She’s here. She’s okay. I keep repeating those words on my way back to Misty’s room. I needed her, and when I couldn’t reach her, I about lost my shit. My daughter’s life is in danger and McKinley was missing. It was almost too much for me to process. The rational side of my brain realizes she wasn’t missing, but the stressed, over emotional side put up a strong fight.
Knowing she’s here, it helps. I wish I could say I’m focusing on my daughter and make it better, but I can’t. It all comes down to hurry up and wait. Wait to see if Misty’s body can give her what she needs. Wait to see if my little girl’s heartbeat resumes to a normal, healthy rhythm. Wait for the doctors to tell me if I’m going to meet my little girl two weeks earlier than what I thought.
I fucking hate waiting.
When I enter Misty’s room, she’s resting. I don’t know if she’s really sleeping or just has her eyes closed. I don’t care either way. I have no plans to talk to her. I blame her for this. She refused to take care of herself, to take care of my baby, and now I could lose her. The doctor said the shots they are giving Misty will help the baby’s lungs fully develop faster and two weeks is minor in comparison to some early deliveries. Regardless, she did this. I will never forgive her.
Light filters through the room as the doctor comes in. “Evan, there’s no change and I’m not willing to risk waiting any longer. We’re going to take Misty in to do an emergency cesarean. You can scrub in and be in the room. I’m going to go prep. I’ll send the nurses in to get her ready.” He walks closer to the bed and to her. “Misty,” he says, turning the light on above the bed. She opens her eyes.
“I heard you,” she says, no emotion whatsoever in her voice.
The doctor nods his head. “Evan, if you’ll come with me, you can stop and update your family and then let the nurses know you need to scrub in.”
I wait for him to leave the room before I address Misty. “I’ll see you in there.”
She nods and rolls to her side, putting her back to me. Not able to be alone with her for one more second, I leave the room in search of my family—Aaron and McKinley. I find them where I left them in the waiting room. McKinley has her head on Aaron’s shoulder and they are watching whatever mindless show is on television. As soon as she spots me, she lifts her head and sits on the edge of her seat.
“Hey,” I say, stopping in front of them. They both stand and I want nothing more than to pull her into me and hold her, pull comfort from her. Instead, I clench my hands into fists to prevent it.
“So, uh . . .” I clear my throat. “There’s no change in the baby. Her heart rate is still too low and the doctor doesn’t want to wait any longer. They’re prepping Misty for an emergency delivery,” I explain.
Tears fall from McKinley’s eyes. Tears for me and my daughter. The woman who has carried her for over eight months shows no emotion, but this girl, she’s broken over it.
I clench my fist tighter.
“I have to go too. To scrub in so I can be there when she’s born.” My voice cracks. I’m trying really hard to kee
p my shit in check, but I’m scared to death for my daughter.
“Evan, man, she’s going to be okay. You’re going to have a healthy little girl here really soon. A little girl who we are going to spoil rotten and whose dates we are going to scare away.” Aaron tries to break some of the tension.
It works. I offer him a watery smile. He’s my best friend. He’s been there for me through it all and I could not be happier to have him here to help me welcome my daughter into the world.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Kinley says, displaying her own watery smile. I watch as tears stream down her cheeks.
No longer able to resist, I cup her face with my hands and wipe her tears away with my thumbs. “Thank you for everything,” I say, then kiss her forehead.
I then turn to Aaron and pull him into a hug. “Thanks for being here, brother.”
I feel him nod. With that, I spin around and walk away from them. Stopping at the nurses’ station, I ask them where I need to be. Following their directions, I head toward the surgery department.
“Evan Chamberlin,” I tell the girl at the desk.
“Yes, sir. Right this way.” She leads me behind the doors that read Authorized Personnel Only. Reaching into a cabinet, she hands me a pair of scrubs. “Slip these on over your clothes and these go over your shoes. Once you’re done, go through those doors,” she points behind her, “and give them your name.”
I do as I’m told, slipping the blue scrubs over my clothes and the covers on my feet. When I make it through the double doors and give the nurse there my name, she instructs me to follow her to the sink where she proceeds to scrub my hands. After drying them, she sheaths them with rubber gloves. She hands me a mask for my face and opens a door, telling me to go on in.
The room is sterile. The smell that lingers in all hospitals is stronger here than I’ve ever smelled before. Misty is laying on a table with a blanket hanging at right about her chest. I assume it’s to keep her from seeing what’s about to happen. She’s staring up at the ceiling.
“Mr. Chamberlin, come on in. There’s a chair.” The nurse points to a stool that is up close to Misty’s head.
I mumble a half-assed, “Thank you,” and take my spot on the stool, thankful for the chance to sit. My legs are shaking. Hell, my entire body is trembling. The doctor comes in followed by a team of people dressed just like me.
“This is your team. Baby girl Chamberlin will be in good hands,” he says, stopping beside us. “Misty, do you have any questions?” he asks her.
“No,” she replies. Still showing no emotion, she answers just as she would if someone was asking if she wanted fries with her burger.
“Evan?” he asks.