Gathering her in my arms, I sprint inside the maternity ward.
“Nick.” Her voice is so weak , I can barely hear her over the thump of the doctors and midwives’ feet who are rushing toward us.
“It’s okay, baby, you’re going to be okay.”
A dark gray-haired doctor shines a light in Jenni’s sagging eyelids before lowering his wide eyes to her soaked nightie. “She's hemorrhaging; call surgery immediately.”
He motions for me to follow him. When we enter a small white room on our right, he gestures for me to place Jenni down on a bed in the middle of the space. When I do, he pushes on her stomach, making me note how low her belly is now sitting compared to two weeks ago.
The doctor’s blue eyes lift to mine. “How far is she?”
“Thirty-five weeks.” I pace to the end of the bed so I’m not in the way of the handful of nurses completing observations on Jenni.
A few minutes later the head doctor says, “She's fully dilated; cancel the OR. It will take too long; we need to do an extraction.”
While the nurses rush in all directions, I whisper into Jenni’s ear. “It’s okay, baby; you’re okay.” I run my hand down her pale cheeks, ignoring the fear clutching my heart from her lack of response.
“What’s her name?” asks the doctor while two midwives lift Jenni’s legs into stirrups.
I swallow the bile burning my throat before answering, “Jenni.”
He nods before his eyes drift back to Jenni. “Jenni, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I need you to push if you can. We’re going to help you, but if you can push, it will help us greatly, okay?”
A midwife places her hand on Jenni’s belly. When she nods, the doctor instructs Jenni to push. At the same time, a machine next to her bed starts vibrating.
My eyes jackknife back to Jenni when she whimpers from the midwife pushing hard on her stomach. She’s here, but she’s barely conscious.
“Push, Jenni, push as hard as you can,” instructs the doctor.
When I see the bright red blood covering his white gloves, the room starts to spin. The warped floor pulling out from beneath my feet hits me with a severe bout of dizziness. I become unsteady, seconds from fainting. As the noises surrounding me fade, I fall forward at a pace too fast for my woozy head to stop.
Then all I see is blackness.
* * *
I'm awoken by tiny cries. It takes me a few seconds of scanning the room before it dawns on me where I am. I vault out of the reclining chair I’m slumped in. My movements are so quick, my head smashes a stainless steel light lowered from the ceiling. I nearly faint for the second time when I hear Jenni’s beautiful giggles. This time my woozy head is from relief instead of fear.
“Welcome back.” The doctor who assisted Jenni earlier stands from the stool he’s sitting on to switch off the light. After raising it back to the ceiling, his eyes shift my way. They’re brimming with amusement. I don’t mind. He can laugh at me all he likes. He brought Jenni back to me.
When I make my way to Jenni, who is sitting up in bed next to me, my eyes bulge out of my head. Her tummy has significantly reduced in size. With my heart in my throat, my eyes go wild, seeking the person responsible for the noise that woke me. My chest rises and falls in an unsteady rhythm when I spot a teeny tiny little baby in the corner of the room being fussed over by two doctors and a nurse.
Excitement at seeing my son for the first time is replaced with remorse when I realize I missed his birth. “I’m so sorry,” I apologize, my eyes straying back to Jenni.
She smiles. “It’s fine.”
As I stare at her, ensuring she can see how proud I am of her, I notice her cheeks are still lacking their normal pink hue. She looks exhausted and a little scared. Before I can assure her everything will be okay, a nurse paces toward us with our son wrapped in a blue blanket.
How could I have said I’d never fall in love? Just one look at his adorable face curtained by strawberry blond hair, and I'm just as smitten with him as I was the first time I saw his mother.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jenni
Nick’s bandmates will never let him live down the fact he fainted during the birth of our son. I can’t say I’m any better. I have no recollection of the birth either. The obstetrician had to extract Jasper as I was hemorrhaging so badly, I was close to passing out. I nearly needed a blood transfusion, but managed to avoid one since the birth was so quick. The instant the placenta was delivered, I stopped bleeding.
I’m exhausted and in absolute agony downstairs. Nick can shove his hope to never use protection again because I’mnevergoing through labor ever again.
Alright, maybe I might. . .
