Page 66 of Because of Them

One of the midwives pushes past me to slam her hand on the wall. Doctors and nurses flood the room, pushing me further and further back. I lose count of how many rush to Audrey’s side, but with each new figure in the room my heart picks up speed until it hurts. My body aches to be next to Audrey. I want to hold her, to be by her side, to tell her it will be okay even though I don’t knowif it will be. I can see the panic in her face, as she searches for me. I need to reach her, but I can’t.

Audrey’s bed is dropped back with a force I fear might have hurt her, but no one seems to care. No one seems to notice I’m here. Until a young woman in pink scrubs is guiding me out of the door.

“We need to get her to surgery; her placenta has detached from her uterus and it’s causing her to lose a lot of blood.”

“She didn’t want …”

She places a gloved hand on my arm and I flinch away from the kind gesture. “It’s too late for wants and wishes. We need to save her and her babies.”

Save her?

My heart stops its running race. I flatline right there in the hospital room because I can’t breathe. Instead of beating, my heart jumps through my chest and lands on Audrey’s bed. Because it’s hers, and I need her to be okay. I need all three of them to be okay. I try to follow my heart to be by her side, but the midwife holds me back. Audrey, my heart, is whisked past me. I race after her, down the hall, squeezing into the lift right as the doors are closing.

Tears flood down Audrey’s cheeks as she searches the room. I try to stretch toward her, to show her I’m here, but there are too many people in the way.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing another stark white corridor, and once again I’m politely shoved aside. Audrey is wheeled down the corridor and into a room. Chasing after her, a nurse stops me at the door, covering my hair with a net, and draping a gown over my front.

I’m handed gloves, then she uses her back to open the swinging door. I follow her into the room. My stomach sinks to the floor. Audrey lays on the bed with her arms spread wide. Acurtain hangs across her chest and I can’t see her face past the nurse by her side.

My hands drop to my knees as all the blood drains from my face. I give myself only the smallest of moments to compose my racing thoughts. Audrey needs me. And she needs me to be calm.

Crying breaks the tension in the room and the surgical team breathes a collective sigh of relief.

“Dad, over here.” Someone nudges me towards the sound of crying. I pivot, wanting to go to Audrey but being called away. And then a tiny,tiny, baby is placed in my arms.

The room is a busy swarm of bees, each knowing exactly where they need to be and what they need to do, but it all fades away as I stare down at my child. Hands guide my shoulders to the corner of the room and the tiny baby, my son, is taken from my arms. I watch, helpless, as a team of scrubs check over every inch of him.

Behind us, mayhem spreads.

“She’s losing a lot of blood.”

“I need to get this baby out.”

“BP is not responding.”

“I can’t control the bleeding.”

The room somehow becomes more frantic than before. Men and women in scrubs rush around me, while a handful remain by Audrey’s side. There’s a new squeal of cries and another small moment of joy. But this baby isn’t placed in my arms. A nurse places him straight into a crib.

“Put her under.”

“Get dad and babies out, now.”

The lady with the pink scrubs is back by my side. “Come on dad, we’re going to the NICU.”

They told us this would happen, but I don’t want to go. I want to stay with Audrey. Machines beep all around and I’m lost.

“They’ll work better without you here, let’s go.”

She takes my arm, her fingers gently tugging me to follow her. Both babies are wheeled out the door and I’m torn in two because I want to stay with Audrey but Ineedto go with them. I turn to tell Audrey, but the midwife’s grip firms around my arm as she drags me out.

My butt is numb. I shift in the seat, uncomfortable in the baggy scrub pants one of the nurses found me. Slouching down, I clutch the two tiny babies on my chest.My sons.

It’s been hours, but it could have been minutes. Time has lost all meaning because Audrey still isn’t awake. There’s a hole in my chest where my heart belongs. I left it with her when I was forcibly removed from the room. When the surgeons had to save her life.

They said she’ll be okay. That she lost a lot of blood but they were able to stop the bleeding and stitch her back together. They said she is in recovery. That I’ll be able to see her soon. That I’m more useful here, with my sons. Our sons. Our tiny little boys, who were so dependent on Audrey until only a few hours ago and now they are dependent on wires and monitors and warm lights.

And me.

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