Unsevered (10 page)

Her eyebrows raise and her eyes are wide.

“I know it sounds crazy, Mom, but I saw him. I spoke to him, and touched him.”

“Oh, Jewel. You were grieving. It was just your imagination, your mind playing tricks on you.”

“No, Mom. It was real. More real than anything I’ve ever felt,” I insist.

“Okay, honey. I believe you. You’ve always been honest and quite intuitive. I believe God gives some people an incredible opportunity to communicate with people from the beyond, and perhaps you’ve been given that gift.”

“You mean like a psychic?” I ask.

“No, you know I don’t believe in psychics. But I believe that God speaks to people through angels to comfort them and keep them safe. Maybe that’s what Harley is doing, protecting you from the beyond.”

“I think so too, Mom.” I continue to rock and rub my tummy. “But it’s not fair to him. I want him to be at peace, so I’m going to do whatever it takes to let him go, no matter how much it hurts.”

My stomach grumbles and she says, “Let’s go get you and this little guy a snack.”

She helps me stand. A sharp pain invades my lower back and radiates to my stomach within seconds. Then I feel a trickle of something down my leg. I’m scared to look because the last time I did, it was blood.
God, please no.

I look at mom, hoping she catches my telepathic plea to inform me of what she’s seeing since I don’t have the guts to check for myself. She smiles and appears calm.

“Honey, it’s time. Your water just broke.”

CHAPTER TEN

“D
an, can you come help us, please?” my mom says to her husband downstairs.

Within seconds he’s in the doorway of the nursery. Mom grabs my overnight bag and holds one of my arms while Dan grabs the other to assist me to the car. The stairs cause me excruciating pain with each step. I have a strong contraction halfway down. I grip Mom’s hand and bend toward the floor.

“Remember your breathing, Jewel. In and out,” she reminds me.

We make it to the car and all pull on our seat belts before heading to the hospital. I hate seat belts, especially now that I’m as big as a whale. I can never find a comfortable spot to place it over my body. But I know that it can save my life and the life of my baby now, so I click it tight and we pull out of the driveway.

Mom sits in the back seat and attempts to keep me calm, talking me through occasional contractions while Dan drives toward the hospital. I remember in that moment that he doesn’t have any children of his own and has never been through an experience like this, which explains why he is driving like a bat out of hell, running every red light and stop sign. Thank God there’s not much traffic since it’s late in the evening and the typical work-week crowd has already made it home. Even though the hospital is about twenty miles away, Dan gets us there in about twelve minutes flat.

“Hee hee, whoo. Hee hee, whoo.” I’m panting and cringing with every contraction. They seem to be coming much closer together now. My mom rubs my hands and continues to remind me to take slow, deep breaths. Dan lets us both out at the emergency entrance while he parks the car.

Needle-like pain shoots up through my legs with each step I take. My clothes are soaked from my water having burst earlier. I don’t care. I just want the pain to stop. The nurse at the entrance immediately meets me with a wheelchair. Finally I get some momentary relief for my aching legs.

“Are you in labor?” she asks, dumbly. I guess it’s protocol.

“Yes…my water…broke,” I mutter through another one.

“How far apart are the contractions?” she asks.

My mom answers, “About five minutes.”

Dan runs through the double entrance doors moments later.

“Dan, will you stay here and fill out the paperwork while we get Jewel checked out?” Mom asks.

“Sure. Go ahead,” Dan replies and grabs a pen and clipboard from the nurse.

The nurse wheels me in a small room with lavender walls and white sheer curtains. We’re on the fifth floor so I’m not worried about anyone seeing into my room. In fact, I don’t care if Elvis himself is standing at the foot of my bed staring at all my lady parts while my legs are spread as wide as Texas, I want to get this baby out of me!

Mom helps me change into a hospital gown and ease into bed. My contractions are more intense now and seem to be coming every minute. I let out a demonic-sounding scream as I squeeze my mom’s hand so tight I’m sure I’ve broken a couple of her bones.

The nurse slaps on a pair of gloves, helps me place my feet into the stirrups at the end of the bed, and slides her hand into me to see how far I have dilated. “She’s all the way to ten!” she yells to the others outside the room.

In moments, several nurses are rushing into the room with gloved-hands, hooking me up to all sorts of IVs and monitors.

“I want the epidural, nowwww!” I scream to everyone in the busy room as I go through another contraction.

“Sorry, sweetie. No time for that. This baby is coming as we speak. You’re completely dilated.”

I look down at my feet and see that my obstetrician is standing next to the nurse now. I didn’t even notice her come in.

“Dr. Brooks, thank God you’re here.” My words are breathy and laced with desperation. She looks a lot like Dr. Ansley – same build, same hair color and, best of all, the same comforting voice.

“Okay, Jewel. You are fully dilated, but there’s a problem.”

I sit up in the bed and the whole world seems to stop. She has my full attention now. “What … problem?”

“The baby is in breach position and I’m going to have to turn him to get him out. It’s quite a painful procedure, but if we don’t get him out now, things could get pretty bad for him and you.”

I remember reading about breached babies in my pregnancy book. I know I’m going to be in a lot of pain, but nothing is more important than making sure my little boy is okay.

“Do what you have to do. I just want the baby to be safe and healthy,” I tell my doctor.

“We need to get him out now. Are you ready?” She asks.

I grab my mom’s hand and clench my eyelids together. “Okay, I’m ready,” I reply.

I feel her hand reach inside me and maneuver around in a rotating motion. The pain is almost unbearable. I expel another blood-curdling scream and crush my mother’s hand again. She bends toward the floor in her own kind of pain. Possibly from watching her baby girl go through such agony, but also from the death grip I have atop her small fingers.

The torture continues for what feels like an eternity, until the doctor speaks again. “Okay, we’ve got him in the correct position and I can see his head crowning. Just a few pushes and he will be out.”

I’m exhausted and in agony. Tears are sliding down my neck and soaking my hospital gown. I shake my head and want to give up. “No, I can’t. I can’t do it anymore.”

I glance down at the foot of my hospital bed and see a familiar face smiling from ear to ear. It’s Harley. He’s never looked so beautiful. His complexion is flawless and his eyes are glowing brighter than I’ve ever seen them.

“I’m sorry, Harley. I can’t do it. It’s too hard. It hurts too much. I don’t want to do this without you.”

“You’re doing great, baby. I’m so proud of you. I know you can do this. You’re a strong, amazing woman and I couldn’t have chosen a better mom for our son.”

“You know about him?” I ask my husband.

“He’s the gift I was telling you about. He’s my gift to you. So please, don’t give up on our son. I love you, Jules.”

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath for a moment to regain my strength and focus. I open them again to tell Harley that I am going to do as he asks, but he’s gone. It’s just me, mom, and a room full of frantic nurses monitoring me and standing by, waiting to do their job along with Dr. Brooks who is still trying to convince me to push.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I say to the doctor again.

“Alright, on three I want you to push down as hard as you can, but stop when I say. Ready? One, two, three … push!”

I contract every muscle in my body and focus on pushing. I am determined that this push will produce my son, so I give it all I have. Then she says, “Wait. Stop.”

“I don’t want to stop. I want to keep pushing. I want this baby out of me!”

My mom wipes the sweat from my forehead and pushes my hair back out of my face. “You’re doing great, honey. You can do this,” she says.

“Okay, Jewel. The head is out and one shoulder. Get ready to push again,” Dr. Brooks instructs me.

I push down again, even harder this time and feel that this one will finally give me the baby I’m waiting for, my prize for enduring all this pain. But again, I hear the doctor ask me to stop pushing.

“The head and shoulders are completely out. One more good push and we should be done here,” she says.

“Screw you! I’m done! YOU push!” I yell out to her. I’m delirious by now and screaming curse words at anyone who touches me or speaks to me. I desperately want that damn epidural.

The doctor smirks a little bit and I want to slap it right off her face. Then she says in an eerily calm voice, “Now that you got that out of your system, are you ready to have this baby?”

I close my eyes and focus on producing the hardest push I can muster. Just when I think I can’t bear another second, I hear the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life—his cry.

“Congratulations, you have a son,” Dr. Brooks informs me.

My pain is no more. It has been replaced with the sweetest rush of relief and love I’ve ever experienced. The doctor hands a tool to my mom and she cuts the umbilical cord. It’s a bittersweet moment because I’m glad she’s here with me, but I know Harley would have reveled in being the one to handle that.

The nurse wipes off my son and lays him across my chest. I look down and see his beautiful, enchanting blue eyes, just like his father’s. My heart melts.

“Sorry, mommy,’’ the nurse says. “I have to take him for a few minutes to get him cleaned up a check his vitals.”

I don’t want to let him go. I never want to let him go. Tears race down my cheeks and my mom, once again, takes me by the hand and soothes me.

“You did well, honey. I’m proud of you,” she says.

I’m so exhausted from labor and crying that I guess I pass out while the doctor is still
down there
taking care of loose ends, so to speak.

The next time I open my eyes, I am in a different room with lavender curtains and tan shades behind them. The sunlight is peeking out from the bottom. Mom is sitting in a chair beside my bed, smiling with her grandson in her arms.

“He’s beautiful,” she says to me when our eyes meet. She looks almost as exhausted as I am.

“How long have I been out?” I ask her.

“Several hours. Labor is hard work, dear,” she replies with a chuckle. Dan is in the other chair beside her rubbing his fingers lightly across James’ cheek.

“My first grandchild. I couldn’t be happier, Jules,” he says as a tear wells up in the corner of his eye.

Dan and I have grown quite close during this pregnancy. My father’s been busy with his other family, so Dan has been like a second father to me. He’s been by my side through everything and somewhere along the way, he started calling me Jules. It’s kind of endearing.

* * *       * * *      * * *

D
r. Brooks comes in to check on us a few times and sends me out to walk the hospital halls. At first I’m shocked by this.
Doesn’t she know what I just went through?

She informs me that the sooner I get up and move around, the sooner I will heal, and the better I will feel. This makes no sense to me but I oblige. I’m ready to get back to my house.

Just a few hours later, a nurse carrying a clipboard and wearing teal blue scrubs enters my room. She has curly blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail and a smooth, peaches-and-cream complexion that cancels the need for makeup. 

“Okay, Ms. Decker. You are ready to get out of here. If you’ll just sign the birth certificate here and these few papers, we’ll have you back home in your own bed in no time,” she informs me.

“But I gave birth less than twenty-four hours ago. How am I able to leave so soon?” I ask.

“Natural child birth patients tend to heal much faster than those who opt for anesthesia. Dr. Brooks will be in to see you one last time before you leave, but she instructed me to go ahead and get your discharge papers together,” the nurse continues, and hands me the birth certificate.

I run my fingers over the tiny footprints that mark the birth of my son. I note that his time of birth was 9:38 p.m. Mom was being nice when she said I’d slept a
few
hours. My pen finds the blank space titled ‘Mother’s signature.’ I sign it then look over at the blank space beside it. It pretty much sums up Harley’s role in our lives now, a blank space. Just like the blank space beside me in the bed, the blank space at our kitchen table, and the blank space in my heart that I’m certain will never be filled. I hand the papers back to her and she walks out the door.

“I’m glad I didn’t take the epidural, but I thought I was going to die without it,” I say to my mom when the nurse leaves.

“Sorry about cursing and yelling at you in the delivery room,” I say to Dr. Brooks as she comes in for a final check on me.

“Trust me, dear, I’ve dealt with much worse,” she replies with a chuckle. Dan steps out of the room as she checks my vitals and my stitches.

“The site is healing well. I need to see you back for a post partum check in a few weeks.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Congratulations. Enjoy your little boy.” She leaves the room and another doctor walks in.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Chase. I’m the pediatrician on staff. I just need to check out little James one more time before you guys head out.” Dr. Chase is about six-foot-three with short gray hair, wearing khakis and a button-down blue shirt.

He checks my baby’s heartbeat, temperature, and other vital signs. James weighs a whopping nine pounds five ounces and is twenty-one inches long.
No wonder I was so huge during pregnancy.
All his vitals check out great and he is a perfectly healthy baby, thank God.

“Everything seems fine. Here’s a list of pediatricians in the area. James will need to be seen in three days for a follow up,” he informs me.

I nod my understanding and he says a nurse will be in shortly to give us discharge papers. I can’t wait to take my little boy home and begin our new life together.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
walk into the front door of our home and as usual, I’m greeted by a familiar, comforting scent—Harley. James is squirming and crying in my arms, probably because he’s hungry. “I’m going to have to learn what all his little cries mean,” I say to my mom.