“What do we have?” I ask Susan as I soap up.
“Placental abruption,” she answers simply.
“How many centimeters and is it previa?”
“She just hit ten, and no. Ultrasound just shows it detached, but not in the way.”
Thank Christ for that, I mumble in my head.
After slipping on a gown, not bothering to have it tied in the back, and a pair of gloves, Susan gets up from the stool, and I replace her. When I look down, all I see is red. Blood has never turned my stomach before, but right now, knowing it’s Remi’s and it’s a copious amount, has my gut churning. I lock down my shit and glance over to Susan. Thankfully, she’s already getting the transfusion ready.
Looking past the blood, I notice a small mass of dark-brown hair. The little guy is on his way, and he’s coming fast. I look at Jenny and give her a nod. She’s been present during several deliveries, so she knows what to expect.
“Alright, Remi. The next contraction I need you to push for me.”
The words barely leave my lips when the lines on the monitor jump, indicating an imminent contraction. A long wail fills the room as the baby’s head crowns. It only takes two more contractions before he slips from his mother and into my waiting hands. He’s small, but not small enough to cause concern. It’s a good thing, because there was no time to perform an episiotomy. Fortunately, she didn’t tear, something that would be painful for Remi later on.
Even though he’s covered in blood and vernix caseosa, he’s the most beautiful and precious being I’ve ever held in my arms. I can’t help but smile down at him.
Susan comes over and puts two clamps on the umbilical cord. Normally, we ask if the father wants to cut the cord, but since he’s not here, Susan grabs the umbilical scissors. Making a split-second decision, I hold my hand out.
“I’ve got it.”
She eyes me speculatively as she hands them over. I’ve no idea why I feel the need to do this, but I do, and it’s a need I refuse to ignore.
Umbilical cord cut, I pass them back to Susan and she hands me a soft cloth to wrap around the baby. If there was ever any worry about the baby’s lungs not being fully developed, the notion is set to rest. One minute he’s quiet, and the next he’s wailing at the top of his lungs. The sound is magical. I swaddle him then carry him to the top of the bed.
Remi still looks pale and her eyes droop heavily, but there’s a smile playing on her lips. I notice Susan hooking up the blood bags. She lost a lot of blood, but the situation could have been much worse. A transfusion and plenty of rest should be the only treatment she needs.
I gently place the baby in Remi’s arms. Her eyes never leave him as she gazes at him in wonder and adoration.
“My precious boy,” she whispers reverently.
“Want to give breastfeeding a try?” I ask.
She looks away from the baby just long enough to give me a teary nod. Jenny, who’s been quiet this whole time, helps Remi pull down the top half of her gown. I’d be lying if I said my eyes didn’t stray to the full mounds. Giving them my back, I let the two women do their thing while I take care of the placenta, then pull the gown and gloves off. Soft murmurs come from behind me as I wash my hands. When I turn back, Remi has the baby attached to one of her breasts. All I can do is stare. Her and baby look stunning lying there, appearing to be in their own little world. A world I have no business wanting to be a part of.
Sensing my eyes on her, Remi looks up, and despite the blood loss and strain of labor, her eyes are bright. She tilts her head to the side, and I walk over.
“Thank you,” she whispers, emotion making her voice sound scratchy.
“It was my pleasure.” No words have ever been truer. I’m glad I was here, and a part of the miracle now snuggled in her arms.
“It’s time for Bubba to be cleaned and checked over,” Susan says, walking up beside me. “You can have him back once I’m done.”
I groan. “You’ve got her calling him Bubba now?”
A sweet-sounding giggle comes from Remi, causing my lips to tug up at the corners.
“Maybe that should be his name, after all,” she remarks.
I shudder. “You can’t put that boy through that. A nickname only close family calls him maybe, but not as his real name. You’ll set him up to be picked on his whole life. You’ve had to have come up with something better than that.”
Remi’s eyes track Susan’s movements as she takes the baby from her and carries him over to the table where he’ll be cleaned.
“I do have one in mind. It was my father’s name.” Her gaze lifts to mine, and sadness replaces some of her euphoria. “He died a couple of years ago from cancer.”
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