me Jack."

"The father, right?"

"Yessir."

"I just wanted to go over some things concerning the baby. Sometimes, with that severe of an abruption, a baby can suffer brain damage...from the lack of oxygen. But Baby Barnes seems to be doing just fine."

"Why did it happen?"

"What, the abruption?"

"Yessir," I say.

"Well, that can be a bit of a mystery. Cofactors often include trauma to the womb, advanced maternal age, hypertension, and substance abuse. But none of those seem to be the case with your...girlfriend?"

"Fiancé," I clip.

"Right. Your fiancé appears somewhat underweight for the third trimester. Does she have a history of disordered eating? Anorexia? Bulimia?"

I remember back to all those lunches where she barely ate anything and how fixated she was about looking fat. "I don't know. She's always been thin."

He nods. "Sometimes there isn't a specific cause. But, the good news is, she and the baby are going to be fine."

"Yessir."

"We would like for her to try and pump some breast milk once she's feeling up to it. And we'll need to fill out the information for certificate of live birth. Would you like to do that now?"

"I don't even know what we're going to name him, sir." I feel like an idiot. How did we not talk about these things yet?

He nods. "The baby will need some skin-to-skin contact. Preferably an hour or more a day. The nurse can get you started." He glances at my tuxedo pants and shirt. The sleeve of my shirt where I held Bree is stained with dried blood. "Can you ask a friend or family member to bring you some clean clothes? Preferably a shirt that opens in the front."

"I will," I say. "I'll call someone now. Thank you, Doctor...."

"O'Brien. And you're welcome."

Ma shows up about an hour later. "Okay," she says, "got your favorite hoodie that zips up the front, some shorts, undies, socks, and tennis shoes. You should probably shower. I stopped by Bree's father's house and packed a bag—just guessing about what she wants. I didn't bother with the baby's clothes, cuz they'll all be too big for another few months. I'll order some preemie things on Amazon today."

"She already had baby clothes?"

"Just a few onsies. Poor thing didn't even have her shower yet. But we'll get baby all squared away." 

"Thanks, Ma."

"Did you eat?"

I shake my head.

"Okay, you shower. I'll run to the cafeteria and see what I can scrounge up."

Later that afternoon, I'm sitting in a rocker next to the incubator while the nurse prepares my baby for kanga-care. She scoops him up and says, "okay, go ahead and unzip the suit and your jacket underneath." Then she gently places his bare belly down on my exposed chest. I hardly register his weight.

"One hand cradles the back of his head, and the other goes under his bottom. It's okay to move if you start to get uncomfortable, but just be careful of the leads."

"Yes ma'am."

He makes tiny baby noises—squeaks and grunts that sound like a newborn colt.

She smiles. "How does it feel?"

"Like love," I say.

She laughs a little. "Like love?"

"Yeah." I sigh. "It feels just like love."