I twisted the shirt in my hands and shoved it into the waste basket before I continued to peel the clothes from my body. I changed into the scrubs and met the nurse outside the door. She took me into another room and I started to feel anxious as she handed me a bar of soap and instructed me to wash my hands and forearms. I vigorously scrubbed my skin, watching as the water in the sink mixed with the blood on my hands and swirled down the drain.
Once my hands were sterilized I followed her into the NICU, my heart beat rampantly inside my chest as my eyes scanned the room, looking at all incubators and wondering which one held my son until the nurse came to a stop and turned around to face me.
“Are you ready to meet your son?” She smiled warmly, as she stepped to the side. “He’s been waiting to meet his daddy,” she continued.
My eyes dropped and rested on the little miracle fighting for his life. I heard the gasp escape my lips as I took a step closer, cocking my head to the side as I stared at the tiniest human I had ever laid eyes on. He looked so frail, so fragile hooked up to all the machines. Aside from the respirator and the feeding tube, his skin was decorated with tiny little stickers that connected more wires to him.
But I saw past the wires and ignored the sounds of the machines, focusing on the beautiful little boy that was half Lauren and half me.
“You can’t hold him just yet but you can stick your hands through the holes and touch him,” the nurse stated. “It would be good for him to feel you,” she encouraged.
“Can he hear me?” I asked hoarsely, running my hand over the top of the incubator.
“Of course he can,” she smiled. “He already probably recognizes your voice from in utero.
His eyes were closed and because of the feeding tube and the ventilator I couldn’t assess his features, but still, I knew he had the most adorable face.
After all, I was his dad.
And his mom? She was pretty hot too.
I lifted my hands from the incubator, hesitating as I brought them to the circular holes for my arms to slide through.
“You sure I won’t hurt him? I can’t like pull a wire or anything like that, right?”
“I’m sure,” she said calmly.
I drew in a sharp breath, turning my gaze back to my son, thinking how strange it was that it felt perfectly normal to be calling this little guy my son. That wasn’t something I expected to feel. I thought it would feel strange at first, constricted and forced but one look at him and it was the most natural feeling I had ever had.
I was always a sure shot, a steady hand and a perfect eye. My hand never once quivered when it was wrapped around a gun but my hands trembled as they slid into the incubator and my fingertips touched my son’s skin for the first time.
“Oh,” I whispered. “You’re really here,” I said, softly caressing the top of his hand with my index finger.
He’s so tiny, making my hands look so much bigger than they really are.
“Hey, little guy, I’m your dad,” I introduced myself, crouching down so he could hear me better and I could see him more clearly. “It’s okay, Daddy’s here, you don’t have to be scared. I know it’s a big deal, coming into the world and all that. It’s terrifying to go from being safe inside your mom to the ugly world that ripped you from her but I promise you, you don’t have to be afraid anymore,” I vowed, drawing circles on his tiny hand with my fingertip.
“You know I’m already the proudest dad in this place. Just look at you being such a strong boy, fighting hard like a little bull—you get that from your mom. She’s a fighter and right now she’s fighting with everything she’s got because she wants so badly to meet you, to hold you and to kiss you. She’s loved you since she first found out you were just a little pea inside of her,” I whispered, feeling the sting of unshed tears assault my eyes.
I blinked, tears escaping the corners of my eyes but I didn’t take my hands out of the incubator to dry my eyes. I wanted to touch him for as long as I could, to comfort him. I wonder if he realizes I’m here. Does he recognize my voice? Probably not.
“Do you have a name picked out for him?”
I turned my gaze to the nurse and shook my head.
“No, but I bet his mom does,” I said, turning back to glance at my boy. “I’m sure it’s a good, solid name, perfect for you.”
I pictured Kitten holding our son for the first time, looking up at me and telling me what the name she chose for him was but then another thought invaded my mind.
What if she doesn’t make it?
What if she doesn’t get to meet our son?
What if he doesn’t get to know what a great mom he has?
What if she never gets to tell us what his name is?
I felt myself teetering on the edge, ready to lose it and succumb to the grief of it all. The grief of losing Bones, of not knowing if Lauren will live or die and standing here watching as a machine breathes for my newborn child.
And then the most amazing thing happened.
A tiny hand wrapped around my finger.
I stared at my son’s hand, his small fingers wrapped around my index finger and I was undone.