Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
T rue to her word, two weeks later Harper had set up a meeting with two midwives from a place called the Riverside Birthing Center.
I still had reservations, but kept my thoughts to myself, because I figured if I was going to counter her decision, I should at least hear her out.
The midwives visited when Layla was at kindergarten, and it was obvious from the start, Harper had filled them in about my thoughts and feelings. As the story had been extensively covered in the news and media, none of it was confidential anyway.
Karen, the older and more senior of the two midwives, initially did most of the talking. She was friendly, and from the conversation she sounded caring and kind.
My immediate thoughts were Harper doesn’t need caring and kind or friendly, she needed a medical activist with serious skills, capable of springing into action. Glancing at the plump middle-aged woman again, I didn’t get the vibe she did anything much in a hurry.
The other midwife, Natasha, was younger, more agile looking, and she began talking about ultrasound scanning, and monitoring Harper through a series of appointments. When she charted the growth of the baby and ensured Harper’s blood work was normal, I relaxed a little. From then on, their service had begun to sound more like the regular examinations Grace had been given at the doctor’s office.
“By giving Harper continuity of care by the same person, we can often detect if anything falls out of what we regard as normal. In those cases, we’d refer her to her obstetrician for care.
“How often does this happen?”
“In a woman of Harper’s health maybe one in a hundred.”
“What kind of conditions would they be referred for?”
“It may be if blood work changes, or the baby’s growth slows down, or if blood pressure problems occur, to name a few examples. We deal with women who are healthy, and because of this, we can identify most issues before they become emergencies. We don’t take chances, Cole. We’re a professional, highly-trained service for women.”
Natasha nodded. “We would ensure Harper has her baby in a comfortable place where she feels safe and supported by people she has built a relationship with and she trusts. Research has shown when women feel psychologically supported, they are more in control of their pain and their birth is a more positive experience.”
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked them both.
“Twenty-seven years certified,” Karen replied with a smile.
“Eleven,” Natasha offered.
Dr. Ken had been an obstetrician for six years, and the two women in front of me had two degrees and thirty years on him at least, yet I continued to question their abilities.
“How many babies have you lost?”
“Cole!” Harper admonished.
“What? I think that’s a fair question since the hospital is about five miles from here.”
“One,” Karen replied honestly.
“See that’s one too many,” I replied, pointing at her before running my hand through my hair.
“I think if you directed the same question to any obstetrician this figure would be much higher. They deal with more medical cases. What I’m saying is if any doctor gets involved with our women, it’s because they already have a complication.
“The mom in question, who lost her child, refused our advice to deliver in the hospital in the first place. She was determined to give birth at home when we had already advised her a home delivery wasn’t in the best interests of her or her baby.”
“And if Harper does this, you’d be referring her to someone?”
“Harper already has an obstetrician. We simply inform him this is the route Harper wishes to take.”
“What if I want the doctor tagging along in the background?”
“Absolutely, but that would depend on whether he was willing to be here for her labor. It’s really not necessary, but if it will give you more confidence, of course you can ask. We wouldn’t ask for their assistance unless there was an issue.”
“Fine. If you’ve got your heart set on having this baby at home, then I’m going to make sure if something goes wrong we can get you help as quickly as humanly possible.”
Frustration passed through Harper’s eyes, but she shrugged and remained silent. She’d won her battle, but the emotional war going on in my head was far from over.
After the challenging questions were posed, the midwives explained how it all worked, and an hour after they’d arrived, they left with a rudimentary birthing plan in place to support Harper.
“Thank you, Cole. This really does mean a lot to me.”
“You, Layla, and this baby mean the world to me, so this is a tough negotiation,” I countered.
“You’ll get used to the idea,” she started to say, then she clutched at her baby bump. My heart sank to my stomach like a heavy lead weight.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked urgently, suddenly petrified at seventeen weeks something had gone wrong. My heart raced so fast it triggered tiny electrical charges pinging around inside my body, making me feel lightheaded. The metallic taste in my mouth made me feel sick as I fought off the urge to panic.
“I think I felt the baby move,” she murmured quietly, her eyes were big and round, and her mouth circular and wide to match them in surprise. For a second my heart skipped a beat, and it should have been a moment to cherish, but the enormity of my anguish took yet another step toward the day I couldn’t wish was over safely fast enough.
With Harper’s swollen belly, I could no longer pretend in my head nothing was changing, but as she was carrying our child differently to Grace’s front bump, and with Harper’s preference for loose clothing, she was less noticeably expecting until it was almost time for her scan.
When my hands skated over her stomach, or I held her by the hips, her figure felt fuller, but these changes were most notable for the first time when I was brushing my teeth and Harper came into the bathroom.
I glanced at her over my shoulder as she leaned on the bathroom door, then turned back to rinse out my mouth. As I was straightening up from the sink, I caught the sight of the obvious neat bulge in her belly and I stopped moving. A wave of anxiety gripped me as the reality of seeing my baby growing inside my girl overwhelmed me again.
No matter how ridiculous I tried to tell myself my fears were; they remained imbedded in my mind. The chances of Grace dying like that were millions to one, yet she had. This point kept me from discarding it from ever happening again.
As part of my psyche involved a great deal of self-preservation, I found I couldn’t let myself go all in and be excited like Layla and Harper were… like everyone else around me was.
It wasn’t until Harper was twenty weeks along that our situation turned a corner. Our ever-vigilant little princess, Layla, knew that by then there was a good chance the baby could now hear some sounds inside Harper’s belly.
Observing how Layla interacted by constantly chatting and trying to share her earbuds with our unborn baby by tucking one into Harper’s belly button, my heart squeezed at how she loved this baby already, and it finally sank in I was missing out.
At the time, we were all sitting on the sofa with our feet stretched out on the coffee table and I suddenly reached across and gently smoothed my huge palm protectively over our growing baby bump. Feeling the solid little bundle growing inside Harper made my chest and throat tighten with emotion.
“You have to hear this, it’s my favorite song,” Layla coaxed as she glanced up at me and smirked wickedly. “If you’re going to live with me, we can sing it together and drive Daddy nuts because he hates it,” she gloated sadistically, with her mouth almost touching Harper’s stomach as she mumbled conspiratorially.
The whole Frozen movie soundtrack drove me crazy, so I wasn’t sure which one she was referring to, but I chuckled that she was recruiting her unborn sibling to wind me up.
Harper immediately turned her head in my direction, her eyes narrowed, as she gauged my response. “Scan tomorrow,” she murmured encouragingly. Like I’d forgotten.
“I know, it’s been on my mind,” I confessed, and she smiled, placing her warm soft hand over mine on her belly to keep it in place. I spread my fingers wider—more protectively—and it was the first time I had shown any obvious affection to physically acknowledge our baby to her.
I was fine so long as we were living in the ‘now’ talking to Harper about the pregnancy, but there were still things neither of us were saying, like what if something went wrong? When I had to speak with anyone else about her condition, it gave me the jitters.
Being physically involved took effort, as my mind was still blocking events around my nightmare scenario first time around. To some I’m sure I sounded ridiculous, but trauma is trauma.
Harper’s opinion was the only one that counted, and I was making small steps each day to push over the invisible line between my past and my present.
After I let myself go and showed real interest, it was like a dam had broken and I couldn’t have been more focused on every aspect of our baby’s development.
Layla’s innocent excitement toward the pending arrival humbled me, and although I’d been carefully observing how Harper was coping, I knew my somewhat standoffish behavior had failed to make her feel attractive. This wasn’t because I hadn’t thought she was; it was more of a case of burying my head in the sand.
The morning of the scan, my nerves were frayed, and I had found myself having quite regular conversations with God about what this would mean to me if he let us catch a break with our results.
My mom said prayers always came in handy—something I didn’t believe in when faced with Grace’s sudden and rapid illness—but I figured anything I could do to create a positive vibe was worth a try.
As the sonogram technician set Harper up on the table, the lights were dimmed, and I wiped my sweaty palms before clutching Harper’s hand. Watching with a racing heart as blue translucent gel was applied to her belly, I took a deep breath and tried to look relaxed for Harper’s sake.
The blank screen transformed immediately when the transducer spread the gel across Harper’s bump, and we saw our baby’s little gray, grainy form appear on the screen. My heartbeat stalled for a second at the sound our baby’s strong, steady heartbeat and my breath caught in my throat.
Harper squeezed my hand tight, drawing my gaze from the screen to her eyes, and her wondrous smile made me swallow hard. My eyes filled to the brim with tears and I blinked, letting them fall one after another. It was a totally unexpected reaction, but one I couldn’t control.
“Is everything okay?” I asked nervously, wiping tears from my eyes with my sleeve, both eager and reluctant in equal measure to be reassured, and Harper squeezed my hand again.
“Isn’t this beautiful?” she asked, and I almost missed her question because the rapid volume of blood rushing through my ears distracted me.
“Baby’s doing perfectly. Length, abdominal circumference, head circumference, heart and heart rate are all within normal range.” My shoulders instantly slumped in relief and I realized how tense I had been. Harper squeezed my hand again.
“You okay?” I nodded, too choked to speak .
Switching to the 3D scan, I marveled at technology and concentrated on taking in the features of our baby’s face on the screen. My heart squeezed again, and I looked at Harper who was staring at the screen, tears streaming down her face and grinning widely. “Wow,” she whispered, turning to look at me.
The love in her curious eyes threatened to overwhelm me again, and I swallowed past another lump in my throat. Bending down, I kissed my girl softly on her lips as her hand automatically cupped my cheek. The affection in her gaze made my heart swell with love, and I thought what a truly remarkable woman she was to have put up with all the different sides of me she’d witnessed during the time she’d known me.
“Would you like to know the sex of the baby?” My eyes snapped to the technician then back to Harper.
“No. We’ll love it no matter what it is,” Harper quickly replied.
The attendant replaced the transducer back in a cradle at the side of the machine and cleaned Harper’s belly, then I helped her pull her clothing back in place and eased her up to stand.
As we left the scanning room, she tugged on my hand and we ground to a halt. “You did great in there, Cole. I’m so proud of you. We’re halfway there and everything’s going to be okay.” I smiled, grateful for her encouraging words and a little embarrassed that I’d felt so weak before.
Pulling her close, I rubbed my hand gently over her belly through her dress and Harper instantly smiled. “I love you so much, Baby. Thank you for being so brave for the both of us. Your strength is incredible, and I know it’s been hard for you at times, but I promise I’m trying to be a better man.”
“You’re doing just fine as you are, Cole. You’re the man I fell in love with, and I’d rather have you with all your honest flaws, than a man with no feelings. Your past is bound to have shaped you. If anything, I’d probably be more worried if we were sailing through this and you were blocking it all out.”
Waving the small envelope with the 3D and other scan pictures in it, Harper’s eyes brightened and a grin spread over her face. “Come on, I can’t wait to share these with Layla. What’s the bet that as soon as she sees them, the first thing she’ll say is ‘Oh look, our baby has ears’?”
We both laughed heartily, and I pulled her into my side, gave her an affectionate peck on her forehead, and we made our way back to the car. Hope rose inside me for the first time since I learned she was expecting our new baby.