Page 70 of Because of Them

“I have, he was doing skin on skin with the boys and …” She runs her hands across her face, trembling. “Sorry, I’m going to stop talking now. You’re very lucky.”

She skitters away to get the wheelchair from beside the door and when she turns to bring it back to me, the deep red in her cheeks has dissipated.

“I am,” I finally answer her as she rolls me towards the NICU. Even though I’m doing a pretty shit job of showing Michael that.

AUDREY

This moment is nothing like I imagined. I imagined dim lights and soft music. I imagined holding Michael’s hand and him kissing my sweaty forehead as our baby was laid gently across my chest. I imagined soaking in all the love and bringing our second child into a room full of joy.

Instead, my babies were whisked away while I was dying. They were carried by someone who wasn’t me, while the doctors fought to save my life. Then they were cared for by someone else while my body healed. Not fully, but enough.

Sarah pushes me down a hallway so bright it hurts my eyes.

My incision aches a dull, slow pain, but moths swirl in my stomach. I pull the blanket on my lap tighter around me, and hold my breath as I’m wheeled towards my babies. Fluorescenttubes buzz overhead, guiding us towards the NICU ward. She pauses before we enter.

“You ready?”

I’m not. I’m scared. But instead of telling her and letting the tidal wave of emotions out on some poor, unsuspecting midwife, I nod. She guides me through the automatic doors and points out the hand sanitiser I must use before we go any further.

The rhythmic beeping of many,too many, machines echoes through the room. It smells like bleach and citrus, it’s far too clinical and not at all homely. But even so, it is my boys’ home for the foreseeable future. Sarah wheels me in between two enclosed cribs that look far too large for the tiny babies inside them.

The sterile air hitches in my throat. Sitting on a cold green plastic chair between the beds, Michael rests his head against the plastic wall of one. His hand stretches out to rest on the other. His eyes are closed and for a moment it looks like he could be sleeping, but he stands at the sound of my soft cries.

“This,” he says, taking my hand and directing my attention to the baby on my right, “is Uno. Name definitely not official. Baby one.”

Tiny fingers cling in two little fists beside red cheeks. His eyes are squeezed shut, fighting against the dim lighting of the room. Four little round pads are spread across his delicate chest, with wires that link to the machine next to his crib, and an oxygen tube sits under his nose. And he is perfect.

My fingers coast along the side of the crib, itching to reach in and hold him.

Michael shifts my attention to my left. “And this is Henry. Name also not official, but I couldn’t keep calling them baby one and baby two, and I know it was on your list.”

“Henry.” He also has a breathing tube, and wires attached to his chest. A monitor is fastened around his foot, but even in hissleep he wriggles against it. He has the same button nose as his brother and his dad, but his cheeks are chubbier. “It’s perfect.”

I turn to Sarah, who has stepped back to give us space. “Can I?”

“Of course.”

Her and Michael help me into the chair, which isn’t the comfiest but is miles better than the wheelchair. Once I’ve adjusted my position Michael shows me how to pull down my top.

“Skin on skin is good for them. Kangaroo care.”

“This is Henry,” Sarah whispers, handing me my tiny baby boy. She guides him to my chest, rearranging all his wires and tubes until he is comfortably snuggled against my skin.

My free hand wipes at the tears on my cheeks before they drop onto his little head.

“And this is Uno.”

Sarah tucks him against me. Again she adjusts all the cords until he is nestled on my chest, next to his brother.

“We’re not keeping that name.” I laugh, but it’s barely a sigh as the gravity of the moment falls onto my shoulders.

“I know.” Michael stands behind me, with his arms around my shoulders and my heart in his hands. He kisses my neck, just below my ear. “I love you.”

I turn to face him. Kissing him on his cheek. My mouth lingers until he turns into me and our lips collide. But it’s not sexy or passionate or rushed or wild. It’s calm and laden with sheer delight and it’s all encompassing. It’s love. For each other, for our boys.

“What about William?”

Michael leans back, only a little but enough to wipe my cheeks dry. “I like it,” he says as he reaches down to place his hand on William’s back.

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