One Last Sin (The Sin Trilogy 3)

This is one of those times when living thirty minutes away from Edinburgh is a problem.

Shit. I just remembered I forgot to call Ellison. “Guess … what.” I drag the words out like only a true southerner can do.

“You went into labor on your own.” She squeals so I take the phone from my ear until she’s finished. “I’m getting up now but I’ll have to wait on a taxi. Don’t you dare give birth before I get there.”

I’m starting another contraction so I’m done talking. “I’m hanging up now because I’m in too much pain to talk. I’ll see you in a few.”

I’m immediately taken into the observation area of labor and delivery. Sin helps me change into a hospital gown and get into the bed. It’s a slow process since my contractions are so close.

The nurse takes a quick assessment and does an exam. “You’ve dilated five centimeters and thinned almost all the way.”

“I was pretty sure these pains had to be the real thing.”

“The baby coming first feels vertex. Head down. We’ll need to do an ultrasound to be sure. If that’s the case, Dr. Kerr would probably let you attempt a vaginal birth if you wanted to try.”

Baby number one has been breech for months. He or she has been stubborn without a single sign of turning. I’ve mentally prepared myself for a surgical birth so I’ve not given a vaginal one any thought.

I think Sin is as thrown off by this new information as I am. “Is a natural delivery something you’d want to try with twins? It seems like it would be easier to have the C-section and be done.”

I know I’ll have pain with the cesarean. It’s surgery. My belly will be cut open. It would probably be easier to recover from a natural delivery. That’s something for me to consider since I’ll have three babies to care for when I get home. “We should talk to Dr. Kerr and see what he recommends.”

Dr. Kerr comes in and scans my abdomen with the ultrasound. “She was right. Baby number one is presenting head first so this changes things. It’s perfectly safe for you to attempt a vaginal birth. If you want to proceed with the C-section, we can do that as well. There’s no right or wrong decision.”

A thought occurs to me. It would be horrible to deliver the first one vaginally and then be rushed to surgery for a C-section with the second one. I could potentially have pain in my butt and abdomen. That would make it very difficult to recover. I don’t think I want to risk it since there’s no guarantee things will go well.

“I prefer to deliver both babies the same way. The only way I guarantee that is to opt for the C-section. I don’t want to attempt the vaginal delivery. Is that okay with you?”

“It’s your body, Bonny. Your decision. I’m fine with whatever you decide.”

“Then my mind is made up. Let’s do the cesarean.”

I’m moved over to a surgical table. The room is freezing cold, the lights bright. A nurse helps me to sit on the edge of the OR table and I’m told to curl my spine like a C. I’m shaking. Jerking. I can’t control it. It’s impossible to be motionless despite the warning it’s what is expected of me.

“Just getting started. This part feels like a bee sting.”

“Oh!” Shit. It does. A huge-ass bumblebee.

“Hold very still for me.” Easier said than done.

The worst part of being told to hold still is when a contraction comes and all you want to do is move. “Here comes another contraction.”

“Got it. It’s in.”

“We can’t wait on your contraction to finish. We have to get you on your back now. The medicine spreads by gravity so your level of anesthesia won’t be high enough for surgery if you’re not lying down. It’ll all go to your legs.” The nurses assist me into a lying position and shove something under my left hip so I’m tilted. My arms are spread to my side, stabilized with Velcro. An oxygen mask is placed over my face.

I’m scared. I need Sin with me. “Where is my husband?”

“Don’t worry. A nurse will bring him in just a moment.”

I’m strapped to this OR table without the use of my arms. The mask presses on my face and I can’t move it. Doesn’t matter that it’s blowing oxygen into my mouth and nose. I feel trapped. Helpless. The onset of a panic attack is dancing across my chest. “I can’t breathe.”

“Your oxygen saturation is at one hundred percent. I assure you that you are breathing just fine.”

The anesthetist doesn’t know my history. Doesn’t understand that my body may be breathing fine but my mind tells me it isn’t. “I’m having a panic attack. I feel like I’m smothering. I need to sit up.”

My doctor calls out, “Tilt her to her left side a little more and see if that helps.”

I feel the surgery bed beneath me move. “Try to calm down, Mrs. Breckenridge. Your surgery has started so we can’t allow you to sit up.”

Dammit. I haven’t had an attack in two months. Everything has been going so well. Why now? “Where’s my husband? I need my husband. Right now!”

“Hey. I’m here, Bonny.”

I hear his voice but I can’t see him yet. “Where are you? I can’t breathe, Breck.”

I lift my chin to look in the direction where I think I heard his voice. I’m relieved when I see him coming to me.

Sin notices the restraints around my wrists. “She has issues with her mobility being restricted. Is there any way we can take those off?”

“We can if it’s contributing to her problem.”

The Velcro wraps around my arms are removed and I immediately feel better.

“Inhale slowly and deeply. Blow it out gradually. Concentrate only on your breathing. Think about moving air in and out of your lungs.” He strokes my forehead with the back of his hand. “Own it, Bonny. You’re not a slave to it.”

“I can put you to sleep if it becomes too much for you, Mrs. Breckenridge.”

Going to sleep means I don’t get to see my babies when they are born. I don’t want that.

I reach out to touch Sin’s face. “I’ll be fine as long as my husband continues to talk to me.” Only he can soothe me.

“Close your eyes and visualize yourself breathing. In. Out. The mask you’re wearing is giving you more oxygen than you need. Breathe it in.”

My hysteria spirals downward. Sin’s voice always does that for me. “It’s getting better.”

“Good.”

Sin sits on a stool next to my head so I’m looking at him upside down. “You look weird.”

“Says the woman who is wearing a plastic mask over her face.”

“Right,” I laugh. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

Dr. Kerr calls out, “Just made an incision into your uterus, Bleu. Won’t be long now.”

Sin kisses my forehead. “Only a few more minutes and we finally get to meet them.”

I’m trembling, almost violently.

“Nervous?” Sin asks.

Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Extremely.”

“Just broke the bag of waters on the first baby.” The room immediately fills with the sound of suctioning very similar to what you hear during dental work.

Oh my God. This is it. Our first child is about to make his or her entrance into this world.

Sin

leans down to kiss the top of my head. “Boy or girl? Last chance to make a guess.”

I’ve been taking care of Lourdes so now it’s hard to imagine myself with a boy. “I think this one is a girl. What’s your guess?”

“Boy.”

A high-pitched cry fills the room. The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

Sin and I look at one another, grinning and waiting for the verdict. “Number one is a boy.”

Sin leans down to kiss my forehead. “I can’t believe it, Bonny. We have a son.”

A moment later our newborn is placed upon my chest. I stroke my hand over the top of his head. “Hello, Liam. We’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

The nurses wipe him off and cover his head with a beanie before tucking him inside my hospital gown so we’re skin to skin.

I don’t get to admire him for long before a second cry pierces the room. I look at Sin. “Quick. Boy or girl?”

“I’m going with another boy. It’s what I’ve been saying for two months.”

“I’m sticking with girl.”

“I hear some guessing going on down there,” Dr. Kerr says.

“My husband says boy. I’m going with a girl.”

“Mr. Breckenridge has it right again. Another boy.”

Liam is scooted aside to make room for Harrison so both of my sons are lying against me, skin to skin. “Oh my God. I can’t believe how much hair they have. They must get that from you because I was almost bald until I was two.”

“I had a head full of dark hair, just like them.”

“I thought one might inherit Isobel’s hair.” When I imagined what our children would look like, I always saw one being a little red-haired girl.

It’s difficult to see their faces the way we’re positioned. “Do they look anything alike? I can’t tell from here.”

Sin gets up and looks back and forth between their two faces. “I think they do.”

“I’m going to send the placenta to pathology to confirm that they’re identical.”

Identical isn’t a possibility. “They’re in vitro babies. They have to be fraternal.”

“It’s possible only one embryo implanted and then split. That would result in identical twins. It’s unlikely, but not impossible. I should have an answer for you in a few weeks.”