Chapter 29 #2
We have to scrub in, and Iskander supports me while I stand to use the sink.
Then we’re on the move again to the room our babies are sharing.
The NICU overwhelms my senses with its careful orchestration of medical technology and human compassion.
Incubators line the walls like transparent cocoons, each one supporting a baby who arrived before their natural time.
Machines hum with life-sustaining rhythms while nurses move between stations.
“Ours are in the private section,” he says as he pushes. “The nurses arranged them so you can see all seven from a central position.” A second later, he hits the button to automatically open the wide door and wheels me in.
The sight of our children makes me tremble with wonder and terror in equal measure.
There are seven perfect babies, impossibly small but unmistakably alive, with each one fighting for growth and strength.
“They’re beautiful.” The words feel inadequate for the miracle before us. “They’re so tiny but so perfect.”
Iskander stands beside my wheelchair with his hand resting on my shoulder, and I feel his amazement matching my own as we study the faces of our children.
Each baby has distinct features despite their early arrival with, unique personalities already emerging through different sleeping positions and movements.
“This one’s definitely the fighter.” The nurse points to Baby A, whose arms move constantly despite medical equipment. “She’s been trying to pull out her feeding tube since arrival.”
I recall she and Baby C, another girl, are the ones breathing on their own, and there’s nothing on her face. “That’s going to be trouble later.” I laugh through tears while imagining the personality that goes with such determination. “What should we call them?”
We spend the next hour assigning names to faces, matching our carefully chosen list with the tiny individuals who will carry those names through life.
Alexei for Baby F, honoring Mikhail’s brother while reclaiming the name from violence.
Henrietta—Etta—for Baby G, after Henri who gave me the first taste of family stability.
“Katarina for Baby A,” Iskander suggests while studying the most active of our daughters. “She looks like someone who will command attention.”
“Aidan for Baby B.” I point to our quietest son, whose peaceful expression suggests a contemplative nature. “And Anastasia for Baby C?”
He nods. “Nikolai for Baby E.” He’s continuing the pattern of Russian names that honor his heritage, so his next choice startles me. “Chloe for Baby D.”
“Chloe? You were picking Russian names.”
He shrugs. “Our babies aren’t purely Russian, and I happen to know it’s your middle name.”
I smile, blinking back tears, and fully satisfied with the seven names we’ve chosen for our children. “Those are perfect.”
“They’re going to be here for several weeks.” A nurse who entered a couple of minutes ago explains NICU protocols while we memorize details of tiny faces. “Every day, they’ll get stronger and more ready for home.”
Harper arrives during our visit, her expression soft with wonder as she encounters the babies she’s helped anticipate through months of pregnancy. She moves quietly between incubators, studying each child with focused attention while introducing herself to each one as Aunt Harper, their godmother.
“They look like both of you.” She settles beside my wheelchair while speaking softly to avoid disturbing sleeping babies. “Especially Etta. She has your bone structure but Iskander’s determined expression. It makes her look constipated,” she pseudo-whispers while sending him a teasing look.
He just smiles. Apparently, nothing can shake his good mood right now.
Timur appears in the doorway about twenty minutes later with obvious discomfort at the emotional intimacy of this moment, but loyalty to Iskander brings him forward despite personal reservations about family sentimentality.
He studies our children with tactical assessment that makes me smile, as if calculating their potential for future achievement.
“Seven soldiers for your personal army.” His observation carries dry humor that acknowledges both the blessing and burden of such a large family. “Your enemies would be wise to surrender now.”
“No more enemies.” Iskander’s voice carries absolute conviction. “These children will grow up never knowing about that.”
“ Da , as it should be.” Timur’s expression softens with genuine emotion when he’s introduced to Alexei. He seems surprised by the name but nods, quickly grasping the reason for it. “That is appropriate.”
As visiting hours end for our friends, and we prepare to return to my hospital room so I can continue resting and pump breast milk to supplement what the babies receive from donors, I take one last look at the seven perfect beings who transformed us from a couple to a family overnight.
The amazing miracle fills me with warmth and emotions so large, I’m not sure I can contain them.
“You did amazing.” Iskander wheels me toward the elevator while speaking softly. “You brought them all into this world safely, and you’re going to be the best mother they could ask for.”
“It helps that they already have the best father.” I slump against the wheelchair while processing the magnitude of what we’ve accomplished, overcome with exhaustion again.
The hospital corridor stretches ahead like a pathway toward our new life, lined with prospects we’re only beginning to imagine.
Outside the windows, Charleston’s evening lights twinkle like stars, but our real constellation waits in temperature-controlled incubators, where seven tiny hearts beat with the rhythm of infinite possibility.