Please let me be able to meet my baby.
Pressing my fingers into my eyes, I let a few tears fall before wiping them away quickly.
“Hey, she’ll be okay,” Logan says next to me. “She’s tough. She’ll be okay.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “And when she makes it through this, I want you to know, I won’t be interfering anymore. You don’t have to worry about me, man. She’s all yours, she’s always been yours.”
Tilting my head to the side, I look Logan in the eyes. Man to man.He loves her, but he’s letting her go. For me.He silently bows out, and I can’t do anything but respect the fuck out of him, especially for saying it to my face. Lending my hand out, he grasps it and we do an awkward shake side hug, putting our grievances behind us.
Tragic events bring out the best in us at times, the pleading side of us, the forgiving side. I’m all three right now. But mostly begging and pleading to anyone who will listen.
After what seems like hours, a doctor comes through the door and calls out Adalyn’s name. I press my hand against Logan’s shoulder as I stand. Without even thinking twice, I say, “I’m her boyfriend and the baby’s father.”
I know the rules about giving information family only, boyfriends don’t count, but the baby, that’s a different story. He must see the desperation in my eyes, because he pulls me to the side and takes a deep breath.
“The baby is okay. We have a heart monitor hooked up right now, and we’re keeping a close eye on him.”
Him.
My world starts spiraling. We’re having a baby boy. A son.
Tears spill from my eyes, and I make no attempt to wipe them away.
“There was some distress from the accident so that’s why we’re monitoring closely.”
Swallowing hard, I say, “And Adalyn?”
Looking around, the doctor questions if he should tell me or not when I plead with him, my tears falling faster and harder. “Please,” I choke on a sob. “Please just tell me.”
Sighing, he leans forward and says, “She’s in a coma. She suffered a traumatic brain injury when the car was hit. Her head slammed into the window . . . lost some blood . . . severe bruise . . . scar . . . broken wrist . . . cuts and scrapes.”
She’s in a coma. I have no idea what else he said.My girl’s in a coma.
“A coma?” I swallow hard. “What does that mean?”
“It means, we’re playing the waiting game now.”
After a few more prolific medical terms thrown my way, he says he’ll walk me to her room. Before I leave, I give everyone an update, and tell them to go home, but none of them move. Instead, they stay put and ask if I need anything.
It might not be the family I grew up with, or the friends I’ve known and loved for a very long time, but this little family of mine in California, it’s more than I could ask for at this very moment.
The hospital staff doesn’t seem to slow down as I walk past them, and I can’t help but remember what Adalyn told me when we were in New York. The stress of her job, the bad news she would have to hear the doctors deliver, the losses she experienced on a daily basis, how mentally tough her job was. I pray I’m not one of the loved ones a nurse has to see walk away, heartbroken and shattered.
When we reach the room, the doctor turns to me and says, “The only reason I’m letting you back here is because this is your baby, and because I know if you stay out there longer, people are going to start noticingyou.For privacy, I’m allowing you to hide away, instead of being the talk of the waiting room.” He grips my shoulder and reaches for the handle.
I stop him and sincerely say, “You don’t know how much that means to me. Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. And just so you know, we have a strict policy about patient confidentiality. You shouldn’t hear about this in the papers tomorrow.”
This guy and this hospital is getting one hell of a donation from me when this is all over, when Adalyn is back in my arms, healthy and smiling that beautiful smile once again.
The door opens to a dimly lit room, two beeping monitors flank the bed and in the middle, Adalyn lies silently on the bed. Her head is wrapped in gauze, her wrist is secured in white bandaging tape, and her face is swollen from small abrasions.But she’s alive.
From behind, the doctor closes the door. With a heavy heart and lead feet, I make my way to the side of the bed and pull up a chair. Taking her hand in mine, I stroke her knuckles and brush the side of her cheek, avoiding any scrapes, not wanting to hurt her.
“Jesus, baby. Look at you.” Tears spill out of my eyes. “Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to trade places with you right now, to take away all this pain and make you the healthy one.” Moving my hand to her belly where our baby grows, I lightly stroke the sheets covering her up. “This little one is so strong. This little guy.” I choke on a sob. “He’s strong just like you, not like his daddy who is a blubbering mess.” Bending my head, I press a kiss against her stomach. “So strong.”
Staring at her battered face where I can see bruises forming, I squeeze my eyes shut, hating seeing her like this. When you fall in love, you never consider moments like this, where you have to sit at your soulmate’s bedside, and hope and pray they come back to you, wondering if you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life, missing out on all the moments you could have shared with them.
I knew I couldn’t live without Adalyn, I realized that the moment I had to move away from her, but I never thought living without her meant she would leave this earth.
