Because of Them (Because of Love #2)

Chapter Thirty-One

MICHAEL

T hirty seconds. That’s all it took for things to go from crazy to scary. My ears ring and my heart pounds against my chest. It hurts to breathe. It’s too early, and we all know it, but still, Audrey is in labour, in pain, and there is nothing I can do to help. My voice shakes as I try to comfort her. Because I heard what they said. She’s losing too much blood.

It’s not an early birth anymore, it’s a medical emergency. And I’m terrified.

One of the midwives pushes past me to slam her hand on the wall. Doctors and nurses flood the room, pushing me further and further back. I lose count of how many rush to Audrey’s side, but with each new figure in the room my heart picks up speed until it hurts. My body aches to be next to Audrey. I want to hold her, to be by her side, to tell her it will be okay even though I don’t know if it will be. I can see the panic in her face, as she searches for me. I need to reach her, but I can’t.

Audrey’s bed is dropped back with a force I fear might have hurt her, but no one seems to care. No one seems to notice I’m here. Until a young woman in pink scrubs is guiding me out of the door.

“We need to get her to surgery; her placenta has detached from her uterus and it’s causing her to lose a lot of blood.”

“She didn’t want …”

She places a gloved hand on my arm and I flinch away from the kind gesture. “It’s too late for wants and wishes. We need to save her and her babies.”

Save her?

My heart stops its running race. I flatline right there in the hospital room because I can’t breathe. Instead of beating, my heart jumps through my chest and lands on Audrey’s bed. Because it’s hers, and I need her to be okay. I need all three of them to be okay. I try to follow my heart to be by her side, but the midwife holds me back. Audrey, my heart, is whisked past me. I race after her, down the hall, squeezing into the lift right as the doors are closing.

Tears flood down Audrey’s cheeks as she searches the room. I try to stretch toward her, to show her I’m here, but there are too many people in the way.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing another stark white corridor, and once again I’m politely shoved aside. Audrey is wheeled down the corridor and into a room. Chasing after her, a nurse stops me at the door, covering my hair with a net, and draping a gown over my front.

I’m handed gloves, then she uses her back to open the swinging door. I follow her into the room. My stomach sinks to the floor. Audrey lays on the bed with her arms spread wide. A curtain hangs across her chest and I can’t see her face past the nurse by her side.

My hands drop to my knees as all the blood drains from my face. I give myself only the smallest of moments to compose my racing thoughts. Audrey needs me. And she needs me to be calm.

Crying breaks the tension in the room and the surgical team breathes a collective sigh of relief.

“Dad, over here.” Someone nudges me towards the sound of crying. I pivot, wanting to go to Audrey but being called away. And then a tiny, tiny , baby is placed in my arms.

The room is a busy swarm of bees, each knowing exactly where they need to be and what they need to do, but it all fades away as I stare down at my child. Hands guide my shoulders to the corner of the room and the tiny baby, my son, is taken from my arms. I watch, helpless, as a team of scrubs check over every inch of him.

Behind us, mayhem spreads.

“She’s losing a lot of blood.”

“I need to get this baby out.”

“BP is not responding.”

“I can’t control the bleeding.”

The room somehow becomes more frantic than before. Men and women in scrubs rush around me, while a handful remain by Audrey’s side. There’s a new squeal of cries and another small moment of joy. But this baby isn’t placed in my arms. A nurse places him straight into a crib.

“Put her under.”

“Get dad and babies out, now.”

The lady with the pink scrubs is back by my side. “Come on dad, we’re going to the NICU.”

They told us this would happen, but I don’t want to go. I want to stay with Audrey. Machines beep all around and I’m lost.

“They’ll work better without you here, let’s go.”

She takes my arm, her fingers gently tugging me to follow her. Both babies are wheeled out the door and I’m torn in two because I want to stay with Audrey but I need to go with them. I turn to tell Audrey, but the midwife’s grip firms around my arm as she drags me out.

My butt is numb. I shift in the seat, uncomfortable in the baggy scrub pants one of the nurses found me. Slouching down, I clutch the two tiny babies on my chest. My sons.

It’s been hours, but it could have been minutes. Time has lost all meaning because Audrey still isn’t awake. There’s a hole in my chest where my heart belongs. I left it with her when I was forcibly removed from the room. When the surgeons had to save her life.

They said she’ll be okay. That she lost a lot of blood but they were able to stop the bleeding and stitch her back together. They said she is in recovery. That I’ll be able to see her soon. That I’m more useful here, with my sons. Our sons. Our tiny little boys, who were so dependent on Audrey until only a few hours ago and now they are dependent on wires and monitors and warm lights.

And me.

Their father.

When the world was falling to pieces around me, I became a father. I became responsible for so much more than just these two babies. I filled out admission forms and signed paperwork. I called my parents and Audrey’s family and Callum and organised for Brendan to pick up Baxter. I told my mum exactly what kind of green blankets we needed.

But I’m scared, terrified, because with these two little babies in my arms, I have no idea what I’m doing. I just do what I’m told. Take my shirt off, hold baby one here, baby two there. Support their heads. Press this button if I need help. Keep them close together, close to you. Mum will be okay.

I want to scream that her name isn’t ‘Mum’. That her name is Audrey and she is the most important thing in my life. Only, I’m not sure that’s true anymore. The realisation hurts but feels somehow wonderful. I would do anything for these babies. But I would still do anything for Audrey. And all I can think about is what she would want.

“She wanted to try to breastfeed.” I announce as a midwife arrives with two medicine syringes of milk. The same one who was there when Audrey crashed, in her pink scrubs with her kind eyes.

She closes them with a sigh, a gentle smile and a sharp nod. “We can try to hand express some colostrum once she wakes up, but it would just be to start her supply. With the pain relief she is on, they will need this for now.”

“What is it?”

“It’s formula, only a tiny amount because their stomachs are so small. But if they don’t drink it, we might need to get them onto feeding tubes.”

More tubes, more wires, but they are already so fragile. They weigh nothing, their tiny arms and legs so thin. “How do we get them to drink it?”

She shows me, tucking the end of the syringe into one baby’s mouth and tickling under his chin until he starts to suck.

I sit up, awkwardly as I hold both babies close. For the first time in hours—maybe days, I’ve lost track—I smile. A wide toothy grin that hurts my cheeks and forces my eyes to swell. “He’s doing it.”

Once the syringe is empty the midwife steps away to write on his chart. “Does he have a name yet? Baby one?”

“Not yet.” There was only one name we’d agreed on as a definite. “I’ve been calling him Uno for now.”

She nods, her mouth still a firm, straight line. But when baby two sucks up his milk too, she cracks. A single tear drips down her cheek, her lips turn up.

“You’ve got two fighters on your hands.”

“Three.”

She looks at me, eyebrows scrunched together. The smile drops and she purses her lips, tilting her head to one side.

“Audrey. She’s a fighter too.”

The midwife doesn’t answer. Instead her face softens. “Want me to ask how she is going in recovery?”

“Please.”

I sink back into the chair, kissing each of my sons on the top of their tiny heads. As their little murmurs give way into steady breaths, a weight is lifted from my shoulders. They’ll be okay.

But dread still settles in my stomach. Because I need Audrey to be okay too.

The steady beeping of machines begins to echo as my eyes droop. My head falls slack as exhaustion wins over the panic and adrenaline. It can’t be safe to fall asleep with my babies on my chest, but it’s so hard to reach the button. I force my eyes open, sitting up taller again and twisting in the seat. My elbow finds the button and I press down hard, just to be sure.

Nothing happens. No alarm sounds, no light turns on. But the kind midwife in the pink scrubs returns and I almost feel bad for not knowing her name. ‘Sarah’ the tag on her hip says. I commit the name to memory, hoping it sticks.

“I was just coming back,” she smiles. “Audrey is starting to wake up. And it looks like these guys are starting to sleep.”

I stand, still clinging to both babies but needing to move. There’s an urge to jump, to whoop, to throw my hands in the air. Because Audrey is waking up. She’s okay.

The midwife takes baby one from my arms and places him in his tiny, heated crib. I pass her baby two, hopping on my feet while she lays him down and turns on the lights over his tiny body.

She turns to stare at me, crossing her arms with an odd look on her face.

“You gonna put a shirt on, or are you giving all the women a show on the way there?”

My cheeks burn, but I grab my tank top from the back of the chair and stretch it over my head. She scoffs, smirking.

“Much better …”

I don’t care. I pause at each babies’ bed before I follow her. Resting my hand on each of their tiny bodies in turn. “I’ll be back soon, I promise. I will never let you down.”