Chapter 33
thirty-three
nisha
Come Through for Me
The private suite inside the Stanford Medical Center’s VIP wing that Patton had arranged long ago feels more like a hotel room rather than a hospital, with its soft lighting, plush seating, and inviting decor.
But neither the luxurious amenities nor the fully attentive medical staff can erase the smell of antiseptic or the dread growing inside my heart.
Two hours. It’s been almost two hours and still no sign of Patton.
With my hand entwined with my sister’s, I’m propped up on the bed, wearing one of those measly gowns that are more lace ties than fabric, with monitors strapped to my belly to track both mine and the baby’s heartbeats.
And though the rhythm of her heart is comforting, knowing she’s healthy, safe, and ready to come out, my fears overshadow the moment, repeating on a loop.
Why hasn’t he answered my calls? What if something is wrong? What if he misses our baby’s birth? How do I do this without him?
“How are we doing, Nisha?” Dr. Gilbert asks, checking the results from the fetal monitor. Thank God she was here when Sarina and Piper brought me in, instead of an on-call doctor I’m not familiar with.
“Oh, just peachy,” I say sarcastically, clenching my teeth as another contraction twists my uterus like it’s a fabric being wrung out.
This one seems to last longer, making me grip Sarina’s hand so tight, I’m afraid I’ll break bones. Piper comes to my other side, brushing a damp strand of my hair off my forehead.
I was prepared for the pain, and under no illusion this was going to be easy, but having these two women by my side as pillars of support has made me feel braver than I ever thought possible, especially since Patton isn’t here.
They’ve shown up for me time and time again, setting aside their own families and lives to hold my hand.
Which is a lot more than I can say for my ex-husband, the man who said he’d never let me face this alone. The man who promised this baby and I were his highest priority.
As soon as the contraction crests, I check my phone, praying that I’ll see a missed call or text. But of course, there’s neither.
It’s then that I hear a change in the beeping from one of the monitors. It’s jagged, slower than before. “Wh–what’s happening? Why did the beeping slow down?”
Dr. Gilbert’s brows furrow. “The baby’s heart rate is dropping during your contractions and not recovering as fast as we’d expect.”
“What does that mean?” Sarina asks on my behalf, seeing the way my face pales.
“Sometimes babies get stressed during labor. The lowered heart rate can be an indication of that, so we just need to keep an eye on it.”
Stressed. My baby is stressed? Maybe from these contractions shredding me from the inside, but maybe because she’s tethered to me, feeling the anxiety thrumming through my veins.
While I’m here, eyes glued to monitors I don’t understand, praying I don’t lose another child, her father is in some conference room, laying out his dreams for the next project.
Acid churns in my gut as memories from all those years ago assault my brain. The bathroom floor. The blood-soaked sunflower pajamas. The idle phone clutched in my hand like a futile lifeline.
The endless and suffocating tears, like a dark, heavy, thunderous cloud that makes you believe all sunshine is lost. They’re not the kind of tears that cleanse your heart, but the kind that annihilate your soul.
And then that raw, all-consuming numbness, as if all my emotions were dowsed with a general anesthetic, when the doctor confirmed what I already knew. That I’d indeed lost the baby.
Patton swore he’d never let me go through something like that alone again. That he’d be here every step of the way . . .
So where is he now?
“Neesh, I messaged Troy,” Sarina says, the corners of her eyes creasing with worry. “He’s trying to get hold of Patton’s agent, hoping maybe he knows something.”
“I’m going to try to call him, too,” Piper states, already pulling out her phone.
I don’t respond. Or maybe I do. Whatever leaves my lips is flat and toneless, a sound caught between resigned acceptance and a wail I don’t have the strength for.
They exchange another look before Piper dials Patton’s number, leaving him yet another voicemail with the same desperate message. “Patton, please call one of us back. Nisha needs you.”
My heart plummets.
But I beg it not to shatter.
Sarina squeezes my hand. “He’s going to be here, Neesh. I just know it.”
I stay silent, tears gathering behind my lids. I’m not going to argue with her, but every cell in my body wants to scream, “You mean like the way he was here the last time?”
“I called Dad, too. He’s on his way,” she continues, but her words barely register.
Another contraction slams into me, seizing my breath, my movements, and everything inside me as white-hot pain shoots through me.
I grip the bed rails so hard, my knuckles turn white.
Stars dance in my vision before my tears finally break free, streaking down my cheeks on a mission to set fire to my skin.
Piper’s gentle fingers brush them away. “Breathe, Nisha. I know you’re scared, but you're the strongest person I know. You’re going to get through this.”
A sob bubbles up my throat. “The only way I get through this is with my baby.”
Because if that’s not the case at the end of this . . . I won’t recover this time.
Piper’s eyes glisten. “You will, honey. I know you will.”
But I can’t answer. My fears are sitting on top of my chest like a boulder, pressing down until all I can manage is silence. Because even with my sister and best friend beside me, I feel that old suffocating loneliness creep in. The kind that can only be erased by one person.
It’s always him who should have been here. And always him who’s missing.
The baby’s heart rate drops dangerously once more, and this time Dr. Gilbert moves with purpose, summoning my dedicated nurse.
“Let’s change positions. Turn to your left side, Nisha; sometimes that can improve the baby’s heart rate.”
The nurse comes to my side, helping me roll before strapping an oxygen mask over my mouth. The movement sends a bolt of pain through my lower back, leaving me gasping and shaking. For a few moments, the change in position seems to help stabilize the baby’s heart rate.
But then it dips even lower.
“What’s happening?” My voice sounds hoarse to my own ears. “Please tell me she’s going to be okay.”
Dr. Gilbert gives me a look that has my spine straightening. “The baby’s not responding, and her heart rate is at a sustained deceleration.”
Not responding. Sustained deceleration.
Stressed.
With each inhale of oxygen, I send a prayer out to a woman I think about often. A woman I wish was here with me every day, but especially today.
Mom, if you’re listening, please help her.
We’re almost at the finish line, and all I’ve done for the last nine months—no, practically the last decade—is dream about meeting her, about being the kind of mother you were to me.
She’s a part of you, so please, if you can do anything at all, please come through for me.
Because I can’t . . . I simply won’t be able to go through losing another baby again.
“What does ‘sustained deceleration’ mean, Doctor?” Piper asks impatiently. “What’s the next step?”
Dr. Gilbert’s calm exterior breaks for a moment, her mouth setting in a grave line as she sets her decisive gaze on me. “That means we need to prepare you for an emergency C-section.”
The room spins, and my heart seems to cease beating momentarily. But I have no time to gather my thoughts or even let the panic set in. I have no time to look at my phone or wonder where Patton is anymore.
Because minutes later, I’m being wheeled into the operating room.