Chapter 6 - Awakening to a War Zone
When I woke up, the glaring fluorescent lights of the operating room were gone, replaced by the soft, warm glow of a private recovery suite.
The air smelled of antiseptic and warm linen.
I blinked against the light, my tongue feeling like dry sandpaper. My entire body felt hollowed out, as if a cavernous space had been carved directly into my core.
“Andrew?” I rasped.
A figure stirred in the leather armchair beside the bed. Andrew jumped up, his eyes bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled as though he hadn't changed in days. He rushed to my side, gently pressing his lips to my forehead, my cheek, my trembling hands.
“I’m here. I’m right here, Becca.”
“The babies,” I managed to push out, my voice breaking. “All three... did they...?”
Andrew let out a ragged, watery laugh that sounded half-broken and half-jubilant.
“They’re alive. All three of them are in the NICU. Oliver is in Pod B. Sophie and Mia are right next to Faith in Pod C.”
I closed my eyes, a wave of profound, overwhelming relief washing over me, washing away years of infertility, months of terror, and weeks of agonizing physical endurance.
“Are they breathing?”
“They’re all on ventilators, just like Faith,” Andrew said softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress and holding my hand. “They’re tiny, Becca. Oliver is one pound, six ounces. Sophie is one pound, two ounces. And Mia... Mia is just eleven ounces.”
Eleven ounces. Less than a bag of sugar. Less than a paperback book.
“Can I see them?” I asked, attempting to push myself up.
A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through my lower abdomen, forcing a gasp from my lips.
“Not yet,” Andrew said gently, pushing me back down onto the pillows. “Dr. Foster said your body took a massive hit. The infection was severe—postpartum sepsis. They had to put you on massive antibiotic drips for forty-eight hours while you were under. You’ve been asleep for two days, Becca.”
Two days.
The world had continued to spin, and my four premature children had spent forty-eight hours fighting for their lives in plastic incubators while I lay unconscious.
May you like
“I need to go to them,” I whispered, tears spilling over my lashes.
“You will,” Andrew promised, his voice cracking with a fierce, unbreakable love. “As soon as you can sit in a wheelchair, I’ll wheel you down there. All four of them are waiting for their mother.”
