Fearful Vigil

ZACH

I’m on a quest to locate our son. It’s an odd sensation, to say the least.

I’m doing exactly what Violet requested. I find myself lingering outside the neonatal unit for more than twenty minutes before Atticus appears, his face lined with worry. It’s a stark contrast to his usual vibrant and humorous personality. His concern sends a ripple of unease through me, a feeling I can’t quite identify.

“Is he okay?” I ask before he’s even fully in front of me.

“He had me worried there for a bit,” he confesses.

He leans against the wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as if to steady himself. “He hasn’t made a sound yet, not even when I took some blood from his heel. I had to intubate him because he was having trouble breathing on his own, but he’s only getting minimal help. He’s doing much better than he was.”

“Will he be okay?” I ask, mirroring his posture and looking skyward in silent prayer.

“I think so. I’ve run some tests, and he has a fever. I’ll know more within the hour. If he continues to improve, I might try to extubate him.”

“I don’t speak medical, man. I’m a businessman who deals with numbers and BDSM sex parties. Can you simplify it for me?”

“That’s how you became a billionaire? Sex parties?”

“Sex club. You should try it sometime.”

“If it helps me find someone like Violet, I’d be more than happy to,” he smirks.

I’d be more than happy to give him a free membership for all he’s done for us…and our boys. “Anyway, I had to intubate him because he wasn’t breathing well on his own. But once we gave him some glucose and warmed him up, he started breathing better. He’s still intubated, but he’s getting minimal help from us. He’s also running a fever, which could explain his behavior.”

“Can I sit with him? Violet sent me to make sure he’s okay.”

“Of course, let me take you back.”

“Thanks, man. Oh, and I’ll get you that membership. Maybe you’ll find someone like Violet. But I have to warn you, Doc. She’s one of a kind. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

“Except for her, of course,” he mutters, guiding me to wash my hands and put on a gown and mask before entering one of the side rooms we had been shown a few months back.

Our little boy is in a closed-top incubator, a tube hanging from his mouth and wires all over his body. It reminds me of Ivee, though our little boy is easily twice her size.

“He’s seventeen point seven inches and weighs four pounds eight. His brother is the same length, but only four pounds two,” Atticus informs me as I peer down into the cot.

“Is that a healthy weight?”

“For their gestation and considering they’re twins, yes. Plus, Violet isn’t very tall or heavy. So I think they’re healthy for them,” he opens a small door for me to reach in and touch our son.

My hands are so big compared to his tiny body. There’s barely any part of him not covered by wires and sticky pads. Even the diaper is too big for him.

“He won’t break,” Atticus chuckles.

“I don’t want to knock any wires.”

“They’re pretty sturdy. I’ll leave you to it. Once the blood work is back, I’ll decide if I’ll extubate him. His nurse is right outside the door, keeping an eye on his stats.”

I nod as he leaves the room, leaving me alone with the steady beeping of the machines. And my son.

“Well, buddy. You sure did earn me a good scolding from your mama. Can you breathe on your own so we don’t have to worry about you?”

I spend some time stroking his tiny fingers, marveling at how perfect he is. His hands are so small. His palm is probably the size of the tip of one of my fingers. He’s small and delicate, just like his brother, though he apparently weighs more.

At one point, he grabs hold of my thumb, gripping it tightly.

“That was quite the ordeal, don’t you think? I don’t know how your mother is going to handle what happened. It’s terrifying to watch your child be wheeled away like you were. Promise me you won’t do that again, okay? Scream all you want, keep us up all night, but don’t stay so quiet that we wonder if you’re alive. Can you do that for me, buddy?”

His little eyes open slightly, looking around.

I laugh at myself.

Who am I kidding? Ella was just as quiet, though I never worried about her as much as I worry about this little one.

“Man, I can’t wait to get you out of this little box and finally hold you. It feels strange having you in here. I’ve already held your brother but have only touched you. I promise there’s no favoritism. Though I have to admit, I’m glad we have two sons now…girls are great. But I’ll be damned if I’m not worried about your sisters bringing home boys. And what about teen pregnancy? My heart is racing just thinking about it, son. You’ll help protect them, right, buddy? That’s our job, to protect our girls and stand by our brothers.”

“He’s barely a minute old, and you’re already lecturing him?” Atticus laughs as he walks into the room with Dr. Stein and two nurses.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but they must have the blood results back because Atticus is grinning from ear to ear.

A complete turnaround from earlier.

“Congratulations, Mr. Henderson,” Dr. Stein says, peering down at my little boy, “we’re going to extubate him and see how he does on his own.”

“Great.”

“Would you mind stepping out?” she asks, giving me a sidelong glance.

“Can I stay in the corner? I won’t get in the way,” I request.

She laughs. Of the three doctors overseeing Violet’s care, she’s the most difficult to get along with. She’s quiet and professional, always straight to the point.

“You were right, Atticus. I don’t know why I bothered asking,” she smirks at Atticus as if they had a bet going on. “Don’t move from the corner, even if we have to reintubate him, understand?” she instructs, washing her hands and donning a gown and gloves.

Atticus does the same, as does one of the nurses. I simply nod and move to stand with the other nurse, the one who hasn’t bothered to get ready.

“Congratulations, he’s beautiful,” she tells me as I stand with my hands behind my back, watching the team of staff in front of me. They remove the top of the incubator and arrange things around him, preparing their workspace.

“Well, hello gorgeous, we’re going to get this tube out and see how strong you are,” Dr. Stein coos, stroking his cheek before removing the tie holding the tube to one side of his face.

She works quickly, with Atticus removing the tube while he listens to his chest. The machine beats steadily as we all stand in silence, watching, waiting.

It’s nerve-wracking, utterly heart-wrenching to know they are watching for signs of him failing to breathe on his own.

It reminds me of when we were told there was nothing more they could do for Ivee, that her brain bleed was so severe she wouldn’t be able to live without machines for the rest of her life.

Turning off those machines and watching the life and color fade from Ivee’s small body as Rose held her, crying softly, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The memory makes my heart pound.

I start to tap my foot as the seconds tick by. Our boy is moving, and the machine hasn’t sounded an alarm, but the doctors haven’t said anything either.

They’re all standing around him, waiting, observing. I guess they’re analyzing what they’re seeing, much like I analyze numbers.

I force myself to stay still, to not rush over there to see if he’s okay or if he’s turning pale or blue.

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it, Zach.

You promised.

“Looks like he’s going to pull through just fine,” Dr. Stein declares, shooting me a knowing smirk.

“His vitals are steady, and he’s breathing without assistance,” Atticus adds, clapping his hands together in relief.

I let out a silent prayer of thanks.

“I’ll have nurse Candice keep an eye on him for the next thirty minutes. If he’s still doing well, we’ll bring in his mom and brother,” Atticus assures me, patting my shoulder with a grin before reverting back to his usual jovial self.

“Appreciate it, man.”

“Don’t thank me, he’s the one doing all the hard work,” he replies, exiting the room with a spring in his step.

I settle back into my seat, next to his small bed, finally able to study his face without any obstructions.

He’s the spitting image of his brother, from his hair to his eyebrows, both a deep shade of brown, almost black, and his eyes as gray as a winter sky.

“You did good, little man, you did good,” I whisper to him, sinking deeper into the chair to watch him breathe for a while before I go and update the others.