THE NEXT TWENTY MINUTESmight as well be twenty years because I’m certain I’ve aged that quickly. I stare through the tiny window at the hall, watching for any movement in or out of the OR, but there is nothing.
I see our future before me two ways—one with her, and one without—each day passing in a flash as the children grow up and I grow old. I don’t want to do this without her.
For the first time, I understand what my mother must have felt, knowing she’d spend her life without the man she loved. And I see clearly how awful that must have been. The hopelessness.
A hand grips my shoulder, and I turn to see Ollie beside me. He says nothing, just nods, and I do the same. Wiping at my eyes, I clear my throat. “She’ll be fine,” I say, trying to convince myself.
Moments later, a tiny cart is wheeled out of the room with three nurses surrounding it. My breath catches when I see the worry on their faces. They hurry toward us, bursting through the door and rushing by without me getting more than a glimpse of our baby. A second team follows them, and this time I hear the cry of a newborn, and it’s the best sound I think I’ve ever heard. They hurry by before I can ask anything, and I’m left wondering if this is the very worst moment of my life or the very best.
“Ollie, Xavier. Follow the babies. Don’t let them out of your sight,” I say, grabbing the open door and sneaking into the OR wing.
I stop at the door, staring through the window at the operating theatre, seeing a lot of blood. So much more than I thought. My knees go weak, and I hold the wall next to me to steady myself.
Inside, I see Dr. Patell and Dr. Dropp in masks and gowns, working on my wife. “Please let her be okay,” I pray over and over.
Dr. Dropp makes eye contact with me, and it’s hard to tell, but I think she might be smiling. She gives me a thumbs up—a disgusting, blood-covered thumbs up—but I’m pretty sure it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.
