Broken Together (62 page)

My
eyes raked over the monitor, the electrodes, the tape, the wires, the clamp on
her belly button, and the feeding tube in Gabriella’s nose. Fear spiked through
me. “Is she okay?”

“Don’t
let Gabriella’s size fool you. She’s doing better than a lot of our full term
babies,” Faddwa assured me.

My
hand shook while I removed Gabriella’s diaper. I cleaned her bottom with the
wipe before taping the new diaper into place. “No wonder you’re afraid to touch
her.”

Rafael
tickled the palm of her hand with his pinky finger.

Gabriella
grasped his finger.

Faddwa
latched the doors on her side of the Isolette. “Has your breastmilk come in
yet?”

I
handed her the small plastic container I’d nearly forgotten. “Yes. I’m afraid
there isn’t much.”

She
gladly accepted the container. “Two ounces is more than enough. I’ll load some into
a syringe so you can feed your daughter.”

I
rested my forehead against the Isolette. Relief evaded me. Fear permeated my thoughts,
but mostly I felt robbed. I also felt like a complete failure as a mom. This
wasn’t the life I envisioned for my child. I’d dreamed of soft blankets; soothing
music; a safe, pain free world; and long hours nestled inside my arms.

Rafael
pulled me into his arms as I began to sob.

*
* * * *

Brady
wheeled me onto the elevator. He pressed the button for the ground floor.

I
frowned. “Where are we going?”

“Outside,”
he answered determinedly.

A
sharp, jagged pain ripped through my abdomen when I turned too quickly to look
at him. “But I haven’t been discharged yet.”

He
shrugged. “We’re just going out for some fresh air.”

I
tried not to panic. Leaving the hospital felt wrong. I couldn’t leave Gabriella
behind. “Rafael’s expecting us in the NICU.”

Brady
wheeled me off the elevator. “Jase has a surprise for you.”

I
grimaced when I turned too quickly again. I gaped at him. “A surprise? What
kind of surprise?”

He
patted my shoulder. “Patience, my friend.”

The
doors slid open. I gulped in surprisingly crisp air. A tiny bit of tension
eased from my shoulders. “I can’t believe it’s so cool outside.” July was hot
and humid most of the time.

“The
temperature broke with the storm last night.” Brady wheeled me down the
sidewalk to our right.

My
eyes widened. “Bosco!”

Bosco’s
ears perked up. He sprinted toward me.

Jase
had to jog to keep up. He scooped him up and set him in my lap. “I thought this
little guy might put a smile on your face.”

I
lifted him so I could bury my face in his fur. “Bosco. How’s my sweet boy?”

Gleefully,
he licked my chin.

“He
cries for you day and night.” Brady rubbed Bosco’s ear. “He’s still my hero,
though.”

I
eyed him questioningly.

Jase
rested his hand on my shoulder. “How much do you remember about the morning we
brought you to the hospital?”

“Bits
and pieces. Nothing concrete,” I answered honestly.

Brady
knelt beside me. “You were sleeping. Bosco started barking, but he wouldn’t let
me take him for a walk. He kept circling back to your bed until we checked on
you. It’s like he knew you were about to have a seizure and was trying to save
you.”

I
pressed a tearful kiss to his head. “Thanks, Bosco.” My chin rose. I looked at Brady
and Jase. “I want to thank you too. You’ve sacrificed your personal lives so
you could watch over me and keep me safe. I know you’re supposed to be my
bodyguards, but you’re not. You’re so much more than that. You’re family,
my
family
, now.”

Rafael
caressed the top of my head. “Well said, my love. I couldn’t agree more.”

Brady
smiled. “You know, we may never move out.”

Jase
clasped Rafael’s hand. “You got my text.”

Rafael
nodded. “Thanks for bringing Bosco. I’ve missed this little fur ball.” He mussed
the hair on Bosco’s head. “Would either of you like to meet Gabriella? They’re
allowing extended family to visit her in the NICU now.”

Brady
shot to his feet. “Are you serious?”

Rafael
winked at me. “Do you think Brady and Jase could pass as my brothers?”

I
grinned. “Absolutely.” Jase’s blue eyes might inspire some debate, but I
doubted the NICU nurses would look beyond their lethal frames and swoon worthy
faces.

“I’ll
sit with Kristine and Bosco while you visit Gabriella. I’ll go in with Kristine
when you’re done,” Jase offered.

Brady
hugged him. “Thanks, Jase. I’ll drive Bosco home while you visit Gabriella. Dinner’s
on me tonight, little brother.”

“I’m
bigger than you are,” Jase grumbled.

“That
may be true, but I’m three months older than you.” Brady chuckled.

Rafael
looked at me. “Maybe I should put an offer on the townhouse next door.”

*
* * * *

Shae
looked up from her Kindle. “Hey, Kri. It’s good to see you on your feet.”

“Easy.”
Rafael kept his arm wrapped securely around me.

I
shuffled toward my family and friends, who were camped out in the NICU waiting
room. Again. “They finally discharged me.”

Shae
stood and gave me a hug. “Free but not free,” she noted keenly.

Slowly,
I lowered myself onto the chair next to her. “I’m not leaving here without my
baby.”

“She
could be here for months,” Dad warned me. “You need sleep.”

Rafael
sank onto the chair next to me. “I’ve been trying to convince her to go home
and get a good night’s sleep. I can stay with Gabriella through the night and
sleep tomorrow while Kristine sits with her.”

“We
can divide our time as well, so neither of you are sitting here alone,” Shae offered.

Rafael
shook his head. “Parents and spouses are the only ones allowed inside the
hospital after eight o’clock at night.”

Kadyn
looked thoughtful. “The hospital allowed Kristine’s bodyguards to stay the
night. Maybe you should assign a bodyguard to Gabri.”

“They
won’t consent to a bodyguard when she’s in a locked unit. Besides the NICU
staff think Brady and Jase are my brothers,” Rafael answered.

I
brightened. A little. “I could do the same for you.”

Kadyn
eyed me uncertainly.

“I’ll
claim you’re my brother so you can go back and see her,” I explained excitedly.

Kadyn
barked out a laugh. “How many pain meds are you on?”

I
reached across Shae so I could swat his arm. “I’m not taking any pain
medication. I hate the way those drugs make me feel.”

Mom
folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t doubt her ability to pull it off,
do you?”

Kadyn
shook his head. “No, ma’am. Your daughter accomplishes everything she sets her
mind to.”

She
stood. “The nurse shift change is over. Come on. I’ll vouch for you.”

Kadyn
helped me to my feet. “Now I know where you get that fierce determination
from.”

Dad
chuckled. “Now if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

Mom
looked pointedly at Shae. “Come on, Shae. You’re the closest thing Krissy’s
ever had to a sister. You may as well be adopted too.”

*
* * * *

After
a great deal of negotiation, Rafael and I forged a manageable routine. I spent
my days with Gabriella while he spent the night. We ate breakfast and dinner
together during the nurse shift changes. We overlapped our visits by an hour or
two so we could snag a few precious hours together. Rafael slept during the
day. I slept at night, curled around Bosco. Between our friends and my parents,
we were never alone. Still, our lives hung suspended at the hospital.

*
* * * *

The
charge nurse intercepted us on the way to Gabriella’s Isolette. “Thank you for
the generous gift.”

My
eyes slid toward the brand new rocking chairs scattered between the Isolettes. “Gift?”

She
smiled. “An employee from the furniture store revealed your name.”

I
sighed. “That was supposed to be an anonymous donation.” The NICU had
eighty-nine babies, ninety-five when operating at full capacity, but they only had
two rocking chairs in the entire unit. I wasn’t the only woman recovering from
a C-section who was forced to stand if she wanted to see her baby. An hour or
two would have been manageable, but for those of us spending the entire day and
most of the night by our child’s side, it was exhausting and painful. “Our
friends helped pay for the rocking chairs. The donation was a group effort.”

Her
eyes softened. “Please thank them for me.”

Rafael
pulled one of the rocking chairs next to Gabriella’s Isolette. “Have you
received Gabriella’s lab results yet?”

“The
neonatologist will be rounding shortly. He wants to speak with you about those
results.” She wandered off to speak with another family.

My
heart stalled. “Is it just me or was she dodging that question?”

“She
was avoiding the question,” Rafael gritted. Today marked Gabriella’s one week
anniversary in the NICU. Her liver and kidney function were still declining,
which is why we were riding her labs. Her life and ours hinged on those lab
results.

I
opened the door to Gabriella’s Isolette so I could rest my hand on her chest. I
cringed at the bandages on her tiny little heels. Her skin was so thin. Surely,
it would rip when they removed the bandages? I cupped her head, and my heart
sank. She looked puffy. Her eyes and her skin were tinged yellow. There was no
denying something was wrong.

“Mr.
and Mrs. Garcia, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dr. Graham.” The young, lanky
physician shoved black rimmed glasses up his nose.

Rafael
shook his hand. “I understand you have some news for us?”

He
backed away while noting Rafael’s intimidating physique. “Perhaps we should
speak somewhere more private. I’ll see if the nephrologist and the
gastroenterologist can join us.”

Rafael
frowned. “I’d like to know what’s going on.”

He
glanced briefly at his clipboard. “Your daughter’s creatinine is one point
eight and her BUN is thirty-eight. She’s retaining fluid which could compromise
her lungs and heart. We’re at a bit of a crossroads to be honest. We can
attempt dialysis. We’d have to perform surgery to place the dialysis catheter. Or…”
He swallowed nervously.

“Or
what?” Rafael growled.

Dr.
Graham stepped behind Gabriella’s Isolette. Clearly, he wasn’t thinking
straight because he’d boxed himself in between two Isolettes. “Well, her bilirubin
is extremely elevated. While some jaundice is to be expected, her bilirubin is
nearing the point where it can lead to brain damage. We still have options,
phototherapy and a blood exchange transfusion, but there are no guarantees with
those interventions. Your daughter could still end up with brain damage and
multiple organ failure. Before we subject her to surgery, you might want to consider
taking her home on hospice.”

“
No
,”
was so tangled around my heart it came out sounding strangled.

Rafael
looked at me. “Hospice? What is hospice?”

“Hospice
is taking her home to die.” I stared at Dr. Graham accusingly.

Rafael’s
jaw clenched. “I want to speak with the nephrologist and the
gastroenterologist. Now.” The tension rolling off his body raised the hair on
my arms.

The
neonatologist bolted from the room.

Within
minutes we were seated inside a private counseling room. I insisted my parents;
Father McHugh; Faddwa, our favorite NICU nurse; Brady; Jase; Kadyn; and Shae
join us. I wanted them to hear the prognosis and our treatment options first
hand. I didn’t want to repeat any of this. Ever.

Dr.
Graham began by summarizing his concerns. I tried not to hear my mother and
Shae crying when he encouraged us toward hospice. He made his case a bit more vehemently
than before. There was an awkward silence after he spoke.

Rafael
looked at the nephrologist. “At what point do you recommend dialysis?”

She
leaned forward in her chair. “We recommend dialysis when the creatinine hits
two point zero for infants. We need a day or two to secure a surgeon and an
operating room and a few days after the dialysis catheter is placed to begin
peritoneal dialysis. So dialysis would not begin until four or five days after
that decision is made.”

Rafael
shifted his attention to the gastroenterologist. “We started phototherapy three
days ago. Do you typically see improvement in the bilirubin within that amount
of time?”

“Not
necessarily.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Gabriella has only been exposed to
conventional phototherapy. I’d like to see how she responds to intensive
phototherapy before drawing any conclusions about her liver.”