In came several nurses and the lead nurse started asking what happened. Well, it was pretty clear. All one had to look at was the bed Kate was on. The nurse got on the phone and the tone she used was one I hadn’t yet heard that night. She was speaking to a doctor, I presume, and she said that the patient in her room PROMed. At the time, I didn’t know what that meant, but I was in a crash course and someone soon told me it meant premature rupture of membranes.
A team of residents came in and started to examine Kate. I was seated perpendicular to the bed so I could see Kate and sort of see what the doctors were doing. I don’t know how long the examination lasted, but in that time there were a lot of exchanges between Kate and I. We were both scared by now. We were shaking from the adrenaline. The residents needed Kate to scoot down the bed to have a better look at her. Kate was exhausted and scooting down the bed was tough and frightening for her. What made it worse, was that with each attempt at scooting she moved further and further into the pool of amniotic fluid and blood. She was not quite inconsolable, but I had never seen her like this. I held her hand. I broke it off. I then sat back and took a breath. Then I would stand over her and kiss her forehead, her cheek, her lips, and remind her that I love her and that, “Everything’s going to be okay,” which started to feel like more and more of a lie with each passing minute. And then I would start all of that over again.
At this stage, everyone knew the situation was serious and we were going to be here a while. They moved us to a birthing room. It was huge compared to the first room. A nice view, a giant tub in the bathroom, and intimidating lights in the ceiling angled right at Kate. I should clarify, the lights weren’t on, just a detail of the room that stood out.
This room had a plushier bed for Kate. She seemed almost comfortable, given the situation. I was encouraged to rest once they told us that they are just going to monitor the baby’s heartbeat and let the baby’s condition determine what they do tonight. At this stage, I had been paying attention to certain things but not really digesting what all of this meant. I remember at one point the nurse, a new one, her name was Amy, told us that we were here for good until the baby was born. Here being the hospital. Amazingly, this was the only time during the night I felt angry and it was a fleeting moment. I was angry about just the inconvenience of it all, thinking Kate would be bedridden for the rest of her pregnancy. Three more months like this…three more months like this! Kate would be miserable. I would live at home by myself. I would be miserable too. We would both be so lonely. In hindsight, I am embarrassed to share these feelings because they are selfish and they are devoid of the knowledge I would gain in the coming hours, that this baby was coming out and she was never going to be kept in there for any longer than she wanted.