My mother-in-law said only my son mattered. Minutes later, a nurse rushed to my daughter’s bassinet and exposed what everyone else had failed to see.
Nurse Sarah reached into my daughter’s bassinet and lifted her so fast the blanket fell to the floor.
“Call neonatal!”
Her voice cut through the room.
My husband, Tom, froze with our son in his arms.
My mother-in-law, Margot, stepped back as Sarah pressed two fingers against my daughter’s chest.
“What is it?” I asked.
Sarah tilted my baby’s head, placed a tiny mask over her face, and shouted toward the hallway.
“I need oxygen now!”
The recovery room exploded into motion.
Another nurse rushed in with a cart. A doctor followed seconds later.
Someone pulled the curtain around the bassinet, but I could still see my daughter’s feet.
They were blue.
I tried to sit up.
Pain tore through my abdomen.
“What’s happening to her?”
Tom placed our son in the nearest crib and moved toward the nurses.
Sarah pushed him back.
“Give us room.”
“Is she breathing?”
“Not enough.”
The doctor listened to our daughter’s chest.
“Respiratory distress. Heart rate is dropping.”
My vision narrowed. After 36 hours of labor, both babies had cried when the doctor placed them on my chest.
I knew they had.
But now I could not hear my daughter at all. Only the hiss of oxygen.
“We need to move her,” the doctor said.
Sarah raised the bassinet rails.
“Wait,” I begged. “Please let me see her.”
Sarah brought my daughter close enough for me to touch her hand.
Her fingers were cold.
“Stay with me, Ivy,” I whispered.
We had chosen the name months earlier.
Margot hated it. She said it sounded weak.
Sarah squeezed my shoulder.
“We’re taking her to the NICU.”
Then my daughter disappeared through the door.
I tried to follow, but my body refused. I had lost too much blood during delivery. My legs shook before they reached the floor.
Tom caught me.
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