Page 76 of Sin Wagon
“It will,” he says confidently.
I can see the worry in his eyes. He’s putting on a brave face for me and Posey, but I can sense his underlying fear.
“You don’t know that,” I sob, and he comes over, wrapping his arms around me, laying his head on my chest. “She’s going to be fine, Little Doe.”
I want to believe him, but I’m struggling. My entire being is overwhelmed by a sense of fear and uncertainty.
As we wait for more information, Wells takes out his phone. “I’m going to tell my parents and brother she’s here and what’s happened—if Derek hasn’t already.”
“You can go to the waiting room and see them if you want,” I murmur, knowing that he might want or need his family’s support right now.
“No. I’m not leaving you. They’ll understand why they’re getting a text.”
With that, he sends a message to our group chat.
Wells: The baby is here. A little girl. Posey Grace Covington. 8lb 9oz, 21in. They took her to the NICU. Her heart rate is dangerously high. That's all we know for now.
The responses come almost immediately.
Rhonda: Oh my goodness! What a sweet name. I can’t wait to meet her. We’re praying for her. Keep us updated, please. Give her all our love. How’s Delilah?
Roy: Hang in there, son. She’s got Covington in her blood, she’ll be okay.
Jonas: Is Delilah okay? Let me know about Posey as soon as you find out anything.
A while later,a nurse walks in, her smile bringing a sense of relief and easing the tension in the air.
“If you can get up to go to the bathroom, we can go down and see your daughter.”
“She’s okay?” I ask, hope flickering in my chest.
“Sounds like it went well.” She helps me sit up, the bed creaking beneath me, and slides my legs off the bed. “Go slow, and we’ll go to the bathroom.” She pushes a walker my way. “Use this if you need to.”
With shaky legs, I manage to stand up and guide the walker straight toward the bathroom. “Okay.” She laughs softly. “You’re ready to go, huh?”
Every fiber of my being is fueled by sheer determination. The epidural or the pain doesn’t matter. I want to see Posey. I reach the restroom, the nurse in tow, and she helps me pull up my gown, handing me a bottle. “No wiping. Just squirt this as you pee to clean up.”
I push to pee and gasp as it feels like lava coming out of my fucking coochie.
“Holy shit.” I spray the bottle on my bits to soothe the burn and grab some toilet paper to pat dry. I can’t stand the feeling of drip-drying.
The nurse helps me into a giant diaper, the absurdity of it almost making me laugh, and then into a wheelchair. She wheels me down to the NICU with Wells beside me, his hand on my shoulder. We reach a room, and I stand up, my legs still wobbly,and see Posey—chubby, adorable, but also very swollen and red, sound asleep in the NICU warmer.
“She’s sedated,” a nurse says from behind us, her voice a soft murmur.
“Is she okay?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper, my heart in my throat.
“She’s doing well now. Her heart rate remained at a staggering 390, unaffected by any attempts to lower it. But Dr. Cupo had Dr. Von Bergo on video, and he watched her rhythm and instructed us when to cardiovert her.”
I try not to panic that my child had her heart shocked into rhythm via video call. I look at Posey and smile. She’s perfect, even in her fragile state.
“She’ll be pretty cranky when she wakes up. Do you want to breastfeed, or are we using formula?” the nurse asks.
“I want to try to feed her,” I say.
“Okay, you can pump in your room, and the nurses up there will send it down, labeled. Otherwise, we can call up to the room if she wakes so you can feed her.”
“Okay,” I reply, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety.
