The words echo in my head as I feel my world tilting on its axis.
“With twins,” she continues quickly, “this can compromise oxygen to the babies very fast.”
Zalea makes a broken sound. “No,” she whispers. “No, no, no?—”
I grip her face again, more gently this time. “Hey. Look at me. Look at me.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, wide and glassy.
“They’re here,” I say, even though my own pulse is roaring in my ears. “I see their heartbeats. They’re fighting. You hear me? They’re fighting.”
Doctor Ricci turns to the nurses. “Prep the OR. Now.”
My stomach drops through the floor.
“We’re doing an emergency C-section,” she says to us. “We cannot wait.”
Zalea’s fingers clutch at my shirt. “I don’t want to lose them,” she chokes. “I can’t—Gabriel, I can’t do this again.”
“You’re not,” I say fiercely. “You’re not losing them.”
“Gabriel, you can come with us, but I need you calm. If you cannot stay calm, you will wait outside.”
“I’m coming,” I say immediately.
The nurses move fast, transferring Zalea to another bed, adjusting IV lines, adding oxygen. Someone is cutting away herhospital clothes while someone else is pushing paperwork into my hands to sign.
They wheel her out of the room at a speed that makes my head spin. The hallway lights are blinding after the darkness and all I can hear outside of my pounding heartbeat is the wheels as they rattle violently over the seams in the floor.
Zalea’s hand is in mine the entire time.
“Stay with me,” she whispers.
“I’m right here.”
Her grip tightens as another contraction, or cramp, hits her and I’m positive more blood soaks through the pads beneath her.
I’ve never been a religious man, but I find myself begging for anyone, someone, to help.
Don’t take her. Don’t take them, I repeat in my head.
We burst through the OR doors and they quickly move her onto the operating table, raising a blue curtain almost immediately between her chest and her abdomen.
A nurse I’ve never seen before hands me scrubs with urgency and my brain feels detached from my body as I rip my hoodie off, my hands fumbling as I pull everything on. When I get to Zalea’s side again, they’re placing the spinal block.
“Gabriel,” she says, tears sliding into her hairline.
I lean down so my forehead touches hers. “I’m here.”
Her breathing is uneven. “If something happens?—”
“Nothing is happening,” I cut in, because I cannot let her finish that sentence. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to be okay.”
Doctor Ricci steps into position behind the curtain.
“Time is critical,” she says to the team. “Let’s move fast.”
The room fills with the metallic sounds of instruments clinking and machines beeping. And while I can’t see what they’re doing, I can still feel the tension in the room. Zaleasqueezes my hand so tightly it hurts and then suddenly one of the monitors lets out a long beep.
