Donatello tensed up and bit his lip as another contraction tore through him. April and Michelangelo were at the ready, but there was no way that he was relinquishing his hold on his firstborn so quickly. He breathed until it passed, stroking the baby's tiny chest the whole time. Despite how loudly he had been wailing moments before, he managed to stay calm and silent now, while holding his baby.
The plan was for April to give Don a few moments with each baby before she cleaned them up and checked the genders with the ultrasound machine. She was then under orders to hand them back off to Don for the first feeding attempt. Don had insisted that he give the first bottle to each baby, unless the circumstances were dire.
When the next contraction hit, April insisted on taking the baby, despite Don's protests. She successfully convinced him to give it up with the promise of learning the gender.
April gave the newborn a quick check as she cleaned it. Everything looked great. It was a miniature Donatello - chubby and adorable, with slightly lighter coloring. The baby squawked as she cleansed it with a warm washcloth. "It's a girl, Donnie," April announced. "You've got a daughter. She's perfect."
Don choked up when the baby was handed back to him, along with the specially-designed bottle. He looked on with pride as his daughter immediately latched onto it. "You're a fast learner," he said lovingly. The baby opened her eyes at the sound of her father's gentle voice. They were big and grey, and Don was so in love.
Michelangelo discreetly captured the moment in a picture. He then texted it to Leonardo and Raphael with the simple caption 'Donnie is a Dad. First one is a girl.'
After taking the photo, Mikey watched another visible contraction roll through Don's swollen belly. It was grotesquely fascinating, to watch his overstretched plastron move like that. Clearly in agony, Don grit his teeth and held his daughter close, refusing to acknowledge the pain and ruin the moment. He even managed to keep a smile on his face, despite his quivering lips. "Your brothers or sisters are in a hurry," Don groaned. "They must miss you."
"It's okay. Just breathe through this one. You can start pushing again later," April said from where she was now tending to Don. She didn't want to worry anyone, but Don was bleeding a lot. The baby's shell had done some serious shredding on its way out. The injuries couldn't be repaired until the other babies were born. Stitching now would just cause more damage when the ravaged flesh was torn open again. April applied a glue that she and Don had designed to the worst of it. It wouldn't hold for long and would need to keep being reapplied. Hopefully, it would staunch the worst of the blood flow for a while.
Don's contractions weren't letting up at all. They had known he wouldn't be granted much of a reprieve between births. As much as he wanted to hold and coddle his daughter, he couldn't ignore the powerful spasms moving through him. He clung to the baby as long as he could, but eventually, April convinced him to give her up, and focus on the others. It wasn't without a lot of tears on Don's part.
He was so motivated to get this over with quickly. He was beyond exhausted and in an incredible amount of pain. Most of all, he wanted his daughter back. It didn't feel right for her to be so far away, even though she was just in Mikey's arms mere feet from him. He wanted her back in his own arms! So, Don pushed with a renewed vigor.
At first, he stayed quiet for the sake of not scaring the baby, but after an hour of pushing with all of his considerable might, there had been essentially no change. Casey took the baby into the next room so that she wouldn't be disturbed. Don began to holler with each push, forcing all of his rage and frustration into what was beginning to feel like a losing battle.
Michelangelo waited for the agonized cries to die out, and switched places with April. By now, they had given Don a blood transfusion as well as several bags of saline for hydration. Don had blown out the blood vessels in his eyes and was covered head to toe in sweat. His whole body was shaking with exertion and effort, even when he wasn't pushing.
Michelangelo took a warm, soapy face cloth and cleaned Don up as best he could. Don closed his eyes and tried to lean into the comforting warmth. He was so tired. A full day of continuous pain, his vast expenditure of energy, blood loss, and mental distress were getting the better of him. Speaking was out of the question. He knew if he tried to speak he would end up crying instead. He couldn't even move his body anymore. He was completely dependent upon others to move him into position to push and to hold him up until he collapsed afterward.
Each time April checked and said there was no progress, it was like a dagger through everyone's hearts. They knew what was happening, and it wasn't Don's fault. The babies simply weren't in the proper position. They were side by side, blocking each other. They tried everything they could to fix it. April, Casey, and Mikey all pushed as hard as they dared on Don's poor, tormented abdomen in an attempt to move one baby into position and push the other away. They tried that for an hour, doing their best to block out screams of anguish that Donatello couldn't hold back anymore.
Eventually, his voice gave out completely. Not hearing his cries was almost worse. Don had nothing left in the tank. Even if they did manage to reposition the babies, he clearly wouldn't have the energy to push them out.
It had been over four hours of pushing since the first baby had been born, and Don's vital signs were dipping. April made the decision that nobody wanted to.
"Don, I'm sorry but there's still no progress. I'm going to have to take them surgically."
"No," Donatello mouthed, his voice practically inaudible. "I can do it."
She grabbed his trembling arm. "It's not your fault. The babies aren't in proper birthing positions. There's simply nothing else to be done."
The exhausted and terrified turtle shook his head no, as adamantly as he could. He didn't want the surgery. Not now, after he'd already proven that he could successfully give birth without it. It was no secret that this surgery might kill him. He was a father now. He didn't want to die!
April leaned in. "Donatello, I know that you don't want this, but I think you might be too tired to fully understand what's going on. The babies are blocking each other. We've been trying to fix it for hours, but we can't. This is why most mothers of multiples have to have cesareans. The babies get in each other's ways. You know this, Don. You knew this was likely to happen all along."
Another contraction tore through Donatello and he made his best effort to push. After exchanging a glance, Casey and Michelangelo helped move him into position. April gently placed both hands on Don's rock-hard middle. The turtle struggled to breathe, as he felt squeezed in a vice. "This squeezing - this pressure that you're feeling, they feel it too, Don," April reminded him. "They can't take it much longer. They'll just keep getting weaker, just like you. We have to end this now!"
Donatello fell back as the contraction ended. Tears ran down his face as he gave a tired nod. He weekly lifted his arms. "My baby," he mouthed.
Michelangelo handed Don his firstborn and made it a point to give him a moment of privacy. He pretended not to notice that Donnie was mouthing a mournful goodbye. Casey was the one to take the baby away, after April gave him a curt nod. They knew that Mikey would've been ripped apart if it had to be him.
April didn't want to watch Donatello's face or try to interpret his hoarse whisper. Instead, she applied antibiotic cream to his shuddering plastron, as Michelangelo watched with wild eyes. Mikey didn't want to see this, but he knew that he had to. He held his brother while April prepared the anesthesia. Suddenly, Don lurched as another contraction tore through him - a final indignity. Michelangelo didn't help his brother up, just wanting him to rest. But Don fought right up to the end, futilely pushing so hard that the last of his energy left him. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he passed out.
"April!" Michelangelo cried.