Disclaimer: I do not own JAG, Harmon Rabb, Sarah MacKenzie, et al. I've earned nothing but the pleasure of the writing, and the possibility of some nice feedback.
~*~*~
The First Noelle
December 23, 2010
1011 Zulu (0211 Local)
UCSD Medical Center in Hillcrest
San Diego, CA
The room was quiet for the first time in hours. Well, quiet being a relative term. He should say…Mac was quiet. The contractions finally dissipated enough for her to sleep, if not peacefully, then at least quietly. The fluorescent light in the fixture above the hospital bed buzzed faintly and the fetal monitor whirred and beeped every so often. But Mac was quiet. Not completely still, but quiet.
He, Harmon Rabb, Junior—a captain in the United States Navy, formerly an aviator and lawyer, and now Carrier Readiness Specialist—had never felt so helpless in his life.
They'd been through hell just trying to conceive this baby. It almost cost them the marriage they'd endured and overcome so much to finally have. Getting Mac pregnant turned into another obsession for him. Making love became ritualistic and ruled by ovulation timetables, rather than being a true act of love and intimacy.
But at least then he was doing something. Now, all he could do was sit by as modern medicine fought Mother Nature over Mac's too-early labor. Nurses came and went in regular intervals, checking vital signs of both mother and baby.
The routine had gone on for six days now; but they were just another day or two away from the point at which birth would be an acceptable, and, in his mind, welcome, risk. Because of the baby's fragile predicament, Mac had only been given low doses of pain medication – just enough to take the edge off, steroids to help the baby's lungs and immune system mature a bit faster than normal, and magnesium sulphate to stop the contractions. That, and immediate bed rest, had only decreased labor to minor but consistent though worthless contractions. But the pain was still there. The OB/GYN checked the baby daily, measuring and monitoring anything and everything to ensure the well being of Mac and their child.
But birth and life outside the womb brought the chance of further complications. The possibility of any number of medical challenges loomed ahead. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right that after everything she'd already been through, that she might have to deal with that too.
He'd been with Mac since they admitted her, sleeping fitfully each night on a hospital-issue recliner that was a good foot and a half shorter that he was. His mother came each day with a change of clothes for him and a single long-stemmed rose for Mac. She now had six roses, two white, two yellow, and two pinks. He rubbed his hairy face. Although he showered quickly in the birthing center's family lounge, he refused to take the time to shave, always hurrying back to Mac's side.
This in no way resembled his vision of their fifth anniversary, nor their fifth Christmas. And he could not, in a million years, imagine what Mac was going through. Her exhaustion apparent in her tired eyes and haggard face. He'd trade places in a heartbeat. She'd been brave and stoic all week, never uttering a word of complaint. His Marine was made of stern stuff, but watching her deal with this situation rocked his world.
The day she ended the pregnancy mission, he'd been stunned. As much as she'd yearned to carry a child and give birth, she said she wasn't willing to sacrifice their hard-won happily ever after. They were more important. He was more important she said. She put an end to fertility treatments, temperature taking, and ovulation tracking.
As with all of his obsessions, he struggled to let go. Partially because he knew how much she longed to experience pregnancy for herself. But she put her foot down. And he finally acknowledged that their marriage was in danger. And that he, too, was unwilling to sacrifice their relationship.
Because of Mac's age and medical history, the pregnancy had been classified as high-risk. The Navy sent her off base to a civilian OB/GYN. She visited the OB every two weeks right from the beginning, but Doctor Murray said things were progressing perfectly.
Until now.
Last month, the doctor asked them if they wanted to know the baby's gender. But he and Mac decided to find out the old-fashioned way—at the actual birth. And now that day loomed eight weeks too soon.
Harm's mother swore it was a boy, and even Mac called the baby 'he' more often than 'she.' At this point, he wanted a healthy baby. It just didn't matter whether it was a boy or a girl.
~*~
December 24, 2010
0617 Zulu (2217 Local)
UCSD Medical Center in Hillcrest
San Diego, CA
Mac writhed in the bed. The contractions had started up again at daybreak. The doctor came by at seven this morning to check and measure; he even did a sonogram and declared the baby ready to enter the world, eliminating the doses of magnesium sulphate since it wasn't working anymore.
"Mr. Rabb?"
Harm turned his gritty gaze toward the nurse. Rhoda, if he remembered correctly. She'd been there every night from eleven p.m. to seven a.m. except for the day before yesterday, which was her day off. An older woman, close to his mother's age, she'd cared for both of them as if they were her own children and grandchild.
"We're going to get your wife ready for delivery now. Why don't you take a quick walk for some coffee, make a phone call if you want your mom to be here."
He nodded and stood, leaning over the bed. "Sweetheart?" he whispered.
Mac turned her face in his direction, blinking bleary red eyes at him.
"It's almost time, okay? I'm going to get some coffee and call my mom while they get everything ready. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Okay," she said, her voice rough with sleep and exhaustion.
He leaned in and kissed her forehead before pressing another against her mouth. "I love you."
The route to the lounge was short, but the physical activity was welcome. He'd been glued to Mac's beside almost entirely–not wanting her to go through this alone. Granted, all he could offer was moral support, but he wouldn't let her down. He chugged the coffee, and then went in the restroom to throw some cold water in his face. His beard was filling in quite nicely, although he'd be glad to be clean-shaven again.
The last time he'd gone without shaving was nine months ago when Mac had put an end to their attempts to conceive. They'd both been granted leave on a Friday and the following Monday, and they'd taken a long weekend and gone away. They talked and cried and argued, and when they finally made love, it was with all the joy and wonder they'd experienced on their honeymoon. They returned home with a new closeness, acting like newlyweds again. Two months later, Mac was pregnant. They'd both wept for joy.
Back in the delivery room, several nurses were still setting up the isolette and surgical tools on the off chance they were needed. Rhoda was supervising, and holding Mac's hand, running a cool washcloth across her forehead and around her neck.
Harm took his position and Mac's other hand. "You ready?"
"You can't imagine," she said.
Rhoda moved to the end of the bed. "Okay, let's do a quick check to see where we stand." She lifted the pale green sheet covering Mac's legs and abdomen. "Everything looks great. Nine centimeters dilated, ninety percent effaced. You'll be pushing in no time."
The contractions picked up in speed and intensity as the magnesium sulphate left Mac's system. Within twenty minutes, Mac was panting through each wave of pain. He'd do anything to take her place. To suffer for the joy of holding a child—their child—in his arms. But the way of things had been set from the beginning of the world. And there was nothing he could do but watch.
The nurse checked Mac again. "Okay, honey, let's start pushing with the next contraction. Once it starts, take a deep breath, hold it, and push. Dad, you count to ten, nice and steady. At ten, release your breath and grab another. Repeat the cycle until the contraction ends."
Mac nodded and looked at him. Then she glanced over at the machine monitoring her contractions, watching the needle begin to rise. She took a deep breath, sat slightly forward, and started pushing. Oh, God…
He put a loose arm around her back to support her. "One… two… three…" Even with all the physical therapy he'd been through, he couldn't remember pushing his body so hard.
Rhoda stood on Mac's other side. "Channel your energy into your belly; don't tighten your other muscles. Focus on the pain," she instructed gently.
"Eight… nine… ten."
Mac slumped back against the bed.
Rhoda patted Mac's arm and spoke softly. "Good job, Sarah. Close your eyes and relax for as long as you can. It may not seem like much, but it'll help."
Mac's eyes were already closed, but she nodded.
Rhoda looked at Harm. "You did great, Dad. Good, even counting. A little later, as we get closer, we may have to help your wife out a bit more." He felt himself blanch and the nurse laughed. "She's already tired from not sleeping well over the last week, so as things progress, she's going to get weaker. We may have to hold her legs back to help open up the birth canal. She'll need a lot of loving words and encouragement. Can you handle it?"
Could he handle it? He'd learned the art of loving words since they'd been married and even if he hadn't, he'd have faked it. "Yes, Ma'am."
Mac's eyes flew open and her gaze locked with Harm's. "Deep breath," he said, offering her a smile. "One… two… three…"
On and on they went, twenty minutes, forty-five minutes, and hour and a half. Mac's hair was plastered to her head.
"We're getting close, guys," Rhoda said. "With the next contraction, Dad, I want you to help Sarah sit forward. And since you have nice long, strong arms, you can help hold her leg as well. I'll be holding the other leg. Mindy's going to find the doctor."
Mac gasped in a breath. Harm counted.
"Very nice, I see hair," said Rhoda.
Harm leaned forward, his eyes widening at the tiny wet patch of hair protruding from Mac's…
"Oh, God…" Harm whispered, swallowing. He blinked back tears. He'd never seen anything so amazing. It truly was a miracle.
"Stay with me, Harm," the nurse called, drawing his gaze.
As the contraction ended, the baby's head slipped out of view.
"We're really close. After the next one, the head should stay visible. Sarah, would you like to look or touch it?"
Mac nodded. "Both," she breathed, her tired eyes lighting up.
He turned his gaze to Mac. "I'm in awe, honey. You're amazing. I love you." He kissed her tenderly.
A minute later, the nurse held a small hand mirror at an angle so that Mac could see the baby. Tears slipped from Mac's eyes. "Harm," she rasped. "It's our baby…"
"Give me your hand, honey," said Rhoda.
With Harm's help, Mac shifted a little to reach her hand down. The nurse took it and placed it right on the baby's head.
Mac started crying in earnest. But the joy was pushed aside as the next pain built. Mac gulped a breath of air, and pushed for all she was worth.
The doctor slipped in and took a seat on a small rolling stool, positioning himself at the end of the bed.
"Doctor's here, honey," said Rhoda.
"Everything looks great, Sarah. I'm going to touch now and try to get the head all the way out," said Dr. Murray.
A minute later, a small cry warbled through the air.
The breath left Harm's lungs. He'd never heard such a pitiful or more wonderful sound. The sound of a life he had a hand in creating.
"One more push, Sarah, and the hard part's over," said the doctor. "Dad, are you going to cut the umbilical cord."
Harm nodded.
"Okay, good. All right, looks like we're there–deep breath, Sarah. Good. Push, push… That's right. One shoulder's out. So's the other. And… it's a girl!"
Harm eased Mac back onto the bed. He looked at her, and smiled even as the tears coursed down his face. "I love you so much." He pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"Dad, you ready?" asked the doctor.
Harm nodded and moved to his newborn daughter. She was tiny.
"Here you go; cut right between the plastic clamps. It won't hurt her."
Harm did as instructed. Moments later, the baby was in a small bassinet being weighed and tested.
"Three pounds, fourteen ounces; seventeen inches. APGAR score is five," reported Mindy, the NICU nurse who was on hand just for the baby.
Harm's heart sank. Please no…"That c-can't be good," Harm said, hearing the worry in his own voice.
"Actually," Mindy said, as she worked on his daughter, "she's doing really good for being eight weeks premature. A little longer than your average 31-week premature infant. That wouldn't have anything to do with you, stretch, now would it?" The nurse wiped the baby off, put on the smallest diaper Harm had ever seen, and wrapped her in a pink thermal blanket. "Second APGAR score eight." She walked over and nestled the baby in his arms. "Right now, the most important thing is keeping her warm. Her lungs are fine, her vision appears fine, and her hearing seems fine, too. Her reaction to external stimuli is good. Aside from her early arrival, you have a perfect baby girl."
And perfect she was, with dark hair and olive skin.
"Oh, by the way, folks…" said Rhoda, "Merry Christmas."
Harm glanced at his watch. It was indeed Christmas day.
"I should have known that," Mac whispered.
"Do you have a name picked out?" asked Dr. Murray.
"Su—" Mac started.
"Noelle," said Harm, his voice sure and steady. He looked at Mac, tears streaming down his face.
She smiled and nodded. "Noelle McKenzie Rabb."
~Fin~