Just as Alone

Vincent feels too warm, but I’m afraid to take off his blanket. If I move him, there’s a chance I’ll pinch or loosen the wires, prompting the machines to beep incessantly until a nurse comes in and presses the right buttons. Once Vincent wakes up, it takes a while to coax him back to sleep.

I’ve been awake since 3 am. Josh left the hospital hours ago to pick up his other son from school. Now, I sit in a double room with two beds but no hope for sleep myself. I open my book, but I can only concentrate on the steady hum and rhythmic beeping of the monitor next to me.

What if Vincent’s fever spikes? I wish Josh had stayed longer. How am I going to get through the night by myself?

A nurse walks in, interrupting my thought process. “How’s everything here?” she asks.

“He’s been out for a while, but I’m worried he’s too hot,” I tell her.

She walks over to the monitor. “His numbers look good.” She puts her hand on his cheek. “He’s warm, but that’s normal.”

My phone dings, signaling a text message — my friend, Delilah, is offering to bring me dinner. I’ve been so anxious all day, I haven’t even thought about food, but the mention of a harvest salad reminds me that I’m starving.

I eat my salad slowly, careful not to make any big movements. I should have asked Delilah to hold Vincent so I could go to the bathroom, but she had been in a hurry to get to dinner herself.

By the time my friends Moe and Melina arrive, my bladder feels as though it could burst any minute. “Oh, thank God. I’ve had to pee for hours,” I tell them as they enter the room. I hand Vincent to Melina carefully. When I come out of the bathroom, she won’t let me take him back. “Relax,” she says. “He’s comfortable right here.”

I sink into the chair next to her. “Thank you so much. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course! Sorry we couldn’t get here sooner. I had to wait for Moe to get home. Then the dogs needed to go out.”

Moe and Melina sit with me for over an hour before the night shift nurse comes in. Suddenly, I’m aware it’s past visiting hours. Please don’t make them leave, I plead silently.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse says, “but we’re going to have to switch your room. We need this one for an incoming patient.”

“Oh, no problem,” I tell her. Melina places Vincent into the crib, and the machines beep erratically. The nurse disconnects the wires, and the beeping stops. Moe grabs all three of my bags.

We follow the nurse, who wheels the crib down the hall into a corner room. When I enter, I feel like I’m in a shoe box. The crib takes up most of the space. A few feet from the crib, in the corner, a beige reclining chair sits next to a small nightstand. Looking at the chair, I’m reminded of the nights I spent in the hospital with my grandmother. You’ve done this before, I reassure myself. You knew you wouldn’t get much sleep tonight anyway.

At least Vincent is now situated. The wires are back in place, though the technology in this room looks like it’s from the 90s rather than 2016. I take out my phone to check the time. It’s 10:24 pm.

There’s no place for Moe or Melina to sit, so I thank them for coming and tell them they should head home. “We’ll call you in the morning,” Moe promises.

The machines call out like a fire alarm, startling me awake. It’s nearly 3 am, and I have yet to make it beyond a hypnogogic state. Vincent screams. I’m afraid picking him up will disconnect the wires or pull at his IV, so I put my hand on his head and talk to him until a tech finally comes in to reset the machines.

By 9 am, I’m functioning on auto pilot. Vincent’s temperature has gone down, he’s more alert, and he’s finished his first bottle since early yesterday morning. My anxiety wanes when a nurse tells me we’re ready to be discharged. I let out a slow breath as she removes Vincent’s IV and disconnects all the wires.

I still haven’t heard from Josh, so I text my mother to ask if she can pick us up. When she arrives, I hand Vincent to her and collect our bags. “How did he do last night?” she asks.

“It was rough,” I admit.

“Did you get any sleep?”

I shoot her a look but say nothing. Does it look like I got any sleep?

I follow my mother down the hallway to an elevator that will take us to the parking garage. After securing Vincent into his car seat, I walk around to the other side of the car so I can sit next to him. As I reach for his hand, a familiar feeling seeps into me. It’s not déjà vu. I know exactly when I’ve experienced this before.

Two months earlier, after Vincent was born, when my mother drove us home from the same hospital.

I was just as exhausted.

I felt just as scared.

And Josh had left me just as alone.