A Heart of Time Page 2

  “Our baby is okay. She is,” I say, squeezing Ellie’s hand. She has to be. Where is that fucking doctor? And why is nobody talking to us, telling us what is going on?

  An on-call doctor finally jogs into the room with a portable ultrasound machine. “We’re just going to make sure the baby is in the right position to come out,” the doctor explains calmly. That’s all they’re checking for? It doesn’t seem like that’s the case. Is he just trying to keep us calm? If so, it isn’t working. “Okay, we have a heartbeat, but it’s not as strong as I’d like it to be. I hate to do this with you being so close to full dilation, Mrs. Cole, but just to be on the safe side, I think we need to get the baby out right away.”

  “A C-section?” Ellie asks, through tears. “I didn’t want to have one.”

  A nurse hands Ellie a pen and has her sign a few papers, which takes less than ten seconds. They’re already pushing her out of the room, back into the hall. Someone throws me a set of scrubs and tells me to put them on and follow them down to the operating room. Is this safe? Is Ellie going to be okay? She seems so afraid...but I know they do this all the time. They said that in our class, too.

  I struggle to get the scrub shirt over my t-shirt as I run down the hall toward where I see doctors piling into a room. Shaking and weak, I walk into the OR in a daze and a nurse guides me over to a stool next to Ellie’s head. “Just relax, the nurse says,” smiling and patting my hand. “She needs you right now.” I wish everyone would stop telling me to relax. How the hell am I supposed to relax? My wife is on an operating table, and my unborn daughter is in trouble. Who would relax in this situation?

  I try to breathe through my nerves, but it isn’t working. I comb my fingers through Ellie’s soft hair and push it out of her face. “You okay?” I ask. Stupid question. Of course she’s not okay, but right now, I don’t know what else to say.

  “As okay as I can be,” she says quietly. I know she’s terrified.

  “There isn’t enough time for a spinal,” a doctor shouts. It’s Ellie’s doctor, thank God. I don’t know when he got here but he’s here. “Mr. Cole, we need you to leave right now.”

  “What? Why?” I ask, feeling totally helpless. A nurse inserts another tube into Ellie’s IV. “What’s that?” I ask.

  “We need to put your wife under general anesthesia to perform the C-section. There isn’t enough time to give her a spinal or an epidural without putting the baby at risk, so I need you to say your goodbyes and wait in the room next door. As soon as the baby is born, we’ll let you know what is going on.” I can’t be here for my daughter’s birth? I can’t be here for Ellie? “Mr. Cole, we need to do this right now,” her doctor shouts over, snapping me out of my panic-stricken haze.

  Ellie already looks dazed as I lean down and press my lips against hers, feeling the tears fill my eyes. “I love you, Ell. When you wake up, we’re going to be a family.” We are. Right? Her hand lifts weakly and she places it over my face. “Let’s name her Olive,” she mumbles.

  “You said you didn’t want to name her until you saw her,” I remind her. But her eyes are already closed, and I’m being pulled out of the room. “I love you, Ellie,” I cry out. I shouldn’t be crying. I’m supposed to be the strong one. I don’t cry. I haven’t since I was a kid. Why does this all seem so wrong? I shouldn’t be leaving her right now. It’s my job to be by her side.

  Now I’m alone in a small room with a water bubbler and a TV. I only sit down because I feel like my knees might give out. I might pass out, and I didn’t even see a drop of blood. Holding my head in my hands, I count the seconds as they pass, wondering how long I’ll have to wait before I hear something.

  The dryness in my throat is making me feel strangled so I lean over to the water bubbler, grabbing a paper cone and filling it with water. This wasn’t our plan.

  After what feels like an hour, a doctor walks through the door but it’s not Ellie’s doctor. “Mr. Cole,” he says. I stand up, pushing through my bodily weakness. “Your daughter is perfect. She had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck two times, but she’s receiving oxygen right now and will be just fine. A nurse will be in to take you to the neonatal care unit so you can be with your daughter.” With a proud smile, the doctor reaches for my hand. “Congratulations, son. She’s a beauty.”

  “How’s Ellie?” I ask, breathing a little easier. “Will she be in recovery soon?”

  “Eleanor is just fi—“ The doctor stops talking as he looks down at his pager. After a long second, he looks back up at me with wide eyes. “I’ll have someone come speak with you in a moment.” He runs out of the room, and I’m left staring at the door he just ran through. The look in his eyes—was that about Ellie? Is she okay? I push out of the door and find myself in an empty hallway, spinning around, looking for a nurse...or anyone who can help me understand what is going on. Not finding anyone, I head back into the waiting room.

  A nurse finally walks into the waiting room and sits down beside me, placing her hand on my back. “Do you want to meet your daughter?” she asks with a gentle smile.

  “Is Ellie okay?” I ask.

  “The doctors are taking good care of her,” she says with a hint of unease.

  “What does that mean? Did something happen?” I ask, more firmly this time, while trying not to panic.

  “When they know more, they’ll let you know,” she says, seemingly trying to sound reassuring. “For now, you should focus on your daughter.”

  “Olive. Her name is Olive.” I feel like we’ve walked a mile down this hall before we turn in to a room surrounded by windows. The nurse takes me over to a little bassinet with plastic sides. And I see her…Olive. She’s perfect. I look at her fingers—counting them—and her toes. Ten and ten. Her nose—she has Ellie’s perfect little nose. She’s absolutely beautiful.

  “Do you want to hold her?” A nurse asks. Ellie should be able to hold her first.

  “I don’t feel right—” I begin.

  “She would want you to hold your daughter,” the nurse says with a small smile, “especially since the delivery required general anesthesia. She wouldn’t want Olive to wait until she wakes up before being held by her Daddy.” She reaches into the bassinette and carefully pulls my little girl out, keeping her wrapped tightly in a pink blanket. “We need to keep the tubes in her nose for a little while longer until her oxygen levels are where we’d like to see them. So just be careful not to move them.”

  The nurse pulls over a wooden rocking chair and takes me by the arm, guiding me down into the seat. Stiff as a board, scared of hurting this tiny little person, I hold Olive against my chest, feeling her warmth. It soothes me. Olive opens her eyes, looking up at me with a lost look—a curious look. I melt instantly. I’m in love. This little girl is mine. She belongs to me—forever. How did we create something so perfect? “I’m your daddy,” I cry through a weak voice. “And I don’t usually cry this much, but you’re just so beautiful.”

  The nurse returns with a bottle and holds it out in front of me. “Do you want to feed her?” she asks.

  “Oh, no. Ellie is planning to nurse.” That was one thing she was dead set on. She knew her birth plan could change, but she made it clear she wanted to try breastfeeding, totally avoiding bottles if at all possible.

  The nurse pulls up a stool and sits down beside me. “We’ll give it a little while then,” she says.

  “Do you know something?” I ask her, looking at the expression painted across her aging face. Because her expression tells me she does know something or she’s seen this before. Something. There’s sympathy in her eyes, not the happiness she should have for a dad meeting his daughter for the first time.

  “I—I can’t. I think a doctor will be in to speak with you shortly.”

  My heart is aching. There is something they aren’t telling me, and with absolutely no information, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. “Could you take her for a moment?” I ask the nurse. I don’t want anyone to touch my dau
ghter. I want to keep her to myself, but right now I can’t breathe. The nurse takes Olive. My Olive. She takes her from me and rocks her gently as I lean forward, trying my hardest to inhale a little deeper.

  “Is she going to make it? Will you at least tell me that?” I ask with a touch of hostility. I’m trying to control my anger. I’m in a nursery, so I know I can’t lose it. But I’m about to. If someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to fucking lose it.

  The nurse looks back up at me again and doesn’t even answer me this time. Oh shit. Shit! Ellie! No! I stand up and lean over, placing a quick kiss on Olive’s head. “I’ll be right back, baby-girl.”

  I run out the door and back toward the OR before anyone can stop me. When I approach the OR door, I press on it, knowing very well I should not be going through these doors, and by now I’m somewhat surprised no one has stopped me.

  When the door opens, the sight of a whole lot of blood—my wife’s blood, immediately assaults me. Why isn’t anyone working on her? Why isn’t anyone stopping the blood? I scan my focus around the room, looking at everyone’s faces until I see her doctor. He’s looking at the clock. What is he doing? No...no...Ellie! I run to her, grabbing her hand and pulling it up to my chest. I fall to my knees. “No. Ellie, baby. Ellie!” I scream out. Continuing to shout, I call her name over and over. Why isn’t anyone stopping me? I wonder, but deep inside I know the answer to that question. I know why no one is stopping me. It doesn’t matter, does it?

  “Time of death—“

  “Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say it!” I yell.

  “Eleven, twelve,” the doctor says quietly.

  “No, she’s not gone! You can’t just take her from me like that. She’s not gone. Bring her back. Do something. Anything!” How could this happen? She’s healthy. She had a picture perfect pregnancy. No morning sickness, no blood pressure issues, nothing. So what is this?

  Silence consumes the room after my outbursts. A blur of activity happens around me, and I’m being pulled up to my feet by several hands.

  All of the hands release me as another hand settles on my shoulder, but I can’t look away from Ellie. Her eyes are closed. Her cheeks are pale. Her lips—they’re blue. “Please, Ellie. You can’t leave me. We have our family now. Ellie—” I sob.

  “We did all that we could,” the doctor’s words float into my ear and twist tightly around my brain, shutting off all logical thoughts. “She suffered from a ruptured aneurysm.”

  “Isn’t that in the brain, though?” I ask, confused, looking at the blood-soaked blue sheet covering the lower half of her body.

  “Unfortunately, the strain from her contractions caused an aneurysm to rupture. It happened very fast. She didn’t suffer, but yet, her brain is no longer functioning.”

  “How did we not know she—”

  “Some people don’t know until it’s too late, I’m afraid,” a doctor, not Ellie’s doctor, says.

  And just like that, my family has been broken apart before it was even united. The love of my life—the other half of my heart—has died. “Son, this is not an opportune time to discuss this with you, but time is of the essence. When her oxygen levels depleted, we placed Eleanor temporarily on a ventilator because she elected to donate her working organs if she were to pass. I wanted to inform you of this before we begin the procedure. The surgeon is on his way over as it needs to be handled right away.” There’s too much going through my mind to tell myself this is what Ellie would have wanted. This isn’t what I want. What about me? What about Olive? We were supposed to have all parts of her, and selfishly, I don’t want to give her parts to anyone else. I want her whole. I want her with me. Alive. I can’t do this without her. “I’ll give you a moment.”

  “So she’s still alive? I mean, her heart is still beating?” I ask, baffled. “Can she hear me? Are you sure she’s really gone? Didn’t you put her under general anesthesia? Maybe she just hasn’t woken up.”

  “This happened as we were preparing to put her under, son. I’m sure. We did several tests to confirm what we immediately assumed. Her heart is still beating but I’m afraid the rest of her is gone.”

  The room empties out around me, leaving me alone with my Ellie. My girl—the woman I knew I was placed on this earth for. I kneel back down by her bedside, unable to comprehend how we’ve gotten to this moment in time.

  Five hours ago, we were laughing at our favorite TV show. She was making a long list of baby names and spitting out the most ridiculous ones she could find in the baby-name dictionary. Five hours ago, our life was perfect.

  I always tried not to think that God didn’t want us to have a baby. We tried everything, including infertility treatments. Nothing worked, but we kept trying. Maybe we should have taken the hint. But we didn’t. We needed Olive. We needed her like we needed air to breathe, and now I know Olive really was Ellie’s air to breathe.

  “Ellie, baby, I never considered the thought of having to say goodbye to you today. How can I say goodbye? I don’t want to. I want to beg you to stay, but it won’t matter, will it? God. Life is cruel…so damn cruel. It shouldn’t have been like this.” I place my lips over her cool cheek. She’s gone. I can feel it. Her soul is gone. My beautiful Ellie is gone. I watch her for a moment, stupidly thinking…hoping…she’s just going to open her eyes. “Open your eyes,” I cry into her ear. “Please. I can’t do this without you.” My heart feels like someone just ripped it out through my throat and is now choking me with it. Everything hurts so damn much, and this isn’t a pain that will ever go away. “Ellie, I’m going to raise our little girl the way you wanted to raise her. She’s going to know everything about you—every single detail—right down to the heart-shaped freckle under your right eye. I won’t let you down. I won’t. Please, Ell, just know how much you are loved. I’ve loved you since the day we met, and I will love you until the day I die. You are my wife, my best friend. My forever. Just like I was your forever.”

  I really was her forever. We met on the first day of Kindergarten when we were five. We were best friends until high school, then boyfriend and girlfriend until our senior year of college when we got married. There was never anyone else…for either of us. We had our lives planned out, and this was supposed to be the beginning…not the end. I stand back up and place one more kiss on her forehead. Am I really saying good-bye to her right now? This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Someone wake me up.

  But no one does. This is real. What was supposed to be the best day of my life just became a living hell.

  I touch Ellie’s hair one last time because it’s something I’ll never be able to do again. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to comprehend the loss standing in front of me. How can this lovely creature, who was such an integral part of my past, not be part of my future? I touch her lips, her eyelids, her ears, her cheeks, and her neck. The heaviness of her hand isn’t something I recognize, though. This isn’t my Ellie, the warm, beautiful woman who I haven’t spent a day without.

  This isn’t happening. This can’t be real. Someone please tell me this isn’t real. Everything inside of me is screaming with an alarm of panic. My mind doesn’t understand what I’m about to do. My mind doesn’t know how to say goodbye to the love of my life. I shouldn’t have to say goodbye. I can’t.

  “Ellie,” I say sweetly as if my calm, soothing voice will pull her back to me. “You don’t understand, baby. I can’t do this. Life. I can’t do this without you.” My words in the form of a plea go unheard, unanswered, ignored by God, Ellie, and anyone and anything that was ever supposed to support me. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. “Ellie, I need you. We need you. Please, come back.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’m pacing in circles around the living room, desperately searching for a neon blue backpack. How can something that bright just disappear? God, she’s going to be late for her first day of kindergarten and I will have already failed before the school year begins. “Olive?” I call out. “Have you see
n your backpack?”

  I yank up the cushions on the couch, knowing the bag can’t exactly fit under here but I’m running out of places to look. I’m freaking out right now. That’s what this is. I’m definitely freaking out because I’m not ready to send her to school. She’s too young. She’s not ready. She won’t want to let go of me. I should just homeschool her—maybe that would be best, but then I’d have to quit working with AJ, and he’d kill me if I did that. Not to mention that Olive and I would both starve.

  “Daddy, what are you doing?” Olive asks, in her squeaky little voice. I turn around, dropping the cushion down. “Did you lose something?” She walks toward me with her backpack firmly perched on her shoulders, lunch bag in hand and wearing a smile that tells me she’s not nervous to leave me. It’s me who doesn’t want to let go of her, not the other way around. Having her with me for these last five years has been my lifeline...my way to keep a piece of Ellie near me. My heart aches for a brief minute as I stare through her, imagining what this moment would be like if Ellie were here. Would Ellie be crying? Probably, but she’d also be excited for Olive, and she would help me be brave as we send our little girl off to her first day of kindergarten. At least I know she would approve of the eye-blinding blue backpack. It was her favorite color, too.

  “Nope, I didn’t lose anything. I was just straightening up.”

  “No,” she croons with a toothy smile. “You were looking for my backpack.” I swear there is a twenty-year-old living inside of my five-year-old. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m going to be okay today. And so will you. I made you lunch and breakfast. And I plugged your phone into the charger because the battery bar turned red.”

  I kneel down and open my arms up, waiting for her to run to me like she always does. “You made me lunch and breakfast?” I ask as I tighten my arms around her tiny body.

  “Yup. I made you cereal for breakfast and bread and mayonnaise for lunch. Now you won’t have to make lunch by yourself today.” A tiny breath escapes her lips and her eyes look at me with as much seriousness as a five-year-old could muster up. “You told me yesterday that you would be sad not having anyone to help you make lunch while I’m at school, and I didn’t want you to be sad.”