Page 76 of Falling for Grace

“What do you mean he was there?” He pushes the words out through gritted teeth. I look to the broken plasterboard and then back at Brandon. His eyes have darkened to a mossy green.

“When it happened,” I whisper.

“What? What did you just say?” He pulls me closer to him so I’m standing directly in the line of his fury, his arms gripping my biceps. “When what happened?”

He’s going to make me say it. Fear coils in my belly, my heart beating rapidly.

“When I went into labour,” I say.

“What?” he shouts again and shakes me. His tight grip is hurting me.

“He was there.” I push him away from me. My next words fly out of me before I can think about delivering them in any other way. “When I lost our baby, he was there! He was there when I delivered her. He was there and he watched as they passed her to me, he watched as I lost three pints of blood, he was there when they prepped me for surgery and he watched as our baby died!”

He recoils, backing up until he hits the door then slumping to the floor. My legs give way too, and I watch through blurry eyes as he breaks. Huge sobs escape him. I crawl to him, climbing onto his lap and cradling his head in my arms. He doesn’t push me but he doesn’t hug me back. So I pick up his arms and wrap them around me.

“He arrived four days after my due date. My uncle had no idea who he was and just let him in, and my water broke later that evening. Potentially coincidence, potentially stress. Danny was convinced the little sprout wanted to meet him. His words not mine. So he stayed, he watched me have my first contraction, and he watched as our baby crowned. He was right there with me, telling me that I could do it when the whole time I was telling him that I couldn’t. He was screaming at me to push, holding onto me as I delivered her into the world.”

He looks at me, his green eyes bloodshot and tears flowing freely from them.

“I mean, what were the chances?”

Brandon nods.

“It was like he was meant to be there, some big joke by the universe.”

He shifts underneath me, and I crawl off him, watching as he lifts his knees up in front of, just like I had done. I know the signs, so I back off.

“After the birth…” I swallow. This is the start of it all, the beginning of what caused my post-traumatic stress disorder…or so my therapist thought. “I was lying on the bed, with Maya in my arms. She was feeding and your brother was right there with me, he hadn’t left my side once. I’d just been stitched up and, well, I just kind of felt this weird sensation as I moved. Like a trickle from a tap.”

He raises his head.

“I knew I’d bleed after,” I confess. “But I didn’t expect it to feel like it did. The midwife checked on me. I was then told I had a bit of a bleed. Nothing more than that, no explanation of why, just a quick announcement of ‘a bit of a bleed.’” I sigh and wipe my eyes with the palms of my hands. “They put me on fluids and poor Danny was left to dress the baby.”

A small laugh escapes me. “He didn’t have a clue, the first time he dressed her. He announced proudly that it was brilliant how the baby clothes included hand mitts to keep their fingers warm.” I can’t help grinning. “He had put it on the wrong way round. I remember looking at him and being so grateful that he was there, and I remember looking at her, and being so glad that I had kept her, and that I couldn’t wait for her to meet you.”

He’s watching me intently, expressionless, but those eyes are telling me a thousand things.

“Anyway, the time ticked away, minutes turned to hours, and I continued to bleed. It was awful, they didn’t tell me anything. Danny was getting pissed and in the end he had to leave the ward as he was getting so agitated. I’ve never wanted my mum more and in the end I buckled and called her because they were talking about surgery. Not that they told me that.” A humourless laugh escapes me. “I only found that out because I asked what the pills were that they were making me take. Turns out one was an anti-sickness, in case I needed surgery.

“After a few more hours of slowly losing more blood, the doctor who had stitched me up arrived, along with the head midwife.” I shudder at the memory. The lack of control was what got me—it was my body, but it was like I was a visitor.

“She came into the room and told me she was going to examine me. Now, these examinations were uncomfortable at the best of times, someone digging about checking your cervix and what not. But what they did, it wasn’t an examination.” Anger courses through me. “She basically shoved her hand up me and scraped my insides out. Well, that’s what it felt like.”

Brandon’s eyes widen.

“All the while she was pushing down on my abdomen.”

Brandon fidgets against the door.

“They didn’t tell me they were going to do that.” My voice breaks. “They just did it. I had no time to prepare myself, no time to prepare for the pain. The doctor kept telling me to take some gas and air. I had it in my hand, but I was so shocked that I forgot. All I could do was cry out in pain. I remember looking at Danny, who was holding Maya, and apologising over and over that he had to see that. There was this blue curtain covering the door, and I remember thinking about you. I remember being so grateful that you weren’t there but at the same time wishing desperately that you were there with me in that moment. I was so conflicted, so confused. Brandon, the labour—that was bad, but you deal with it, you go through the pain because you know you finally get to meet the thing that you have given life to. But what came after—that was horrific. I felt like I had been violated in the worst possible way. I went into shock after that and then I spent the next day or two pretty weak and out of it. But it was ok, because I had this amazing daughter and your brother was with me.”

Brandon nods.

“Even though I knew he was struggling with it all and I think he secretly wanted to slap me round the head. By day four things had improved, but Maya…” I gulp at the raw pain. “She stopped feeding and she became floppy and unresponsive. I panicked. Danny ran out and got a nurse. They checked her blood pressure, which had dropped, and she was whisked away from me in a heartbeat. She was taken up to NICO, the special baby unit. We followed a few minutes later as they put her in an incubator, and that's where we sat for the next day, completely powerless as she slowly deteriorated. Five days after I delivered her, she finally lost her battle.”

I take a moment, my head down, trying to pull my thoughts together as grief punches me repeatedly.

“It turns out I was carrying an infection called Group Strep B. Brandon, I’d never heard of it. The NHS, they don’t test for it during pregnancy. I never even knew it existed. I got tested for everything, everything but this. As she passed through my birth canal, I passed the infection to her.” My voice breaks. “It was my fault…”

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