A Parent's Worst Nightmare

Second Meeting

   My fiancé and I rushed straight from one hospital to the next, not missing a beat. Within twenty minutes, we had arrived to what we thought was the childrens hospital.
     We hadn't been to this specific hospital before, so we ended up at the wrong place at first, it was cold and the brisk wind pushed through my coat like someone walking through a doorway.
    Once we made it to the correct place, we found a spot in the parking garage and my fiancé killed the engine.
    The walk from car to entrance was a workout for my body and my lungs as my equilibrium was thrown off after surgery. I refused to take the elevator down, the labor trauma was still so fresh that my anxiety couldn't handle it. I kept repeating the same thing over and over in my head as I walked "You can do this, he needs you".
   Once inside there was mandatory paperwork and I couldn't think straight through the whole thing, my fiancé ended up signing most of the pages in front of me, I didn't have time or patience for it.
   When the paperwork was all complete, we slowly made our way towards the elevators, I knew I couldn't make stairs, but the thought of standing in an elevator made me violently nauseous. Luckily, a kind security guard offered me a wheelchair, and I appreciatively accepted it.
  
   Entering the NICU, I could hear the sound of monitors and babies cooing. The scent was a mix of that natural hospital smell and baby lotion. To my right was a nurse's station, to the left a few utility rooms, and one which appeared to be a pumping room for nursing moms. We made a left at the end of the nurse's station and followed the corridor down a little until we reached the room number we were searching for. On the door was the cutest banner that spelled out 'M-I-L-O' with cute characters on the ends.
   As soon as I was rolled up close enough to my son's little bed, I forced myself up from the wheelchair to look at him. He was perfect in every way, looking just like his daddy, but he had flat little tufts of my brown hair on his beautiful head, and my more elongated forehead. Up until that moment I had hated my forehead, but seeing it on my little boy I gained an appreciation of it I hadn't had before.
   I held his hand, and kissed his cheeks, avoiding the leads and tubes sticking out of him. Once I sat back in the wheelchair, my fiancé walked up next to love on our son. I could see the tears he was fighting back as his eyes closed and he took in a deep breath. I knew if we met eyes he wouldn't be able to hold his composure, so he kept them closed for a moment before meeting my tired gaze.