“It was a rough night,” he said, shoulders slumped. “But she’s fighting.”
“Dipti’s tough,” I said.
“Yeah, she is. But I meant the baby.” There was a small glimmer in the back of Neel’s eyes: pride. His mouth curled into a rueful smile. “It’s a girl.”
A girl. Neel’s daughter. My niece. Dipti had been adamant about the gender being a surprise, so none of us had known. Hearing that made the situation more real. It was no longer about a baby we couldn’t picture. It was about a little girl who would twirl around in frilly dresses until she made herself so dizzy she tumbled over. It was about a teenager who would beg to wear makeup and go on a first date. A perfect angel whose every milestone I would capture through my lens so none of us would forget.
“Girls are strong,” our mother said, taking a step forward. She took Neel by the elbow and guided him to the waiting room. “Come and sit. You need some rest.”
Once in the waiting room, Neel took a deep breath and continued, “Dipti’s had a severe placental abruption.” He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands.
We waited until he was ready to continue. Dad rubbed his back, like he had the day before. This time Neel didn’t flinch at the contact.
Eventually Neel spoke again. “The accident caused a large amount of her placenta to separate from the uterus. The baby is losing oxygen, and Dipti doesn’t have enough blood or strength to sustain her and the baby.” His chair creaked as he leaned back. “All of her energy is going toward keeping the baby alive . . . the doctors think the best way to save Dipti is to”—he choked on the next words—“deliver the baby, which would effectively terminate the pregnancy.”
No one spoke as we processed the news. I clutched the armrests of my chair, afraid to move. A clock ticked in the background, the sound seeming to get louder and louder. My stomach swirled with nausea. I looked at our mother, and her expression was as disconsolate as I felt. I could only imagine Neel’s pain.
“Is there nothing else that can be done?” Dad asked.
Neel shook his head. “If it were a little later in the pregnancy, she would be viable, and we could try to keep her alive in the NICU. They’ll do what they can, but I know it’s too early for that. And I could lose them both if we wait much longer. They can keep Dipti hooked up to the ventilator and keep giving her blood transfusions until the baby is strong enough to be removed in a few weeks . . . but by that point, Dipti won’t survive on her own.” He choked back a sob, swallowing hard. “I can’t lose her.” He looked at me, eyes glistening with pain and fear.
I didn’t know which “her” he meant. I looked at the painting of Bhagwan that hung in the room and gritted my teeth. So much for hearing our prayers. I felt like Bhagwan was taunting us.
I knelt on the floor in front of Neel. “How much time until you have to decide?”
His gaze had never looked so hollow. “Not long.”
“Remember, we are a team. No matter what,” I said.
Neel looked helpless, like a small child. His eyes seemed to plead that someone else make this decision for him. Seeing the desperation on his face made my heart ache.
We couldn’t both fall apart, so I summoned the courage he would have shown me had our situations been reversed. With a steady, confident voice, I said, “We’ll support whatever choice you make.”
He nodded absentmindedly, as if he’d heard the words but wasn’t sure what they meant. “She would want me to save the baby. She loves that baby so much . . .” Tears clung precariously to his lower eyelashes, poised to spill onto his cheeks without warning.
I rose to give him a hug. “It’s not her decision to make. Whatever you do, she’ll understand. We all will.”
Neel rubbed his eyes. Tiny red veins wove their way through the whites. He fidgeted, unable to stay in one position for more than a few seconds. He clearly wanted to save them both. Neel saved other people’s babies every day. It was cruel that when faced with saving his own, he was powerless.
I emerged from the hospital room in search of coffee for Neel. He had been awake for countless hours straight, and caffeine was the only thing sustaining him. At the end of the hallway, I saw Monali Auntie standing with a tall man, around my age, with trendy black-rimmed glasses and a button-down shirt with cuffed sleeves. He stuck out in the hospital because he had the same Western look as Neel and me and, to a certain extent, even our parents. Monali Auntie pointed in my direction, and he nodded. Then she frantically waved me over. I wasn’t sure what she was up to. This was India. For all I knew, she had brokered my arranged marriage in those two seconds!