Page 115 of Deserter

The nurse squeezed my hand. “That’s just the anesthesia. You’re doing great, Celia.”

They were going to kill me because they found out about the club. I jerked my head back and forth, as the pressure intensified, trying to get the mask off. “My baby!”

“Celia, just hold still. They’ve almost got her—”

“No—let me go!” My entire right side was numb, but I dug the nails of my left hand into the nurse’s skin, trying to shake her off.

She jerked back with a look of surprise and I tore off the oxygen mask before begging, “Please don’t hurt my baby! Please don’t hurt my baby!”

“No one’s hurting the baby, Celia!”

There was another tug and then nothing. They began talking excitedly from the other side of the curtain and I looked to the nurse. “Is she?”

Her eyebrows drew together as she watched the other side of the curtain. “Celia, we’re going to give you a little something to help you relax, okay?”

I shook my head and sobbed, “No, please don’t. Is she okay? Why isn’t she crying?”

The lights on the warming table kicked on and I craned my neck, fighting for a glimpse of my daughter. A nurse laid a small blanket down and my chest tightened.

She was blue.

Several more nurses came running in and grabbed the warmer before leaving just as quickly. I looked back just as they finished injecting something into my IV.

Someone placed a warm blanket across my chest and my eyes immediately began to drift closed in exhaustion. “You just rest. Everything will be okay when you wake up.”

“No… it won’t,” I said, just as everything went dark.

* * *

“She’s a feisty one, isn’t she? Making all that racket.” The NICU nurse noted with a smile. “Yes, I’m talking to you, little missy.”

So many of them had come and gone over the past twenty-four hours that I hadn’t made any real efforts to learn their names.

Kara was different though. She’d been in the delivery room when my daughter was delivered, and when they couldn’t get her to take a breath, she’d been part of the team that raced her down to the NICU.

She hadn’t left her side once.

I’d expected there to be more babies, but it was just my little girl and two others. The hospital had done what they could for privacy, with curtains that could be pulled around the high-backed vinyl chairs, but it still felt like I was on display.

“What did the doctor say about her lungs?” I asked, trying to coax the baby into breastfeeding again. Anytime I offered, she’d blink up at it in confusion before falling asleep.

Nothing like the reaction I usually got from her father.

“Dr. Thorne said they’re starting to clear. Sometimes, these preemies just give us a little trouble in the beginning. How are you feeling?” Her eyes narrowed in concern.

I shrugged. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

Both physically and emotionally.

“That’s to be expected. You just worry about healing and we’ll focus on getting this little one ready to go home and meet her sister.”

As if on cue, the baby fell asleep. “Why won’t she nurse for more than a minute or two?” I asked with a sigh. “She’s got to be starving.”

“She’s little, Celia. Remind me again, was she five pounds at birth?”

“Yeah, five pounds, three ounces.”

Kara nodded. “Well, she’s just trying to take everything in, but these little ones tire so quickly. Just keep trying and give her some time to figure it out.”

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