Page 52 of Pyscho
I hear a sniffle as my heart rate picks up, and Dad says, “See, he knows she’s here…” And everything fades again.
What the fuck happened to me?
Chapter 20
Ivy – Four Months Later
I chew my bottom lip as I look at my son, his little chest moving up and down but with the help of the machines, his little hands slowly moving, the medication he’s on limiting his movements so he doesn’t pull the tube out of his mouth and I wipe away the stray tears that don’t want to stay at bay.
I’m tired, emotionally and physically, and I can feel myself slowly giving up, my strength not able to hold me up anymore.
I’m breaking. I can feel it, my family sees it, and no one can help me unless they can create miracles.
I gently rub my finger over Hudson’s tiny hand as I take him in, my heart breaking bit by bit.
Hudson Grayson Garcia was named after his father, Jax Hudson, and his great-grandfather, Macky Grayson.
God, I wish Grandad were here right now. He’d give me the advice I needed, he’d hold me up. He would have ensured I didn’t make all the wrong decisions that led me to this point.
I wipe away another tear, while keeping hold of Hudson’s hand with my other, not wanting to let him go.
When Anna face-timed me all those months ago, when I was forced to stay in bed, he didn’t weigh much more than eleven ounces, his body no bigger than a soda can yet here he is weighing three and a half pounds, showing signs of brain activity yet the doctor still wants to remove the breathing tube, still determined he won’t live longer than sixty minutes without it.
I sigh, running my other hand through my hair.
He has been extremely pushy to get me to agree with him. He said a micro-preemie won’t survive and that I’m just prolonging his life for myself not for my son. That I’m being selfish while I believe he’s being a negative jackass who doesn’t want a baby’s death on his hands. Twice he’s tried to get me alone to try and persuade me not to put my son through this but I just.. his body is growing, his lungs are developing, there is a chance.
Right?
“How are you doing, mama?” Nurse Canter asks as she walks over with Hudson’s new feed, and I shrug.
“Coping, I guess,” I whisper back as I gently rub my son’s small hand, looking over his small body, only wearing a diaper.
He’s now the size of a preemie born at around thirty weeks and still growing while his father is still in a coma.
I need Jax to wake up, I need him so much.
I haven’t gone home. Even when Dad mentioned emptying Mama’s place, where most of my belongings are, I stayed at the hospital, not caring where he’d put my stuff, not willing to leave my family. Heck, I haven’t even questioned where she is.
During the day, I’m with Hudson. At night, I’m sleeping next to Jax, begging him to wake up.
“Dr. Clark been back to see you?” she asks, and I swallow hard and nod.
“He mentioned he could have a hole in his heart and requires a scan or something then expressed his survival rate if he does have one,” I admit, and the nurse scoffs, making me look her way.
She raises her ginger eyebrow at me, her light blue eyes assessing me before she states, “He’s trying to scare you. He does this a lot because when he had saved a few babies born prematurely like Hudson, the parents sued him for encouraging them to keep the babies alive when they ended up with learning disabilities or medical problems later on in life. Something he did warn them about. He’s become jaded but won’t do the job himself to end the child, instead, he encourages the parents so the death isn’t on his hands. The ECG is just a precaution withallPreemies at this stage, so don’t let it scare you. If you believe that Hudson can overcome everything, which I shouldn’t say, but I believe he will, then listen to yourself, not the doctor,” She slightly smiles and admits, “I find that mothers know best compared to doctors most of the time.”
I swallow hard as a few tears fall, hearing her words giving me a little bit of hope before she changes the feed over while I focus on Hudson.
“I’ll stop by in a little while to check on you,” Nurse Canter says, and I nod as she squeezes my shoulder and walks away, leaving me alone with my son and my thoughts.
I blame myself.
I know I didn’t hand Misty the gun or make her go crazy, but still, I can’t help but blame myself and think about the what-ifs.
My eyes tear up yet again, but I wipe them away.
I need him to wake up.
