Chapter 8
My condition worsened on the fifth hospital day.
The fetal monitor showed repeated drops in our daughter’s heart rate.
Dr. Shah entered with an obstetric surgeon and neonatal specialist.
“The placenta is not functioning well enough,” she said.
“How long?”
“We recommend delivery today.”
“I’m thirty-two weeks.”
“Thirty-two weeks and five days.”
“Will she breathe?”
“The neonatal team will be ready.”
“What about the burns?”
“We will avoid affected areas where possible. Your infection and injuries increase risk, but delaying may be more dangerous for both of you.”
I signed the consent form with a shaking hand.
Rachel stood beside me.
Naomi waited outside.
Police placed additional security near the unit because Judith had attempted to obtain information through a former clinic employee.
The operating room was bright and cold.
A curtain separated my face from the surgeons.
Rachel held my hand.
Pressure replaced pain.
Then voices changed.
Faster.
More focused.
For several seconds, there was no cry.
My whole body waited.
Then a thin sound rose from the other side of the curtain.
Small.
Angry.
Alive.
I began sobbing.
“Your daughter is here,” someone said.
They showed her to me briefly.
Red skin.
Tiny face.
One hand opening and closing.
Then the neonatal team moved her to support breathing.
I named her Caroline Grace.
Caroline for my mother.
Grace for the thing people praise when survival makes them uncomfortable.
She weighed three pounds, fourteen ounces.
She spent twenty-six days in neonatal intensive care.
The first time I saw her without sedation clouding my vision, she lay beneath clear plastic with wires across her chest.
Her stomach rose and fell rapidly.
I placed one finger through the incubator opening.
Her hand closed around the tip.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
A nurse named Maya heard me.
“For what?”
“I couldn’t protect her.”
Maya adjusted a line.
“She is here because you did.”
“I was unconscious.”
“You covered her with your body long enough for help to arrive.”
I looked at the burn dressings.
May you like
Protection had not looked victorious.
It looked like surviving seconds until another person called.
