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“She’s going to be okay,” I told her. And she smiled.
I wasn’t supposed to do that. They told us that on day one of our internships: never promise anything to your patients. Especially in the emergency room. Unexpected complications arose daily, and a seemingly simple infection could become serious if, for instance, the patient had a previously unknown allergy to the antibiotic. We often hear the miracle stories of patients miraculously recovering from terminal cancer cases, but there were also the instances where the opposite happened and a seemingly benign tumor began to metastasize, refusing to respond to treatment.
It was absolutely possible that the surgery in the other room could have gone bad when I wasn’t watching. An unanticipated problem could come up that the surgeon wasn’t prepared for. And if it did, there would be nothing I or anybody else could do.
But it probably wouldn’t. And, as Mila’s guardian angel, I wouldn’t allow it to.
Right now, the actual future didn’t matter. All that mattered was the future that we wanted. In my head, I allowed myself to reimagine myself as a father and Mila as my co-parent to baby Dorothy. She’d come out of surgery, and all would be well. She go through her terrible twos, knocking over blocks and saying “No” to every simple request we’d ask of her. But then she’d head off to her first day of school and Mila and I would be there watching her, waving goodbye in tears because this would be the longest we would have been without her in her entire life.
Middle school. High school. College. Marriage. And, maybe, just maybe, one day we’d be right back here in the hospital as she was giving birth to our grandchildren.
Yes, it was a long way off, but the path was clear, and it was one I wanted to go down, so long as Mila was there with me for every second of it.
There was a knock at the door.
“Ms. Saunders?”
A young woman walked in wearing a doctor’s coat.
“Oh, hello,” she said.
“Hi,” I said, extending a fist for a bump, “I’m Doctor Maxwell. I was the fertility doctor for the implantation.”
That didn’t address the confusion in her head, but she returned the fist bump all the same. Then she looked at Mila for reassurance.
“He can stay,” Mila said.
“Okay,” the doctor said. “I just wanted to let you know that the surgery was a success. Baby Dorothy is in post-op right now, but you’ll be able to come see her in a little bit, when you’re ready. She’ll be in the—”
“I can show Ms. Saunders where to find Dorothy,” I said. “Thank you.”
The doctor nodded and left.
“It was a success,” Mila said, her face aglow. “My baby is going to make it.”
I grabbed her hand again and kissed it. It hurt me to hear her refer to Dorothy as her baby. I missed thinking of her as ours. “I don’t know if this is the right time,” I said, “but if I don’t take the opportunity now, I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance.”
Mila was still in a daze and didn’t quite respond. I imagine that, if she’d been of full mind, she’d know exactly what I was going to say next, but in her current state, I suppose I had to spell it all out for her.
“I want you to know,” I said, “that I am ready to be a father. And I’m sorry I couldn’t give you that confidence before, but I’m ready now, and I’m sure of it. If you take me back, I’ll never give you another reason to doubt me again.”
Her brain was taking it all in slowly, waiting a few seconds to react. She nodded in response, thoughtfully.
“That’s quite a promise,” she said.
“I know. And I don’t make such promises lightly. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure I could follow through.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” I said, thinking the words through fully before saying them, “that I want to be Dorothy’s father, if you’ll let me back into your life. Seeing her in the operating room, I knew that my only purpose in life was to be there for her and you. That is all I want to do, and I’m hoping you’ll give me another chance.”
Her eyes were looking just a little bit past me.
“I feel a little bit drunk,” she said, slowly.
“Yeah,” I said, “maybe it’s not the best time for you to make a decision.”
“Let me finish,” she said, her voice still slow but with a slight edge to it now. I backed off. “I feel a little bit drunk, but even through this fog, I know that there is nobody I’d rather have with me right now.” She smiled.
