Chapter 40
Devyn
Bolo came over and sat on the bed again, hugging me close. “I love you, Devyn.”
“I love you, too.”
We sat like that until the nurses came back. I wasn’t sure if time was racing, slowed down, or going at a normal rate. Everything seemed to be flying though.
“Okay, it’s time,” my main nurse, Carrie, said with a warm, comforting smile. She was an older lady and had assured me she’d been doing this for a long time. That brought me some peace as she wheeled me down the hallway.
Bolo gave me a kiss as Carrie told him to stay in the hallway. He was in all that protective gear you always see the prospective fathers in on TV, when their wives were about to have a baby. It made me wonder if they had a hard time finding his size because he was so big.
The doors closed, shutting him out and blocking my view. I knew he’d be there waiting when they were ready for him. They started prepping me for my C-section. I was quiet as they worked, only answering questions when I needed to.
I wasn’t about to ask any of my own questions and jinx this. They explained everything they were doing. What was going to happen. I was well informed. I didn’t need to ask about what could go wrong. I suppressed that darkness right away.
Nothing will.
I was telling myself that, but I was also so scared. Scared it was going to hurt. Scared for the little life inside of me. Had I given him enough time? Was he going to make it? Would he come out the other side with us?
“Oops.”
The gush of blood over my fingers didn’t send me into a panic. I didn’t bother to turn my head over to look. My blood pressure was so high my vein had popped like a champagne bottle at midnight on New Year’s Eve. The anesthesiologist wiped away the excess blood from my arm and hand.
“That looks like a CSI crime scene,” my nurse joked.
I didn’t begrudge them their humor—later I’d find it hilarious—and I knew full well that dark humor was a buffering mechanism. All of us at the firehouse used it too.
I just laid there, staring up at the ceiling as they continued on. I blocked every negative thought out as the anesthesiologist ran his IVs, when he placed the spinal, as they positioned me, and strapped me down.
Nothing hurt. That was a relief. But I’d take the pain if it meant success for my son. I just kept thinking positive thoughts. Convincing myself that my son would be alive and well at the end of this.
Time continued to move forward, but I still couldn’t get a grasp on it.
Had it been ten minutes? Or an hour? I had no idea.
I really didn’t know if that was from the seriousness of the situation or the magnesium drip.
Thankfully that was out for the surgery, not that the effects stopped that quickly.
Dr. Natalie had explained that they’d be putting me back on it afterward. Oh boy.
They brought Bolo in and we listened as both Dr. Natalie and the anesthesiologist explained their parts in what was about to happen. Maybe I’d remember it later, but I had a feeling this was all going to seem like a fever dream by then.
Everyone took their positions. Bolo was sitting up at the top of my head. I couldn’t see him but he was smoothing his hand over my hair while the doctors and nurses worked on me. There was a blue divider keeping us separated from what they were doing down there.
“You’re doing great. Everything is going well. I love you,” he whispered over and over, rubbing my head gently.
It was a strange thing to be able to feel people tugging your body this way and that and know that they were cutting into you but not be able to feel it. That was probably why they put that barrier up. Seeing it would make it too real.
A tiny cry.
The relief at hearing it was so overwhelming I couldn’t speak.
Tears streamed down my face and my words were stuck in my throat.
I hadn’t really said much this whole time.
Poor Bolo was probably feeling so alone right now, but I couldn’t find the words to tell him I was with him.
I was there, but stopping the positive words in my head was impossible.
If I spoke any words out loud I didn’t remember them, but I was ecstatic.
He’d let out a cry. That was a good sign.
There were instantly happy sounds from everyone in the room. My son had given a tiny little squeak. Bolo would later tell me one of the nurses exclaimed, “He pooped on me!” in a happy tone. I hadn’t heard that. The relief and continued chanting in my head was drowning out a lot.
They lifted the barrier and we got to see our son for the first time.
Just a glimpse before they whisked him away.
My baby! It may have only been a second, but there he was.
The NICU nurses were there and ready to care for him.
They were busy doing what they needed to help him live.
I heard them call out his information, “One pound, fourteen ounces, thirteen centimeters long.”
That seemed so small. But then again, he had three months of growing left to do.
Bolo stayed with me, petting my hair and whispering encouraging things while they prepped my son. The doctors and nurses were still working on me, stitching me up while all this happened. And I just laid there.
The nurses took Bolo—he kissed my forehead before he left—and our son from the room and I just prayed. I was left behind while the two people who mattered most to me left the room, and I was once again glad our son had his father.
It wasn’t going to be an easy day for Bolo.
I had my own issues right now, but I loved him and knew he was going to face his own challenges today.
I’d never be able to understand them from his perspective.
How worried and fearful he must be. I waited, stuck in a cold sterile room, as they finished closing me up before I could get to the next step.
But the next steps weren’t seeing my son. Or my biker.
They transferred me to my hospital bed and wheeled me back to my room.
The nurse asked if my mom could come in.
Of course. I’d called her that morning and she’d hurried over to the hospital.
As soon as I was out of surgery, there she was.
There she always was. She and my dad were always there for me.
The reason I wasn’t scared to be a mom was because I had the perfect example already. My parents had shown me how to do this.
I heard her come in. Felt her kiss my head.
Heard the anesthesiologist tell her I never flinched.
Someone else said I must have a high pain tolerance.
I’d literally felt nothing during the surgery.
I chalked that up to the meds, but then I did remember being bodily jerked back and forth at one point, so maybe it wasn’t just the meds.
Things got blurry from there. I was shivering.
Cold? Maybe, but I couldn't feel it. Probably adrenaline rushing through my body.
I was covered and given more medications.
The pain meds knocked me out. I honestly had no idea whether I asked my mom if the baby was okay before I passed out, or when I woke up at some point later.
She read a text from Bolo. “He’s good…” She broke off and was fighting back tears.
“Why are you crying?” I asked, panic creeping in. Was I about to hear a “but”, and then bad news?
“No, sorry, he’s good. These are happy tears.”
The relief would have knocked me off my feet if I hadn’t been flat on my back. My baby was okay. Bolo was okay. I could rest. Bolo would watch over our son.
They gave me more of the magnesium and I lost a lot of time.
I woke up the next day, still feeling the effects from that wicked drug, plus the after effects of pain meds, and a surgery.
But my baby was okay. He’d made it. Even though my body had failed us both at getting him to the fabled thirty-week mark, it’d done enough to get us here and he was alive.