Page 440 of One More Kiss

I kissed her again. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise, okay?” I flashed her a smile. I couldn’t see much over the sheet they put between Alana and the doctor, but I could tell she felt some discomfort.

“You okay?”

“I can feel pressure, that’s all. It feels weird.”

“Well, in just a minute, we’re going to have a daughter. Can you believe it?” I smiled so wide as I held her hand.

“Okay, Mom and Dad. Are you ready?” the doctor announced. I was anxious but so excited to meet my daughter. “Here she is.” He lifted her up briefly giving us just a peek at her. “She’s beautiful, congratulations,” he said after handing her off to one of the nurses.

“Oh my God,” Alana cried. I knew she was upset about not having a natural delivery, but having my two girls healthy and safe was the most important thing.

“She looks just like you,” I said. “So beautiful.” I kissed her softly on the lips. “Thank you.”

Tears poured from her eyes and fell down her face. “For what?”

“For the greatest gift you could’ve ever given me.”

I kissed her again.

“Can you go with her? She’s going to be in the NICU, and I don’t want her to be alone.”

“I don’t want to leave you, baby…” I was so damn torn. I needed to make sure Paris was okay, but at the same time, it felt like I was abandoning Alana.

“I’ll be okay,” she promised with a hand squeeze. “They have to finish putting my stomach back together and then set me up in a room anyway.”

“Are you sure?” I looked around the room as the doctor continued working on Alana and the nurses tended to Paris.

“Yes. Go, please!”

I kissed her once more. “I love you, baby. I’ll get an update on Paris as soon as I can, okay?”

“I love you, too, E.” She smiled up at me, and we both stared into each other’s eyes as I walked toward the nurses.

They cleaned Paris and were preparing to transfer her. She looked so small in the incubator, and I still couldn’t believe she was ours.

“Is she okay?” I asked a nurse who was looking at her chart.

“Her breathing is unsteady, and she looks jaundiced, but everything else looks okay so far.” She smiled up at me. “They’ll take good care of her up in the NICU. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.”

Another nurse introduced herself as she arrived and explained she’d be the one bringing Paris down to the NICU. I followed her as she wheeled the little cart to the elevator and took us to the fifth floor. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared for any of this, and I felt like a damn fool.

As we walked the quiet path down the hallway, I could see in the other rooms. Tiny, helpless babies all in incubators. I’d never witnessed anything like it in my life.

I was anxious to get back to Alana, but I knew she’d want me to stay with Paris until I had a solid update. My baby girl was covered in tubes. A breathing tube and feeding tube, along with a variety of monitors.

The scene broke me.

I felt incredibly helpless as I watched our newborn baby fighting to breathe. She was premature, weighing only four pounds, and I wanted nothing more than for her to stay strong and healthy.

About an hour later, the doctor who did Alana’s C-section knocked on the door, and as soon as I saw his glum expression, I stood from my chair and walked toward him.

I waited for him to speak, but his eyes flickered to Paris and back to mine before he finally did.

“There were some complications with Alana,” he began, and I felt my entire world ripped out from under me.

Those memories continue to haunt me in every aspect of my life. I blamed and beat myself over not being there for her when she needed me the most—completely vulnerable and exposed. To have to choose between being by my wife’s side or my newborn baby was a game I couldn’t win. I’d already felt guilty for leaving her in the operating room, but either choice would’ve been the wrong one. That’s something I know I’ll have to live with the rest of my life.

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