I still had a while before Stacy could be discharged and was suddenly craving a pastry. Breakfast had been digested hours ago chasing my nephew. I massaged Dylan for a few minutes more, then closed up his incubator and went in search of Ms. Gina.
“Ms. Gina, I’m headed to the Starbucks over in the Children’s Hospital wing. Do you want anything?” I rested both arms on the counter and she looked up from the computer.
“Will you remember my order?” She laughed, knowing I didn’t drink coffee and the double mocha latte chai whatever was almost like a foreign language to me.
“Write down all your mumbo jumbo and I’ll be good.” I waved a hand at a pad of sticky notes.
“How you survive without all that mumbo jumbo is beside me, girl. You gotta have some pleasures in this life.”
“I can’t even say it, how could I drink it? I’ll be back.” I waved to her and smiled at her laughter as I swiped my badge and walked out the NICU doors.
“Hey, Mrs. Mitchell, right?” I looked up and almost choked on my cranberry orange scone. I quickly racked my brain trying to recall ever meeting this handsome man. I didn’t know many people in Portland yet, and definitely no one who looked like this, so I’m sure I’d remember if we’d met. My eyes flicked to his ID badge. “Yes. I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Dr. James Anderson, Dylan’s doctor. I took over for Dr. Harmon. I’m glad I caught you. Ms. Gina said you headed this way. I’ve talked with Mr. Mitchell a couple times, and was anxious to meet you before you went home today as well.”
This couldn’t be Dr. Anderson. He was way too young to be a doctor. Forget his age. He was way too hot to be my nephew’s doctor. If I had to see him multiple days a week, he’d have to check me into the hospital for trouble with my own heart.
“Right.” I laughed a little at the formal way he addressed me and Trevor. Was that Ms. Sophie thing going through the whole NICU? I thought only Ms. Gina called me that because of upbringing. And nurse Zeke said it to be annoying. Or was everyone always so formal in this state? “And you are Dr. Anderson,” I groaned inwardly at my reiteration of his introduction and of the fact plainly printed on the ID that hung from a lanyard around his neck. I leaned closer and squinted at the ID. Great picture, by the way. I gave myself a mental head slap. Idiot. “Have a seat.” I gestured to the empty chair beside me as I tamped down my embarrassment.
“Thanks. I just finished with a surgery so I can only stay for a minute,” he said as he took a seat. “I’ll need to get back up there and check on my little patient.” Pause. “Speaking of patients, your little guy is a fighter.” He smiled.
Sheesh. How could one little smile have such an aerobic effect on my heart?
“I know.” I returned the smile. “I can’t believe how something so tiny can have so many problems, but such a will to live. He’s definitely at least as stubborn as his father.” I knew how stubborn Trevor was first hand. Ugh, brothers.
Dr. Anderson chuckled. “He doesn’t get any of it from you?”
“Well, it’s all in the family, I guess.” Why was I blushing? “What made you decide to go into pediatric cardiology?” I asked in an attempt to get the conversation away from myself.
Was that pain that flickered across his face just now before he masked it? He cleared his throat and said, “My youngest sister was born with a congenital heart defect. She died as a toddler. When I saw the pain my parents suffered, I vowed to ease that pain for others, if possible.”
I nodded. “I can’t tell you how grateful my family is that you are passionate about and dedicated to your profession. How long have you worked at this hospital?”
“Two years now. I’m from Oregon originally. I finished up my residency at a hospital in Boston and then took the opening here to be closer to family.”
“Closer to family is good.” It had been nice being with Trevor and Stacy again. “Hey, speaking of Boston, did you know that Boston built the first subway system in the United States and the first sewing machine was invented there? There is a house in Massachusetts built entirely of newspaper, and the fig newton was named after Newton, Massachusetts.”
Dang it. I’d revealed my nerve induced penchant for spouting useless trivia. Dr. Anderson's eyes widened slightly. He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or make up an excuse to leave quickly.
“I didn't know all that. Hey, thanks for letting me sit a minute. I don’t get a chance to do that very often during my shift.” Flee it is. “I’ll see you around.”
I watched in awe and disgust as he walked away- awe that his scrubs emphasized his broad shoulders, muscular arms and back, and trim waist and disgust that I sentence vomit at the most inopportune times. And he seems like a pretty normal guy. Why can’t that kind of guy ever find any interest in me? Sigh.
James
I pushed the up button on the elevator and mentally kicked myself over and over. What was it about that woman that had me sharing like we were old friends and thinking if all women were like she appeared to be, I might be open to relationships again? I closed my eyes against the pain that resurfaced when I recalled the question she had asked me. In truth, my sister had only been one part of the scarring answer. Sure it had been difficult for my family when she passed away, but I had been young and not as affected as I’d made it seem. I’d never tell the other more painful part of the reason I dedicated my life to children’s hearts.
When I pictured Mrs. Mitchell’s face lit up with her dazzling smile, I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. And those eyes…were they blue or green? I’d had a hard time looking away. I mentally flogged myself. She’s married, for crying out loud. Pretty sure that’s one of the Ten Commandments. Maybe that’s why I find Mrs. Mitchell so fascinating-she’s off limits. That’s it. I’m lulled into a false sense of security because I know she’s taken; no pressure. I’m safe. Or she is. I shook my head in confusion at my train of thought. But because I know she’s off limits, I let my guard down. I needed to be careful. Wary.
Chapter 5
Sophie
It had been a little over a week since Dylan’s birth. I was getting pretty used to my routine of entertaining Jeran and keeping up on the laundry and dishes during the day so that Stacy could rest. I drove Stacy to the hospital in the afternoon for feedings. When Trevor got home from work in the evenings, I would leave Jeran and Stacy in his capable hands, pack up the pumped breast milk, and go to the hospital for feedings.
Night time was my favorite time to be in the NICU. The lights seemed softer and the beeps a little less harsh on the ears. I rocked Dylan in the wooden rocker and sang hymns to him softly while he sucked on a bottle. He looked bigger and better to me every day. Hopefully, we’d be able to avoid surgery. Some evenings I would sit and hold him for hours, just to feel his soft sweetness against me. And I pictured him as my baby. Would I ever have the chance to be a mother? Aside from marriage and giving my heart to someone who loved me to the depths of his soul, motherhood was my greatest desire.
I changed Dylan’s diaper and made sure he was snug in his bed and told nurse Zeke and Ms. Gina goodnight. I walked out of the NICU doors, leaving Dylan and the NICU for another day. I had just about made it to the stairwell door when I heard, “Ahh, Mrs. Mitchell. Just the person I needed to see.”
I hadn’t run into Dr. Anderson since last week at Starbucks. I’d seen him leaving the NICU a few nights on his way to wherever he went after work. Except for the unfortunate trivia dump at our first meeting, I thought our conversation had gone well and found myself disappointed that we hadn’t had a chance to talk again. Now I spun around to face him, excited for the chance.
I sucked in a breath as I drank him in with my eyes. He looked amazing. And tired. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to mid forearm. His tie hung loosely around his neck. His hair had an adorable disheveled appearance. Probably from running his fingers through it. Although I would have liked to try that out for myself, I kept my hand f
irmly at my side.
I swallowed and found my voice. “Hey, Dr. Anderson. You’re here late.”
“Finishing up paperwork. It never ends.” The rich timbre of his voice caused my heart to flutter as if a thousand seabirds had just taken flight. What was it about this man? “No running for me tonight,” he said with a tired sigh.
“You’re a runner?” I grinned in excitement at discovering something we had in common.
“Well, not tonight. I don’t want to keep you from getting home to your family, so I’ll be brief.” I blinked at his abrupt change of topic. “I’m a little concerned with Dylan’s lack of weight gain. That’s common in infants with his condition, but I don’t want him to have to work any harder than necessary with the other things his body is struggling to do.” I didn’t like his condescending tone suggesting that I was somehow responsible for Dylan’s lack of weight gain. “I'd like to start using nutritional supplements in the breast milk at the very least, but I’m leaning more toward a feeding tube," he informed me.
Worry for Dylan niggled at my heart. “I’ll talk to Trevor about it. You could discuss your concerns and all the possibilities when you meet with him tomorrow morning.” I paused. “But doctor, the nurses haven’t seem concerned. Dylan seems fine to me.” I hated having to tell Stacy they wanted to switch to a feeding tube. It seemed so invasive on such a small person. Of course, I knew she and Trevor would do whatever was best for Dylan without question.
“I wouldn’t be speaking with you if he was fine, Mrs. Mitchell.” My eyebrows rose in surprise at his patronizing tone. Was this the same man I spoke with only days ago?
I felt my defenses rise. “If y’all would just be patient, I’m sure y’all will see the results you are looking for,” I said through clenched teeth. Why was I arguing with the doctor when he obviously knew more than I did on the subject and anything that would help Dylan was priority?
“As Dylan’s doctor and the professional here,” he reminded me unnecessarily, “I will have to insist that if he isn’t getting enough calories or is getting too tired to finish a bottle, we will have to use a feeding tube. But we will plan on starting supplements with tomorrow’s feedings. Don’t let your love for him blind you to the issues he’s facing and keep him from getting the proper care.” With that Dr. Anderson turned and stalked away.
I stood dumbfounded, rooted in my spot. Of all the nerve! It wasn’t what he said so much as the superior tone he used that was the problem. Nice bedside manner, Doc. I was spitting mad.
James
That woman! Who does she think she is trying to tell me how to do my job? As if she knows anything about anything. How many children has she helped exit the hospital in good health? Zero.
I was still fuming an hour later. But the longer I thought about it, the more I wanted to smile. As I replayed our conversation in my mind, I noticed that her drawl increased in direct proportion to her anger level. It was almost comical and I now found myself wanting to anger her again for whatever perverse reason. I gave myself a mental slap. Married. My smile dimmed. Enough said.
Sophie
“How can you even stand that doctor?” I fumed to Trevor as soon as I walked in the front door. Stacy was resting on the couch, reading Jeran a story, and Trevor sat beside them flipping channels on the television with the remote control. Three sets of eyes turned to me. “He’s unprofessional, arrogant, and mean.” And so intense when his brown eyes spark...I gave myself an angry mental shake.
“What are you talking about? Did something happen today?" Trevor turned off the television and gave me his full attention. "He has been very kind and patient with me,” he answered, confusion on his face.
“They are going to add a special nutritional supplement to the breast milk so Dylan gets more calories and gains more weight," I informed them. “You two need to discuss what will happen if they decide to put in a feeding tube.” My voice hitched on the words and Stacy looked as if she may start to cry. Trevor reached an arm over and squeezed her shoulder.
“It will be okay, sweetie,” Trevor told her. “He is doing well. I’ll talk to Dr. Anderson tomorrow morning. They said setbacks are normal.”
“I just can’t stand to see my baby hooked up to all those tubes and machines.” Her tears began to fall. Trevor moved Jeran from between them and pulled Stacy to him, caressing her back.
I knew this would be hard on Stacy. I felt terrible getting so upset about the doctor when it was Dylan I should be worrying about.
“Stacy,” I tried, “You’ve seen how strong he is. He’s doing great. Trevor will talk to the doctor tomorrow and then we’ll see.” I patted her shoulder and lifted Jeran from the couch. “How about a snack, little man?”
“Yay!”
“I’ll put Jeran to bed tonight,” I called over my shoulder as I carried Jeran into the kitchen.
“We can wead stowies?” he asked.
“After our apple slices,” I promised.
“No apples. I want cookies,” he pouted.
“It’s too late for cookies tonight. But you can have one tomorrow.”
“I guess,” he sighed dramatically.
I laughed and set him on the counter. “Skin or no skin?” I asked, slicing an apple.
“No skin. It huts my teeth.”
“No way. You have piranha teeth.“
“What’s a pwana?” he asked, his face scrunched adorably in confusion.
“It’s a fish with really sharp teeth that eats little boys who love cookies,” I told him, tickling his ribs.
He squealed and grabbed at my hands. “We not eat cookies tonight, Aunt Sophie.”
“No. But I’m going to eat you.” I leaned in and smothered his neck and cheeks with kisses while he screeched and tried unsuccessfully to get away.
“You not a pwana,” he declared between laughs.
I looked at him in mock disbelief. “I’m not?” I asked. “You mean to tell me piranha’s only live in South America and they don’t eat boys who like cookies?”
“Yes,” he said importantly. “And you live at home, not South mewica.”
“Phew,” I blew out. “What a relief. Eat these apples so we can brush our teeth and read stories.” I lifted him off of the counter stood him on the floor. With our hands full of apple slices, we made our way to his bedroom for p.j’s and stories.
Whe’s Mommy and Daddy?” Jeran asked as I took the casserole out of the oven the next night and carried it to the table.
“They are talking in their bedroom about your brother. They should be in a few minutes, though,” I told him. “Let me grab the veggies and we’ll say a blessing on the food. I can’t wait to dig into this casserole.”
“What’s a cassawole?” Jeran asked.
“It’s whatever is left in the fridge all thrown into a nine by thirteen dish and baked til the mold melts in,” Trevor told him as he and Stacy entered the kitchen.
“What’s mold?” Jeran asked.
“It’s green and furry and grows on food,” Trevor said in a creepy voice.
“Trevor,” Stacy laughed. “Knock it off.”
“Seriously, Trev. Look at his face.” I gestured to Jeran’s horrified expression as he eyed the food I was cutting on his plate.
“We eat gween monstahs?” Jeran whispered. “I not vewy hungwy anymoe.”
“No, sweetie,” Stacy said as she glared at Trevor. “This is very yummy food that someone made especially for us and we are going to eat it without complaining.” She sent Trevor a challenging look.
“It looks delicious,” Trevor said with a grimace. “We are so happy to eat another casserole.”
I laughed and dug into my food. I didn’t mind the casseroles so much when it meant less work in the kitchen for me.
“I’d like to get back to why Aunt Sophie doesn’t like the arrogant doctor,” Stacy said mischievously. I never should have told her about my Starbucks run-in.
"I wouldn’t,” I protested. After I got Jeran to sleep last night,
I hadn’t wanted to interrupt Trevor and Stacy’s discussion about a feeding tube. I hadn’t had a chance to tell them about my conversation with the evil doctor. I had hoped they had forgotten about it. Apparently not.
“It’s not so much what he said as the way he said it," I scowled and turned to Trevor. "Stacy’s milk has come in. This morning, she said she felt like she was going to pop. Dylan has fallen asleep a few times while eating, but it’s not like he is refusing to eat. Everything should be fine now. And your and my definitions of kind and patient must be very different.” I told Trevor, referring to his defense of the doctor during last night’s conversation.
Trevor and Stacy shared a look. “Calm down, cowgirl,” Trevor grinned. “It’s his job to make sure Dylan is gaining weight so we can avoid surgery. Stacy and I were actually going to talk to the doctor about a feeding tube anyway. When we spoke this morning, he was leaning in that direction. He wanted to consult the other NICU doctors, so we’ll discuss it more tomorrow morning. It can’t hurt, right?" He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "It’s just funny to hear the drawl jump out when you get angry. It’s always been that way with you. I’m sure everything will be fine the next time you speak with him.” Trevor tried to console me.
“If I have to talk to him ever again it will be too soon.” I looked down at my plate of food and muttered about know-it-all doctors.
“It won’t be too long before Stacy can start going in and you can have a break from all things hospital related,” Trevor said.
“Including good looking doctors,” Stacy added with a smirk.
Matters of the Heart Page 4