Keep You Safe
Page 7
“Please, Frank,” said Madeleine, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “You know this is something that Tom and I have always felt very strongly about—”
“Bah!” Dr. Barrett bellowed, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Nonsense. Conspiracy theories against the pharmaceutical companies. For heaven’s sakes, Madeleine, you know those autism studies were debunked years ago. I thought you were smarter than that; I know you are. All vaccines have ever done is eradicate serious illness. Do you know how many people in Third World hellholes would love to have access to something as simple as the freely distributed preventative medicine we take for granted? Do you know how many lives it would save?”
The doctor sighed heavily and dropped onto the sofa, seemingly exhausted. He looked at one of the plush throw pillows that he had disturbed from its artful arrangement and appeared thoughtful.
Madeleine could sense him softening somehow—like his rant had run out of steam. She didn’t know what to say to him. She understood his point of view, of course she did. But they’d been through this time and time again when the kids were younger.
“Do you want a glass of water? A cup of tea, maybe?” she asked kindly. He had done so much for her family over the last week, and she understood his stress.
Dr. Barrett shrugged. “Tea would be great. Thank you.”
Madeleine retreated to the kitchen, vaguely aware this was one room of the house that had yet to be completely rescued from neglect when Clara was in the throes of her illness. And, as if the house wasn’t bad enough, after the last week, Madeleine knew that she, too, badly needed taking in hand. She ran her fingers through her hair, now flat and straggly, and she guessed her unmade-up face looked haggard and a million miles from her bubbly blonde TV persona.
Washing her hands, she swallowed the compulsive urge to automatically grab the bleach and begin scrubbing things down right there and then—to try to restore order. Instead she put the kettle on and brought it to a boil. She pulled a teapot down from the cabinet as she eyed the wineglasses that were housed right above it.
What I wouldn’t give for one of you bad boys just now, she thought ruefully. Alas, it was barely noon and she wasn’t one of those people. Not yet at least.
Though her Mad Mum alter ego would probably advise her to go right ahead.
Allowing the tea to steep, Madeleine closed her eyes and thought about what Dr. Barrett had said. He was right, of course. She knew that they had been lucky in that it hadn’t been anything more serious. Clara was on the mend.
They’d gotten through it, dodged another bullet. Everything was going to be OK.
She nodded as if to reassure herself of this as she placed the teapot and cups on a silver tea service that had belonged to her mother. She knew it was a bit old-fashioned, but there was also something about it that was just so nicely ceremonial. She had always loved it and took it out every chance she could. Though Tom had kept the basics stocked up, unfortunately there were no biscuits or anything else to offer the doctor, and a trip to the supermarket was long overdue. She sighed. The last week had well and truly been utter chaos, but at least things were looking up now.
She walked back into the living room and set the tray on their walnut coffee table, taking extra care not to scratch the finish. Pouring a cup of tea, Madeleine looked at the doctor and asked, “Sugar?”
Dr. Barrett shook his head. “Just milk will do. Thank you.”
The doctor took a hesitant sip and closed his eyes briefly, as if allowing himself a brief respite as the warmth of the liquid spread through his body. Suddenly, he reopened his eyes and placed his cup and saucer on the coffee table. Something about his demeanor had changed once again, as if it was time to get back to business.
“You know that little Rosie O’Hara is in hospital?”
Madeleine looked down at her milky tea and nodded solemnly. “I know, I heard.” Lucy had filled her in on the news—that on Monday she had gone with Kate to the local clinic because Rosie’s fever had suddenly spiked. And that the little girl had soon after been transferred to Dublin.
Returning her eyes to meet Dr. Barrett’s, she had the uncanny feeling that he was studying her. Gauging her reaction. Of course, he’d given her that lecture before, too—about social responsibility and their contribution (or lack thereof) to herd immunity.
But how could you realistically proceed with something you truly felt was unsafe? Especially when there was no law against not vaccinating.
“She’s in critical condition, Madeleine. I don’t know if you know that. She has pneumonia and some swelling in her brain, apparently. She’s not going to have an easy road of it. Not like Clara.”
Madeleine’s throat went dry. Why was he telling her this? To make her feel guilty? Trying to blame her outright for Rosie’s condition? As if she didn’t feel bad enough.
Thanks to Lucy, she was all too aware that her daughter was being blamed by other Knockroe parents—and the school—for infecting Rosie. She didn’t need to be made to feel guilty about that from the family doctor, as well.
Madeleine placed her cup and saucer on the tray and stood up. She appreciated the house call that Dr. Barrett had made, but now it was time for him to go. She had more than enough to do around the house and she still had Clara to attend to.
And this whole conversation was making her feel really uncomfortable.
“I’ve already sent Kate our best wishes. I know what she’s going through, after all.” Madeleine intended her words to sound soft, but as they fell from her lips she realized there was more of an edge to them than she’d intended.
But she just couldn’t face any more guilt, any more regret. This, taken with the stress and worry about Clara over the last week, was getting on top of her. What was done was done and there was nothing Madeleine could do about it now. She couldn’t go back and change things or stop Clara from contracting the disease. The time for such decision-making was years ago, long gone. And at that time, she and Tom had made the decision that felt right, that was the best one for their family. She couldn’t think about the impact of that choice on other people just now. It was all too overwhelming.
Madeleine just wanted the doctor to leave so she could deal with this on her own, away from stern glares and accusing tones. Though if this was what her doctor—a close acquaintance—was saying, she wondered what strangers or indeed other locals would say when they heard about Rosie’s hospital admission.
Dr. Barrett clearly picked up on the mood. “Well, I suppose that I should be going,” he said, standing up. “Let me know if there is any change with Clara. Otherwise, I think she is indeed on the mend. But again, you and Tom should think about what I said about the other jabs. It’s still not too late.”
He focused a keen eye on Madeleine then and she felt as if all of her thoughts, doubts and worries were on display. Incredibly, despite her relief that Clara was on the mend, this visit had actually made her feel worse—had sent her entire world out of whack.
It was truly awful that little Rosie was in the hospital; there was no question about that. She felt for Kate and she was desperately sorry that Clara’s infection had played some part in that. It wasn’t her daughter’s fault, though; these things were always a risk, and nobody had any control over how another child might fight infection.
And, more to the point, wasn’t it common knowledge that Rosie was unvaccinated, too?
In any case, Clara was going to be OK; that was the main thing.
It was the only thing that Madeleine should be thinking about just then.
9
I felt my eyes grow heavy as I sat in the recliner that had been placed in the corner of Rosie’s hospital room. However, as soon as I got close to sleep, some beep or boop would be emitted from the machines surrounding my little girl’s bed, and I would spring awake, my heart thumping.
Of course, it wasn’t as if I didn’t have people around me telling me to take care of myself. Lucy, Rosie’s pediatrician, Dr. Ryan, various shift nurses—they all told me I needed to sleep, and I knew they were right. I understood that I needed to focus on myself, too, but I found it impossible. The stress alone was making my body rigid with anxiety. No matter if I wanted to rest, I felt constantly on. My mind still raced with worry and the never-ending chorus of what-ifs.
Until Rosie started to show signs of any improvement, my life was at a standstill.
After fixing my hair into a more comfortable topknot, I got up from where I sat and walked to her bedside, dropping to a kneel. Her eyes were closed and she was sleeping. They had her on a respirator at the moment because she was having problems breathing due to the pneumonia. I would have given anything to remove the machines and tubes that seemed to engulf her. I wanted her to be awake so I could talk to her and reassure her that she would be OK, but I knew that sleep was good for her and it was what she needed.
Resting my head against the rail of the hospital bed, I felt myself starting to nod off again until I heard someone come into the room.
“Kate?” It was Frances, a friendly nurse I’d come to know in the six days we’d been here.
She checked on my little girl’s condition, but from her chart I already knew there was little to report. They’d taken blood tests on admission to the hospital, which had confirmed pneumonia. As it was, we just had to wait for the antibiotics to do their job.
Wait. It seemed like all I’d been doing this past week.
To my surprise, the nurse took a seat alongside me. “How are you?” she asked, touching my arm. “You know you really should try to—”
“I know. But sleep isn’t easy...”
“I understand. It’s a horrible time, but rest assured we’re doing all we can. Measles, it can be such a nasty business when it takes this course. But, to be honest, it’s a long time since I’ve come across an outbreak in this hospital.”
She paused for a moment and then leaned forward in her chair, clasping her hands in front of her. “I heard that the other little girl from Rosie’s school has since recovered?”
“Apparently so.”
“And there hasn’t been any other cases in the school or in the town apart from Rosie?”
“No, I don’t think so. Not that I know of anyway. Thank goodness.”
Appearing thoughtful, Frances seemed to be studying me. “I understand the reason why Rosie isn’t vaccinated. And I know it was a hard choice that you and your late husband had to make. But do you happen to know why the other little girl wasn’t?”
“I really don’t know the family all that well...” I answered. My head felt foggy.
“No idea if it’s a political position? Something religious perhaps?”
She seemed to be just making idle conversation, but something about her tone of voice made me perk up. I tried to climb through the swamp of gray matter in my head.
“Why do you ask? And what does it matter?”
But the nurse didn’t have time to answer my question, because at that moment Lucy entered the waiting room with Christine Campbell in tow.
Handing over my recent mail as well as some other bits and pieces I needed from the house (my iPad and charger, one of Rosie’s favorite dinosaurs, a random book that had been on my bedside table), I introduced Frances to Lucy and Christine as they took seats on either side of me.
“Christine was really anxious about Rosie,” Lucy supplied when I looked curiously at our new visitor. It was nice of Christine to come, and surprising, too, when I didn’t know her especially well.
But that was one of the positives about living in a small community.
“Oh, you’re all from the same town?” Frances smiled. “I was just asking Kate about that other little girl with measles. Do you know her, too?” she inquired pleasantly.
I shifted uncomfortably. Given that Clara was almost certainly the cause of Rosie’s current trials, I didn’t like to think about the Coopers all that much. While I was happy that little Clara had recovered, I couldn’t deny that I felt a little...jealous, too. That they were the ones with all the luck and resources, as well as having each other to lean on when things were hard. While I had nothing or no one.
Apart from Lucy, of course, who had once again been wonderful. My mother had tried to make arrangements to travel up from Cork, but my dad was poorly with sciatica and, as she didn’t drive, she was relying on a lift from a generous neighbor.
Part of me was almost glad she hadn’t yet managed it. At least I could stay here at the hospital and focus all of my attention on Rosie, without having to think about hosting my mother, too, who suffered from her nerves and, God help her, wasn’t the best in a crisis.
But while I was reticent to discuss the Coopers, Christine was practically jumping in her seat waiting for her turn to speak. “Yes, we do know the family,” she said, her tone barely concealing her disapproval as she pushed her glasses back to the top of her nose.
“Unusual that she wasn’t vaccinated, either, isn’t it?” Frances said conversationally. “Unlucky, too, I suppose.”
“Nothing at all to do with luck,” added Christine with narrowed eyes. “It’s because the girl’s parents—the father in particular—are a pair of sanctimonious lunatics. Tom is one of those conspiracy-theory types,” she added bitterly.
I shot Lucy a look. I was grateful for Christine’s visit, but my daughter’s bedside wasn’t the place for gossip or airing personal grievances.
In turn, my friend apologized with her eyes.
“Christine, like me, the Coopers have just experienced a very scary time, except unlike me, they’ve managed to come out of it OK. Whatever the reasons for their choices, it’s their business. I’m just glad their little girl is better. That’s all that matters.”
Lucy spoke up. “Yes, and also Madeleine has been so concerned about Rosie. She asks about her all the time. The mother and I are friends,” she added for Frances’ benefit.
“Please understand, I’m not trying to gossip,” the nurse went on. “I was just wondering about their reasons; maybe there’s a good reason—”
“Nope. Absolutely not. They knew exactly what they were doing in not vaccinating. And they took the risk anyway. Put all of our children in danger.”
“Christine, please...” Lucy looked mortified.
“I see,” the nurse murmured softly.
“And, Kate, you know my cousin is a solicitor? Well, we were discussing the situation about the Coopers over lunch the other day...and he tells me there is a school of thought that suggests if you decide not to vaccinate your child and another gets seriously ill like Rosie has, you could potentially be held liable.”
I shook my head; was Christine seriously suggesting that I was the one responsible for Rosie’s plight? “Are you saying I’m to blame for this?” I gasped, a bit hysterically.
I looked to Lucy for help, but she wore an expression I couldn’t read. Was it confusion? Or concern? Why couldn’t I follow this conversation?
Jesus, I needed to sleep.
But Christine’s dark eyes were bright and she was shaking her head.
“No, Kate, she’s not suggesting at all that you’re responsible,” Frances put in. “But I think what your friend is suggesting is that the other parents could be. They failed to vaccinate their child. That same child contracted a preventable illness, passing it on to Rosie, who’s since become very ill.”
“What does it matter who’s responsible?” I cried. “Please,” I implored Lucy. “I can’t deal with this. I...I’m not fit for visitors just now. My daughter needs me.”
The nurse stood up. “Kate is right. Perhaps this isn’t the best time...”
I felt myself start to relax just a bit, but Christine wasn’t finished. “But you have to think about this, Kate. I mean, I’m not trying to force your hand or talk you into anything you are uncomfortable with, I just want you to think about it. There was a deliberate choice made. You couldn’t vaccinate Rosie without risking her life. The Coopers weren’t faced with that decision—they just decided not to bother. And don’t forget Madeleine sent Clara to school that morning, knowing she was unwell. This was what my cousin found interesting. Think about it. She doesn’t protect her kids from infectious diseases and then she sends her feverish daughter to school. She deliberately put ours at risk.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It was just unfortunate, just one of those things. And it’s a risk I had to take every day, too, knowing Rosie isn’t protected. It’s just as much my fault as anyone else’s.”
“How can you not see it?” Christine persisted. Lucy put a hand on her arm, trying to quiet her.
“Because nobody does that!” I cried, outraged at the very suggestion. “No parent would ever intend such a thing.”
But amid my protests, the alternative scenario sparked a thought in me.
If Madeleine Cooper, knowing Clara was ill, hadn’t sent her daughter to school that morning, wouldn’t Rosie have avoided getting measles?