33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jane
I jolted awake when the phone rang. Noting the caller was Mike and it was after midnight, my heart took a flying leap as I swiped up the green phone icon. “Hello?” I asked with panic in my voice.
“They’re taking Meg in for an emergency cesarean.”
“I’m on my way.” I put the phone on speaker and sprang out of bed while tugging my nightgown over my head. “Is she in the OR now?”
“No, they’re trying to get her blood pressure to come down first…and Meg wants Dr. Sandy to be here.”
I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “Okay.” I’d rehearsed this a dozen times in my head. “I’ll just take Maya out to go potty, then I’ll be in the car. See you in an hour and fifteen.”
“Thanks,” he said, hanging up.
Shit, shit, shit! Zachary needs to stay in his mama’s belly for at least two more weeks!
I don’t remember my feet hitting the stairs as I dashed down to take care of the little dog. I think maybe two minutes had passed by the time I put her in the pen I’d set up with wee-wee pads. Bob was on call to come over and feed her, but I wouldn’t bother him until morning.
I drove across the Mississippi River traveling ten miles per hour over the speed limit, but I’d only seen two other cars on the road and I was pretty sure no one was adhering to thirty-five. After crossing into Minnesota, I sped onto the Interstate watching the signs to Rochester, but no matter how much I put my foot down, I wasn’t going fast enough.
When I saw police lights on the east-bound side of the road, I looked at my speedometer—ninety-five miles per hour. I forced myself to slow down and set the cruise control to seventy-five, white-knuckling it and leaning forward as if doing so would make the car go faster.
The worst part was my emotions took over and I nearly hyperventilated with worry. Why had our entire world started to crumble around us? Why couldn’t the doctors control Meg’s blood pressure? I prayed for a miracle, hoping that Zachary could stay inside his mom for a few weeks longer. Even one more week would help!
As soon as I reached Moya’s birthing center, I zipped into rockstar parking. I grabbed my purse and ran straight to the desk, my ridiculous head deciding this was a good time to be dizzy. “My daughter is having an emergency cesarean!”
Obviously, they dealt with hysterical grandmothers-to-be all the time because the receptionist was not only very professional, she gave me a name tag and explicit instructions on where to go. “They’re waiting for you,” she added as I hastened away.
Waiting? Why were they waiting?
As soon as I pushed into the hospital room, I was shocked to see both Meg and Mike there. “What’s going on?” I asked, planting my palm on the counter to steady myself and catch my breath.
“The orderlies are coming to get me now.” Meg opened her arms and I fell into her embrace. “My blood pressure has come down a little and I wanted to wait until Dr. Sandy arrived.”
“She’s here?” I asked.
“They said she’s on her way and it’s time for me to be prepped. God, Mom, I thought I was going to have another dissection.” Meg’s eyes filled with fear. “They’re going to put me under a general.”
“Why?” I asked.
“My blood pressure is out of control, I have all the signs of pre-eclampsia, add gestational diabetes, and Dr. Sandy thinks it’s the safest option.”
“Knock, knock,” said an orderly from the doorway.
“Just one minute.” Meg gave me her purse. “In here are letters I’ve written in case I don’t—” She couldn’t finish her sentence, but by the way my blood turned cold, I knew exactly why she’d written them.
I cleared my throat and steeled my nerves. “I will take care of your purse, but you are going to come through this like a champion. Remember your appendicitis?”
Meg nodded, her eyes filled with fear. “Yeah.”
“You got through that without a single problem, and you’re going to be fine. You’re going to hold your baby in your arms, and you’ll be the best mother on the planet.” I squeezed her tight. She was alive and vibrant and I could not imagine this world without her. I refused to accept anything else.
Could not for one second allow myself to think about the worst.
“Hey, you’re fifty percent me.” I did my best not to choke up. “I’ve beaten the odds and have lived a great life. I’m nearly thirty years older than you and there’s absolutely nothing that says you can’t raise your son to become a good man and live to see your grandchildren.”
She hugged me back, her face radiantly beautiful and filled with as much courage as a Spartan facing Xerxes in the Battle of Thermopylae. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Are you ready?” asked the orderly.
Meg squeezed my hand. “They’re going to let Mike wait just outside the OR so he can take care of the baby while Dr. Sandy is sewing me up.”
This scene reminded me so much of the day I gave birth to Margaret, yet it was incredibly different as well. Back then, they had no idea that I would rupture my uterus and nearly bleed out. With Meg they were acting with utmost care. They had a solid plan. There would be a team of doctors and nurses on hand to make sure she didn’t bleed excessively.
God dammit, my daughter was going to survive!
No matter how strong my confidence, I could not deny the dread gripping my chest. Meg was only twenty-eight weeks pregnant. Oh, God!
All I could do was sit and pray as the clock on the wall loudly ticked away the minutes. I was completely alone in a huge waiting room. One corner contained a child-sized table and chairs and toys. There was a reception desk, but the lights were out and the seats empty. It was strange how in the middle of the night, a facility as large as this seemed to be utterly abandoned. Sure, occasionally the big double doors leading to the operating rooms opened and a person wearing scrubs would glance my way before vanishing again.
There was a monitor on the wall that indicated a surgery was in progress. Only one, but I could tell there usually were multiple procedures going on at once.
Occasionally, the elevators down the hall would ding. From where I sat I couldn’t see the doors .
They had told me the baby would be sent to the NICU, but that only the parents were allowed up there. When the big doors to the OR whooshed open, I looked up in time to see Mike following two nurses pushing an incubator. They weren’t exactly running, but they were moving quickly.
Mike waved—I think happily, but he was wearing a mask and I couldn’t see his smile. I hopped to my feet and followed, but the elevator dinged and they all disappeared behind the shiny silver doors. The numbers above rose until they stopped on the seventh floor, the intensive care unit for infants, a place off limits to grandmothers.
I felt so helpless—like I was stranded in a glass bubble without being able to hear or ask anything. My breathing sped as I turned in a circle and walked to the doors leading to the OR, looking through the glass pane for another human being—anyone who could tell me what was going on. Was my daughter still in surgery?
I hadn’t realized the elevator numbers had descended when it dinged again and a nurse stepped out. “Are you here for Margaret Corely?”
Someone was actually acknowledging my presence? I nodded emphatically. “I’m her mother. Is she okay? Is the baby okay?”
“She’s doing great and your grandson is on his way up to the NICU. I’m the recovery nurse. They just called me. Would you like to come in once she’s awake?”
I gripped my hands against my stomach. Thank God, Meg was heading to recovery! “Please, thank you.”
“I’ll send someone to get you when she’s ready.”
My phone buzzed with a text from Mike: 2lbs 8oz, airways clear!
Now I knew I was blessed. Zachary was breathing and in excellent hands. Meg had been moved to the recovery room.
Thank you, God!
My little girl and her awesome fiancé were starting a family. They might be doing things a little backward, but my daughter sure got this one right.