Chapter 26: Friday 3 June
Sorry about the slow update - things are getting busy in the run up to Christmas. As ever, I'd love to hear what you think. Trigger warning: difficult childbirth
It's the early hours of the morning. Harvey is alone with his newborn daughter, ten minutes old. She's lying in a hospital crib: tiny, alien and perfectly beautiful. He is standing next to her: awestruck, lost.
He had never, ever imagined he would be here, alone, without Donna. He knows he should be doing something, but he has no clue what. Donna would know, if she were here. But she isn't, and the only thought he can hold in his brain is that he has to get this right, he can't let them down. He's a father. A dad. He's supposed to be able to take care of his family. And the only way he can do that right now is by being here for their little girl when Donna can't be. But what the hell is he supposed to do? He's feeling paralyzed after a shocking and traumatic few hours.
It's early evening, and it's clear things are not progressing as they should. Donna isn't in pain, but she is exhausted. She is immobilised: the epidural has been topped up five times. She is going into her second night without sleep, and apparently the really hard part is yet to start.
They're waiting for the doctor to come and see where things have got to.
Harvey's wriggling in his seat.
"Jesus, what's wrong, Harvey?" asks Donna, irritably.
"I don't know why these seats have to be so uncomfortable," he complains.
"You're uncomfortable? You really wanna go there, mister?"
He is apologizing sheepishly as the doctor arrives and checks Donna over. It's not good news.
There has been no change since the last check. The baby is still firmly back to back. Donna is still around 7cm dilated, and she needs to get to 10 before the baby can be born.
The doctor is worried that the baby's heart is slowing a little, which is a sign of distress, though it's still within the range of normal, just. He asks Donna to sign consent papers for various interventions, and she is wheeled into theater. Harvey hastily puts scrubs over his clothes and follows her in.
It's freezing in theater, and Donna is shaking from the cold and all the drugs in her system. He wants to wrap his arms around her, keep her warm, protect her. But he can't get near, or even really see her face. Medical staff are lifting her from the trolley to an operating table, attaching various monitors and drips and wires, administering a spinal block in case she needs a C section fast.
It kills him that there's not a damn thing he can do to help her. For the first time the thought hits him with violent force. What if she doesn't get through this? What if the baby doesn't? Is that a possibility?
A sonographer checks the baby's position with a portable scanner, nods and steps back. The doctor moves in and asks Donna to push while he uses suction to try to guide the baby out. Suddenly, the steady beeping of one of the monitors goes crazy, one of the team hits a buzzer, summoning more staff.
"OK Donna, we are going to perform an episiotomy and try forceps."
"Is there any other option, because…?" Her voice is heartbreakingly weak. He knows she wanted to avoid this outcome.
"The baby's calling the shots now. We need to get her out immediately. This is the fastest way."
Scissors. Blood. Instruments that look like something out of a medieval torture chamber. Doctors everywhere. The bed actually moves from the force that the one with the forceps is using.
And he still can't see Donna's face, can't get close enough to hold her hand.
It had felt like it would never happen, but suddenly there is their daughter, Donna's and his, an actual living, breathing - and, thank god, crying - baby.
He notes with relief that they don't offer him the chance to cut the cord: he's glad, his hands are shaking. The doctor holds the baby up briefly and takes her away into a corner, followed by a couple of other medical staff, who block his view.
He can get closer to Donna now. He bends down and kisses her forehead, blinking back tears, which flow anyway. She looks white and shell shocked.
"She's crying. Crying is good," he whispers, his eyes following the baby, as the doctors part, and he can see them wipe her down, do some checks.
"Congratulations, you have a healthy baby girl," says one of them, bringing her over, wrapped in a blanket, and holding her where they can both see her.
"She's fine?" he chokes out.
"Scored top marks on the Apgar test."
He laughs with relief. "That's my girl." He pauses. Donna hasn't said anything, her eyes fixed glassily on the baby that she's too weak to hold. "What about Donna?"
The doctor addresses her directly. "Donna, we are waiting to deliver the placenta. We gave you a drug to speed that up just after the baby was born. Then we will need to get the surgeon to take a look at you. We had to perform an episiotomy and there was some tearing as well. We need to get you fixed up quickly to minimize blood loss."
"The baby?" It's the first time she has spoken.
"Dad will be in charge for a little while. We will get you all back together as soon as possible. It might take up to an hour."
Tears are sliding down Donna's face, and Harvey's heart shatters.
Harvey doesn't want to leave her, but there's no choice, so he kisses her forehead again and tells her he loves her, feeling wholly inadequate. 'Dad's in charge?' Fuck.
So here he is. Here they are. He's scared to pick her up: what if he breaks her? But this baby is brand new to the world, he can't let her lie there alone. Donna will kill him.
He could cry with relief when a midwife stops by to check on them, and he stutters out a request for help. Do other people just know what to do?
She gestures to a chair, and he sinks down into it. Then she picks up the baby and places the little bundle in his arms. She is so tiny and light that she feels like she might fall through the gap in the crook of his arm. The midwife leaves, and they're alone again.
The baby is wrapped in a blanket and wearing a hat - he wants to unwrap her, look at every inch of her, check out the color of her sparse hair, count the tiny fingers and toes. But he might drop her, she might get cold. He's just going to sit tight and wait for Donna, and they can find out all about this awesome little person together.
"Hey baby girl," he whispers. "Daddy loves you so much. Mommy will be here soon."
…
Donna's head is all over the place. She was pregnant. Now she isn't. There was a baby, but she didn't get to hold her, and she can't remember her face. Now she's in surgery. She's beyond tired, only loosely tethered to reality. The surgeon has finished up, is telling her something about healing time, aftercare, and she nods, but the words she is hearing are devoid of meaning, running through her brain like sand through a sieve.
She's lifted onto a trolley: she feels more like a piece of luggage than a human being. As she's wheeled through corridors, past doctors, nurses, patients, visitors, she feels shocked at the normality of it all, that the world is still turning. They take her into a recovery room, where Harvey is waiting, holding a tiny bundle. A nurse raises the top half of her bed so she is propped up a little.
"Donna, do you want to hold your baby?"
She nods.
Harvey gingerly stands up. "I don't - I don't know how to…"
The nurse eases the bundle out of his arms, and passes it over Donna.
She looks at the scrunched up, pink little face and strokes her soft cheek with her finger. She's such a little stranger. Then the baby opens her eyes, and all she can see is Harvey. Donna pushes back the baby's hat just a little, and sees her own red hair: so she's in there too. She frees a tiny, wrinkled hand from the blanket, and it grasps her finger with surprising strength.
Harvey perches on the side of the bed watching them, captivated, then he puts his arm around Donna as well as he can with the drips and monitors that are still attached to her. They marvel at the little person they made, heads together.
"She's definitely ours, isn't she? Yours and mine," he murmurs.
She pulls back and looks up at him, tears of mingled joy and grief shining in her eyes, and he kisses her on the lips, soft and sweet. She is flooded with more emotion than she ever thought possible.
They sit like that for a few minutes, savoring the feeling of being a family of three, until a midwife arrives to show Donna how to nurse the baby. She feels self conscious about exposing her body in its current state, but Harvey is staring at the baby with such fascination and love, she doesn't want to send him away. After a couple of false starts, the baby latches on, and the tugging feeling is at first sharply painful, then wonderful and wholly new.
Afterwards, the midwife suggests they dress the baby in the clothes they have brought. Donna still isn't mobile, so she watches Harvey as grapples with a diaper for the first time, and wrestles the baby into a sleepsuit, fumbling with the poppers. He looks more out of his depth than she has ever seen him, his hands too big and awkward for the job. The baby starts crying, and he looks horrified and worries that he's hurting her. It's sweet and funny, and she wants to laugh and cry.
As soon as he finishes, the nappy leaks through, and he has to start again. The look on his face is hilarious.
"I guess getting dressed is a continuous process for a baby, not a once a day kinda thing," he smiles.
"At this rate, we won't have enough clothes."
"Maybe she's into fashion like her mom. Wants to try everything on." He holds the baby up again. "Hopefully this time she will last more than a minute before she needs her next costume change."
"That's a little big for her. It's only newborn size."
"I guess they really are this tiny."
Harvey puts the baby gently back in the crib and encourages Donna to try to sleep for a while. He steps out to update their family and friends, with strict instructions from Donna not to let her mom visit just yet under any circumstances.
Other than her mom, Jessica, Louis, and Mike and Rachel knew that Donna was in labor, and he finds lots of unread messages checking how they are.
He calls Donna's mom first.
"Harvey! Is everything ok? We've been out of our minds with worry. I was all for jumping in the car, but Jim…"
Harvey cuts in. "Clara, you have a beautiful granddaughter. 7lb 8oz. A redhead."
"Oh that's wonderful! Hold on, I'll just put you on speakerphone so Jim can hear… Right, that's done. And Donna? How is she?"
Harvey chooses his words carefully. He doesn't want to worry Clara and Jim unduly, especially if that means they want come down here immediately. But he wants them to know enough that they'll go easy on Donna when they talk. "She's fine, but she had a bit of a rough time.
"Well at her age, that's to be expected."
He rolls his eyes."It's probably better not to say that to Donna."
"I've got a bag packed already, perhaps we can…"
Again, he cuts in. "Donna's very tired, and she's not ready for visitors just yet."
"I'm sure that doesn't include her mother!" Shit, he's offended her.
He takes a deep breath. "She's so excited to for you both to meet the baby, but she just needs a little while to recover. She needed minor surgery after the birth and she lost a fair bit of blood. Plus she has been awake for two nights."
Jim warns him darkly that he'd better take better care of his little girl than he has done previously, and Harvey doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he promises that Donna will call herself once she's had a bit of sleep, and says he'll send pictures, and hangs up with relief. He'd take a conversation with his most troublesome client over Jim and Clara Paulsen any day of the week.
He messages their friends and Marcus with a picture of the baby, and gets lots of excited questions asking how they're all doing. He replies as standard that mother and baby are doing well, and hopes that's the truth. Donna has been through so much, and he's worried about her.
Finally, he scrolls down to his mom's number, hesitates, then hits the call button, and tells her their happy news, and a little about the birth. She is delighted about the baby, but detects the stress in his voice.
"It sounds really rough on all of you. How are you doing?"
He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I don't think I've really processed it yet, mom. And I don't have a clue what to do with the baby, or to help Donna," he admits.
"Ask her what she needs. And be kind to yourself. You don't have to be perfect at this. No one is, honey."
He feels all to close to tears again, so walks to the hospital shop to give him time to compose himself before he goes back to his girls, and buys Donna some flowers.
...
Donna has never been more exhausted in her life, but she is feeling wired, pumped full of adrenaline. She's firmly in fight or flight mode. Something is hardwired into her telling her that she needs to keep her eyes on the baby at all times. She can't imagine ever falling asleep again. What if something happens? It usually does.
She hears the door handle turning cautiously, and Harvey peeps around the door. Seeing she is awake, he enters.
He pulls a chair close to her bed, and updates her on the conversation with her mom. He does some poor impressions of Clara's fussing and Jim's warning, conjuring a weak smile from Donna.
"I thought you would be asleep, you must be so tired." He takes her hand and squeezes it.
"I was too worried something might happen to her. I know it's stupid."
"It's not stupid. I'll watch her - try again?"
She nods, and puts on her eye mask and ear plugs, and lowers her bed flat.
…
About half an hour passes, and she is still nowhere near sleep, her brain working overtime, a whole series of weird, disjointed thoughts parading through her mind. Why had she not known birth could go this why? Didn't she do enough research? What if she hadn't signed those consent papers? What if she had asked for a C-section instead of saying she wanted to avoid one? When she gets the feeling back in her lower body, what state will she find it in? What will Harvey think of this new, broken person that she has become? How can she be the mother this baby deserves when she feels like she has been hit by a truck?
Frustrated, she tears off her mask and pulls out her earplugs.
She sees that Harvey is standing up facing the window murmuring to the baby in the softest voice she's ever heard from him, rocking the baby gently in his arms
Tears start rolling down her face, and she stifles a sob.
He hears her, and turns to face her, concern etched on his face. He awkwardly sets the baby down in the crib, and sits on the side of Donna's bed, stroking her tangled hair.
"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess. Probably hormones and sleep deprivation."
Harvey looks at her questioningly. "Are you sure? Because you've been through a lot. It might help to…"
"I'm fine, Harvey," she all but snaps.
"OK." He looks dubious.
He stays until Donna calms down, and the baby starts to cry. She has just been sleeping and her diaper is fine, so he hands her to Donna for a feed. There are only so many options they can try.
Again, it takes a while for her to get into position, but soon Donna can see her cheeks making a cute little sucking motion.
"We aren't using her name - we're just calling her 'the baby,'" Harvey observes.
"She feels too little for a name." Donna smiles at her. "'The baby' feels right for now. And I don't think she's a Cordelia."
"It's OK, we have time."
"That's not what my mom is gonna say," she jokes. 'You had nine months to get this organized, sweetie.' I can just hear her now."
They both smile, and gaze at their little girl.
"How are you feeling now?"
She takes a deep breath. "Good. She's perfect. I was so worried about her."
"She is. And so was I."
He hesitates. She can tell he has more to say.
"Are you ok though, Don?
She doesn't want to think about what happened to her. It was scary to be out of control like that. Her body and mind don't feel like her own anymore. She is scared that they won't ever. She feels… damaged."
"I just want to think about her," she says tightly, emphatically. "She's fine. That's all that matters."
She starts to cry again, harder this time, and Harvey takes the baby, who has unlatched and fallen back asleep, and holds her.
"It's great that she is ok, but it's not all that matters. What happened to you, Don, it was rough. At some point it might help to talk about it."
"I can't."
"It doesn't have to be today, but some time, OK? You may be a mom now, but you matter too."
"How did you get to be so good at this, Specter?" she asks between tears, and he doesn't think he is, but if he's giving Donna what she needs, he's happy.
She has got him through so many hard times. Whatever she says, she isn't OK, and he just hopes he can do the same for her.
Chapter 27: Early September
It's a year since Labor Day weekend.
Donna thinks back to the sunshine, long lunches, reading, uninterrupted conversation, long lazy morning sex . Sex full stop. It wasn't quite carefree as she's remembering. Nervous. But oh she would take a sunny weekend of relaxation now .
Mia is three months old, and she is all Donna can think about. She is obsessed with her. Photographs insane. Staring at her. Little changes every day. Spotting Harvey and her in mannerisms and expressions. Still finds the flood of emotion uncomfortable.
Breast feeding -missed window and won't take a bottle. Tries, nothing comes out.
Very dependent, and loves it and hates it.
H wants night nurse, D won't. What if she bonds with someone else. So tired, she could cry.
Harvey the father is a revelation, to himself as much as her. Loves it. Doting. Her and the baby. Off for a month. Lots of use of home office. Can't fault him as a partner or father. Pride showing her off.
Worries that without Mia, as she grows up and gets more independent, will his love for her last?
Replays conversation
Trying to be nice
We'll get you back to normal
Never happen
Transformed more than he has
Lost sense is self
Isolated as all friends work all day
Don't want to be boring
Less in common
Kids older / fertility issues / happily child free
Divisive
Her body - H slept with model types - a year ago, for all those uncertainties (how ridiculous!) She was hot.
Breasts huge but changed shape, sensitive, leak
Stomach fading lines and marks, far from flat
Damage - feels all wrong - say to give it time
Can't imagine sex, worried he will recoil
Doesn't seem interested. For a man who loved sex, he hasn't made a move
Hormones crazy, take care of herself, secret - used to be open and confident
Too tired to perform, be selfless
Kind and gentle but wants him to want her. Even though not ready.
Hours to brood while feeding. Jokes that she's finished the internet. No concentration for books.
Worth it, a million times over. But it's a high price.
…
Drinks tonight. Before Labor Day
Take Sharky back in the summer? Family vacation?
Going to go?
Nah, l will stay with you.
It'll do you good.
Just for an hour or two.
…
More feeding. Browsing through Instagram.
Crowded club, pressed together.
Louis documents everything.
Harvey, old friends. Would never want to leave Mia, tied too her, feels part of her (MUST change, right?).
Sees Scottie - hand on waist, Leaning in.
Sick.
Really done with S. Girl who looked like her. Suspicions about what happened with S night before panic attack
H no sex in months, and S single-minded.
…
H cautiously opened the door
Alcohol went to my head, not used to it
Go sleep in spare room, no snoring!
Hey, you ok?
You never made me a promise. Befire we had her, things weren't that great.
Don't have to stay.
Hey where's this come from?
You and Scottie
No
Photos
Show me
Ok that's her fiance. Nothing to do with law. Too similar, both know never worked, no regrets.
She's pregnant and terrified - I was mostly talking to them both about you guys. Reassured that if I can love family life, she can too
OK. Looks down.
I'm so upset that you could think I'm not in this, Don?
Pours out jumble of insecurities
Of course I want you that way. But you had surgery, what kind of asshole would I be to push you
I don't look the same. Feel the same. You said normal
New normal. And you actually will. You're still full of hormones, she is tiny. I don't mean like it was before.
I want to.
Now?
So gently
Stop any time
Not like it was
It will be, more like it was. If it's not, it's being with you that counts.
I'm still not gonna pressure you. Just have to say. Assume I always want you.
Smiles.