Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
G rabbing the keys from the bowl in the hallway where Stuart, one of my house staff had left them, I turned Grace back in the direction of the front door. She had already packed bags in preparation for the hospital and stuffed them in the trunk of all three cars we made use of. After helping her into the car passenger seat I slid behind the wheel and my chest felt tight.
As I drove out through the heavy privacy gates of our home it dawned on me that Stuart should have driven, but I wasn’t thinking straight, and it hadn’t occurred to me to call him out of his room. It was fortunate I had only been drinking water all night out of concern for my wife.
Grace messaged her Obstetrician, dropped her cell into her oversized purse and placed it on the floor as another contraction ripped through her. When her discomfort finally subsided, it gave me a short window of calm to talk to her.
“Thirty-five weeks is still good, right?” Slamming my foot on the gas, I turned my nervous gaze from the rain lashed windshield to eye her with concern. The windshield wipers beat in a rhythm which sounded faster and louder than usual as I waited for her to respond. I was naturally concerned because she’d missed her previous two doctor’s appointments due to us being on the road, but when I challenged her about this Grace had insisted, she and the baby would be fine.
Until week thirty three Grace’s pregnancy had been a textbook one—apart from the discomfort of needing to pee all the time and some niggling pains she assured me was to be expected as the birth date grew nearer.
Pain clouded my gorgeous wife’s normally vibrant gray eyes when she looked back at me, her appearance did nothing to reassure me. Clutching her swollen belly, the agony was clear in her face as she nursed her bump with her hands.
“Yeah, another three weeks and they’d class her as full-term, so I guess our baby should be—” Another painful contraction caught her already labored breathing and interrupted the reassurance I had desperately sought. My chest tightened further, my anxiety increasing because apart from the actual birth, seeing Grace doubled up in pain was the part I’d been dreading the most from her condition.
Gripping the steering wheel, I noted my sweaty palms clung desperately to it as anxiety threatened to take over when I heard how deeply she inhaled in her effort to manage her pain. I was impressed by my wife’s conscious effort to remain in control of her labor.
As time passed, she began to moan louder in discomfort and my heart jolted with anxiety each time I heard it. Nausea came in a wave and I swallowed it down because it wasn’t time and no matter how much we’d talked about the birth, I wasn’t prepared. Watching the love of my life in pain was hell. Even if it was necessary to bring the new life we had created together into this world.
When another contraction wore off an additional concern sprang to mind. “Your obstetrician’s office replied to your message, right?”
Grace reached down, dragged her huge purse full of shit onto her lap and rummaged around inside. Finally, she pulled out her cell phone and let the heavy bag slide back to the floor.
The bright blue screen instantly glowed, lighting up the surrounding blanket of darkness inside the car. Swiping the small screen, she lifted her cell to her ear, and I knew she had received a voicemail .
“Yeah,” she barely managed to breathe before another pain took her attention. Relief washed over me, glad that someone with the expertise to help Grace would be waiting for her on arrival.
I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard panel: 3:21 a.m. Beside it was the date: January 7th, and I noted that until now it wasn’t one which held any significance for me. A swell of excitement from inside reminded me it would be the day to surpass all the days of my life. The day my first child would be born and the beginning of a new life for Grace and me.
It took seven more contractions, three minutes apart, before we arrived at the Memorial Hospital entrance. Abandoning our imposing black SUV in the no-parking zone, I ran around the hood and yanked open the door so forcefully the vehicle rocked on its axel. Gripping Grace by the arms, I spoke in a gentle, encouraging tone.
“That’s it, Baby, you’re doing great, we’re here. It won’t be long before the doc can assess you and give you some drugs for the pain. No giving away our bedroom secrets when he does, by the way,” I joked, trying to ease the tension that had returned to the situation as we made our way into the hospital.
Grace scoffed at my comment as we entered the foyer and another painful wave stopped her dead in her tracks. She clung to the long metal door handle to steady herself while a kind, middle-aged hospital orderly appeared from nowhere with a wheelchair. I helped him ease my wife into it as her pain subsided again.
“Looks like we got ourselves an expensive new addition to the family on the way,” he teased, and I grinned in relief at his attempt to take the sting out of Grace’s discomfort.
“Hey, you’re that Cole erm…”
“Yeah, but I’m not the major attraction here, right?” I warned, and he glanced down at my wife and nodded.
As the contraction waned, Grace glanced up at the orderly and cussed under her breath. “This kid can have anything she wants, no questions asked. She just needs to be here already.” Another groan tore from her throat and she doubled over again, cradling her belly and I prayed for a quick end to this experience for her.
We rode the elevator to the fifth floor, where an obstetric nurse was waiting, clipboard in hand. Her beady eyes widened in surprise when she recognized who I was. I scowled and shot her a warning look not to acknowledge me. The last thing my wife needed was a fangirl fawning over me while she was in pain.
“Dr. Ken is waiting for you, Grace. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get you settled and let him know you’ve arrived. There are a few papers to sign, Cole, but we can figure those out once we get Grace settled.” Insurance, I figured, dismissing it. Nothing was as important as Grace’s comfort.
Minutes passed after we entered the room and the Obstetric nurse squirted monitoring gel and attached monitoring pads to Grace’s bump. A wave of emotion swelled in my throat at the sound of our daughter’s steady heartbeat as it echoed loudly through the room. It was no secret we were having a girl; Grace had told everyone.
I noted the equipment had begun to record a series of squiggly lines onto the folded paper attached to a tray underneath. The nurse then focused on checking Grace’s vitals before she turned to us and smiled.
“Grace, your blood pressure is perfect right now. This…” she stated, pointing at the two traces being recorded, “top trace is your baby’s heart rate and you can see it fluctuate here. This means she’s awake and active right now. The graph at the bottom is showing us your contractions are every three minutes, which is regular and exactly what we like to see.”
“That’s the baby’s heartbeat?” I asked, pointing out the inked recording of it.
“Yes.” She smiled. “Your baby’s heart rate is increasing with each contraction at present, which is perfectly normal.” I smiled in awe of this.
Discussing the birthing plan with Grace, the nurse informed us Grace would have a shot of steroids to help mature the baby’s lungs for the birth.
As she was finishing talking, Dr. Ken strode into the room, looking like he’d come straight from a movie set with his expensive stethoscope around his neck and a pristine white laboratory coat covering his designer clothing. He had glossy blond hair, unblemished skin, and perfect, even white teeth. Way too attractive for a guy touching my wife.
Although I respected his profession, I hated that he was such a good-looking dude, because he had Grace’s permission to explore the most intimate parts of her body. Keeping my jealousy in check, I reminded myself he had clinical reasons for doing this.
Discussing the history of the previous few hours, it became clear Grace was unsure as to whether the sac of fluid around our baby had broken, admitting to small frequent trickles of liquid with each contraction.
After examining her abdomen, Dr. Ken confirmed the baby’s head was low in Grace’s pelvis and informed us he needed to take a swab from inside her entrance to make sure our baby hadn’t been exposed to any infection. My jaw ticked with tension at the thought of this.
Preparing an examination pack on a small mobile cart, the nurse rolled it close to the bed as the doctor washed his hands. After drying them, he snapped on some gloves and sat down on a stool at the edge of the bed, positioning Grace lower in preparation for the procedure.
After ensuring her hygiene he explained, “I’m using a speculum and once I take a germ culture I’ll also take a small swab test to check for the presence of amniotic fluid. This is important as your baby is a little premature and early rupture can predispose the increased risk of infection.”
Watching intently from the side of the bed, my beady, concerned eyes flicked from what he was doing at the business end to Grace’s face, and I noted her pain-filled eyes stare up into mine for reassurance.
“You’re doing great, Baby.”
Grace’s body sagged and she sighed with my encouragement, and my gaze returned to focus on the young doctor’s face. A frown creased his brow and his eyes narrowed, widened then shot in my direction. When he held my gaze a second too long I sensed something was wrong.
“Nurse, can you position the light closer please?” he instructed, focusing back on the point of interest between Grace’s legs again.
Hovering in the background, the nurse jumped, startled with the sharpness in his tone. Stepping forward, she repositioned the spotlight, and as her eyes fell between Grace’s legs a look of worry flitted through them. A short gasp hitched in her breath and Dr. Ken’s eyes darted to hers.
“What is it?” I asked, sensing immediately something was wrong.
“I’m collecting some samples to send to the laboratory for culture. Once I’ve done this, I’ll answer any questions you have,” the doctor said shutting me down.
Hearing our baby’s heart rate spike instantly in protest to his ministrations distracted me from him, but when I looked back at the doc he was handing the slides to the nurse. Standing quickly, he tidied everything back on the tray, flicked off the rubber gloves and discarded them into a stainless steel pedal bin.
With his back to us he washed his hands before he turned and addressed us. “Give me a few minutes to fill out the pathology and microbiology forms and I’ll come back to talk to you.”
Grace looked completely unfazed by the examination and continued breathing through the contractions once he’d left the room. When she hadn’t asked questions, I convinced myself it was my ignorance that had made me think there was something wrong, but my fears rose again when the doctor was still absent some fifteen minutes later.
Between contractions as we waited there were pockets of normality where Grace and I discussed some practical plans for after our daughter was born, but as time went on I became increasingly frustrated and a nagging doubt grew at the back of my mind the longer he took to return.
Watching Grace continue to suffer made my chest tight, heightening my awareness of every breath I took. I’d never suffered from anxiety, but I recognized this was probably what was going on, given how useless I felt. I was used to controlling situations not being controlled.
Reflecting on everything I’d witnessed since arriving at the hospital, the only positives were the baby’s steady heartbeat and with each contraction, although agony for Grace, it meant we were one step closer to the birth of our precious baby .
When the door to our room slowly cracked open, the doctor stepped inside. The reluctant way he dragged his feet toward the bed almost freaked me out. I sensed hesitancy and dread in his presence. Gone was the chirpy, suave, and extremely self-assured authoritarian, and in his place was a young, dejected looking character who was almost unrecognizable as the same man.
I felt an aura of humility instead of how the doctor usually commanded respect, and there something else about his mood I couldn’t define in that moment.
As he lowered himself gently onto the bed, the door opened again, and the nurse who’d been attending to Grace reentered the room. I felt her reluctance to be present and her gaze fell to the floor.
Sitting silently we waited for Grace’s contraction to ebb away. My heartbeat pounded in fear while I watched Dr Ken draw several deep breaths.
A couple of times he swallowed roughly and closed his eyes as if what he needed to say was somehow painful for him and highly significant for us.
Frustration and anguish clashed in my gut, knotting it tight and I dug deep to find patience I never knew I possessed until that moment; either that or it was the unparalleled level of fear for our future which, until then, had prevented me from speaking out.
“What is it?” I eventually asked when the wait finally overwhelmed me.
Staring worriedly at me, it felt like an age before the young doctor found his courage, blinked, and took a deep breath. From the anticipation in those seconds, I knew he had no comforting words in what he needed to tell us.
Scanning the room for everything tangible to our situation, all I could see were the monitors that showed how Grace and the baby were coping; from what the nurse had explained before nothing had changed. When yet another contraction tailed off, Grace smiled reassuringly to me then again toward the doctor and the nurse.
Suddenly I noticed how young the nurse appeared and how upset she looked. My heart almost tore from my chest with a wave of fear and anticipation, and I instinctively knew whatever they had to say was going to change us.
While I silently prayed for everything to be okay, the door unexpectedly opened again and a small balding man stepped inside.
Initially I thought he may have been the pediatrician; dressed in his green scrubs. I have no idea why, perhaps because my mind wasn’t willing to acknowledge the unspoken truth, that there was something wrong.
Standing next to the nurse, the new member of the medical team also avoided my gaze. I was about to ask who he was when Dr. Ken cleared his throat and caught my attention again.
“Grace,” he said to gain her focus.
Looking nervously to me, he said her name again. “Grace, Cole…” He paused and swallowed audibly, his hesitancy made my heart beat erratically.
Inside my head I screamed for him to spit out whatever was wrong, as my heart tried to ignore the signs of concern I had seen in his eyes. Blood whooshed rapidly through my ears, and I wished it could have been loud enough to drown out any potentially bad news. I was already in shock and I had yet to learn why.
Grace’s pain-filled eyes went wide with alarm at his assertive tone, her gaze switching from me to the doctor then back to me. My hand automatically sought hers and I gripped it tight.
“When I examined you, Grace, I saw something of concern. There are some changes in your cervix, and I’ve sent some slides to the laboratory and now we wait for the expert’s opinion.”
“What is it? What’s wrong? Does she need antibiotics? Surgery? God, is the baby infected or something?” My rapid questions came without filter or any thought for how Grace was feeling. The look of concern on the doctor’s face ramped up my distress.
“At this point, I wouldn’t be willing to hazard a guess.” He stopped talking and stared blankly at Grace who was interrupted by another contraction.
At first, I thought she hadn’t heard him because she continued to breathe through her pain as she had with all the others, then I realized the doctor was waiting for her to finish. What the hell could be wrong? She’s been fine apart from these twinges.
Fighting my impulse to question him further, I waited for Grace to focus because we both needed to be informed. When the contraction subsided, my wife stared fearfully at her doctor.
“Grace, because you’re in established labor our priority is to help you to deliver your baby. This means we need to take you to the operating room straightaway. Your progress appears okay at present, but a vaginal birth is not an option. Your baby will become distressed if we leave it much longer.”
“What?” My sharp, loud response startled the doctor as I tried to absorb the worrying situation we suddenly faced. Anguish dragged me to my feet.
“What do you think it is? Why can’t she have a vaginal delivery?” Ignoring me, the doctor focused his attention on Grace. “What’s wrong with her cervix? Grace had an examination at the start of her pregnancy, right, Baby?” I persisted, turning to look to her for reassurance.
Grace’s eyes grew wide, but she frowned and went into the throes of another contraction before she could say anything. The contractions had changed and appeared to be almost continuous.
“Her test came back normal,” I added, looking back to the doctor but he didn’t reply. Panic set in and my heart began throwing out crazy arrhythmic beats in distress as my breathing became shallow and faster. This can’t be happening. “Did you hear me?” I probed again.
The helpless look the doctor gave me crushed me. “You’re right. Grace was screened, and the results were normal at that time,” he confirmed quietly. “But I’m asking you to trust me, Grace can’t deliver normally.”
No. No. NO! A tight band of pressure squeezed my brain until I thought I’d have a stroke. All my reasoning fought for me not to accept what he’d stated. As a result, the pressing tension made me feel as if my skull was going to explode.
“Is this why she’s been in so much pain lately?” I enquired, eyeing him carefully.
“It’s entirely possible the cell changes were still at undetectable levels when Grace was screened, but yes, undoubtedly it would have caused her pain.”
“Cell changes?” The anguish in my voice was apparent.
“I’m so sorry we don’t have time for further explanations until after we operate. Our priority is to make Grace comfortable right now and to ensure your baby is born safely. The only way to do this is with emergency surgery.”
I could have continued to force the issue because Grace and I needed an explanation; but in terms of prioritizing the immediate situation, the doctor was right. Grace had to be helped to bring our baby into the world and everything else had to wait. I figured once the baby was born we’d be in a better position to investigate where to get help to make Grace well again.
“Stay strong, Baby, we’ll get through this. Trust me, we’re going to find out what’s going on with you and get the best guys in the business to fix it.”
As I rambled on, spouting meaningless words in my efforts to make Grace feel safe, she focused her energy on her labor pains and the safe delivery of our daughter. Not once from when Dr. Ken gave us this news until she was ready for the operating room, did Grace break down, show distress, or ask any questions.
“Let’s get on with what needs to be done,” Grace stated to Dr. Ken in an expressionless tone. She sounded as if she had detached herself from everyone else in the room.
The moment Grace gave her consent to the surgical procedure, the nurse and the other guy in scrubs, whom I learned was the anesthesiologist, moved in and prepared my courageously calm girl for the operating room.
As the birth was an emergency procedure and the baby still premature, Grace was given the steroid shot for our daughter’s lungs, and with no time for anything other than a full general anesthetic, I wasn’t allowed to stay with her for the birth of our baby.
As they wheeled her through the operating room doors, I held Grace’s hand, bent down and kissed her. Smoothing her hair, I forced a soft smile as my worried eyes met hers and my heartbeat battered erratically in denial .
“Stay strong, beautiful. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you wake up. I love you so much. Forget everything else and concentrate on you and our baby. Don’t worry, we’ll work out the rest.”
Too choked to say anything else, I stood up straight and watched them wheel her inside the room and I tried not to cry. Bawling was the last thing I wanted to do when Grace was being so brave.
Pain seared through my body as I watched my world lying helpless on the gurney. Holding my breath, I waited until the sound of the heavy operating room door clicked shut and I fell to my knees on the floor.
I was still in the same position when my tears had dried and I continued to stare at the single dark mark on the wall. With my mind back in the present, I still struggled to make sense of the grim expression on the doctor’s face and how he avoided expanding on what was wrong with my wife.
We came to the hospital to have a baby, to be a family. Being left alone in a corridor with more questions than answers wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Why would the doctor refuse to comment on what he suspected, yet act with such certainty regarding the surgery for Grace? How could emergency surgery pose less of a risk to her and our baby?
Every minute I waited for news felt excruciatingly long. As I sat there undisturbed, I willed someone to come out and find me; to tell me Grace and our baby were perfectly fine, and to say that the doctor was wrong.