Branching Out (13 page)

C
HAPTER
18

W
hile delivery nurses worked in Shelby's hospital room to monitor her vitals and prepare the room for labor and delivery, Shelby rested comfortably in an induced sleep, blissfully separated from the reality of what awaited her.

As she slept, Shelby dreamed of walking down a sunlit beach with her son. He wiggled his feet in the fine sand and she did the same, enjoying the way the sand shifted between her toes and tickled the tops of her feet as it piled up and slid away.

He was a beautiful boy with an overgrown mop of hair that matched hers and a dimpled cheek like his father's. Her son extended his arms toward her, proudly revealing a delicate tumble of sea glass that he held in his cupped hands. As she was admiring his tiny handful of blue and green treasures, he closed his hands and reached down to the sand to pick up another piece of sea glass. This one was lavender and he held it up to the sun, smiling proudly. Lavender had been her favorite sea glass when she was a child, too. It was rare and lovely.

Her son laughed in a bubbly hiccup and then, without notice, he dropped the glass fragments into the sand and ran off down the beach in an unbalanced toddle. His arms flapping at his side like wings, as if he could soar up over the waves that rolled along the shoreline. His legs were soft and fleshy and pink from the sun, and the small pads of his feet left delicate impressions in the damp sand as he ran.

Shelby imagined her son would grow up to be the kind of man who never lost his youthful zeal. He would always have a strong heart, be full of laughter, and appreciate the beauty in little things, like footprints and sea glass in the sand.

“You're almost there,” she cheered him on toward a destination that was beyond her sight. “I'll be here for you!” she called after him. But he didn't turn back.

 

Shelby awoke with a start, bolting upright in her bed and taking a desperate breath of air as if she had been drowning. She opened her eyes wide and, instead of seeing the beach, she took in her surroundings and she remembered that she was in the hospital. A pain shot through her abdomen and seared around to her back, causing her to arch, grit her teeth, and fall back onto the bed.

Shelby was in labor.

“You'll be all right, Mrs. Chambers,” came the soothing voice of a man who appeared to be preparing something at the foot of Shelby's bed. “My name is Thomas and we're here to help you. You nodded off for just a few minutes. Perfectly normal with the medications you were given. They'll help keep you calm.”

“Call me Shelby,” she said as the agonizing intensity of another contraction forced her awake.

“I'm Dr. Sorenson. How are you feeling, Shelby?” asked a woman dressed in blue scrubs. Shelby realized she was a physician, although not the OB-GYN who had cared for her throughout her pregnancy.

“Where is Dr. Logan?” Shelby asked breathlessly, her question cut short by another wave of pain that shot through her core.

“You're having contractions, Shelby, and they're coming faster than we had anticipated. Try to breathe through them,” said Dr. Sorenson, who then mumbled something inaudible to the nurse. Returning her focus to Shelby, the physician continued, “We called Dr. Logan, but considering how quickly you're progressing, he may not arrive in time. But I'm in his practice group, I've reviewed all of your charts, and he and I are staying in touch. I assure you, we're going to take very good care of you.”

And my child,
Shelby thought to herself.
She meant to say, “We'll take care of you and your child.”
She'd have to correct her later, if only she could catch her breath as another wave of pain rolled over her.

She realized that her body was acting on its own, regardless of how she felt or how she willed herself to move. She vaguely remembered that an epidural had been administered for the pain, but now she realized she could feel everything below her waist.

“I can feel my legs, but I can't move them,” she said urgently, trying not to panic.
My God,
she thought,
it didn't take!
The epidural took away her ability to control her body below the waist, rather than the pain, and now her lower limbs were like two heavy sandbags that lay motionless on the birthing bed. Unable to move, she felt every internal twist, every deep pull, and every searing burn within her body. The only blessing she grasped on to was that her son's delivery was relatively swift. As he entered the world, perfect in every way except for a beating heart, she cried out with abandon, “My baby! My baby!”—as if her words of devastation and unconditional love could be heard outside of the cold, sterile hospital room and soar with him into the clouds.

C
HAPTER
19

T
he drive from his parents' apartment building to Memorial Hospital felt painstakingly slow as the car drove cautiously through the slick city streets. The snowfall cast a heavy veil upon the city as Ryan looked out of his passenger door window. He knew the streets well and didn't need to read the snow-covered street signs or identify the buildings on each corner to know how far they still had to drive before he could join his wife.

Outwardly, he seemed calm, aside from his legs, which were shaking with nervous energy and eager to burst out of the car and run.
Damn it, move faster!
his thoughts raged as he clenched his teeth and hands. Every muscle felt taut, like a band stretched to its breaking point, ready to snap and strike pain. While Shelby faced unimaginable fear and grief, he was helpless. He wanted desperately to be there. For her, and for their child's bittersweet welcome into the world.

Ryan wanted to scream. Trapped in the back of the car, he wanted to
run
. To shout at every car, bus, taxi,
Get off the roads! Don't you know? Can't you understand? My family needs me and I'm stuck in this goddamned traffic!
He dropped his head into his hands and sobbed. Feeling helpless and alone, he cried, knowing that he could be missing the moment when his wife and son needed him the most. Ryan was missing it all.
I should never have left her. She needed me and I left her alone.

“Can't we go any faster?!” he shouted out to the driver, who was watching the road intensely and keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel. Seeing this, Ryan regained his composure, forcing himself not to give in to his emotions, “I'm sorry, Sam. It's not your fault, I know. But seriously, isn't there something you can do to speed this up? Turn on blinkers? I don't care if you run the lights to get there—it's an emergency!” If Ryan was going to be any help to Shelby, he had to resolve to remain calm.

“I'm doing the best I can, sir,” said Sam Billings, a lifelong Chicagoan in his late fifties who had been working as Charlotte Chambers's driver for the past several years. “I want to get you there in one piece. We don't need two emergencies tonight.” The car picked up speed, its wheels sliding around turns and windshield wipers brushing back and forth against the rough, icy windshield as it made its way through the congested city to Memorial Hospital.

 

Once Ryan finally arrived in the maternity ward on the fourth floor, he stopped only long enough to hastily inquire about Shelby.

“Your wife is in room one-oh-seven, Mr. Chambers,” came the kind voice of a woman at the nurses' station. He barely had time to register her face before he rushed out in the direction of her pointing hand and shouted, “Thanks!” over his shoulder.

The maternity ward was pristinely quiet, except for the distant cry of a woman who he assumed was in the height of labor. The halls were brightly lit and smelled of cleanser and stale air, and something faintly medicinal. The pastel colors and cheerful signage and art on the walls gave the clear indication he was in the right place. His terror made for a stark contrast with his surroundings.

His feet slipped on the shiny white floors as he stopped suddenly at the closed door to room 107. He reached for the door handle, from which a D
O
N
OT
D
ISTURB
sign hung, and hesitated for only a moment.

It was actually happening. This was his family's room. He closed his eyes, tried to settle the tormented thoughts in his head, breathed in deeply, and quietly unlatched the door with a
click
.

Her room was dark, except for the dim light that shone softly above her headboard. Ryan walked to the bed, where Shelby lay on her side beneath white cotton blankets. An IV drip slowly administered liquids through a tube that ran under the covers to Shelby's arm. He heard soft
beeps
sounding a slow beat from the vital sign monitor at her bedside.

Ryan walked as quietly as possible to the side of the bed, hoping not to wake her. The moment he saw her beautiful face, looking grief stricken even in sleep, he threw his hand over his mouth to keep his cries inside. He swallowed hard, wiped his eyes, and looked with utter amazement at his wife. Ryan knew she was strong—Shelby had shown that side of herself to him time and time again—and it was one of the things that first drew him to her. He hated himself for not being there in time. He wished so much that she could have leaned on him for strength during the most difficult time in her life. But he hadn't been there. He was late.

He dropped down to his knees and reached his hand out to touch hers. He found it clenched tightly around a corner of the blanket and tucked just under her chin. Her hand was warm to the touch and he was glad, in a way, to have a quiet moment with her to process everything that had happened so that he would have the perfect words to say once she awoke.

But the words didn't come. Only tears and an overwhelming ache that seemed to take over his entire body. It was as if part of his soul had left him and he ached for the emptiness it left behind. His heart was broken.

It was his trembling hand that woke her. Shelby's eyes opened slowly and fluttered as she tried to regain focus in the dimly lit room. “Ryan?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said gently, now holding her hand in both of his and leaning forward to bow his head down beside hers. “I'm so—” he began to say, but the tears came openly now and he hated himself for not being stronger. He should be comforting her, and here he was, breaking down. “I'm so sorry, Shelby.”

“You didn't know,” she whispered, her voice breaking from emotion.

“And he didn't . . .” Ryan couldn't say it aloud. He was caught in a nightmare. Saying it out loud made it real.

She shook her head against her pillow and looked intently into his eyes. “I'm sorry,” she said in a voice so meek he could barely hear her misplaced apology. “I should have . . .”

Ryan couldn't allow her to take any blame. He interrupted her with tender kisses on her trembling lips. Kisses that said he loved her. He was there for her. He was as devastated as she was. They would survive this. They
had
to survive, for the sake of their son, who would always be a part of their lives. They were a family.

 

There was a gentle rap on the door, followed by a click of the latch. A light in the entry area behind the room's privacy curtain turned on. The curtain was pulled back just enough for Ryan to see a nurse, dressed in pink scrubs and white shoes that looked as soft and padded as marshmallows. “Excuse me, Mr. Chambers. But we saw that you arrived and thought, if you and Mrs. Chambers are interested, now might be a good time to see your son.”

Ryan looked into Shelby's glistening eyes. She wiped away her tears, tightened her lips together, and showed a brave face. She gave a nod.

“Yes, thank you,” he told the nurse.

“I'm Megan,” said the nurse. “I have been with your wife all night.” It was obvious to Ryan that it had been a difficult night for Megan as well; he could see her eyes were puffy and her face looked drawn. He wondered how long she would stay, or if she was working well past the end of her shift.

Megan whispered something to another person who had been waiting behind the curtain. She gently pulled away the drape, like a curtain that revealed a star to an adoring crowd. Another woman, also dressed in nurse's scrubs, walked into their room with her head cast down. She looked young, barely out of school. She pushed a bassinet that contained a woven Moses basket, carefully lifted it up, and gave it to Ryan. Without saying a word, Ryan could see in her expression that she considered his child precious. When he looked down at his son's face, Ryan saw that he
was
precious.

But more than that, in that first moment, Ryan fell in love with his son's past, present, and future—for the baby's life was all of that in a single day.

Ryan heard Shelby's voice catch as she attempted to utter her thanks for the nurses' care. Then to Ryan, Shelby whispered, “I'm scared.”

“I know. I am, too,” Ryan reassured her. “But we'll be all right.”

Ryan moved gingerly as he carried the basket that held his son's fragile body to Shelby's bedside. He hardly heard Megan's words as she described how the nurses had made a ceramic impression of her and Ryan's son's hands and feet, how the yellow receiving blanket had been crocheted by volunteers, how they had taken the liberty to dress Ryan and Shelby's son in a gown that had been gifted to the maternity ward.

As the nurse spoke, Ryan held Shelby's hand and looked down at his son's perfect face. His small, round nose. A dimpled chin. Wisps of dark hair. Curled lashes forming a soft crescent on his closed lids. And pouting lips, which were perfectly shaped, but instead of being warm and berry pink, his were cold and lavender in color.

Megan's voice came in and out of Ryan's awareness. He caught bits and pieces of what she was saying. He knew her instructions were important, but they slipped out of his comprehension like flour through a sieve. Only a few pieces of information remained.

“Be careful; his skin is tissue paper thin . . . grief counselor will stop by in the morning . . . resources . . . Shelby, you were incredibly brave . . . umbilical cord . . . unpreventable . . . arrangements later . . .” Megan then lifted the still baby wrapped in the crocheted blanket and held him out to Ryan. “Would you like to hold him?”

Ryan nodded. There were no words.

“Please take as long as you need,” Megan said gently before passing the baby to Ryan and leaving the room to offer them privacy.

Ryan held his son in his arms and drew him tenderly to his chest. He then bent down and kissed his cool lips. In that smallest gesture, the briefest moment, Ryan's fear mercifully disappeared. Every heart-wrenching emotion was replaced with pride. Adoration. And an unconditional love that was so powerful it took his breath away.

When he looked up at Shelby, he saw nothing but absolute love in her eyes when she caressed the baby's cheek and whispered, “My beautiful, beautiful boy.”