Another Man's Child

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  His words did little to ease the ache in her heart. She was a doctor. She knew what was coming. With her water broken, they wouldn’t be able to save the pregnancy. And she was barely seven months along.

  She bit her lip and groaned as another pain consumed her. She was losing her baby.

  “Hold on, sweetheart. Just hold on another few minutes. We’re almost there, and then everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see, it’ll be fine…”

  Marcus’s soothing words filled the car during the entire trip to the hospital, but Lisa barely heard them as she fought the pain. It was constant now, and building in such intensity she was afraid she was going to tear apart.

  Don’t go, little one. Please don’t go. She repeated the words over and over, as if somehow they could manage to accomplish what she knew medical science could not. She couldn’t bear to lose this baby. She couldn’t.

  A stretcher was waiting for her at the hospital, and Lisa looked up into Debbie’s worried face even before she was inside the emergency-room doors.

  She heard Debbie’s brisk command. “Take her into delivery, stat.”

  “No! Not yet. Let’s wait and see—”

  “It’s too late, Lisa,” Debbie said, hurrying along beside the stretcher. “It’s you we have to be concerned about now. You’re losing a lot of blood.”

  It was her they had to be concerned about now. Did that mean…? No. It couldn’t She’d felt the baby move only a couple of hours ago. He’d kicked her hard, twice, when she’d climbed into bed. She’d rubbed her hand over him, soothing him, until he’d fallen asleep. She’d whispered good-night to him, just as she had every night since she’d found out she was pregnant.

  She was rushed into a room filled with bright lights and people. Things were happening so fast, orders coming so quickly, Lisa couldn’t keep track of it all. She was in agony, both mentally and physically, and soon the only thing she was conscious of was Marcus standing beside her bed, dressed in surgical greens.

  “We’ll make it through this, Lis. You just hang on for me, you hear?” he said, holding her hand while the doctor and nurses got an IV going, examined her and hooked her up to a couple of different monitors. In one part of her brain, Lisa knew everything they were doing. And she knew why. She knew she’d have given the same orders Debbie was giving were their positions reversed.

  Yet she hated the doctor for taking away her dream.

  As the minutes passed and the pain didn’t relent, Lisa focused more and more on Marcus. On his steady strength. His hopeful words. He was telling her what she wanted to hear. What she needed to hear. That everything was going to be all right. And because he was saying it, she tried to believe him.

  Marcus thought that this was what it was like to lose one’s mind. He was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. To focus. As the medical personnel rushed around Lisa, peeling the bloodstained blanket away, he sank further and further into a blind panic.

  “Get me the blood, stat,” Debbie Crutchfield hollered at one of the orderlies. “She may be hemorrhaging.”

  It was his worst nightmare coming true. Lisa was in trouble. And all he could do was stand by and watch as the team of professionals tried to save her. And pray. Marcus had never prayed harder for anything in his life as he did then, standing beside his wife, horrified as he watched the blood flow out of her.

  Only Lisa kept him sane. Lisa and her need of him. Marcus refused to let her see his fear or hear the worry in his voice. He reassured her over and over, knowing how desperately she needed the words of encouragement. He would pull her through this with his strength alone if he had to. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not now. Not like this.

  Lisa gave a sharp cry and Marcus’s heart missed a beat. He glanced at Debbie, looking for reassurance, but Debbie’s face was a study of intense concentration as she worked between Lisa’s legs.

  And suddenly Marcus knew a new fear, an unfamiliar fear, as he considered the life his wife was trying so desperately to save. Not her own. But the life inside her. For the first time he noticed the mirror set back behind the doctor. And as he glanced up, he saw a flash of a tiny head, a swatch of hair, and then the full head, as Lisa started to push the baby from her body.

  Her fingers were clutching his so tightly he lost circulation, but he continued to hold her, to soothe her, his eyes glued to the mirror behind the doctor.

  There were the shoulders. And with one last groan from Lisa, the tiniest body he’d ever seen emerged into the brightly lit room. Marcus’s gaze flew to Debbie’s face. Waiting.

  “She’s alive.”

  He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath until he heard the words. She’s alive. His gaze darted from the too-tiny body to his wife’s face, and then, medical personnel be damned, he gathered Lisa into his arms, holding her against him.

  LISA HAD BARELY a glance at her daughter before Debbie snipped the cord and they whisked the little body away. She didn’t even get a chance to see if the baby had all her fingers and toes, seeing only that she had a full head of dark hair, this child she’d waited so long to have, yet had way too soon.

  She buried her head against Marcus, no longer able to hold back the sobs that tore through her. She was a doctor. A children’s doctor. She knew.

  The baby couldn’t have weighed more than two pounds. And she hadn’t cried, indicating that her lungs weren’t fully developed—if at all. Her chances of surviving were slim.

  There were so many things that could go wrong, that could already be wrong. Lisa wished she could still the voices in her head.

  She knew what she’d tell the parents if she was the attending pediatrician. And she couldn’t bear to hear the words. This time she was the parent. And that hopelessly tiny silent baby was her daughter. Sara Barbara Cartwright. She had a daughter. Who was to have had a perfect life.

  And suddenly Lisa knew that any decision she had to make had already been made. If Marcus could not be a father to their daughter, she couldn’t live with him. Because if the baby survived—and she would if Lisa had to breathe life into her every day until she could breathe on her own—she was going to be raised in a house of love.

  Debbie finished with Lisa, making way for the nurse to prepare her to go to her room, and Marcus stood aside while they did what they had to do.

  “You came through this just fine, Lisa. Much better than I expected, as a matter of fact. I suspect you’ll be released sometime tomorrow.” The doctor didn’t smile, didn’t attempt to sugarcoat her words. She was fully aware that Lisa knew exactly how grave the situation really was.

  Lisa could go home the next day. The baby wouldn’t be going home for a long time. If ever.

  Tears streamed down Lisa’s tired face and Marcus wiped them away. Turning her face into his palm, Lisa kissed him. In spite of the decision she’d made, she needed him desperately. Needed his strength. His warmth. She wasn’t going to get through the next hours without him.

  “I’ve ordered something to help you sleep as soon as you get settled in your room,” Debbie said, pulling off her gloves.

  “I don’t want to sleep. I have to see her, see what they’re doing. I have to know.”

  “Listen to the doctor, Lis,” Marcus said, his hand on her shoulder.

  “You have to be sensible, Lisa.” Debbie stood on the other side of Lisa’s bed. “For the baby’s sake, as well as your own. You just came through a rough birth, you came close to hemorrhaging, and you need your rest if you’re going to do that young lady any good later. And they won’t let you in with her right now, anyway. You know that. Randal Cunningham is with her. He’s the best there is. Let him do his job.”

  Marcus stayed with Lisa until she fell into an exhausted sleep. It was more than an hour after the birth, and she’d fought sleep with every bit of strength she had, waiting to hear about her baby, but the sleeping pill Debbie had prescribed had finally done its work, allowing Lisa the rest she so desperately needed.

  Marcus rubbed
his hands down his face as he sat beside Lisa’s bed, more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life. What a night. The most frightening night of his life.

  He shuddered when he saw again all that blood soaking the blanket around Lisa. He’d never been so afraid of anything as he’d been during that trip to the hospital and the minutes immediately following.

  Standing, he took one last look at his wife, and then headed out into the silent corridor of the sleeping hospital. He needed to get home, get some rest, if he was going to make it back by the time Lisa awoke in the morning.

  Stopping only long enough to notify the night nurse that he was going home and that he expected to be called if Lisa so much as turned over in bed, he continued on down the hall toward the elevator. Most of the rooms he passed were in darkness or lit only by a soft night-light, but there was a window down by the elevator that-was glaring with so much light it spilled out into the hospital corridor.

  Marcus found out why when he reached the window. It was the nursery. He told himself to keep on walking, that there was no reason for him to glance that way, but as he passed he heard the plaintive wail of a newborn baby and turned his head instinctively. It wasn’t Lisa’s baby he heard.

  Hers was the one everybody was working on in a separate part of the nursery. Marcus could barely see the tiny body in the sea of medical personnel surrounding the funny little crib in which she lay. It was a box not more than two feet long and maybe eight inches wide, with huge bright lights hanging above it. He winced as he saw the many hands, which looked so big next to such a small body, working over it so quickly.

  Marcus moved around the corner, entering a viewing room with a couple of couches and chairs that had another window into the nursery, a window closer to the peculiar bed with the miniature baby. From there he could see the card that hung at the end of the crib. Cartwright Girl.

  His gut clenched as he looked again. Cartwright Girl. That tiny baby girl had his name.

  He knew he needed to go, that he had to get some rest before he collapsed, but he couldn’t make himself leave the window. Lisa’s baby was barely the size of his hand. He didn’t see how it could possibly have all the working parts necessary to sustain life. He knew the baby was still alive. There would be no reason for anyone to be working over her if she wasn’t. But that bit of news didn’t tell him anything about her chances to survive.

  One of the nurses moved away from the crib for a moment, reaching for something on a tray, and Marcus had a clearer glimpse of the baby. A tube wider than her arm was taped to her mouth with what looked like a big Band-Aid. The other end of the tube was connected by a series of contraptions to a ventilator machine. She wasn’t breathing on her own.

  He had no idea what the rest of the many tubes and wires applied to her minute body were for, but knew it wasn’t good that they took up more room in her bed than she did. Other than the medical paraphernalia attached to her, the baby was naked, her diminutive bottom lying on an open disposable diaper. Her tiny head wore a blue-pink-and-white-striped cap, covering up the thatch of hair that was the first sight he’d had of her. Her eyes were closed. He wondered if she was actually sleeping through all of the ministrations, or if she simply couldn’t open her eyes.

  She appeared to have all her fingers and toes.

  The nurse returned to the crib, blocking Marcus’s view, and he slumped back into the chair closest to the viewing window, watching as the specialists worked. Cartwright Girl. He’d kept himself so apart from the life Lisa had been creating these past months that he’d never even considered there would be a name for the child. His name.

  He wondered what else Lisa planned to call her baby. But he already knew. Sara, for her beloved little sister. And Barbara, after her mother. Sara Barbara Cartwright. The name had a familiar ring to it. Sara. He hoped Lisa was calling her Sara. They’d always said they’d name their first girl Sara.

  Personnel came and went from the baby’s crib for most of the night, and as the hours passed, Marcus continued to sit, to watch. He wondered about the baby’s father. Was he a young college student who’d given a donation to the sperm bank for a quick buck? Or a good samaritan who wanted to make dreams possible for women who couldn’t have children any other way? Maybe he was in the medical field. If so, Lisa’s baby was going to be one smart little girl. If she survived.

  And suddenly Marcus knew without a shadow of doubt just how badly he wanted the child to survive. Lisa would never be the same if her baby died. After all she’d been through, after all the lives she’d saved and the ones she’d lost, she deserved this chance for herself. And the baby deserved it, too. She was Lisa’s baby. That alone made her the most special child in the nursery.

  The tall silver-haired doctor who hadn’t left the baby’s side all night finally turned away from the crib, stripping off his gloves. Marcus’s heart caught in his throat as he waited for some sign that the battle had been won—or lost. The doctor spoke to a nurse who’d remained beside the crib, and the nurse nodded several times before pulling a chair up to the side of the crib and sitting down to watch the baby’s monitors. It was then that Marcus noticed what he thought was some kind of heart monitor, set way off behind the baby. The marks he saw were wavery. But they were there.

  Marcus heaved a huge sigh of relief. He thought again of the father of Lisa’s baby, wondering if the guy would care that his daughter was lying there, so tiny, fighting impossible odds for her life. The guy was a first-class bastard if he didn’t.

  Marcus was appalled at all the gadgets surrounding the tiny body, the IV taped to her skull, the catheter in her right arm, which was strapped to a board. He hated that someone so small had to endure so much discomfort. And aside from all the wires and tubes, her entire body was wrapped in what looked like a big piece of cellophane. She lay there silently, her eyes still closed. Marcus hoped she was sleeping peacefully.

  He was still there early the next morning when Beth came in to see the baby.

  “Beth!” He shot upright. “Oh, my God. I never even called Oliver. How’d you know where to find us?”

  Beth didn’t turn from the window, her gaze glued on the box that was Lisa’s crib. “Crystal called me an hour ago. Lisa was awake and asking for you, and they couldn’t reach you at home, but she’s asleep again now,” she said. Crystal was the night nurse working Lisa’s floor. “Crystal said Lisa had the baby shortly after one. Have you been here all night?”

  “I didn’t realize how much time had passed,” Marcus said, turning toward the baby again. She hadn’t moved a muscle in all those hours. He knew. He’d been watching every second for any sign that she was taking control of her life.

  “Has anybody been out yet to tell you anything?”

  “No.”

  “Crystal said she’s holding her own.”

  “But she’s not breathing on her own.”

  “Not yet. But that’s to be expected for now.”

  “What’re her chances, Beth?” He’d spent the night avoiding the question, but he had to know.

  “Twenty-five percent. Maybe thirty.”

  “That’s all?” His heart sank.

  “Her lungs aren’t developed. But the machine can do their job until they are,” she told him.

  “Is everything else all right?” he asked.

  “It’s too early to tell,” Beth said, still watching the baby. “Her digestive system isn’t fully developed yet, either. But again, that’s expected. There’s a fairly good chance of brain damage and deafness. Mental retardation, too.” Her voice caught in her throat and Marcus knew she was- feeling a lot more than she was letting on. Her bedside manner could only cover so much. And Marcus knew Beth well.

  “But isn’t there a chance she’ll be perfectly normal once she grows up to size?” He was asking for all their sakes. Including the baby’s. The baby’s most of all.

  Beth shrugged. “A slight one.”

  “What about her kidneys and other organs?” he asked, wondering for th
e hundredth time how a body so small could actually sustain life.

  “It’s too early to tell. She’ll be fed intravenously for now, glucose only. After a few weeks, if they can, they’ll begin tube-feeding her. It’ll be a while before they know if her excretory system’s working.”

  Marcus heard the qualifier. If the baby lived. They both stood silently, keeping their vigil.

  “It killed her to do this without you, you know,” Beth said.

  It took Marcus a second to understand what she meant. He didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He’d put all that behind him now.

  “I found her in the bathroom afterward, being sick to her stomach. She said she was going home to seduce you, that her baby was going to be conceived in love one way or the other, and that you were going to be the one to provide that most necessary ingredient. The love.”

  Marcus remembered that night, remembered the way Lisa had met him at the door. Desperate for him. For his love. He’d given it to her, too. Just as he’d always given her everything she wanted. Except the one thing she’d wanted most.

  “How long’s the baby going to be in that special crib?” he asked, looking at the child Lisa and Beth had created that day, needing to make Beth stop talking about things that were past.

  “It’s a warming bed, and that depends completely on her. One of the reasons she’s there is so they can get right at her, but also because her body’s unable to maintain enough heat to stay alive. The warming bed simulates the mother’s uterus, maintaining a temperature of ninety-eight point six rather than normal room temperature of seventy. And based on her size, I’d say she could be in there for six weeks or more before she’s moved to an incubator.”

  If she lives. Damn. She will live. Watching the still form in her bed of plastic wrap, he said, “She’s going to make it, Beth.”

  “I hope so, Marcus. I sure hope so.” Beth turned from the window to face him.

  It was then that Marcus saw the tears running slowly down her face. He pulled Beth into his arms, offering what comfort he could, taking from her the silent solace she had to give.