Afraid.
1/1
She had never been prouder of herself. She had decorated the nursery by herself, telling her husband that she wanted to fill the space with handmade things that she had designed herself just for him. She had always wanted to become an artist, and she had the skills. It just hadn’t worked out, but now she was finally getting her chance to create for her wonderful baby boy.
There were four weeks before he was due. She set out to painting the room with wonderful designs, sweeps of red and blue and green and purple and color spread over the walls, giving the room a sense of brightness. She made little origami animals, and made cranes to hang above his crib like a mobile. She made what she felt the baby would like for eight months, her inspiration coming from her bump. When she was finished, she stood in the middle, taking a look at everything with a slow smile. The room was perfect.
“All it needs is you, baby.” She murmured, rubbing her stomach. She felt him kick and she smiled widely. Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of feeling a baby kick from the inside of her stomach, to know that she was carrying a little baby, a little life, inside of her.
He came in the morning. She woke up to find that her water had just broken, and she quickly woke up her husband, telling him that they needed to go now. They quickly rushed to the hospital, him panicking and her in pain. He took her inside the hospital, practically carrying her.
“My wife is having a baby!” He shouted, doctors flooding them suddenly, putting the pregnant woman in a wheelchair and wheeling her away, her husband following her with his pulse racing, hoping that everything would go okay. She had complete confidence that everything was going to be okay.
“We’ll get through this, won’t we baby?” She murmured through her pain, rubbing her stomach. They wheeled her into the birthing room and laid her down on the table. She saw her husband swoon into the chair, sweating bullets. They set her up and then the nurse called the doctor over.
“Mrs. Lane, we’re going to have to do an emergency C-section.” The doctor told her, quickly preparing for the sudden surgery. She nodded, worry creeping over her.
What’s the matter, baby? She thought as they put a mask over her, letting her drift into unconsciousness. When she woke back up, there were solemn faces and quiet murmurings.
“Mrs. Lane? Can you hear me?” The doctor’s face drifted back into view, and she blinked quickly, trying to focus.
“Yes.” She croaked out, slowly overcoming the drowsiness. She struggled to sit up, but a nurse gently pushed her back down.
“Where is he? Where is my baby?” She asked, her eyes frantically darting around the room. The doctor pursed his lips, wringing his hands.
“There were some…difficulties. He’s in ICU right now, stable. How are you feeling?” She completely disregarded his question, anxiously sitting up, ignoring the nurse’s plea to stay down.
“I have to see him! You have to take me to him, now!” She demanded, her heart racing.
“Mrs. Lane, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The doctor said softly, moving towards her. She shook her head.
“No! I need to see my son. Take me to him, now!” She shouted, her eyes wide. The doctor and nurse exchanged a look and he exhaled, nodding. The nurse quickly brought a wheelchair and helped her into it, making sure she was secured before wheeling her quickly to the baby’s room. They stopped outside the window, and she began to shake, her hand flying up to her mouth.
There was her baby, tied to up to tubes and wires and IV drips and he was so small, so fragile. She wanted to scream and curl up at the same time. That couldn’t be her baby. That couldn’t be the baby who had kicked playfully, who had been her muse for the past nine months, who she had created so many beautiful things for, who had seemed so healthy. She began sobbing, leaning her head against the window and crying for her baby boy.
She stayed in the hospital for that week, spending all of her time watching him through the window. She knew in her heart what was going to happen, but she couldn’t bring herself to think it or say it out loud. When she watched the little heart monitor connected to her child go flat, she could feel a part of her leaving with him. Her husband came to pick her up that evening, and he carried her into the house. They walked up to the nursery together, and her eyes darted over all the beautiful things she had made for him. She started to shake and she slumped in her husband’s arms, crying into his shoulder. He held her tightly, crying silently. Both of them stayed like that for a long time, and when she finally got the courage to look again, she felt afraid of trying again.
There were four weeks before he was due. She set out to painting the room with wonderful designs, sweeps of red and blue and green and purple and color spread over the walls, giving the room a sense of brightness. She made little origami animals, and made cranes to hang above his crib like a mobile. She made what she felt the baby would like for eight months, her inspiration coming from her bump. When she was finished, she stood in the middle, taking a look at everything with a slow smile. The room was perfect.
“All it needs is you, baby.” She murmured, rubbing her stomach. She felt him kick and she smiled widely. Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of feeling a baby kick from the inside of her stomach, to know that she was carrying a little baby, a little life, inside of her.
He came in the morning. She woke up to find that her water had just broken, and she quickly woke up her husband, telling him that they needed to go now. They quickly rushed to the hospital, him panicking and her in pain. He took her inside the hospital, practically carrying her.
“My wife is having a baby!” He shouted, doctors flooding them suddenly, putting the pregnant woman in a wheelchair and wheeling her away, her husband following her with his pulse racing, hoping that everything would go okay. She had complete confidence that everything was going to be okay.
“We’ll get through this, won’t we baby?” She murmured through her pain, rubbing her stomach. They wheeled her into the birthing room and laid her down on the table. She saw her husband swoon into the chair, sweating bullets. They set her up and then the nurse called the doctor over.
“Mrs. Lane, we’re going to have to do an emergency C-section.” The doctor told her, quickly preparing for the sudden surgery. She nodded, worry creeping over her.
What’s the matter, baby? She thought as they put a mask over her, letting her drift into unconsciousness. When she woke back up, there were solemn faces and quiet murmurings.
“Mrs. Lane? Can you hear me?” The doctor’s face drifted back into view, and she blinked quickly, trying to focus.
“Yes.” She croaked out, slowly overcoming the drowsiness. She struggled to sit up, but a nurse gently pushed her back down.
“Where is he? Where is my baby?” She asked, her eyes frantically darting around the room. The doctor pursed his lips, wringing his hands.
“There were some…difficulties. He’s in ICU right now, stable. How are you feeling?” She completely disregarded his question, anxiously sitting up, ignoring the nurse’s plea to stay down.
“I have to see him! You have to take me to him, now!” She demanded, her heart racing.
“Mrs. Lane, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The doctor said softly, moving towards her. She shook her head.
“No! I need to see my son. Take me to him, now!” She shouted, her eyes wide. The doctor and nurse exchanged a look and he exhaled, nodding. The nurse quickly brought a wheelchair and helped her into it, making sure she was secured before wheeling her quickly to the baby’s room. They stopped outside the window, and she began to shake, her hand flying up to her mouth.
There was her baby, tied to up to tubes and wires and IV drips and he was so small, so fragile. She wanted to scream and curl up at the same time. That couldn’t be her baby. That couldn’t be the baby who had kicked playfully, who had been her muse for the past nine months, who she had created so many beautiful things for, who had seemed so healthy. She began sobbing, leaning her head against the window and crying for her baby boy.
She stayed in the hospital for that week, spending all of her time watching him through the window. She knew in her heart what was going to happen, but she couldn’t bring herself to think it or say it out loud. When she watched the little heart monitor connected to her child go flat, she could feel a part of her leaving with him. Her husband came to pick her up that evening, and he carried her into the house. They walked up to the nursery together, and her eyes darted over all the beautiful things she had made for him. She started to shake and she slumped in her husband’s arms, crying into his shoulder. He held her tightly, crying silently. Both of them stayed like that for a long time, and when she finally got the courage to look again, she felt afraid of trying again.