Unbroken

Hours pass, and Katelynn’s contractions grow stronger and closer together. When the nurse checks her again, she is three centimeters dilated. For safety, they decide to admit her.

“What’s going on?” Katelynn asks, panic creeping into her voice.

“You’re in active labor,” the nurse explains gently. “We’re giving the baby steroids in case he arrives early.”

Her regular OB is unreachable, so the on call physician makes the decision to keep her admitted. They work to stop the labor, monitor her cervix closely, and place her on strict hospital bed rest until delivery if possible. IV lines are started, medications administered. Pain medicine dulls the sharpest edges, though discomfort still lingers. Eventually, exhaustion pulls Katelynn into sleep.

Two hours later, the Chief walks into the room.

Nora stands up immediately. “Please.”

He steps forward and wraps her in a hug. “We found him. He’s okay.”

Nora’s breath catches. “Oh my God.”

“They made it to Tennessee,” the chief continues. “Your grandson is being checked out at a children’s hospital there. Once they clear him, he’ll be transported back here.”

Nora jumps in place, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“That’s our job,” he says. “Carlos and Lamar will both be charged. You don’t need to worry about that.”

After he leaves, Nora grabs her phone and starts calling family and friends; her hands shaking as she delivers the news. When she turns back to Katelynn, relief floods her face.

“They found him, baby,” she whispers, touching her daughter’s arm.

Katelynn smiles weakly and lets out a soft groan.

Then everything changes.

Her body stiffens without warning. Her eyes roll back as she begins to seize. Nora gasps and quickly turns her onto her side, pressing the call button.

“Help!” she shouts.

The room erupts into motion. Nurses rush in, followed by doctors. Someone calls a code blue. Machines beep faster, voices overlap, and hands move quickly over Katelynn’s body.

Nora is gently but firmly escorted out of the room.

She paces the hallway, tears streaming down her face, whispering prayers over and over, her heart pounding as she waits, clinging to hope with everything she has left.

—

Time drags on, each second stretching longer than the last. Nora paces the hallway, her footsteps echoing against the sterile floors. The sharp scent of disinfectant burns her nose, and the steady beeping of monitors bleeds through the closed doors. She wants to see her daughter, needs to see her, but the room remains crowded with doctors and nurses moving quickly, their voices low and urgent.

An hour later, Nora sits in the waiting area, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles ache. Tears blur her vision as prayers hover on her tongue, whispered and unspoken. Her leg bounces uncontrollably against the chair.

The doctor finally approaches.

Nora stands before the words are even spoken.

“We got her back,” the doctor says gently. “But she’s in a medically induced coma. She seized for over five minutes, and we don’t yet know if there’s any damage to her brain.” The doctor pauses, letting the weight of it settle. “She’s on a ventilator to help her breathe, and the baby still has a strong heartbeat right now.”

Nora shakes her head slowly. The doctor guides her down the hallway and into the room.

Nora gasps.

Tubes and IV lines surround Katelynn, machines humming and blinking softly. Her face is swollen, her eyes dark and bruised, her skin pale and clammy beneath the harsh hospital lights. Her lips are cracked and dry, her chest rising and falling unnaturally with the rhythm of the ventilator.

Nora moves to the sink and washes her hands, the water running loudly in the quiet room. From her purse, she pulls out lotion and gently smooths it over her daughter’s skin, careful and deliberate. She applies Vaseline to Katelynn’s lips and eyelids, her touch tender, almost reverent.

She massages her legs slowly, willing warmth back into them, then rests her hand on Katelynn’s belly. Her voice trembles as she speaks softly to the unborn child.

“I’m so ready to meet you.”

Nora leans down, her mouth close to Katelynn’s ear. Her voice steadies as she pours strength into every word.

“You’re going to be okay. Your life is not over. You have so much left to see and do. Rest now, but you will rise again. There is no way you came this far to leave your babies behind. You are strong. You are great. And you are so deeply loved.”

She stays there, holding her daughter’s hand, listening to the machines breathe for her, refusing to let go of hope.