It was all a whirl wind from the time my water broke and we got to the hospital. The doctor had relaxed significantly once I crossed over the thirty-four-week mark, so while there was much trepidation in my heart, I knew my baby was cooked enough to make it in this world. And that made the rest of it far less terrifying.

I’d teased Coop about waiting another week to get married, but relief flooded me knowing we were officially legal in the eyes of the court. We’d have done it weeks ago, but Coop was overwhelmed by taking care of me and Sylvia, so I didn’t rush him. And a part of me, a much larger part than I wanted to admit to even myself, was afraid I wouldn’t make it through this pregnancy.

I’d made the mistake of googling my condition, and the possibility of not surviving delivery was very real. Being married comforted me, knowing there would be no question where our baby would go. Our state had craptastic laws when it came to unwed parents not listed on the birth certificate, and if I died before meeting my sweet baby, there wouldn’t be a certificate yet.

And yes, that was another thing I googled like an idiot. But what else was I going to do. I’d had to step down from my teaching assignments once the doctor insisted on bedrest. It was a relief in many ways, but it also meant I didn’t have much to do. Coop had been a champ taking care of Sylvia, and Mama took every opportunity she could to snatch her away for grandma time. But that left me alone for hours with nothing but my tablet for company. Googling was going to happen.

We were checked in at the hospital and in a triage room within minutes. The nurse connected me to all kinds of machines and the IV team immediately put my IV in place. It was so different than the last time I’d been in labor, when the nurses looked down on me because my lack of marital status. Of course, this time, the tinge of urgency they tried in vain to hide added a different level of stress.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Harrison. I’m the on-call OB today.” A woman’s voice pulled me from my focus on the beeping machine beside me. I’d found comfort in hearing the baby’s heartbeat. “Looks like we are having a baby tonight.”

Coop squeezed my hand, his shaking slightly. “His water broke.”

“It would appear so, but according to the readings of that little sensor on your mate’s belly, contractions haven’t begun, so we’re in a very good place.” And by little, she meant the size of a coffee mug. But she was right about one thing. I had no contractions that I could feel, which was why the water breaking surprised me. With Sylvia, I was already hours into labor when that happened.

“I have a team prepping the operating room as we speak. Now, because of your condition, you will be seeing quite a few extra people in there. Rest assured, it is only because we are a teaching hospital and your condition is unique, and not because I’m at all worried.”

“You’re not worried?” I asked, not sure I heard her right.

“You are the ideal case for a patient with HELLP. You’ve managed to make it far enough along in your pregnancy to be considered full term without increasing any of your symptoms, and you aren’t contracting. You, my friend, are what we call the best case scenario.”

Before I could ask her any questions, a man, about my age and wearing a doctor’s coat, walked in.

“Oh, excellent,” Dr. Harrison exclaimed with far too much enthusiasm. Although, she had been all sunshine and roses since she walked in, so it shouldn’t have surprised me. “This is Dr. Martin, the anesthesiologist. I saw in your records that your doctor indicated the spinal anesthesia did not go well last time?” She tapped on her tablet a few more times for good measure.

“They had to call in someone else after several failed attempts, and the headache that followed was almost as bad as the labor.” And I wasn’t even exaggerating. I was sure I’d had an aneurysm. I spoke to the anesthesiologist as I answered her question, wanting him to be one hundred percent in the loop.

“Well, we will be having none of that today,” she fluffed off my concerns. Normally when people were this stinking happy it came off as fake, but with Dr. Harrison, it felt sincere and made things just a tiny bit better. “Dr. Martin is the best of the best.”

“And he is standing right here,” Doctor Martin sassed back with a smirk. It was apparently an inside joke, and they both chuckled.

“Okay.” Doctor Harrison pointed to Coop who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the entire exchange. “Out with you.”

“He’s my husband!” I bit out because fuck no seemed a bit harsh.

“And as such, he needs to meet the nice nurse in the hallway for his scrubs and instructions on OR procedures while you get your epidural. That is, unless you want him to pass out and miss the entire thing.” She pointed to Coop, and it was the first time I saw what she saw.

He was staring at a tray a tech had placed on the counter with the needle for the epidural on it, and his face was the color of an evergreen.

“No.” I tugged on his hand until his gaze found mine. “Dr. Harrison’s idea sounds like the best plan.” I indicated the door which now had the nurse holding his scrubs in it. “You get dressed so you can be with me through all of this.”

“I love you,” he whispered before nodding and heading to meet the nurse. Dr. Martin was more than right that he’d have puked if he saw just what they were going to do to me next.

It turned out that Dr. Martin had been worthy of the other doctor’s praise, and he had me ready for surgery in record time. Unlike in the last hospital, they had me walk myself to the OR with Coop dressed head to toe in medical garb and holding my hand the entire trip. My other hand was occupied by pushing my IV cart. All kinds of dead man walking jokes popped into my head, but I held them, not wanting to add any more stress to Coop.

The OR was filled with more people than I had imagined when Dr. Harrison said there would be extras. It was reassuring having a set of people there just for the baby and the others all seemed nice enough when they introduced themselves. Of course, knowing they were all watching as I climbed on the table and flashed them all made it a little awkward.

Not as awkward as when they all watched me get my catheter, but my comfort was the least of my concerns. I wanted to know all was well with my baby, and that we’d both make it through in one piece. As they put up the blue paper screen, the one they used to prevent me from seeing what they were doing and probably to keep fathers from passing out, they fastened my arms to the boards on the side of the table. I knew it was for my safety and that of my baby, but feeling so restricted had tears forming in my eyes.

“Shhh, love.” Coop wiped away my tears. “You’ve got this.”

And he was right, I did. Only ten minutes later, I heard the beautiful sound of our child crying as the doctor announced we had a beautiful baby girl. The time from her initial scream until they laid her on my chest was the longest of my life. Hearing her but being unable to see her was almost too much. They offered to let Coop follow them to where they were weighing, measuring, and cleaning her up, but he refused to leave my side.

When the time finally came for the nurse to settle her on my chest, my arms now free, the tears came in earnest, but unlike before, they were tears of pure, unadulterated joy.