His Corazón

53. Our Lakshmi came home

Lucas pov

Four weeks. It feels like a lifetime. Every day, I sit by the incubator, watching our daughter, whose tiny fingers wrap around my own when I gently slide my hand through the small opening. She's so small, yet so strong.

She's been fighting for every breath, every heartbeat, every moment. The doctors say she's progressing well-her lungs have fully developed, and she's gaining weight just as she should. I watch her chest rise and fall with each breath, feeling a slight relief.

But the panic still hasn't gone away. My heart races every time I hear a beep or see a nurse walk by with a look of concern. It's been hard to keep my composure in front of Akshita, but she deserves that strength from me. I promised her I'd be strong, and I will be. For her, for our daughter.

I remember the day after the surgery, when Akshita woke up. The fear in her eyes when she realized the baby wasn't in her arms-her broken sobs echoing in the sterile hospital room. She had to go through so much. Her pulse had dropped, and the situation had turned critical, but they pulled her back from the brink, just like they did with our little one. Yet, in that moment, it felt like the world was crumbling around me.

"I didn't get to hold her... I couldn't protect her," Akshita whispered, her voice breaking as she reached for the empty bassinet beside her bed. "She's so tiny, Lucas. What if she doesn't make it?"

Her tears had flooded my heart, drowning me in guilt. I held her, kissed her forehead, and promised that we would get through this together. I reassured her that our daughter was a fighter, just like her. It took time, but slowly, Akshita came to terms with the situation.

Now, four weeks later, things are starting to look up. I know the road to bringing our baby home isn't over, but it's closer. It's within reach.

Akshita has been doing well, recovering from the physical toll of the birth. She still hasn't held our daughter, though. The doctors want to wait until she's stable enough to breastfeed, but for now, we're allowed to be near her, touch her, and talk to her. That's the part that's hardest for Akshita-she wants to be able to hold her, to feed her, to give her all the love and care that only a mother can.

But the doctors tell us it's too soon for breastfeeding. It's common for preterm babies like ours to need time to strengthen their sucking reflex. They don't let mothers breastfeed until the baby is able to coordinate sucking, swallowing, and breathing all at once. This can take a few weeks.

Once she's stable and shows more improvement, we'll be able to try. I've seen Akshita's frustration, her longing to bond with our daughter in the way she's dreamed about. It kills me to see her hold back, to see her helpless.

But for now, we're patient. We watch as our daughter gets stronger every day. And we're here. We're right here, every step of the way.

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I walk into Dr. Vaidehi's cabin, "How many more days we need to keep her here?" I asked, refering to my daughter and wife.

Dr. Vaidehi looked at me with a mix of professionalism and empathy. "Your daughter is improving, Lucas. She's stable, gaining weight, and her lungs are fully developed. We'll continue to monitor her for a few more days, but as long as there are no complications, we should be able to move her to a less intensive care unit soon."

I sighed in relief but quickly turned my attention to Akshita. "And her? Is she okay to leave anytime soon?"

"Akshita's condition has been improving steadily," Dr. Vaidehi reassured me. "She's recovering from the delivery, but we want to make sure she's fully stable before she leaves the hospital. I'd say a couple more days for her as well."