“Hunter, I am worried, and I’m scared,” she whimpers. “Something’s wrong.”
“Our baby is okay. She is,” I say, squeezing Ellie’s hand. She has to be. Where is that fucking doctor? And why is nobody talking to us, telling us what is going on?
An on-call doctor finally jogs into the room with a portable ultrasound machine. “We’re just going to make sure the baby is in the right position to come out,” the doctor explains calmly. That’s all they’re checking for? It doesn’t seem like that’s the case. Is he just trying to keep us calm? If so, it isn’t working. “Okay, we have a heartbeat, but it’s not as strong as I’d like it to be. I hate to do this with you being so close to full dilation, Mrs. Cole, but just to be on the safe side, I think we need to get the baby out right away.”
“A C-section?” Ellie asks, through tears. “I didn’t want to have one.”
A nurse hands Ellie a pen and has her sign a few papers, which takes less than ten seconds. They’re already pushing her out of the room, back into the hall. Someone throws me a set of scrubs and tells me to put them on and follow them down to the operating room. Is this safe? Is Ellie going to be okay? She seems so afraid...but I know they do this all the time. They said that in our class, too.
I struggle to get the scrub shirt over my t-shirt as I run down the hall toward where I see doctors piling into a room. Shaking and weak, I walk into the OR in a daze and a nurse guides me over to a stool next to Ellie’s head. “Just relax, the nurse says,” smiling and patting my hand. “She needs you right now.” I wish everyone would stop telling me to relax. How the hell am I supposed to relax? My wife is on an operating table, and my unborn daughter is in trouble. Who would relax in this situation?
I try to breathe through my nerves, but it isn’t working. I comb my fingers through Ellie’s soft hair and push it out of her face. “You okay?” I ask. Stupid question. Of course she’s not okay, but right now, I don’t know what else to say.
“As okay as I can be,” she says quietly. I know she’s terrified.
“There isn’t enough time for a spinal,” a doctor shouts. It’s Ellie’s doctor, thank God. I don’t know when he got here but he’s here. “Mr. Cole, we need you to leave right now.”
“What? Why?” I ask, feeling totally helpless. A nurse inserts another tube into Ellie’s IV. “What’s that?” I ask.
“We need to put your wife under general anesthesia to perform the C-section. There isn’t enough time to give her a spinal or an epidural without putting the baby at risk, so I need you to say your goodbyes and wait in the room next door. As soon as the baby is born, we’ll let you know what is going on.” I can’t be here for my daughter’s birth? I can’t be here for Ellie? “Mr. Cole, we need to do this right now,” her doctor shouts over, snapping me out of my panic-stricken haze.
Ellie already looks dazed as I lean down and press my lips against hers, feeling the tears fill my eyes. “I love you, Ell. When you wake up, we’re going to be a family.”We are. Right?Her hand lifts weakly and she places it over my face. “Let’s name her Olive,” she mumbles.
“You said you didn’t want to name her until you saw her,” I remind her. But her eyes are already closed, and I’m being pulled out of the room. “I love you, Ellie,” I cry out. I shouldn’t be crying. I’m supposed to be the strong one. I don’t cry. I haven’t since I was a kid. Why does this all seem so wrong? I shouldn’t be leaving her right now. It’s my job to be by her side.
Now I’m alone in a small room with a water bubbler and a TV. I only sit down because I feel like my knees might give out. I might pass out, and I didn’t even see a drop of blood. Holding my head in my hands, I count the seconds as they pass, wondering how long I’ll have to wait before I hear something.
The dryness in my throat is making me feel strangled so I lean over to the water bubbler, grabbing a paper cone and filling it with water.This wasn’t our plan.
After what feels like an hour, a doctor walks through the door but it’s not Ellie’s doctor. “Mr. Cole,” he says. I stand up, pushing through my bodily weakness. “Your daughter is perfect. She had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck two times, but she’s receiving oxygen right now and will be just fine. A nurse will be in to take you to the neonatal care unit so you can be with your daughter.” With a proud smile, the doctor reaches for my hand. “Congratulations, son. She’s a beauty.”
“How’s Ellie?” I ask, breathing a little easier. “Will she be in recovery soon?”
“Eleanor is just fi—“ The doctor stops talking as he looks down at his pager. After a long second, he looks back up at me with wide eyes. “I’ll have someone come speak with you in a moment.” He runs out of the room, and I’m left staring at the door he just ran through. The look in his eyes—was that about Ellie? Is she okay? I push out of the door and find myself in an empty hallway, spinning around, looking for a nurse...or anyone who can help me understand what is going on. Not finding anyone, I head back into the waiting room.
A nurse finally walks into the waiting room and sits down beside me, placing her hand on my back. “Do you want to meet your daughter?” she asks with a gentle smile.
“Is Ellie okay?” I ask.
“The doctors are taking good care of her,” she says with a hint of unease.
“What does that mean? Did something happen?” I ask, more firmly this time, while trying not to panic.
“When they know more, they’ll let you know,” she says, seemingly trying to sound reassuring. “For now, you should focus on your daughter.”
“Olive. Her name is Olive.” I feel like we’ve walked a mile down this hall before we turn in to a room surrounded by windows. The nurse takes me over to a little bassinet with plastic sides. And I see her…Olive. She’s perfect. I look at her fingers—counting them—and her toes. Ten and ten. Her nose—she has Ellie’s perfect little nose. She’s absolutely beautiful.
“Do you want to hold her?” A nurse asks.Ellie should be able to hold her first.
“I don’t feel right—” I begin.
“She would want you to hold your daughter,” the nurse says with a small smile, “especially since the delivery required general anesthesia. She wouldn’t want Olive to wait until she wakes up before being held by her Daddy.” She reaches into the bassinette and carefully pulls my little girl out, keeping her wrapped tightly in a pink blanket. “We need to keep the tubes in her nose for a little while longer until her oxygen levels are where we’d like to see them. So just be careful not to move them.”
The nurse pulls over a wooden rocking chair and takes me by the arm, guiding me down into the seat. Stiff as a board, scared of hurting this tiny little person, I hold Olive against my chest, feeling her warmth. It soothes me. Olive opens her eyes, looking up at me with a lost look—a curious look. I melt instantly. I’m in love. This little girl is mine. She belongs to me—forever. How did we create something so perfect? “I’m your daddy,” I cry through a weak voice. “And I don’t usually cry this much, but you’re just so beautiful.”
The nurse returns with a bottle and holds it out in front of me. “Do you want to feed her?” she asks.
“Oh, no. Ellie is planning to nurse.” That was one thing she was dead set on. She knew her birth plan could change, but she made it clear she wanted to try breastfeeding, totally avoiding bottles if at all possible.
