Dezanove Estrelas

A whaling cry woke a very tired Cristiano Ronaldo; but he stood up quickly in his tired and uncomfortable state to tend to the tears. Cris had fallen asleep in the discomfort of the same chair for…well, what felt like days, but was only a few hours.

He reached the bed on the other side of the room and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, before smiling down at the person. Cristiano reached his hands down and picked up the crying baby. His baby.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. One hand behind the head, the other, secured safely around the body. Cristiano did his best to calm down the screaming infant. “É bem agora. É bem.” (“It’s alright now. It’s alright.”) But nothing he did seemed to work. For a good half hour, Cris just rocked, back and forth, cooing his child to go to sleep. And eventually, the baby did.

Cris slowly, and very softly, stepped back from the crib and resumed his spot on the other side of the room. But this time, he pulled his chair forward, so he was closer to the bed in front of him. He sat down with a low sigh and rested his elbows on his knees, then his head in his hands.

Only four hours after Camilla delivered their child, and he felt already in way too deep. He lifted his head and stared at the sight before him. It was the same sight he had witnessed just some hours ago. Camilla was dressed in a hospital gown, lying inert, on a hospital bed, hooked up to a lifeline and an oxygen tank. It tore his heart in half as he prayed he would never have to see this again; unfortunately, his prayers just weren’t enough.

His hand went to Camilla’s on the bed. It was like déjà vu. All he wanted to do was beg for her to move. But he knew she wouldn’t for a while. Her body won’t allow it. So instead, he decided to talk to her.

Cristiano cleared his throat, and gave her hand a light squeeze, “Oi Camilla.” It was silent for a little while. Cris honestly, had no idea what to say. He heard the baby whimper, and shuffle in the crib; then it hit him like a bus. A single tear strode down his face. “Camilla que eu necessito-o. Isto é demais eu fazer sozinho. Nosso bebê, Camilla…nosso menino belo de bebê. Ele espera encontrar a sua mãe.” (“Camilla I need you. This is too much for me to do alone. Our baby, Camilla…our beautiful baby boy. He’s waiting to meet his mother.”) Cristiano just watched her chest, slowly rise and fall with every breath the oxygen tank gave her. “Ele não tem um nome Camilla. Nós íamos decidir isso juntos. Camilla agrada, por favor. Eu necessito-o.” (“He doesn’t even have a name Camilla. We were going to decide that together. Camilla please, please. I need you.”)

The tears would not stop now. Now he knew. He knew exactly what it must have felt like that moment he left her - when she found out she was pregnant. The pull on his heart, the anxiety in his chest. It was terrible. He didn’t want to feel this pain, or this loneliness, but there was nothing he could do.

Once Camilla had finished with the birth, she had once again blacked out. It was is the single worst experience he had ever encountered in his life…

-X-

“¿Entonces qué que significa?” (“So what does that mean?”) Cris tried not to show anger, or sadness, for sake of his girlfriend.

The doctor gave him a straightforward answer, “debemos entregar ahora.” (“we must deliver now.”)

Both jaws dropped. Their baby wasn’t supposed to arrive for another three weeks. Giving birth to him now means giving birth to a very, very premature baby. They would love their child regardless of anything, but they just wanted him or her to be the happiest and healthiest he or she can be. And premature birth usually leads to health defects or disabilities, especially this early.

“¿Bien, cómo es supuesta entregar sólo ahora?” (“Well, how is she supposed to just deliver now?”) Cris asked. He had no idea how child birth worked.

“Fui planificado para una C-sección.” (“I was scheduled for a c-section.”) Camilla said, looking at him. For the baby’s original birth, she decided no to go with natural delivery. She cringed and whimpered when the baby started to contract. Cristiano wrapped his arms around Camilla as she looked like she was about to fall off the bed. The contractions soon settled and Camilla worked on her breathing exercises.

The doctor let out a shaky breath and both Camilla and Cristiano snapped their eyes to the doctor. He looked like a dear in headlights.

“¡Lo que ahora!” Cris raised his voice.

“Nosotros no podemos realizar C-sección para este nacimiento. Es demasiado peligroso. Con el movimiento del bebé…bien, pongámosle quiere esto: hojas cerca del útero no serían una situación conveniente. Lo único que podemos hacer es, la espera para el niño de dilatar y cambiar a la posición correcta, entonces empuja.” (“We can not perform c-section for this birth. It’s too dangerous. With the baby’s movement…well, let’s put it like this: blades near the uterus would not be a suitable situation. The only thing we can do is, wait for the child to dilate and shift to the correct position, then push.”) the doctor informed.

“¡Qué!” Camilla screamed, “¡No es que más peligroso que una C-sección de mierda! ¡Eso no hace absolutamente sentido usted imbécil! ¡Usted me espera, espere y para sufrir por, sólo dios sabe cuántas contracciones hasta que el bebé esté listo! ¡Estas contracciones consiguen peor por el segundo!” (“Isn’t that more dangerous than a fucking c-section! That makes absolutely no sense you moron! You expect me, to wait and suffer through, only god knows how many contractions until the baby is ready! These contractions are getting worse by the second!”)

“¡Ahora Camilla, debe quedarse la calma! Ya énfasis puede poner gravemente la vida de su niño en peligro.” (“Now Camilla, you need to remain calm! Anymore stress can seriously put the life of your child in danger.”)

“¡No! ¡Yo no calmaré! ¡Explique a mí cómo esto hace cualquier sentido! ¡Explíquelo a mí!” (“No! I will not calm down! Explain to me how this makes any sense! Explain it to me!”)

“Camilla, por favor,” Cristiano whispered into her ear. Camilla brought her breathing down, thanks to Cristiano. But that still did not help the fact that she was scared as hell.

“Cuide, prepare Camilla para la Cirugía.” (“Nurse, prep Camilla for Surgery.”) The doctor went to the door, but not before turning around and calling for Cris to meet him outside.

He raised an eyebrow, but followed the man out into the hall. “¡Más malas noticias!” Cris exclaimed in a low whisper once the door was closed behind him. “¿Lo que más podría fallar?” (“What more could go wrong?”)

The doctor sighed - Cris was getting really tired of that. “Yo no quise decir esto en frente de Camilla. Ella ya tiene para preocuparse demasiado por…” (“I did not want to say this in front of Camilla. She already has too much to worry about…”)

“Y?” Cris waited, “¿qué?”

“Hay una posibilidad que la vida de Camilla está en peligro.” (“There is a possibility that Camilla’s life is at risk.”) Cris opened his mouth to yell, but the doctor cut him off, “Pero ella no debe saber eso. Como dijo, ella ya ha tenido manera demasiado énfasis pone su mente y el cuerpo. Otra cosa, y pueden matar al bebé…mayo aún la matando.” (“but she does not need to know that. Like I said, she already has had way too much stress put on her mind and body. Anything else, and it can kill the baby…may even killing her.”)

At that, Cristiano’s heart tore. He leaned against the adjacent wall, banging his head back against it. “Yo sólo no veo por qué ella no puede tener la C-sección similar ella ya planeó.” (“I just don’t see why she can’t have the c-section like she already planned.”)

“Le puedo dar una lista larga de razones. Yo aún le puedo dar un informe médico entero. Pero para decirlo simplemente, nosotros no podemos cortar en el abdomen ni el útero porque el bebé mueve más rápido en la posición del parto. Será más fácil para nosotros entregar al bebé así, que cortar posiblemente en el bebé mismo.” (“I can give you a long list of reasons. I can even give you an entire medical report. But to say it simply, we can not cut into the abdomen or uterus because the baby is moving faster into the childbirth position. It will be easier for us to deliver the baby like that, than to possibly cut into the baby itself.”)

Cris was ready to backlash once again, just out of pure frustration, but the door to Camilla’s room opened. She came out with a forced smile upon her lips. Cris forced one back. The nurse told him to follow so he could prep for delivery as well. Cris took hold of the wheelchair and the two fell a step behind their nurse and doctor.

“Cristiano, yo soy espantado.” (“Cristiano, I’m scared.”) she craned her neck to look up at him.

Cris looked down at her, trying his hardest to hide the fear in his own eyes, “Todo será bien, Camilla. Tendré razón allí al lado de usted, y cuando es hecho todo. Encontraremos a la persona para que hemos estado esperando ocho meses.” (“Everything will be alright, Camilla. I’ll be right there beside you, and when it’s all done. We’ll both be meeting the person we’ve been waiting eight months for.”) Now, right outside of the delivery room, both took a deep breath. It was time to meet their baby.

-X-

Cristiano sat on a bench in front of the hospital. He watched cars and people pass by on the busy streets and sidewalks of Madrid. It had been a day and Camilla was still not awake.

A loud car horn went off, followed by some hollering. Cris’s gaze snapped to the scene as one car swerved to the side of the road, and the other hit the brakes hard, nearly creating an accident. Both drivers exited their vehicles and ran over to each other. Their hands waving in the air, as their mouths began to run. Yelling and screaming about insurance and repairs, when really, no one had gotten hurt, and nothing had been damaged.

But a bumper sticker on one of the cars had caught Cristiano’s eye, making him scratch his head. The sticker read:

Quien se muere con el más…Victorias. (He who dies with the most…Wins.)

“¿Las victorias qué?” he asked himself.

Now the scene before him just made him angrier than before. What the hell does this person win when they die? Does the driver of the car know? Has he met with the devil, or with God? Has he been to heaven or hell? Cris was intrigued now…what does said person win for having the “most”.

It’s irritating to even think about. Camilla, his girlfriend, his love is upstairs in the hospital behind him right now, hooked up to a lifeline, breathing from a tube. Their baby boy is still nameless. And this car, with its stupid bumper sticker is going to tell him that.

At one point in time Cris may have thought like that; with his obsession with fame and fortune. At one point, getting the “most” was his life. Then came Camilla, and all he wanted to do was give her everything - heightening that obsession. Till it just became too much for Camilla. It took him all this time, to realize what she had wanted out of their relationship. She didn’t want “the most”. She needed him. And he wasn’t there.

It was his fault for the stress. His fault for complications. His fault she was lying in a hospital bed right now. No matter what anyone would tell him, or what Camilla tried to tell him, he blamed himself.

A mob of bodies appeared in front of him. Cristiano stood up. Before him stood the whole of the Real Madrid Team. Ramos, Benzema, Casillas, Xabi, Canales, Di Maria…everyone.

“¿Qué es usted tipos que hacen aquí?” (“What are you guys doing here?”) he asked.

“Usted me llamó,” (“You called me,”) Kaká spoke up, “Y naturalmente llamé Sergio, que llamó Karim, que llamó Iker, que llamó Marcelo etcétera.” (“and naturally I called Sergio, who called Karim, who called Iker, who called Marcelo and so on.”) Cris nodded his head.

Sergio stepped forward and gave Cristiano a friendly reassuring pat on the back. “Somos un equipo. La familia, yo adivino, por mucho que frustrara conseguimos uno con el otro en el tono. Estamos aquí para usted y para Camilla.” (“We’re a team. Family, I guess, no matter how frustrated we get with each other on the pitch. We’re here for you and Camilla.”)

Cristiano smiled, “gracias.”

“Bastante bien con los chicos de romance,” (“Well enough with the romance boys,”) Marcelo and his loud self stepped forward, “¿Dónde está ese bebé suyo?” (“where’s that baby of yours?”) The men cracked up laughing; leave it to Marcelo to lighten the mood.

“Sígame” (“Follow me,”) Cris led the way into the hospital.

-X-

Almost all the team left about fifteen minutes ago, except Sergio and Kaká. As much hassle as the two had given Cris these past months, he really owes it to them that he was even with Camilla now.

“¿Entonces usted realmente no tiene un nombre para el tipo pequeño todavía?” (“So you really don’t have a name for the little guy yet?”) Kaká asked softly as he rocked Cristiano’s son in his arms. Having a child of his own, Kaká was a natural.

“No.”

“¿Que tal Sergio?” (“How about Sergio?”) Serg joked. Kaká clicked his tongue while Cristiano smacked his head. The three men spoke in quietly as to not wake the baby or to disturb Camilla.

Placing the little boy in the crib, it was time for a serious conversation. “¿Exactamente sucedió durante entrega Cristiano?” (“What exactly happened during delivery Cristiano?”) Kaká wondered aloud.

Cris rubbed his temples, “Estuvo bajo mucho énfasis de empezar con. Había algunas complicaciones y ella debió atravesar con el nacimiento natural de niño…” (“she was under a lot of stress to begin with. There were some complications and she needed to go through with natural child birth…”)

-X-

“¡Camilla bueno! Es tiempo. Le necesito, cuando digo dar así, un empujón duro agradable. ¿Visto bueno?” (“Okay Camilla! It’s time. I need you, when I say so, to give a nice hard push. Okay?”)

Camilla nodded her head vigorously. She was sweating, she was screaming, and she was literally crushing Cristiano’s hand. “¡Haré lo que usted desea sólo lo sale de mí!” (“I’ll do whatever you want just get it out of me!”) she screamed.

When the doctor said push, she pushed. That was all Camilla could focus on. She blocked out all other noise in the delivery room. She couldn’t hear the nurses. She couldn’t hear Cristiano. All that rang through her ears was the doctor’s voice telling her to push. She closed her eyes feeling slightly light-headed. But she kept her focus.

Push.

Push.

Cry.

She heard a baby’s cry.

Push.

Push.

Her vision was blurring.

Push.

Push.

“Es un chico!”

Blackout

-X-

“¿Y acaba de atascar en este estado de coma?” (“And she’s just stuck in this coma state?”) Sergio asked, to which Cris nodded a response. “Oramos para ella, y para usted, y su niño. Todo estará bien Ronaldo.” (“We’re praying for her, and you, and your child. Everything will be okay Ronaldo.”)

The men chatted a little while longer before a nurse popped into the room to inform Sergio and Kaká that visiting hours were over. And soon, it was just Cris left, with his sleeping son and wife girlfriend.

She would have been his wife by now, if a certain chain of events had not occurred. Of course, Cristiano blamed himself for everything. He was so selfish and now he is being punished. At least the way he saw it. He stood up and walked to the window near Camilla’s bed. For the first time since he was a child, and his mother had forced him into a suit and tie to attend Sunday morning service, Cristiano Ronaldo prayed.

“Estimado Dios, lo único que pregunto de usted, soy de devolver Camilla a mí. Despiértela de esta coma. Manténgala y nuestro niño seguro. Lo siento para todo yo he causado esta familia. Lo siento para la partida. Puedo mendigar su perdón para siempre, aunque sé que nunca será suficiente. Pero por favor Dios, me otorga éste desea, esta oración, me trae la espalda a mí. Yo no puedo hacer esto solo…” (“Dear God, the only thing I ask of you, is to bring Camilla back to me. Wake her from this coma. Keep her and our child safe. I’m sorry for everything I have caused this family. I’m sorry for leaving. I can beg your forgiveness forever, though I know it’ll never be enough. But please God, grant me this one wish, this prayer, bring her back to me. I can’t do this alone…”)

-X-

Camilla found herself walking down a white hallway; an unfamiliar, seemingly never ending white hallway. She wore a white, floor length dress, and her baby bump was gone.

“¿Dónde estoy?” (“Where am I?”) she asked herself.

“¿Dónde piensa usted?” (“Where do you think?”) a voice asked.

Her head snapped back and forth, up and down, looking for the source of the voice. But found no one. “Hola?” She spun around, and suddenly found herself in a hospital. People walked by, passing her, bumping into her without so much as a “perdonme”. She noticed however, that she was standing right outside of a room. The folder in the bin next to the door was labeled with her name. She raised an eyebrow and stepped inside.

The sight made her fall to her knees.

Camilla set her eyes on her body, laying motionless on a hospital bed. It was like she was staring at a ghost…but she was the ghost? This didn’t make any sense. She took another step forward towards herself, before she heard a whimper. Beside her own bed, was a smaller one - a medical crib. Camilla stepped to the crib, causing her mouth to drop just slightly with every step she took. Inside was a beautiful, round, baby boy.

“¿Tengo a un hijo?” (“I have a son?”) she whispered. She reached into the crib to touch her child, but felt nothing. Resting her hand on his chunky little arms, was like resting it on air. She felt nothing. She stepped back, scared now. What was this?

Then a voice entered her ears. By the window, kneeled Cristiano. She practically ran to him. By his side, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Cristiano?” but she could not feel him. “Cristiano!” she was frantic.

“Que eso!” she screamed. He did not hear her, but she heard him.

“Por favor Dios, me otorga éste desea, esta oración, me trae la espalda a mí. Yo no puedo hacer esto solo…”

She ran out of the room and she was back in that hallway. “¡Devuélvame!” (“Take me back!”) she demanded to whoever was listening. She didn’t want to believe that she was dead. Or on her way to dying. “¡Devuélvame!” (“Take me back!”) now she was crying, “Quiero volver. Me necesita, lo necesito. ¡Hice ni consigo para encontrar mi hijo! ¡Devuélvame! ¡Devuélvame a Cristiano! ¡Devuélvame a mi familia!” (“I want to go back. He needs me, I need him. I didn’t even get to meet my son! Take me back! Take me back to Cristiano! Take me back to my family!”) But nothing was happening.

Crying hysterically, she banged on the hallway walls. She kicked, she screamed, she thrashed around relentlessly. Screaming over and over, take me back.