The cab jerks to a stop outside the sliding glass doors, and I’m out after I hand him sone cash. My chest feels like it’s going to explode as I push through the ER entrance and up to the admissions desk.
“My wife came in, she’s pregnant and she fell,” I blurt out, my words tripping over each other.
The nurse behind the desk gives me a quick once-over, then disappears behind a curtain with a, “take a seat”. I don’t, I stand there, heart hammering, watching the seconds crawl by. One minute. Two. Still nothing.
I can’t stand still anymore. I approach another nurse, older, confident, wearing different-coloured scrubs that mark her as someone in charge.
“My wife,” I say again, breathless. “She came in about thirty minutes ago. Brooke Basen. She’s pregnant, she fell, and-”
“Her name?” the nurse asks briskly.
“Brooke Masters Basen.”
Recognition flashes in her eyes, and she nods. “We’ve got her. She’s been transferred upstairs to Labor and Delivery for monitoring.”
“Labor and Delivery?” I ask. “Does that mean-?”
“It’s standard procedure,” she says quickly, holding up a hand. “It doesn’t mean she’s in labour. We just want to make sure both mom and baby are okay. Take the elevators at the end of the hall, third floor. Ask for the maternity assessment unit.”
“Thank you,” I manage, already halfway down the corridor before she’s even finished speaking.
I follow her directions to maternity, my heart thudding with every step. A nurse at the desk leads me through a set of double doors and down a quiet hallway to a semi-private room.
And there she is.
Brooke’s lying on a bed, swallowed up in a pale blue hospital gown, wires and monitors attached to her belly. The soft, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh of a foetal heartbeat fills the room, steady and strong.
I don’t even realize I’m moving until I’m at her side. The second she sees me, she reaches out, curling into me as I sit beside her on the bed. My arms wrap around her instinctively, holding her tight, grounding us both.
“Are you okay?” I whisper into her hair.
She nods against my shoulder, her voice shaky but steady enough. “They said the baby’s good. Strong. And… she’s okay.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. “She?”
Brooke nods again, tears glistening in her eyes as a trembling smile breaks across her face. “It’s a girl.”
For a moment, everything stops, the fear, the noise, the world outside that hospital room. All I can hear is that steady little heartbeat and the words echoing in my head:It’s a girl.
My girl. Our girl.
I press my forehead to hers, laughing quietly through the tears I didn’t even realize were falling. “She’s really okay?”
“She’s perfect,” Brooke whispers. “Absolutely perfect.”
“You must be Dad,” an older woman says warmly as she steps into the room, a stethoscope slung around her neck. She takes the chart from the end of Brooke’s bed and glances at the monitors, her eyes scanning the readings with practiced ease.
“Well,” she says after a moment, “the baby looks perfectly fine. The heartbeat is strong, and the ultrasound shows she’s moving around as she should. The fall did cause a very slight tear inthe uterine wall, but it’s nothing to panic about. We’ll monitor it closely at your next appointment.”
Relief floods through me, loosening something that’s been knotted tight in my chest since Brooke’s call. “So… she’s okay? We can go home?”
The doctor nods and turns to Brooke. “Yes. You're stable, and so is the baby. But while I’m not putting you on bedrest, Iamgoing to strongly recommend that you stop working for the remainder of the pregnancy. We can’t risk another fall like this.”
She asks. “Is there any way you could transition to desk duty?”
Brooke shakes her head, her voice small. “My maternity leave doesn’t start for a while.”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, reaching for her hand. “We’ll figure it out. Brooke will stay home.”
