Page 89 of The Love of Our Lives
Eventually she opens her eyes again, which are red and swollen. ‘They’re saying we need to get the baby out now,’ she says, her voice ragged. Sweat pours down her face and her hair sticks to it. ‘Will you come in with me?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I’ll be with you the whole time.
‘Heart rate’s dropping,’ one of the nurses is saying now, and Charlie grips my hand even harder.
A moment later, the doctor signals that it’s time to go and they’re moving the bed out on its rollers along through corridors. And then we’re running along them, with the most surreal feeling tearing through me. I’ve been the person on the bed before, the person to be rushed through the corridors. Yet rightnow, I’m the one who’s OK, who can be here for Charlie when she needs it.
Moments later, we’re in an operating theatre. It’s large and white and it feels as though hundreds of medical people are in here, even though it’s probably only more like ten. They move around with quick, deft movements in order to prep Charlie for the C-section. I get into scrubs while they administer her epidural, and then she’s lying back on the bed as they pull up the sheets at her middle.
‘Ready to make the incision,’ one of the doctors says, and I look into Charlie’s eyes.
‘You’re going to be OK,’ I say, with more conviction than I actually feel. ‘You and the baby are going to be OK.’
Silence, as the doctors move behind the sheet.
More silence and muttering.
Then someone says something about the baby’s head being impacted, whatever that means, and I’m not sure if Charlie heard it too but I hold her hand even tighter.
Minutes pass, and there’s more movement from the other side of the sheet, people changing position and Charlie is jolted slightly. I just thought this would all happen so quickly – aren’t C-sections supposed to be fast?
I can’t bear it if it goes wrong at this point. On this fault line between life and death.
‘Baby’s out,’ someone says, and I try desperately to see something, to hear something.
Why isn’t it crying?
Surely it should be crying.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
As tears fall down Charlie’s face, all of William’s words come flooding back to me, and I feel scared. Because maybe it was all a false win up north and the baby actually wasn’t OK.
Perhaps this is where we were headed all along, and no matter how much we want things to work out, we can’t make it happen from willpower alone.
And then I hear it.
The smallest of whimpers, the lightest of cries.
Charlie’s eyes go wide. ‘Are they OK? Is everything OK?’
Then a nurse walks over, a baby in her arms, and she is smiling.
‘It’s a healthy baby girl,’ she says, before laying the baby on Charlie’s chest. And my heart explodes with happiness as I look at Charlie looking at her daughter in amazement.
‘Hello, little one,’ Charlie whispers.
There’s commotion over at the door, people talking, and then suddenly Sven appears in the room. His face is ravaged with shock, his brown eyes wide as he stares over at us.
‘Oh my god . . .’ he says, moves quickly over. ‘Is everything all right? Is it . . .’
But Charlie just smiles up at him, their daughter in her arms.
‘Everything is great,’ she says. ‘I’d like to introduce you to someone.’
Sven crouches down to look at her, tears welling in his eyes, and then he gently lifts the baby into his arms. He grins at Charlie, at me.
‘Thank you, Emily,’ he says eventually, frown lines appearing on his brow again. ‘Thank you for being here.’
