Chapter 39 The Boys
Davey
How women managed to evict children from their bodies I didn’t understand, but Eva was a warrior.
She gave birth in an operating room—a precaution for the twins—and didn’t bat an eye at the two-dozen people present.
Our goal was to deliver two premature babies into the world.
We all silently prayed for strong lungs and a healthy mom.
Eva’s normal argumentative, demanding side didn’t come out.
I worried her quiet demeanor signaled something was wrong.
By instinct, Eva preserved the energy her body needed to expel two humans, aware it was a marathon, not a sprint.
I focused on her cues and beat down my squeamishness.
There were so many germs and things that could go wrong, but I couldn’t worry about those problems. They didn’t matter.
I dabbed her forehead with a cold washcloth.
I held her legs as she pushed, and I quietly encouraged her.
Sensing too much hubbub would annoy Eva, I kept my voice quiet and calm.
“Just a few more pushes,” the doctor said. “You can do this!”
“You’ve got it, baby,” I said. “Just a couple more.”
Eva dug deeper, giving over to her competitive side.
What might take a mortal three pushes, took her only one.
The silence in the room faded as two neonatologists took over, shepherding the baby to an incubator.
I expected a cry but got nothing. I saw only a flash of him—no face, no adorable feet.
They worked tirelessly to stabilize him.
Thankfully, the nurse at Eva’s head had words of wisdom.
“He’s doing well. They are getting him ready to transfer. Not every baby cries.”
Eva nodded. “But he’s okay?”
A doctor called, “I promise he’s doing well. We’ll let you get a good look at him soon enough.”
Eva nodded bravely.
“We need to flip this baby. It may be uncomfortable with lots of pressure,” another doctor said. “But it will be quick.”
Eva had been so brave to this point, but the feeling of them rolling the baby around in a belly that just pushed one baby out seemed brutish. She gripped my hand for dear life. I watched the doctor grimace as an alarm sounded.
“What is happening?” I asked, nervously.
“We need to do an emergency c-section,” the doctor said, as if it were simple.
“What? Why?” I panicked.
“Baby’s heart rate is dipping. We will get him out,” a nurse said.
Eva shut down. I waited for them to open her up right there. I was rushed into the hall while they put her under. I left the three people I cared most about in a room. Feeling like a coward, I paced, unable to come down.
“Sir,” the nurse said. “It’s okay. These things rarely occur—but they happen. Some babies don’t handle the version well. The doctors are going to get him out quickly.”
“I’m going to miss his cries. What if he cries?” I found myself in tears for the second time this day.
“There will be millions of cries in your future,” she assured. “As soon as they settle the babies in the NICU, I will come get you. The doctor will be out as soon as he can. Is there anyone nearby who can help Eva when she is in recovery?”
I knew I’d have to go with the babies. Eva and I discussed this to death, but we assumed it would be because she’d be having a big dinner weaning off an epidural if the babies needed NICU care and would be along soon after.
We’d made rational choices about rational things, but nothing about this felt rational.
I looked at my phone. “It’s midnight. Her parents live in Indiana and won’t make it.”
“Any friends? Family that would work for now?”
I groaned. “My mother. She’s leaving for Michigan in the morning, but she’s still around.”
Eva
Everything happened so fast. Before I knew it, I’d gone from worried to pleasantly asleep. When I woke, I heard chatter—but no one I expected. I opened my eyes slowly and found myself in a new room—a smaller than where I’d labored. I turned towards the voices and saw a nurse and Lady Danna.
“Oh, there she is,” Davey’s mother said sweetly. “You’re back with us, Eva.”
“Lady Danna… what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Danna, darling. Please. Davey rang me when they swooped you off to surgery. He’s with the boys. They are doing beautifully,” Danna said, proudly.
I smiled. “Good. Both of them?”
“Both of them. Big, strong, healthy thirty-four weekers,” the nurse said. “Both of them are on oxygen, but neither needed a vent. Since they are both over four pounds, their prognosis is as good as can be.”
That was good news. “I feel so dizzy.”
“That is the magnesium,” the nurse said. “It will be okay.”
“I feel so out of sorts.”
“You will—even if the birth was textbook,” Danna said. “I did this six times. It is always challenging and different every time.”
“I’m good for now,” I said. “Considering I failed to do things the way they ‘should’ be the first time.”
“No, darling. You brought two lives into the world. Against all odds, they are thriving. And Davey is there with them. He sent photos. Do you want to see them?”
“Yes, please!”
Danna leaned over, scrolling through the impressive number of photos he sent in the hour he’d been there.
Their faces were obscured some by the cannulas in their noses, but they were beautiful to me. I couldn’t help but cry.
“God damn it,” I sniffled. “They’re perfect. But why the hell do they look like him and him alone?”
“They always do at first,” the nurse said. “It will even out. They’re perfect.”
“God, they are! I did it. I survived and got them here.”
“Let’s give it a little more time and then I will bring you down,” the nurse said. “You can meet them. They have quite the birth story.”
“I’d like to forget the eventful parts,” I sighed.
“I was talking about their birthdays. Robbie was born last night. Technically, Max was born this morning. They have separate birthdays.”
“Really?” I asked. “Oh my God!”
“That’s going to be a nightmare as they get older,” Danna chuckled. “But you’ve got time to worry about that.”
“This is what my body gets for going into labor early and then kicking into full gear.”
“It did a great job. They were just ready to meet you,” Danna said. “Babies come when they want to—not a minute sooner or later.”
Davey
The boys—our boys—were actual perfection.
They’d done nothing so far other than breathe and fuss a little, but they needed to do nothing more to impress us.
I loved them and felt guilty for getting all the quality time with them, but before breakfast, Eva arrived in a wheelchair.
She looked better than expected—if not a bit exhausted.
“There they are,” Eva said, tears in her eyes as a nurse wheeled her over to the incubators. “Our boys.”
“They are doing so well,” I said.
“Who is who?” Eva asked.
“Robbie is on the left. Max is on the right.”
“How can you tell?” Eva snickered. “Is that terrible?”
“They have labels. That’s all. At home, we’re fucked.”
“You will figure it out,” the nurse said. “Nail polish on toes. It will help. Give it a few days. You’ll know. Promise.”
“I hope so,” Eva said. “Damn. They really are carbon copies of one another.”
“From what I can tell, Robbie is the quiet grouch. Max is the loud one. He’s going to be a party animal,” I said.
“So, Robbie is me and Max is you,” she giggled.
“You said it, not me,” I insisted.
“You can hold them if you want,” the nurse said.
“Yes, please!” Eva grinned.
We settled into two rockers, Eva oh-so-gently easing. I didn’t know how a person could have their stomach torn up completely and still be moving within a six-hour period. I was certain I couldn’t do the same. Eva rocked Robbie while I held Max.
“How long do they have to stay?” Eva asked. “I want to bring them home. I’m also terrified to take them home. Is that bad?”
“Totally normal,” the nurse said. “It really depends. Some born at this point stay two weeks and some that stay past their due date. It just depends on the baby. The good news is your boys are big, and their lungs are doing well. We will need them to breathe room air, to regulate their body temps, and eat on their own before we send them home. In about a week, we’ll really want to get them feeding.
If they respond well, we can send them on their merry way. ”
Eva looked down, adoringly. “Can you all give it a good try? I’d like to have you home soon.”
“Hopefully, you have your mother’s iron will,” I noted. “If so, you’ll be home in no time.
Eva gave a sweet smile. It was enough to urge me on. The road would wind. The days would be long, but we’d make it. Stronger than ever before, I knew this was my little family.