Chapter Forty-two
Regan
Pumping is strange. And not at all the intimate experience I was hoping for. The plastic bottle doesn’t grip my finger while taking nourishment from my body. The motorized buzzing is not the soft suckling sound I find myself craving.
I can’t wait to hold Mitchell in my arms and nurse him.
When I gaze at the empty chair next to the bed, remembering how Lucas was looking at me, I start crying for no reason at all.
Lola gobbles down a piece of sushi and pats my arm. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” I sniff. “I mean, I guess so.” My chest heaves as my eyes are glued to the chair. “How am I going to do this alone? What was I thinking? I don’t know how to raise a kid and run a business at the same time.”
“I’m confused,” Lola says, glancing between me and the door. “Aren’t you two…?”
“No.” I cry harder. “We’re doing this together, but we’re not together .”
“Oh.” She checks the pump and removes it from my right breast. “I guess I just thought with the way you guys looked at each other…”
I swallow. “Wh-what do you mean?”
She shrugs. “Well, it just seemed obvious that you guys were a couple.”
I laugh snottily. “We’re not. We never have been. We’re friends. Good friends. But… Oh my god, why am I crying? This is ridiculous. I never cry like this.”
“It’s the hormones.”
My eyes snap to hers. “I thought all that crap was done as soon as I delivered.”
She looks mildly amused. “Quite the opposite. After childbirth there is a dramatic drop in the estrogen and progesterone in your body. There also may be a sharp drop in hormones produced by your thyroid gland. All of that can lead to emotional mood swings, sluggishness, even depression.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you read anything about the postpartum period?”
“No.” I cover my face with my hands. My shoulders shake with more uncontrolled sobbing. “I… I just thought everything would go back to the way it was.” I glance at the chair again. “Or… something.”
Her hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. Some of it may be real. Some of it not. But for most people, the ‘baby blues,’ as they call it, will go away within a few weeks. So by the time you and Mitchell head home, you could be ready to conquer the world.”
Ready to conquer the world.
With a baby.
By myself.
The door swings open. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.
Lucas rushes to the side of the bed. “Regan, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Something about hormones and mood swings. Lola said it’s all perfectly normal. I’ll be fine.”
He stares at me and pushes a piece of errant hair behind my ear. The way his fingers sweep against my cheek almost has me breaking down in sobs again.
“Can I go see him now?” I ask Lola.
“If you can make it to the bathroom and back without help, I’ll let you go without the wheelchair.”
“Deal.”
My legs feel a little funny when I get up, like I haven’t walked on them for a while, and when I pee— geesh! —it stings like a mother.
Afterward, I look at myself in the mirror. Bad idea. I need a shower. And makeup. And maybe ice packs for these huge bags under my eyes.
“I’m a total wreck,” I say, emerging from the bathroom.
Lucas hands me the plush new robe his mother, Sarah, gave me. He grins. “You look like a mom.” I look up to meet his gaze and our eyes connect like they did right after Mitchell was born. “Beautiful,” he whispers.
How can he even think that? I’m fat and ugly, I have blood and mucus coming out of me, and I basically look like the living dead.
Lola is standing directly behind him, her eyebrow cocked whimsically, grin on her face.
“I… you’re crazy.”
“I’m not crazy,” he says. “You’re glowing.”
I roll my eyes and ask Lola, “Did I pass the test?”
She motions toward the door. “You know the way.” Then she picks up the tiny vials of milk or whatever. “I’ll get these to the NICU. Thanks for the sushi.”
Lucas holds the door open. On our way to see Mitchell, he takes my elbow as if to steady me. “Mom just left. She’ll be back tomorrow. Everyone else is wondering when they can see you. Maddie, Ava, Ryder. Your other friends. They know they can’t see Mitchell, but they were hoping to visit. Can I tell them to stop by tomorrow?”
“I’ll be with Mitchell.”
“You can’t sit with him all day every day.”
“Says who?”
“You’re going to need breaks, Regan. He sleeps most of the time. Even if he were at home with us…” He shifts his hold on my arm. “I mean at home with you or at home with me.” He sighs. “Even then, he’d sleep a lot and we wouldn’t be hovering over him twenty-four seven.”
I nod. “You’re right. I guess they can come tomorrow.”
“Are you excited to see him?”
“So excited. Have I missed anything? Did he roll over yet?”
He laughs heartily. “Well, you know, the Nighthawks are already recruiting him for shortstop.”
I feel a smile splitting my face. How is it that I always feel better when Lucas is around? The smile falls, because in a day or two, he won’t be around. He won’t be around when I wake up. When I break down. When I need anything. When I need… him .
“Here we are.”
My heart pounds excitedly as I wash my hands. I’m going to see Mitchell. My baby. My son. Before I can stop it, tears start streaming down my cheek.
“What is it?” Lucas asks.
“I just can’t believe I’m a mom.”
He cups my face and wipes my tears with his thumbs. “I know. I’m the same way. Earlier, I nodded off in the chair by your bed and when I came to, it was like I’d forgotten for a second. But then, wham! It hit me and kind of took the wind out of me. I’m a dad. You’re a mom. We’re parents.” He shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”
His hands fall away. I miss them. I miss them more than I want to admit.
A nurse comes out to scan our ID bracelets, then we go through the doors. The last time I was in here, I was in a wheelchair. My mind was all over the place. All I could think about was seeing Mitchell. But now that I’m up and walking, I notice things I didn’t. Like what I can only assume is a micro-preemie who is barely even there, tubes and wires overtaking the entire body. A tiny mask over the eyes. I cover my mouth. “Oh my god.”
“That’s Sam and Kendall Willis’s daughter. She was born last week at twenty-seven weeks.”
I continue to stare at the miniscule human, wondering how it’s possible a baby that small can even survive. When I arrive at Mitchell’s incubator, he suddenly seems so much larger, even though he himself is so small.
A nurse I’ve never seen before comes over and introduces herself. “I’m Kayla. You must be Regan. Your husband told me all about you.”
“Um… what?” Lucas hems and haws. “We’re not… she’s not…”
“We’re just friends,” I say.
Lucas sighs heavily beside me, probably relieved the pretty nurse knows the truth now.
“I’m sorry,” Kayla says. “I’m fairly new here. And to Calloway Creek. I just assumed by the way he spoke about you. Anyway, are you ready to hold him? He’s a cutie.”
Before I can register what she said about Lucas, an alarm sounds. Unlike when I was here before, it’s not behind us, or on the other side of the room. It’s right here. It’s Mitchell’s alarm. My heart goes into overdrive. Something is wrong.
Kayla immediately goes into action. She reaches into Mitchell’s incubator, puts a hand on him, and shakes slightly. My feet almost go out from under me. I stop breathing. Arms come around me, holding me up.
The alarm stops, but my heart doesn’t start. And I feel like I might vomit.
“What’s happening?” Lucas asks, horror lacing his words.
“It’s okay,” Kayla says. She touches my arm. “He’s okay. Look, he’s even awake now.”
My hand comes to my chest as I stare at his open eyes. “But… what happened?”
“He stopped breathing for a sec—”
Lucas’s grip tightens on me. “He stopped breathing?” he exclaims, pulling the words straight from my brain.
“Oh my god!” I cry.
“Breathe, Mom,” Kayla says. “It’s not uncommon for this to happen with preemies. It’s called an A & B episode. That stands for apnea and bradycardia. It’s where they temporarily stop breathing and experience a slowed heart rate. We call them ‘spells’ here.”
I reach out and touch the plastic side of the incubator. “Has he had one before?”
“No.”
“Will it happen again?” Lucas asks.
“Hard to say. Maybe, maybe not. His nervous system isn’t mature yet. That can lead to irregular breathing patterns. But you can see all it took was a light shake, just a little gentle stimulation, to get him back on track. The doctor will discuss it in more detail, but that’s the gist of it.”
“What if it happens when he’s at home?” My chest seizes. “Could he just die in his crib?”
“First, it’s unlikely that will happen. Second, he won’t be allowed to leave the NICU until he’s gone five days without a spell.” She sees the tears pooled in my eyes. “Regan, it’s okay. That’s why he’s here and hooked up to the monitors.”
Lucas’s arm is wrapped tightly around me. He squeezes my shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s okay. Look at him. He’s perfect.”
My heartbeat slowly returns to normal as I watch Mitchell’s little hand twitch. As I see the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Can I even hold him now?”
Kayla reaches in to prep him. “It’s preferable that you do. Babies respond very well to touch.”
He’s placed in my arms for only the second time in his short life. I want to squeeze him against me and never let him go.
Kayla pulls over a rolling stool for Lucas and he sits at my side, reaching over to touch various parts of our son.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Kayla says. “I’ll be close if you need me.”
I’m not sure how long we sit and stare at Mitchell. We watch as his little eyes flutter open and closed. As he squirms just a bit, like even those small movements are a lot for him. As he sleeps. As he breathes.
Hours later, I can’t keep my eyes open despite my earlier nap.
“Come on,” Lucas says. “You need sleep. I’ll get you settled and come back and sit with him.”
He calls Kayla over and she puts Mitchell back. I gaze into his incubator saying a silent goodbye.
It’s almost midnight when we get back to my room. I pee again and get into bed. I can’t help it when the waterworks start again. “What if… what if it happens again and that was the last time I ever see him?”
Lucas takes my hand. “That is not going to happen.”
“But you can’t be sure. Lucas, our baby almost just died.”
He tenses and his shoulders shake. He’s trying to hold it together for me, but like me, he’s about to fall apart.
“How can I fall asleep knowing he could stop breathing?” I ask through my tears. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep.”
“You have to. For him. You’ll be no good to him if you aren’t rested.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Can I try something?”
I shrug.
He drops my hand, crosses the room, turns out all the lights, then gets up on the bed. “Scoot over a bit,” he says.
“But Mitchell needs you.”
“You need me too, Regan. Please.”
I scoot over and he settles in next to me. He wraps an arm around me, and instinctively, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I nestle my head into his shoulder.
“I’m here for you, Regan. You and Mitchell.” I can feel the wind of his voice through my hair. His face is tucked against my head. He kisses me. “I’m here for you.”
I cry in his arms. I cry for Mitchell. I cry for myself. I cry for the man whose very arms surround me like those of a husband. A lover. A life partner. And I cry knowing he’ll never be any of those.
And as his steadfast arms envelop me, I realize this big, strong, virile man is crying too.