A Ballad For Beulah

When Beulah was finally all cleaned and patched up, she was helped down into a wheelchair, with a hospital blanket draped over her legs, as a nurse took her to be examined elsewhere in Cardiology where tests would be conducted to see why her heart had stopped.

Mike had kissed her and told her he'd come to see her as soon as the nurses informed him of where her private room would be, and then the two of them would go up to the NICU to see their newborn son, whom was simply referred to as Baby Boy Pritchard.

Watching as she was wheeled down the hall and off toward the wide elevators, Mike turned and folded his arms across his chest as he sauntered almost zombie like toward the waiting room.

Once he was through the heavy, swinging double doors he stepped around the nurses' station and laid his eyes on the figures of Tre sitting with the three Armstrong brothers...

...And Billie Joe.

The raven-haired rocker stood up almost instantly. He hadn't heard anything in regard to Beulah after the flatlining bit aside from when Dr. Dohrman came back into the delivery room, letting Adrienne and him know that 'both the mother and son across the hall pulled through.'

Beulah had given birth to a son. Mike's first.

And even thought Billie Joe was so ecstatic for him taller friend, he was also worried what the stress of momentarily losing Beulah had done.

Mike's eyes were a little bloodshot and tired, but the happiness in them was self-evident.

Biting his bottom lip, he welcomed Bailey into his arms as the five-year-old rushed over and was picked up.

"Is my mommy okay?"

Mike nodded. "Well, she was feeling a little icky before but the doctors helped her and now she's feeling better, and guess what?"

"What?"

"You're a big a brother now," Mike informed with a smile.

"I am? Do I have secret sister this time?"

Oh, bless the boy's innocence.

Shaking his head, Mike glanced over at Billie Joe who seemed a shade paler as he ran a hand through Jakob's wavy brown hair. "No, Bailey. You have a little brother. And there aren't gonna be anymore secrets, okay?"

Bailey bobbed his head in agreement. "Good," he replied with conviction. "I hate secrets."

Tre practically jumped to his feet as he clamored over to Mike and Bailey, enveloping them both up in some sort of retarded version of a group hug.

Long story.

"I'm so happy for you guys," he gushed. "And just what Beulah needs. More testosterone in her life."

Billie Joe had to laugh at that. "Tre ain't kidding. She grew up with six brothers, then there's me, you, Bailey, Tre, even...my boys...and now you got a son..."

Mike grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Yeah, that I do." Then after sharing a smile with his two friends, he gestured to Billie Joe with a nod of his head. "How's Adrienne and, uh, did you finally get your girl?"

It was Billie Joe's turn to grin stupidly as he nodded in return. "Yup. Got me my first daughter." With big Jazz-like hands he made a gesture like he was reciting headline news from a paper. "Ava Adrienne Armstrong."

"Who's idea was the middle name?"

"Mine."

"Well, it's a beautiful name. And I don't doubt she's a beautiful little girl. That is, if she takes after her mother."

"Oh, she does alright," Billie Joe smirked. As a moment of silence settled over all of them, the green eyed punk pointed a finger to Bailey. "Could I..."

Mike looked from his friend's finger to Bailey, and registered what he wanted to know. With a faint smile, he consented. "Of course. He's your son."

Billie Joe reached his arms out and his heart almost melted as he took his son into his arms in front of everyone. In full view of anyone walking by. Especially Joey and Jakob who, fortunately, didn't seem to mind one iota.

Pressing his lips to Bailey's temple, he whispered to his youngest son. "I love you so much. Don't you ever doubt that, alright?"

Bailey nodded and turned his head so that he could whisper his response in his father's ear while wrapping his scrawny about father's shoulders. "I love you, too, Daddy."

* * *

Beulah sat in her wheelchair, hands folded in her blanket-clad lap, as she stared past the cardiologist and at the x-rays of her chest on the lit-up screen behind him.

He was speaking doctor talk and she wasn't a brainiac like him, so when she stared back at him with her mouth slightly agape and her eyes a little vacant, it must be stated ahead of time that she had no idea what he was saying.

"Huh?" she finally muttered.

The doctor smirked and sank down onto his stool. "Sorry. What I'm trying to say about what happened to you is that I believe you suffered from Sudden Cardiac Arrest." Beulah's blue eyes widened. "I had a heart attack? But I'm only 26!"

Holding up a hand to silence her, he gave her a sympathetic smile. "See, now right there is a very common misconception," he began. "In your case, you did die, even if only for three minutes. When that happens the 'arrest' becomes 'death.' Sudden Cardiac Death. And this happens when there's an abrupt loss of heart function."

"That's kinda obvious," Beulah muttered grimly. "But why did it happen? I don't have heart problems."

"That you know of," the doctor amended. "I looked over you medical history and did you know you were born with a slight heart murmur?" Beulah shook her head. "You were. It's in your files. Luckily, slight heart murmurs allow you to participate in physical activity, which would be why you never noticed it. But I also pulled your parents' medical history."

"How?" Beulah wondered. She would've assumed her parents' anything would've been buried not long after their deaths.

"I'm quite the respected man in the medical community. I have my ways," the doctor teased. "But seriously, your father was diagnosed with high blood pressure by a Dr. Janis in the Air Force back in 1984. It has everything to do with stress, and something I noticed in your trips to the OB-GYN in these last few months of your last trimester, you blood pressure was increasing, though not enough to signal any red flags."

"So, what are you trying to say? My rising blood pressure and slight heart murmur caused me to have a...sudden...death thing?"

"In a sense, yes," the doctor nodded. "But it's more than that, Beulah. Serious bouts of stress can fuel an adrenaline rush and put a strain on your heart. Normally, something like that happening to a person without any heart problems, no matter how big or small, would've simply passed. But given your condition, it increased your risk, and it came into play. To put it simply, the adrenaline released during intense physical or athletic activity often acts as a trigger for sudden death when these abnormalities are present."

"But it wasn't a heart attack?" she asked, making sure.

"No. But that doesn't make it any less dangerous," the doctor replied sternly. "The simple fact remains that you've been dealing with stress, keeping it to yourself and letting it build up, and because of this your body finally had enough and more or less gave up. It said, 'I'm tired, let me go.' And that's what it did. Your heart gave up. Lost function. And you," he pointed a finger at her, "died."

Beulah sucked in a series of unsteady breaths. "But they brought me back."

"Just barely. Did you know the other doctor that came in to assist Dr. Ling in the delivery room was a second away from calling your time of death?"

"Great, make me feel even worse."

The cardiologist smile apologetically and leaned forward to pat Beulah's knee. "I'm sorry. You didn't plan on this and you had no idea of something this extreme happening. Your OB-GYN should've informed you of your growing risk, no matter how small it seemed to her at the time. It was your health and you deserved to know everything. But, since it's all water under the bridge now, from this point on, you just need to take it easy." He gave her a playful shove. "Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things..."

Laughing slightly, Beulah smiled. "I'll try not to. But you have no idea what I've been trying to deal with..."

"I don't need to hear the reasons to know," he remarked as he swiveled on his stool and tapped the x-rays on the lit-up screen. "A picture's worth a thousand words..."

* * *

Several hours later, after a short nap in her own, private hospital room, Beulah could be found being wheeled in her wheelchair once again.

But this time it was Mike who was pushing her.

And they were on their way to the NICU.

"Can you believe all the flowers I have in my room?" Beulah gushed with a smile that spread from ear to ear. "And the teddy bears? I think I can open my own Build-A-Bear store now."

Mike snickered as he hunched forward to press his cheek against Beulah's as the rounded the short corridor and stopped in front of the NICU door.

Both of their breaths hitched in their throats.

"This is it," he murmured. "Ready to see our boy?"

"Very much so."

Pushing through the door, they were met by a nurse who greeted them both with smiles.

"Michael Pritchard and Beulah Mason?" she asked, making certain. They both nodded. "I was told you were coming up to see your son. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Mike replied.

"Your son was born at 37 weeks, which is on that thin line between what's premature and full term. Typically 37 weeks and under is preterm. But your son is doing well, given the circumstances of the labor, and his heart condition."

Beulah and Mike both almost fell into shock. Beulah, especially, after the visit with her cardiologist.

"What heart condition?" she demanded.

"Both you and Mike were born with slight heart murmurs which you passed on to your son, but don't be alarmed. Slight heart murmurs don't limit physical activity and the only real sign of the condition is the occasional skipping of the heartbeat. Which, again, is not a major problem. It just means the heartbeat is irregular. No medication is needed. No worries."

"Well, that's good news," Mike sighed, though not entirely relieved.

"And I have more." Both Mike and Beulah stared at her expectantly. "Usually, with premature infants, they're kept in an incubator and the parents are only allowed to touch their child through that, but given that your son is quite the fighter and doing remarkably, you get to hold him."

Tears began to well in both the parents' eyes as they all moved toward the half bed/half-incubator Mike and Beulah's son was lying in.

The nurse unhooked the heart monitors on his chest and wrapped his blanket around him as she lifted him up in her hands and stepped over to Beulah and placed the son in the mother's arms.

"He's perfect," she muttered, moving the blanket from around her son's face to touch his tiny little nose and touch his little chin.

Their baby boy yawned and fluttered his eyes open. His blue eyes that mirrored his parents. And he just kind of stared up at his mother; nudging his head toward her chest and then forming an 'O' with his lips.

"I think he's hungry," Mike laughed.

Beulah looked up at the nurse. "Can I?"

"It's your baby."

Smiling, Beulah pulled her hospital gown down a little and exposed her breast, lifting her son up a little as she began to feed him. And Mike just looked on with wonder.

It was such a simple, yet complex moment. So beautiful and pure. So natural.

Resting an elbow on the wheelchair's armrest, Mike hooked his thumbnail between his teeth and just let his eyes linger between his newborn son and the woman who had his heart.

"Hungry fucker, ain't he?" he commented.

"Mike," she chastised.

He just shrugged. "He's too young to know what I'm saying."

"Yeah, just you wait. In about seven months the first word he's gonna say is gonna be 'fucker,'" Beulah replied, hushing her voice when she swore.

For the next few minutes, she continued breast-feeding her son, until it was time to lift him up to her shoulder, resting him against her chest. Mike tilted his head to one side to stare at his little boy, snaking a finger into the infant's tiny hand, which it grabbed.

When a small, gassy burp was expelled from between his lips, Baby Boy Pritchard yawned again and then his little blue eyes locked with his father's and Mike's heart just about melted.

"We gonna name him?"

"I think we should," Beulah agreed.

"What do you think?"

"Michael Pritchard."

"Michael as his middle name, right?" he inquired as Beulah nodded. "We gonna go with what we talked about then?"

Nodding again, Beulah smiled. "Yep. We're gonna name him after the place that brought us together."

Mike leaned forward and kissed his son on the cheek. "Hey there, Vegas Michael."