West Wing to Maternity Wing!

by Scarlet Wilson

  ‘So this is all about the baby? Nothing else?’

  ‘I can’t let it be.’

  The heavy silence pressed in on them as they stared at each other in the dimly lit room.

  Lincoln wanted to storm out. He didn’t need this. Six years of wishing you could see someone again, talk to them. And this was it.

  Someone who pretended things weren’t happening. Someone who tried to put a cap on their emotions. Someone who wouldn’t face up to the facts between them. Someone who wouldn’t even give him a chance. Enough was enough.

  The headache was pounding in her ears. The breath in her chest started to tighten. Zachary started kicking, as if he could feel it too. Her head was swimming and heat started to creep over her body. What was this?

  Blackness crept into the edges of her eyes. She blinked twice. Had some lights just gone out? Then panic crept across her chest. Her legs starting to buckle underneath her. ‘Lincoln…’

  He looked upwards just as she crumpled to a heap on the floor—too late to save her from smacking her head on the thick wooden planks. ‘Johnny!’

  He turned her on her left hand side, making sure her airway was clear and checking her pulse. ‘Get me an ambulance!’ His hands fell to her abdomen, feeling the little life inside pushing against him.

  He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as guilt engulfed him. This could be a dozen different things, but he knew right now which one it would be—eclampsia. The headache, she’d said she had a headache and he hadn’t listened. She’d been checked that morning at the hospital, but this was new, this was a different complaint and one that could be a sign of eclampsia. One that should have made him take her straight back to hospital.

  Instead he’d been too self-absorbed. Too worried about developing a relationship with her that would meet his own needs. Too worried that she wouldn’t tell him how she felt. He’d been angry. Shouted at her, probably raised her blood pressure.

  He’d promised to look after her baby. He’d promised her a safe delivery.

  Her body started to twitch. The first signs of a seizure. What had he done? Lincoln watched as things started to slip through his fingers—like the grains of sand on the beach.

  He lifted his head. ‘Where the hell is that ambulance?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LINCOLN shifted his position, his aching limbs objecting to the firm hard-backed chair. Was it possible his body was getting used to no sleep?

  A little grunt came from under his chin. Baby Carson wriggled in the strip of cloth currently cocooning him against Lincoln’s bare chest. It was almost as if the baby could hear the steadying beat of Lincoln’s heart and was trying to get closer to it. He could feel the heat from his body wrap around the little figure, currently nestled under his shirt. He, better than anyone, knew that kangaroo care offered a huge range of benefits for pre-term babies—normalising temperature, heart and respiratory rate, decreasing stress, reducing risks of infection and promoting earlier discharge for premature babies. As a neonatologist he was a huge advocate for the technique. But he’d never actually done it himself. He’d never actually been the one sitting in the dead of night with a three-pound baby strapped to his chest. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to do this. He had to do this for Amy.

  Cassidy Yates touched his shoulder. ‘How you doing, Linc?’ She sat down in the chair next to him, her blonde hair pulled backwards in a bun, her eyes lined and tired.

  He moved forward to speak, but a little squeak from the baby made him shift back to his original position. ‘Is something wrong?’ His voice was strained. Please let Amy be okay.

  Cassidy shook her head. ‘There’s no change, Linc. She still hasn’t woken up.’ Cassidy gave a sigh. ‘It’s only been forty-eight hours.’ A tight smile appeared on her face. ‘She’ll wake up today. I know she will.’

  The words hung in the air between them. Both of them hoping they’d be true.

  Lincoln brushed his hand against hers. ‘This is my fault, Cassidy, not yours. I was the one who took her out to dinner. I was the one she got into a fight with. I didn’t even realise she had any other symptoms.’ He moved his hand back and ran it through his hair. ‘If I’d been paying enough attention…’

  ‘Stop it, Linc. I was her obstetrician. I should have admitted her.’

  Lincoln shook his head. ‘But why? You’d monitored her every day. There had been no change in her symptoms. What reason could you have for admitting her?’

  Cassidy sighed. ‘Good old-fashioned instinct. I knew this wasn’t going to turn out well. I let Amy down.’

  Lincoln looked at the little bundle under his chin. He reached up and stroked a gentle finger across the top of the baby’s soft fontanel. The first few sprigs of dark hair were just starting to appear.

  Cassidy leaned forward in her chair, staring at Linc with her weary eyes. ‘I told her to phone me as soon as any other symptoms appeared. How long did she have that headache, Linc? Why didn’t she phone me?’

  Because of me. Guilt tightened across his chest. Cassidy hadn’t slept in the last two days. She was worried sick. She felt guilty—as if she’d made a mistake. But she hadn’t. He had.

  Deep down he knew why Amy hadn’t phoned. She hadn’t been focusing on her symptoms. She’d been fixated on the fact that she thought something was happening between Lincoln and Cassidy. She’d been jealous. And it had affected her relationship with her obstetrician.

  Lincoln cringed. He couldn’t believe it had come to this.

  Seeing Amy lying on the floor of the restaurant, seizing, had been the single most terrifying moment of his life. Never had a five-minute ambulance journey seemed so long.

  And the E.R. events that had followed had felt like an out-of-body experience. For once, he hadn’t been in control. He’d watched as they’d put her on monitors, inserted IVs and catheters, and stabilised her. Once the seizure had been under control, a quick confab with Cassidy and the anaesthetist had resulted in a rapid trip to Theatre and an emergency Caesarean section.

  Two hours after he’d brought her in her son had been screaming in his gloved hands in the operating room.

  And then he’d made the biggest decision of his life. Because that’s when it hit him. Like a lightning bolt. He loved her.

  And he couldn’t be the baby’s doctor. No matter what he’d promised Amy, he couldn’t be the neonatologist her child needed.

  He’d too much emotional investment in this. And it would ruin his objectivity.

  Yes, he could stand on the sidelines and discuss clinical decisions with the surrounding physicians but he had to step back. He had to take himself out of the equation. Because he didn’t feel like a doctor around Amy’s son. He felt like a parent.

  But the one thing Amy had asked him to do was be her son’s doctor. And chances were she would never forgive him.

  Cassidy stood up again. ‘I’m going back to ICU. She’s going to wake up today. I want to be there.’ Her voice was steady and determined, but Lincoln didn’t know if she was trying to convince him or herself.

  His hands cradled the little baby next to his chest. In most cases kangaroo care was carried out by the mother. But in this case, while Amy was unavailable, it seemed the most natural thing for him to be doing.

  But he’d had no idea it would feel like this. The feel of the tiny translucent skin against his, the feeling of the little body warming against his, had swamped him. All this time he’d only really thought about Amy. He hadn’t really brought her son into the equation. And now he was here, front and centre, and for the first time in his life Lincoln hadn’t been able to distance himself into professional mode. He hadn’t been able to sit on the sidelines and watch. He’d had to make sure he was in the middle of it all. No one else was allowed to carry out care for the baby.

 
; And it would be easy right now to pretend this was all about guilt, and that he felt he owed it to Amy to look after her little boy. If that was how he felt, he could have stayed in doctor mode, in clinical mode, and done the best job that he could. But it wasn’t how he felt. He could see Amy in this baby. And all the feelings he felt for her, whether he’d vocalised them or not, seemed to be intensified into this tiny body. Who could have known it could feel like this?

  He’d often heard parents talk about being swamped by their feelings. But he’d never experienced it. Not like this. And he couldn’t even begin to explain it. He had no genetic connection to this child. He had no parental rights. Amy could wake up today and tell him she never wanted to see him again. And he knew all of that. But it didn’t change how he felt.

  He shifted the little feeding tube currently taped to the side of the baby’s nose. Amy had wanted to breastfeed her baby, so they’d used some of the breast milk available in the NICU, but so far Junior hadn’t responded to cup feeding or finger feeding and with a premature baby time was of the essence, so they’d had to resort to placing a small tube down into his stomach. So every few hours Lincoln got a small syringe and fed Amy’s son tiny amounts of breast milk. Anything to help him.

  ‘Okay, Junior, let’s get you back inside your incubator for a while. I need to go and see your mommy.’

  He glanced down at his rumpled clothes—the same shirt and jeans he’d been wearing when Amy had seized in the restaurant two days ago. He really needed to get changed.

  Lincoln placed the baby carefully back inside the incubator, pulling a little blue hat over his head. He checked the chart hanging at the end of the crib. Baby Carson was actually doing quite well. His weight at three pounds eight ounces was good, and gave him a ninety-five per cent survival rate. The steroids had obviously done their job of maturing his lungs and he’d come out screaming and breathing on his own. There had only been a few incidences when he’d tried to feed that his oxygen saturation had dropped. And since he’d had the tube put down, there had been none.

  The little guy had fighting spirit. Now, if only he had a name.

  But Amy hadn’t told him what she was going to name her son—she’d expected to be there to do that herself.

  Lincoln felt the small hand wrap itself around his finger. Please let her wake up soon.

  * * *

  Amy felt weird. She was having a dream. But instead of a nice, pink, floaty dream, this was a strange, distant far-away dream. And her throat ached. Her mouth was dry and felt brittle and she couldn’t even swallow. Her head was pounding and noises were disturbing her peaceful sleep. She couldn’t concentrate. Maybe if she could just have a drink of water…

  Her eyes felt heavy, crusted, and she struggled to pull her eyelids apart. White. That was all she could see. What was that?

  She moved her hands. Something was hurting her wrist. Like a little pinch, a little squeeze. Her hands moved to her stomach, seeking the comfort of the rounded bump she’d spent the last few months embracing. The firmness was gone. In its place only soft sagging skin. Alarm bells started racing in her head. Something wasn’t right. Where was she? What was happening?

  She could feel something pressing on her face and she reached up to pull it aside. She started struggling to breathe, taking short, rapid breaths. A figure appeared in her line of vision. Blonde. Boobs. Was it Barbie?

  The voice was talking, but she wasn’t sure what it was saying. A strong, calm voice. ‘Amy. Amy. Calm down. Everything’s fine. It’s Cassidy Yates. You’re in hospital—in San Francisco Maternity. Here…let me put this mask back on your face for a few moments.’ The figure moved around to the side. ‘I’m going to raise your bed slightly, Amy.’ There was a buzzing noise and Amy felt herself move upwards. The white view changed to a hospital scene.

  A hospital scene she should be familiar with. A busy ICU. As a former theatre nurse she’d spent many hours transferring patients to and from Theatre to ICU and back again. But even the familiarity didn’t help.

  There was a sense that something was wrong. She didn’t feel right. She felt…empty.

  Then it struck her. Her brain shifted sharply into focus and a million panicked thoughts filling her mind. ‘My baby? Where’s my baby?’ Although she felt as if she was shouting, her voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

  Cassidy leaned forward, touching her hand and squeezing it tightly. ‘Your son is fine, Amy. He’s in NICU. Lincoln’s with him—I don’t think he’s left his side in the last forty-eight hours.’

  Amy blinked. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. What did she mean—the last forty-eight hours?

  The confusion must have registered on her face. Cassidy kept hold of her hand. ‘Amy, do you remember anything about what happened?’

  Amy shook her head. Her mind was currently mush. She couldn’t take in where she was, let alone anything else.

  Cassidy bent closer, reaching up and moving some loose strands of hair from her face. Why was this woman being so nice to her? Something turned inside her stomach. She didn’t like this woman, but she couldn’t remember why.

  Her eyes went downwards. There was an IV in her hand. That’s what the strange feeling was at her wrist. The tape surrounding it was catching the little hairs on her wrist. Tiny pieces of the jigsaw puzzle started slotting into place in her brain. Cassidy was talking again. ‘You had a seizure, Amy. Two days ago. Lincoln brought you in, we stabilised you, then we had to take you to Theatre and deliver your baby. You’ve been in here ever since.’

  Amy clung to the one part that registered in her brain. ‘Zachary. How is Zachary?’

  Cassidy’s face broke into a smile. ‘Zachary? That’s what you’re calling your son? What a beautiful name.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Lincoln will be so pleased to hear it. He’s been calling him Junior these last two days.’

  Amy tried to pull her dry lips together again. ‘Lincoln’s looking after my son?’

  Something registered on Cassidy’s face. A fleeting glance, as if she shouldn’t say something. But she pressed her lips together. ‘Yes…and no.’ It took her a few seconds to decide what to say. ‘He’s not your son’s doctor. But he’s been acting as a…surrogate parent for the last two days. He hasn’t left Zachary’s side. He’s been doing all the kangaroo care for your son.’

  Images flooded into Amy’s mind. Her brain was still befuddled. Lincoln with her baby. Holding her baby, feeding her baby. She knew Zach would have been in safe hands. But hadn’t he promised to be her baby’s doctor?

  ‘I don’t understand…’

  Cassidy stood upright, the relief on her face obvious. ‘Oh, good, he’s here. I’ll let him speak to you himself.’ She gave a final squeeze to Amy’s hand. ‘I’ll come back later—to talk with you about your treatment.’

  She walked towards Lincoln and gave his shoulder a little squeeze on the way past.

  Amy watched as the green-suited figure appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were taking a little time to focus. Why was that?

  Then she felt him engulf her in a hug, pulling her head and shoulders clear of the bed and into his chest. He held her so tightly she started to cough.

  He released her quickly. ‘Sorry. I’m just so pleased you’ve woken up. I’ve been so worried.’ He clasped her hands, words tumbling from his mouth. ‘The baby’s doing well. He’s breathing on his own—right from delivery—and he’s a good weight for twenty-nine weeks: three pounds eight ounces. He’s not feeding on his own yet, we’ve had to put a tube down, but I’ve made sure that he’s getting breast milk. Oh, and you need to tell me his name, so I can put it in his records.’

  Lincoln. It was definitely Lincoln. He was babbling. She didn’t have any problem focusing up close. She could see his green theatre scrubs, his tousled dark hair and blue-rimmed, tired eyes. There was
a definite shadow around his jaw—she’d felt it brush her cheek as he’d hugged her.

  She blinked, focusing further—giving her brain time to make sense of it all in her head. She could see the deep lines etched into his forehead and filtering out from the corners of his eyes. Had they always been there? He looked exhausted.

  She blinked. And in that instant there was something else. A fleeting picture of a darkened restaurant and a smell…a strong smell of fresh fish. The memory gave her a jolt, startling other little pieces of the jigsaw puzzle into place. An expression on Lincoln’s face that she didn’t recognise. He’d been angry with her. They’d been fighting.

  That’s why he looked like hell.

  His fingers touched the inside of her palm. ‘Amy, are you with me?’ The anxiety was back.

  She nodded, her dry tongue coming out and trying to lick her lips. He responded instantly, picking up a glass of iced water with a straw from her bedside table. Where had that come from?

  He held the straw at her lips and she sucked deeply. ‘Steady,’ he said, pulling it away for a second then bringing it back to her again. He let her take some more sips. ‘Better?’

  She nodded and let out a sigh. ‘Zachary. Zachary John Carson. That’s my son’s name.’

  His eyes met hers and he nodded in recognition. ‘It’s a beautiful name.’

  ‘I want to see him.’ Now she’d found her voice again, it was steely and determined. A wave of emotions rode up inside her, like a crest of a wave. She’d missed the first two days of her son’s life. She hadn’t been the first person to hold him, to hear him cry or feed him. She’d missed so much already. ‘I want to see him now.’

  Lincoln hesitated. ‘You’ve just woken up, Amy, I don’t think you’re stable enough to go to NICU. And I’m sorry, but I can’t bring Zachary in here.’ He waved his hand around the ICU. There were four other adult patients in the room. One was attached to a ventilator—that must have been the burring noise that she’d heard—and two others had assisted ventilation. ‘There’s too big a risk of exposure to infection.’