Taylor“Welcome back,” a male nurse greets as I struggle to open my heavy eyes.I take in my surroundings. The wall at the foot of the bed contains clipboards and a gigantic clock, signaling it is 1:00 a.m. Two occupied beds line the wall to my right. On my left, a tall, thin brown-haired nurse holds my wrist, taking my pulse. His dark-rimmed glasses add character to his lightly freckled face. “You’re in recovery. Dr. Harding and your handsome man accompanied the twins to the nursery.” His name tag informs his name is Reggie.“Healthy?” My dry voice rasps.“Very healthy. They have an impressive set of lungs on them. Their loud cries sang to us as they rolled toward the nursery,” Nurse Reggie smiles.I attempt to itch my nose. My arms won’t move. I attempt to lift my head, but nothing seems to work.“The spinal will wear off slowly. What do you need?” he asks.I explain my cheeks and nose itch. He uses a cool, damp cloth to wash my entire face. “Nurse Reggie?” I ask.He shakes my hand e
TaylorNurse Adams pushes buttons on my IV pump. “Do you have names picked out for your twins?” she asks, making small talk.I simply nod yes. I don’t want to divulge the names in case Kennedy or Jackson have changed their minds.Tears over take me; I can’t blame these on hormones. My time in the cozy family of three has come to an end. After months of company, I’m alone again. Although Kennedy and I struggled during the pregnancy, Jackson and I grew very close. I will miss our short evening walks, trips to sneak fast food, as well as times watching football games and ESPN. I hiccup.“Look who I have,” Nurse Johnson announces. “Time to meet mommy.” She wheels a bassinet in front and another behind her. My eyes take in the soft blue and pale pink hats. She parks the beds to the side and turns to me. “Are you ready to hold your twins?” I should say no. Kennedy and Jackson should hold them before I do. It’s not my place, but I cannot fight the overwhelming need to cuddle them to my chest
TaylorNurse Johnson peeks her head in after knocking. “Sorry to interrupt,” she approaches my bedside. She quickly records my vitals. “Your IV will beep soon. Page us and we will change it out.” Smiling at Jackson, then to me, she clutches her chest. “Too precious. Need anything?”“I’m starving,” I confess. “We wrecked on the way to dinner, then with the birth of the twins... I didn’t eat.”I look at the wall clock noting it is 3:15. I should be asleep instead of ordering dinner.“I’ll put in an order for two meals,” Nurse Johnson promises as she leaves.“I’m not hungry,” Jackson states.“You’ll need your strength to hold your twins all day,” she reminds him.“I just can’t get enough of them,” Jackson confesses, sitting beside me. “How will I ever get anything done at home?”“Oh, you’ll get plenty done,” I inform him. “There will be baby laundry, changing dirty diapers, and midnight feedings.” “With you nursing, I won’t have to worry about the nighttime feedings,” Jackson argues.“So
At the Same Time Near the NurseryJacksonI stand, peeking through nursery windows, watching the nurses flitter from one infant to another. My twins sleep side-by-side, soundly near the window. Taylor thinks I’m still with Kennedy. A nurse approaches my side.“Jackson, a gentleman approached the front desk requesting to visit with you or Taylor.”“Where is he now?” I ask, scanning the area. “Who is he?” “His name is Howard Buchanan. He is still at the front entrance,” the nurse informs.“Can he come to me, or must I go to him?” I question, running my hands through my hair, worrying it might be the neighbors coming to visit. “If you agree to see him, I can have them buzz him back,” she offers.I stare at my babies while I wait for Howard Buchanan to arrive. “Twins?” a deep male voice asks.I nod, not taking my eyes off my perfect little daughter and son to take in the stranger beside me.“I regret contacting you with all you are going through, but I needed to see you. I needed you t
Taylor“For tiny babies, they quickly wear out his arms,” Jackson shares, ten minutes later. “Bring them here. I will hold them to take my mind off my itchiness,” I offer.He relinquishes one to me. “You need a free hand to itch with,” he claims.I’m not naïve. I know he can’t bear the thought of not holding at least one of them at all times. The events of the past eight hours hitting him, Jackson sinks into the nearby chair. Both he and his daughter are asleep in said chair when the nurse returns with my allergy medicine. “Ah,” she marvels as she takes in the sight. “Want me to snap a pic?” she whispers.I nod. She carefully clasps my phone from the table and snaps a couple of pictures for me.“Perfect.”She shows me the pictures she took on my phone. Then she inserts the medication into my IV and discards the syringe. I stare at the photo. A teardrop glides down my cheek at the sight. Indeed, it is perfect. She slips out after she dims the lights.I close my eyes, hoping to join J
TaylorKennedy’s nurse greets us in the hallway, then signals a nearby doctor to join us. They escort us to a private waiting room. As the lights flick on, I see four chairs along the wall, a side table with a lamp, a TV mounted on a far wall, and pamphlets scattered on a coffee-table. I’m wheeled near a chair; they prompt Jackson to sit next to me. The latching of the door sends an ominous chill through my body.“I am Dr. Peterson,” she greets, shaking my hand with no accompanying smile. “Kennedy has not improved since we last spoke.” She directs toward Jackson. Apparently, Jackson had already met this physician. “Extensive tests show no brain activity.” Taking my hand, then Jackson’s too, she kneels in front of us. “Kennedy is brain-dead, she is on life support, and will not improve.”“Jackson, I must inquire again. Does Kennedy have any other living relatives?” Dr. Peterson asks.He shakes his head, and she takes the seat next to him. “As her spouse, there are hard decisions you mu
Taylor“Taylor’s back,” Nurse Jacobs announces to the new shift of OB nurses as we enter the ward. She hands me off, pats me on the shoulder, and leaves without a word.No words could comfort me from the goodbye downstairs.Upon returning to my room, I’m assisted to the restroom. I’ll never take the ability to use the bathroom for granted again. Two nurses escort and maneuver me with the precision of a team of Navy SEALs. I painfully rise from the wheelchair to the stool. They even lower my hospital-issued underwear for me. I am allowed the privacy of a closed door, but I’m ordered to call as soon as I am done. The simple task of rising from the stool and reaching for my underwear is painful and brings tears back to my eyes. Unsuccessful, I remain on the stool and call to my nurses. They assist me to rise, pull up my underwear, then stand at the sink, and wash my hands. Back in the wheelchair, the nurses assist me painfully back into my hospital bed. One nurse leaves while the other fu
TaylorHours pass. I don’t remember falling asleep. I didn’t feel my bed lowering to a horizontal position. To my side, the twins lie in the bassinets, tucked tightly beside a sleeping Jackson on the sofa at the window. I can hear his light snores. Not wanting to disturb him, I don’t raise the head of my bed.As I lie flat on my back, I keep my head turned towards the three sleeping Hayeses on the far side of my hospital room. We all need sleep; we need more sleep. But the uncomfortable urge that roused me from sleep grows with each passing minute. I give in to my need, and I press the nurse call button. My peppy nurse quietly slips into the room and my bedside. She must have been in earlier to know we were all asleep.“I need to go to the bathroom, my face is very itchy again, and my pain is back,” I whisper. Peppy nurse nods and turns off the call button before exiting. A few moments later, she returns with another nurse to assist. They raise the head of my bed, then offer me my pa