Good Girls Have Secrets

Chapter 21

The IVs, the doctors, contractions, the pain, all seem surreal. The thin gown I'm wearing makes me feel exposed, but not as exposed as people watching me try to push out a baby.

The pain. I can't put it into words. Thankfully, the epidural brought some relief. Numb legs are a small price to pay to get rid of the vomit inducing contractions.

Encouraging me to bare down, whatever that means, the nurse keeps giving me instructions, as she holds my leg.

Aunt Beth has one hand on my shoulder, while she holds the other leg. "You're doing great." She keeps repeating the words like a rhythmic chant.

Six hours after arriving at the hospital, the doctor pulls out a little girl. She isn't crying. The NICU team whisks her over to another area of the room. My senses are on high alert, as I listen to their whispers, watching their body language.

Hysterical, I scream, "Is she dead? Did she die?" Tears run down my face. My body trembles like I've just had a bucket of cold water dumped over me. Did I do all of this for nothing? "What's happening?"

The doctor explains, "Since your daughter is 12 weeks early, her lungs and other systems are not developed. The team's doing everything they can to stabilize her before they move her to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit."

"She can't die. I can't take it if she dies."

Putting her hands on my cheeks, Aunt Beth commands, "You need to stop thinking like that. Speak life over her, not death. She is going to make it."

Nodding, I cry. "Okay."

After what seems like hours, they announce she's stable enough to move to the NICU. Squeezing Aunt Beth's hand, I cry, "Can you go with her?"

"Of course. Do you want Uncle David to come in, so you don't have to be alone?"

"No. I'll be okay." I rasp. No way do I want him to see me like this. "Do you know where my phone is? I need to call my mom." My throat is so dry. I ask the nurse to bring me water.

"I already did. She's on her way here." Aunt Beth's voice is thick with emotion. "Do you want me to take some pictures for you?"

Do I want this memory? Part of me wants to forget this terrible day. Shrugging, I say, "I guess." It's like my whole world shifted, and I can't take it in. I keep telling myself, "I have a daughter." Will comes to mind. I can't deal with him right now. I'll call later.

After a few pictures, Aunt Beth follows the team out of the room, leaving me alone with my nurse and the doctor. I've never felt so exposed in my life.

Taking off his gloves and standing, the doctor steps to the side of the bed. "Give yourself about another thirty minutes to an hour to let the anesthesia wear off. Then you can go upstairs to see your daughter."

He asks the nurse to bring an ice pack. "There wasn't much tearing since the baby was only two pounds fourteen ounces. But you'll be sore for several days. You'll need to stay tonight and tomorrow night. The nurses can explain more once you get to your room. Do you have any questions for me?"

My list of questions could take a week to answer. If they know how clueless I am, they won't let me take the baby home, so I shake my head no.

"I'll check on you in the morning. Be sure you eat and drink something tonight. It's easy to forget to take care of yourself."

Twenty minutes later, I head to the bathroom to inspect myself in the mirror. Expecting to look different, I look like I do after a hard sleep. I don't look like a mother. What does it take to be a good mother? I'm going to do better than my mom. That's for sure.