“She filed all kinds of legal paperwork so Rosita would be fully mine if something happened to her, regardless of whether my adoption of the baby was finalized.” He sighed. “She knew.”
A doctor rushed into the cafeteria and looked around, then headed straight for them. Ken sat up straighter. He looked between the three men and finally asked, “Ken Dixon?”
“Yes?”
“Do you happen to know your blood type?”
“O-negative. Why?”
He sat in the fourth chair at their table. “Your wife has received fifteen units of blood so far, and she’s going to need at least that much more. She’s also O-negative, which means she can only take O-neg blood type. Mr. Dixon, we’re running out.”
Ken stood, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. He didn’t know what to ask first. But he knew how to act. “Take mine.”
His brothers stood, and Jon said, “We’re all O-neg. So’s Dad.”
The doctor nodded. “Come with me.”
He took them back up to the surgical floor. While there, his father must have received his text because several of the parishioners from the waiting room lined the hallway outside of the blood donor room. Everyone who had O-negative blood stepped up to donate.
While the phlebotomist hooked him up for the blood donation, the doctor explained, “Your wife had what we call an amniotic fluid embolism. With AFE, often the first symptom is respiratory distress, followed by cardiac arrest. Then, bleeding from the birth starts, and the blood won’t clot. What happened is some amniotic fluid got into Mrs. Dixon’s circulatory system. That’s not terribly uncommon, but in her case, she had a severe reaction to it.”
Ken processed the information, categorized it, analyzed it. Then, he asked, “What next?”
“When I left, they were performing a hysterectomy.”
A hysterectomy? He felt like the bottom of his world opened up and sent him spiraling down. How would he ever explain to Daisy?
The doctor was still talking. “It’s our only option if we have a prayer of getting the bleeding under control. They’ll keep up with the transfusions and check her arteries, make repairs as needed.”
The doctor crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. “I can’t tell you any more because, at this point, all we can do is react. It’s like plugging a dam. She’s survived this long. That’s a good sign.”
He gestured with his thumb. “Those people praying in the waiting room, that’s definitely a good sign. And the hall is lined up with people giving blood. That might just save her life. She’s going to need every drop. The more, the better.”
After about fifteen minutes, the doctor gathered the blood donated from Ken and his brothers. They each took two bottles of juice and let three more people take their chairs. Ken looked at Jon. “I can’t walk down that hall. I can’t talk anymore. I just can’t.”
His brother nodded, knowing what Ken needed. He asked the phlebotomist for the alternate route out, and she swiped them through a doorway and into a different hall. Soon, they returned to the nursery.
He looked at Rita, who hovered over Rosaline holding the baby, and explained what the doctor told him. “Why don’t you go see if you can give blood, Rita?”
Rosaline handed the baby to Ken and stood. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”
On her way out of the room, Rita paused at Ken’s shoulder and said, “You will come find me if you know something?”
“I’ll call. Mama has her phone.”
“Okay.” Rosaline put her arm over Rita’s shoulder on their way out of the room.
Brad gestured at the door. “Jon and I are going to go update the ladies; give you some alone time.”
He nodded and lowered himself into the rocking chair, snuggling Rosita against his chest.
Throughthe fog of sleep, Ken heard the cries. He opened his eyes and got his bearings.
His home. His room. His empty bed.
His hungry baby.
He pushed himself out of bed and walked over to the bassinet. Red-faced Rosita kicked her legs, fisted her hands, and screamed to the world that she would like to eat now. Right now.
