57. Katie
KATIE
W hen I come to, I'm in a hospital room with a nurse sitting in the chair next to my bed. "Where's Trace?" I ask immediately, needing to know where the man is who hasn't left my side. "Where's my baby?" One thing I remember is I had to have a C-section. I'm sore, but not hurting nearly as bad as I thought I would be.
"Be careful," she cautions. "You've had a major surgery. Your son is in the NICU, and your husband is with him."
My brain is still not firing on all cylinders, and I'm terrified. "He's okay right? Why is he in the NICU?"
She's patient as she explains. "You're going to have a hard time remembering things for a day or two, possibly. With the shock you sustained, the pain medication, and the anesthesia. Don't be alarmed. He's early, and he had a slight issue breathing at first."
"But he's okay now?” I look to her to assuage my fear.
"He is. I can take you to see him if you want me to. It'll do you good to be up and around."
Part of me is terrified to sit up straight and try to start walking. The other part of me is so excited to see my son and husband that I would walk through fire with bare feet to make it there. "Okay," I inhale sharply. "Will you help me?"
"Of course. I'll be here to help you with whatever you need."
Together we work to get me out of the bed and into a wheelchair. Part of my body is still numb, but I manage to get right where I need to be. "I'm ready when you are."
"Alright," she comes around, making sure my feet are up. "Everything looks good, let's go."
Excitement bubbles in my chest. I can barely remember seeing my son earlier. I wanna see him again, and commit his face to my memory. I also need to deal with the anger I have toward Tanner. I'm furious that he put me in this situation and I don't want to think about what would have happened if Trace hadn't found us. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask about him, but I can't. I just can't make myself care enough to know.
I inhale deeply, trying to tamp the anxiety down. I'm nervous to see my son, hoping that I won't completely break down as soon as I lay eyes on him. The nice nurse pushes me slowly, but still fast enough at the same time that we're getting there as quickly as possible.
When we enter, I'm surrounded by incubators with babies in them. Some aren't even big enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I'm scared to know how big Ward is. Is he big enough so that he's going to be able to make it? Is he going to have trouble in the future? Is there going to be a problem with his health? All of these questions float around in my head, and I'm terrified to know what the answers are going to be.
She pushes me toward the back, and that's when I see my husband with his shirt off. He's got a blanket over him, and a small head is sticking out the top of it. Our eyes meet over the head of our son, and I know I've never been more in love with him than I am in this moment.
"Hey babe," he whispers. "They let me take him out and do a little skin-to-skin with him. He's going to eat in about fifteen minutes. They said I could feed him, but I'll be willing to give that honor to you if you're well enough to do it?"
Tears spring to my eyes at how sweet he's being, how much love he's letting show through. "I would love it if I'm able to do that."
I don't want to interrupt them, so I keep my hands to myself as he continues to stroke our son's back. "I've been sitting here making him a ton of promises. That I'll get him a horse on his first birthday, that I'll get him a car on his sixteenth," he chuckles. "Just so long as he pulls through this."
"He's going to, right?" I question. "There's a worry that he might not make it?"
"No," a doctor interrupts us. "He's alert, and although his lungs are a little underdeveloped he's doing well. Do you want to feed him?"
"Yes," I bite my bottom lip, nodding eagerly. "There's nothing I'd love more."
"Some preemies have a problem learning to suction, but we'll just have to see how he does."
My hands shake as my husband lifts him over to me. He's so little in my hands, smaller than the baby dolls I used to play with as a child. Once he's settled comfortably and secure in my arms, I reach for the small bottle they hand me, and slowly begin to try and feed him.
"If he has trouble latching, stick your pinky in near his lips. Sometimes that can help," the nurse who brought me in offers her advice.
In the end, I don't have to do anything other than give him the nipple of the bottle. He sucks strongly, taking the few ounces of formula they've prepared for him. Once he's done, I burp him, and then hand him back over to Trace.
He makes a sound of contentment when our son is back in his arms. "We should probably get him back in the incubator, but the truth is I could sit here and stare at him all day."
I smile at my husband. "Same here, but the quicker he gets better, the quicker we can bring him home. That's the most important thing."
He nods in agreement, and as we sit there watching our son, I can only imagine what the rest of our lives are going to look like.