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It had been an excruciating three days for Johnny Rose. Three days of little to no sleep. Three days of running between two hospital rooms. Three days of worrying if he was going to lose his beloved Moira, or their tiny son, or the most unthinkable of all, the both of them. When Moira had finally come around earlier that morning, the relief that flowed through him was insurmountable. She was very weak, and she’d have to remain in the hospital for at least a week, but she was out of the woods and was expected to recover fully, with no lasting damage to her reproductive system, thankfully. Once she had mustered the strength to speak above a whisper, there was only one thing Moira wanted, and wasted no time in demanding.
“I want to see my son,” she said once the surgeon had finished going over everything medical that had occurred in the last three days. It was determined that Moira had suffered from preeclampsia and the sudden spike in her blood pressure was what had ultimately caused her to go into preterm labor.
“Of course, Mrs. Rose, but first we need to—” the surgeon began, but was immediately cut off by Moira.
“No. No ‘firsts’, or ‘buts’,” Moira interrupted him firmly. “I want to see my son now.”
“I understand, ma’am, but you are still very weak, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be up and out of bed just yet, especially since you still require the nasal canula,” the surgeon again tried to dissuade her.
“Do you understand? Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up and find out your son has been fighting for his life for the last three days? How it feels to know you have already failed your child by not keeping him safe for the required length of time? I am the only person he has known for the last seven months and not only was he forced into this world far too soon, he has been without me, his mother, for the entirety of his life so far. Let… me… see… my… son!” Tears were streaming down her face at this point, and all Johnny could do was hold her and fight his own tidal wave threatening to spill over.
“Please,” his voiced cracked as he held a sobbing Moira against him. “Whatever has to be done to get her to him safely, do it. She’s right—our son needs his mother.”
The surgeon didn’t look thrilled, but quietly agreed. It took some careful maneuvering but within an hour, Moira was tucked into a wheelchair with John wheeling her toward the NICU, a nurse close behind to monitor Moira’s vitals. Having been informed that Moira Rose was making her way down to meet her son, the neonatologist assigned to David was waiting for them outside of the NICU, gowns in hand for the anxious parents.
“I was so glad to hear you had woken up, Mrs. Rose,” she said sincerely as John helped Moira with her gown. “Your son has clearly inherited his fighting spirit from you.”
“How is he? Truly? Please don’t spare us any details,” Moira questioned anxiously.
“He’s in for a bit of a fight,” the doctor replied honestly. “We aren’t quite out of the woods yet, but he is responding well to treatment, and he cried louder than any of us were expecting when he was delivered, which is a good sign. The next several days are going to be critical for him.”
“What are his chances?” Moira whispered, fighting back another onslaught of tears, afraid she wouldn’t be allowed in to see her baby if she became too emotional.
“At this point, I’d say fair,” the woman answered. “If he keeps responding well to everything, he should make a full recovery. But again, these next few days can be very unpredictable, and I don’t want to give you a false sense of security.”
“We appreciate your honesty,” Johnny nodded to the woman, his voice shaking. “Can Moira see David now?”
The doctor nodded. “Of course. You won’t be able to hold him just yet, Mrs. Rose, but we can open the window on the incubator and you’ll be able to touch him. He’s got a lot of wires and tubes connected to him, and his eyes are covered to prevent infection. But he has quite the head of hair for a preemie, and he reacts well to touch.”
Johnny smiled. “He got a hold of my pinky yesterday. Held it for a good long while too.”
With that, the doctor led the pair into the dark, quiet room, where their son was ensconced in an incubator. Johnny wheeled Moira right next to it and she gasped as she got her first glimpse of her teeny, tiny little boy.
“Oh…” she breathed, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, stifling the sob that wanted to break through. “He’s so tiny…”
“He is,” the doctor agreed, “but not the tiniest I’ve ever treated if you can believe that.”
“What do you think, sweetheart?” Johnny asked as he rested his hands on her trembling shoulders.
“He’s beautiful,” Moira rasped. “And though I cannot adequately see his face, I can tell that he looks like you.”
“You think?” Johnny asked with a slight smile.
“I do,” Moira nodded, laying her fingers on the glass. “You said I could touch him?”
The doctor nodded. “Of course. Just be mindful of the tubes and wires. His hand, arm, and cheek have been safe spots for Mr. Rose thus far.” The doctor opened the small, circular window for Moira, and she ever so carefully reached a hand in to finally physically connect with her son. His arm did not have the softness to it she was told to expect, and while the sensation startled her, it did not repulse her.
“Can he hear us?” Moira asked as she ran a single finger up and down the length of David’s tiny forearm.
“Yes, he can,” the doctor said. “Talk to him. He’ll know your voice best of all I should think. Might give him some comfort.”
“Hello, David,” Moira spoke against the glass of the incubator. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here until now. I know Daddy and the nurses and doctors have been taking very good care of you for me, but I’m here now. And I promise I won’t be gone for so long ever again.” Fresh tears started to fall as she carefully moved her fingers from his arm to his cheek. “I love you so much, David. Please keep fighting for us, sweetheart.” David emitted a tiny grunt and turned his face ever so slightly into his mother’s hand, his feet kicking out gently.
Moira gasped and looked between John and the doctor, both of whom had smiles on their faces.
“That’s the biggest response he has given anyone so far,” the doctor smiled. “He knows Mommy is here, that’s for sure.”
“I wish I could hold him,” Moira lamented as her knuckles continued to gently stroke David’s cheek. “Do you have any idea when that might be?”
“Hopefully within a week,” the doctor responded. “But you are welcome to spend as much time with him as your surgeon feels is safe while you’re still an inpatient here. And once you are discharged, you can spend as long as you want with him, day or night.”
“And if all continues to go well, when might we be able to bring him home?” Johnny asked, eyes glued to his wife and son.
“If things go as well as we hope, premature babies are usually able to go home by their due date. So mid-September? And again, that’s as long as things go according to plan and there are no setbacks.”
“Eleven weeks already seemed like such a long time when he was still inside me,” Moira said. “Now it feels like an eternity.”
“It’ll fly by, sweetheart,” Johnny leaned down, wrapping his arms around Moira’s upper body, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll be bringing him home before you know it, you’ll see.”
“I hope you’re right,” Moira sniffled, leaning into John’s embrace as much as she could while still keeping her fingers on David. “How long can I stay here with him?”
“I was told no more than 30 minutes, but as long as you aren’t in any pain, and your oxygen levels stay up, I think we can stretch that a little bit,” the nurse, who had remained silent throughout the visit so far, said from across the room. “No more than an hour though. And if you feel up to it after dinner, I’ll make sure whoever the night nurse is brings you back. From there we can coordinate a schedule.”
“Thank you,” Moira managed in a tight whisper before turning her full attention back to her son. She began to softly hum to David, and it wasn’t long before Johnny recognized the song, and started to sing the words in a whisper quiet voice, Moira joining him soon after. Fresh tears streamed silently down their cheeks.
“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help, falling in love with you,” they ended the song together, soft smiles emerging on their tear-stained faces.