Chương 10
The pressure became stronger.
Claire felt pushing against her ribs.
Dr. Patel asked for something.
A nurse handed it over.
Claire could hear metal against metal.
“Ethan.”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t tell me it’s fine.”
His eyes snapped back to hers.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
He moved his hand slightly, then stopped.
Claire saw him catch himself.
She turned her palm upward on the table.
He looked at it.
Then at her.
“Now.”
He placed his hand in hers.
Claire gripped him hard.
A minute had never felt so long.
Then another sound came from behind the drape.
Not crying.
A nurse spoke.
Dr. Patel said, “Come on.”
Claire’s fingernails dug into Ethan’s hand.
“What’s wrong?”
Dr. Monroe leaned closer.
“Baby B needs some help transitioning.”
“What does that mean?”
Before Dr. Monroe could answer, a weak cry sounded.
Claire froze.
Then came another.
Stronger this time.
The room seemed to breathe again.
“There he is,” someone said.
Claire started crying harder.
“He?”
Ethan’s voice cracked.
“A boy?”
A pediatric nurse looked over.
“Yes.”
Claire shut her eyes.
“Micah.”
Ethan bent his head over their joined hands.
“Micah.”
The baby cried again.
It was rougher than Nora’s, less indignant, but alive.
Claire listened until her chest hurt.
“Can I see him?”
“Soon.”
“Is he okay?”
“He needed a little extra support at birth.”
The pediatric nurse’s tone was careful.
“We’re assessing him now.”
Claire’s relief narrowed.
“What kind of support?”
“Breathing support.”
“Is he breathing?”
“Yes.”
“On his own?”
“He is now.”
Claire stared at the ceiling.
The brown stain from triage was gone.
These tiles were perfectly white.
She wished there were something imperfect to focus on.
Ethan squeezed her hand.
She looked at him.
“Don’t.”
His fingers loosened.
“No, not that.”
“What?”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re scared I’m going to break.”
He swallowed.
“I’m scared.”
“So am I.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.”
The words came sharper than she intended.
Ethan nodded.
“No.”
He looked toward the pediatric team.
“I don’t.”
Claire almost apologized.
She did not.
A nurse approached carrying Nora wrapped tightly in a striped hospital blanket.
Only the baby’s face showed beneath a tiny knit cap.
Claire stopped breathing again.
The nurse brought her close.
“This is Nora.”
Claire stared.
Nora’s face was red and compressed, her eyelids swollen, her mouth making tiny offended movements.
She was nothing like the smooth newborn photographs Claire had been shown for months.
She was infinitely better.
“Hi.”
Claire’s voice disappeared.
The nurse lowered Nora near her cheek.
Claire kissed the warm side of her face.
Nora made a small noise.
Ethan leaned closer but waited.
Claire looked at him.
“Go ahead.”
He kissed Nora’s forehead.
His eyes closed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Claire turned her head.
“To her?”
“To both of you.”
“This isn’t the time.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t.”
He nodded.
The nurse moved Nora toward the warmer.
Claire watched until she could not turn her head farther.
“What about Micah?”
“He’s coming.”
Another minute passed.
Then a nurse rolled a small bassinet closer.
Micah lay beneath a blanket with a cap pulled low over his forehead.
His color was paler than Nora’s.
A tiny sensor wrapped one foot.
Claire’s stomach dropped.
“Why does he have that?”
“Just monitoring.”
The nurse lifted him carefully.
“He’s stable.”
Claire studied the nurse’s eyes above her mask.
“Stable good or stable hospital good?”
The nurse paused.
“Stable good.”
Claire exhaled.
Micah was brought close to her.
His eyes remained closed.
His mouth opened once, then settled.
He was quieter.
Smaller.
Claire kissed his forehead.
“You scared me.”
Ethan made a strangled sound beside her.
Claire looked at him.
He pressed his fist against his mask.
“Are you okay?”
It was absurd to ask him.
Still, she asked.
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Good.”
He gave a broken laugh.
Claire looked back at Micah.
The nurse carried him away again.
Dr. Patel spoke from behind the drape.
“Both babies are doing well enough to stay with the newborn team for now.”
“For now?”
“We’ll keep watching Micah’s breathing.”
Claire tried to process that.
“What about me?”
“We’re finishing surgery.”
Dr. Patel’s tone remained calm.
“Your bleeding is controlled.”
Claire looked at Dr. Monroe.
“Was it not controlled?”
“It is controlled now.”
“That wording is terrible.”
“I agree.”
Claire’s eyelids felt suddenly heavy.
“Why am I tired?”
“Medication, surgery, adrenaline coming down.”
“Am I okay?”
Dr. Monroe studied the monitors.
“Yes.”
Claire searched her face.
“Actually?”
“Yes.”
Ethan exhaled beside her.
His hand was still in Claire’s.
She became aware of it again.
She did not let go.
Not yet.
A nurse returned with both babies in separate bassinets.
Nora was crying.
Micah was not.
Claire watched Micah’s chest.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
She counted five breaths before she trusted herself to look away.
Dr. Patel finished and came around the drape after removing her outer gloves.
“You did well.”
Claire frowned.
“I lay here.”
“You did it effectively.”
Claire smiled weakly.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Dr. Patel’s expression sobered.
“Your blood pressure, symptoms, and lab changes were consistent with severe preeclampsia.”
Claire had expected the words.
They still landed heavily.
“And if I had waited?”
Dr. Patel glanced toward Ethan before answering.
Claire noticed.
“No.”
Dr. Patel looked back at her.
“No what?”
“Don’t soften it because he’s sitting here.”
Ethan lowered his eyes.
Dr. Patel gave a small nod.
“Waiting longer could have increased the risk of serious complications for you and the babies.”
“How serious?”
“Seizure, stroke, worsening organ involvement, placental complications, fetal distress.”
Ethan’s hand went cold in hers.
Claire stared at Dr. Patel.
“A few hours?”
“I can’t tell you exactly what would have happened.”
“But it would have been unsafe.”
“Yes.”
Claire turned toward Ethan.
He was looking at the floor.
The operating room noises continued around them.
People moved equipment.
Someone adjusted Nora’s blanket.
May you like
A trash bin rolled across the floor.
Nothing stopped because Ethan had nearly made a catastrophic decision.
