Hold Me Tight (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five
Ivy

Today is Christmas Eve, and I’ve officially been in the hospital for two and a half weeks. And to say that I’m restless would be the understatement of the year. I’ve never watched so much TV in my entire life. Not even when my mom would plop me down in front of the set with some fast food after school and proceed to drink the night away.

I haven’t heard from her, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. If she’s really in rehab, maybe they don’t allow patients to make phone calls. I thought after her grand gesture that she’d want to keep tabs on the baby and me, but so far, nothing. I’m not going to let myself get bent out of shape about it. If she reaches out, fine. If not, she ended up doing me at least one favor by getting Conrad to leave us alone.

I’ve been following the news religiously, and it seems like Ben is free and clear. Things might heat up for a while when he starts college next fall, but for now, he’s out of the media’s crosshairs. Conrad seems to be letting Lauren’s death go, but after all that Joanie did to help us, he’s not going easy on Ryan. Conrad refused to post his bail, leaving him to fend for himself among the general prison population until his trial date, which could be months away. I fear the kind of man Ryan’s going to be when he does get out. He was a psychopath going in. There’s no telling what he’ll be like after this, especially if he’s convicted and given a lengthy sentence. I know it’s terrible to say, but I hope he never gets out. Maybe he’ll have to do more time for bad behavior. The world is definitely a safer place with him behind bars.

After her daughter’s funeral, Lauren’s mother opened up divorce proceedings against Conrad, and he didn’t contest. No doubt, he’s after a new, young bride to provide him with a worthy heir. Too bad he didn’t leave her for Cassidy to begin with. It’s funny how things work out and how some people throw away what they end up searching for.

I know all I want for Christmas is the sterilization of Conrad Price, but I don’t see that happening any time soon.

I’m just sick of living in fear. I can’t wait to resume a normal life again. Eric already said that he doesn’t want to return to the cabin, and deep down, I really don’t either. It always seemed to be Cassidy’s house, and now it’s just too haunted for us to even think about going back there. Eric already has it up on the market, hoping for a buyer. In the meantime, he took Will and Shep and they all moved in with his parents. And I have to admit that, although it’s not the ideal situation, I will be needing a lot of help once I leave the hospital, and I’m glad that I’ll have Eric’s mom to depend on. She’s been wonderful so far.

And bunking in Eric’s childhood room will be a trip. In order to help ease the transition, he brought the crib he’d made to the hospital to show me before setting it up over there, and I absolutely loved it. He did such a good job hand-carving every inch of it. I always knew he was good with his hands, but what he made is truly a work of art. I’ll cherish it forever. It makes me tear up just thinking about it.

But Eric’s been running himself ragged, carting all of our stuff from the cabin to his parents’ house, and putting the rest in storage until we can find a new place. On top of that, he’s been working crazy hours at the garden center and spending every spare moment he can with me. He’s wearing himself down, but there’s no arguing with him. I think if he stopped, his worries would consume him, so he just keeps going.

I only wish I could do the same instead of being stuck in this darn room connected to all of these wires. I know the longer the baby stays inside of me, the better, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I thought being on bed rest at home was bad, but being confined to a hospital bed totally sucks.

I think of the Christmas tree I set up that we didn’t even get to enjoy and of the little red baby stocking I hid under our bed that I was going to hang from the fireplace. I dreamed of spending our first Christmas together in the cabin, but now it’s not going to happen because I’m spending it in the hospital.

I gaze sorrowfully out the window. It’s starting to get dark already and it’s not even five o’clock. I heard some of the nurses humming along to the piped-in Christmas carols playing in the hallway of the neonatal intensive care unit. There’s not as many on duty tonight, no doubt because most of them want to spend the holiday with their families. I don’t blame them. I would, too. I’m just glad Wanda’s working the three-to-eleven shift. She promised to bring me some of her homemade Christmas cookies when my dinner tray arrives from the cafeteria. At least I’ll have something appetizing to eat until Eric brings over some of his mom’s leftovers later on. He deserves to sit down to at least one decent meal after closing up late and dealing with all of the last-minute shoppers. He plans on spending all day tomorrow with me, and the meatloaf that’s on the menu doesn’t sound too appetizing.

I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself when I hear a sudden pop and feel the flow of something wet between my legs.

No, no, no
…

My fingers immediately scramble for the call button as I try to control my breathing. I’m afraid to lower the blanket. If I’m bleeding out, it means the placenta finally severed, and truthfully, I’d rather not know because it means my baby’s oxygen supply has been cut off. All I can envision is it drowning, struggling to breathe through the amniotic fluid when there’s absolutely nothing I can do except hit a damn call button.

This is it. One way or another, something big is about to happen. I can feel it.

Wanda comes in, looking concerned when she sees the pained expression on my face. “Honey child, what is it?”

“I feel…all…wet,” I stutter incoherently.

Wanda launches into action, not wasting a moment. She starts untucking the bedding to get a better look.

“Your water broke!” she exclaims, taken aback.

“Is that bad?” I croak, bending my knees so she can examine me.

“It’s better than the alternative,” she declares, whipping her cell phone out of the pocket of her Rudolph scrubs. She presses a button, speed-dialing someone, as she takes a deep breath. “Dr. P., Ivy is going into labor. How fast can you get back here?” she asks, glancing over my head as she consults with him, relaying my vitals.

Seeing how worried she is, I hear the beep on my heart rate monitor starting to increase. Her eyes find mine, and she smiles, silently pleading with me to remain calm. But Dr. P. isn’t even in the hospital. He told me he wasn’t going away for the holidays, but what if he changed his mind? What if he can’t get here in time? I don’t want anyone else delivering my baby. It has to be him. So much can go wrong. It’s only at twenty-four weeks. It’s going to be born severely premature.

For some reason, I never thought that events would unfold like this. I always imagined the baby would have to be taken quickly due to some emergency developing with the placenta. I did not expect things to start off this way. It almost feels like I’m any other mother giving birth and not some special case who’s been monitored twenty-four seven for the last few weeks.

But I know things are terribly wrong when Wanda starts wheeling my bed out of the room herself. Who am I kidding? Nothing about this pregnancy has been normal. Why would the birth be any different?

Seeing Wanda struggle, an orderly sprints over to join us, dropping his mop before taking over. Wanda calls to the nurses behind the desk, explaining that she needs help prepping delivery room A. I watch the ceiling tiles fly above my head, and the light panels start to blur. I close my eyes and pray for the best. There’s nothing I can do now. It’s out of my control.

But I need Eric. I can’t go through this without him. But he’s not expected to be here for another two hours. He could miss the whole thing.

“Wanda!” I scream out, trying to sit up, and look back at her, but the orderly doesn’t stop. Instead, he increases his speed, and all I can do is recline against the pillows, too dizzy to do anything more.

***

I don’t know how much time has passed, but it seems like things are happening fairly quickly all around me.

“Ivy, hello!” Dr. P. greets me through his surgical mask. “How are you doing?”

I don’t respond. I didn’t even notice that he had arrived. The pain has been so intense. The contractions are coming fast and furious. I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought they’d be spaced further apart. Something’s not right, but no one’s telling me anything.

Sweat is beading down my face as I strive to alleviate the pressure on my lower back, but Dr. P’s hands gently guide my feet back into the stirrups.

“She’s almost fully dilated,” Dr. P. says to Wanda. “There’s no time to prepare for a C-section.”

Oh God. I’ve had a lot of time to read up on premature births, and this isn’t good. Most are delivered by Caesarean section. Vaginal births are not recommended, especially when the baby is so small. Traveling through the birth canal creates too much trauma for the fetus.

“Did she feel anything earlier before her water broke?” Dr. P. questions Wanda.

“She said she felt some mild discomfort, some light cramping, but nothing major,” Wanda reports. “She must have started earlier in the day. I only wish we had known. We could’ve started a drip to slow it down.”

“Because now this baby is going to have to come fast,” Dr. P. remarks, his brow tense. “I don’t expect the placenta to hold up.”

A contraction rips through my body and I can’t help but push.

“That’s a girl, Ivy,” Dr. P. says, his voice brimming with encouragement. “The head is already starting to crown. Normally, I’d tell you not to push at this stage, but on the next one, I want you to give it all you’ve got.”

I grip the bedrail and hold on.

“He’s here! He’s here!” someone shouts.

“Well, let him in!” Wanda cries, not moving from Dr. P.’s side.

Eric comes charging into the room, a look of sheer panic on his face. But that’s all I see as clench my teeth and move with the pain that unleashes through me. I feel something slide out of me, but I don’t hear a cry.

“You did it, Ivy,” Wanda consoles me as Dr. P. hurriedly carries the baby to a nearby table.

“What’s going on?” Eric asks frantically, but no one will answer him. They’re too busy working on the baby.

I haven’t even seen it yet. Dr. P. and his team are blocking it from view. He didn’t cut the cord, so the placenta must have detached…but when? How long has our baby been without oxygen? I don’t even want to contemplate that it might have been stillborn, that my body might have dispelled it because it was no longer alive inside of me, accounting for the early labor.

I strain my ears, waiting for that cry, but it doesn’t come. Eric stands immobile in the middle of the room, staring over at all of the activity. I want him to come to me, to hold my hand. But he’s transfixed, watching what they’re doing to our baby.

I hear calls for, “More suction!” and “Get me a heart rate monitor!” but my brain blacks out when the accompanying beep doesn’t sound. There wasn’t time to give me a steroid shot to help speed up the baby’s lung development. It’s probably not physically capable of breathing on its own. I should have said something after lunch when I started cramping up, but no one came to check on me so I didn’t tell anyone. I could’ve hit the buzzer and called for help, but I knew they were short-staffed and I didn’t want to be a bother. Now it’s too late.

And I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl.

I start to sob violently, snapping Eric out of his trance-like state. He rushes over to me, trembling as he enfolds me in his arms. My legs are still spread out before me. I’m too afraid to move. No one comes to clean me up or tell us what’s happening. Everyone’s attention is focused on our child—where it should be.

A host of machines are wheeled over to the table as I catch a glimpse of the leads covering the translucent skin of our baby. I cry even harder when I see how tiny it is. The digital reading on the scale is displaying just over a pound. I grasp Eric’s arm when I see that they already have a tube attached to its tiny face with white tape as they hook it up to a ventilator.

They pause, giving it a minute. And then, finally…finally…the monitor picks up a faint heartbeat. Dr. P. raises his hands in exultation as his crew whoops and hollers, rejoicing. They did it. They saved our baby.

“Eric and Ivy, you have a little girl!” Dr. P. shouts over to us as we cling to each other, unable to believe our good fortune.

“C’mon over here, Dad, and check her out,” Wanda encourages, holding out her hand for Eric to join her. “Then we can wheel her over to Mom together.”

Eric trips, stumbling to his feet, unable to get there fast enough. The crew laughs at his eagerness as some wipe away the tears that are rolling down their faces. I can’t take my eyes off him as he bends down to look at her.

“Can I touch her?” he asks, hesitating with his hand in midair.

“Gently,” Wanda urges, watching as he lets the tips of his fingers glide over her tiny head.

“She’s so soft,” he whispers, reverently.

Dr. P. and Wanda exchange a knowing glance before they smile over at me.

“I want to see her.” I can’t keep quiet any longer. “I want to see my Natalie.”

Eric looks from one to the other, seeking their permission. “Is it okay to bring her over now?”

“Go ahead, Dad,” Wanda instructs. “Nice and steady.”

They start pushing the table across the room as another nurse follows with the ventilator and heart rate monitor. As they near the side of the bed, I gaze down at her, unable to believe that she made it. She’s here. She’s right beside me.

I want to pick her up so badly, but I know even before I ask that I can’t. She is connected to all these machines. There’s no way. Not yet, but someday. I have to be patient, but it’s hard.

“Welcome to the world, Natalie Young,” I coo as I lean over the plastic partition to touch her tiny fist.

She surprises me when she opens her hand, before closing it over my finger. For such a little thing, she has quite the grip on her. She’s been fighting since day one, and I know she’s not going to give up now.