The Doctor's Outback Baby

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I’m here.’

  Never had she felt more helpless. She couldn’t even respond to his endless questions, just struggled to get the air into her lungs as Timothy looked on anxiously. If ever she knew she had been wrong not to tell him, it was confirmed then.

  It wasn’t just the baby whose life was on the line but her own.

  Her child, their child, could be left without a mother. Timothy should have been told and nothing would ever change that fact. She could only pray that one day he might understand.

  ‘The baby,’ Clara started, but Dr Rhodes just patted her hand.

  ‘Things will start settling now, Clara,’ he said confidently. ‘We’ve given you some drugs to reverse the effects and your observations are settling. When things have calmed down I’ll examine you—’

  ‘The baby,’ Clara gasped, and Dr Rhodes nodded gently, his tone almost patronising.

  ‘It’s you we’re concerned with at the moment, Clara. The baby’s doing just fine.’

  But it wasn’t what she was trying to say. Her agonised eyes swivelled to Timothy’s as she struggled to make herself heard, struggled to make them understand.

  ‘I think my waters just broke.’

  It was on for young and old then. Emergency bells were pushed, monitors and IV poles swapped over for portable versions, the operating theatre being alerted, Theatre the safest place to deliver such a tiny infant in case Clara needed an emergency Caesarean. Dr Rhodes examined her as Casey waited with her foot poised, ready to snap the brakes off the bed and move her.

  ‘Fully dilated.’ Dr Rhodes looked up at the nurse. ‘Let’s move.’

  Move they did, but only as far as the door.

  ‘It’s coming,’ Clara gasped.

  ‘Don’t push,’ Casey said firmly, lifting the sheet, but as impassive as her voice was Clara knew what was happening, knew that this really was it. ‘Let’s get to the delivery room.’

  It took just a matter of seconds. The earlier contractions had done their job, despite the best of modern medicine, and a tiny baby slipped into the world, coming, ready or not, as staff appeared from everywhere. The overhead chimes summoning the neonatal intensive care team to the delivery ward as Clara sobbed in Timothy’s arms, scared to look yet terrified not to as her baby entered the world. There was no sound, no crying, but this wasn’t the peaceful silence she had witnessed when Timothy had delivered Mary’s baby. This was an awful void that seemed to go on for ever, just the briefest glimpse of her pale, limp babe, a glimmer of red hair visible as the tiny bundle was wrapped up and moved swiftly out.

  Time was of the essence now.

  ‘A little girl,’ Clara said, as the NICU nurse dashed off.

  ‘She’s not crying.’

  ‘They’ve taken her next door,’ Casey said gently. ‘They’re all ready for her. They’ll be giving her oxygen and getting her started.’

  ‘Go with her,’ Clara begged, as Timothy stood there torn, staring at Clara so pale, so very ill as his daughter’s life also hung in the balance. ‘Go with her,’ Clara sobbed again as Casey pushed her back on the pillow and tightened the oxygen mask around her face.

  ‘Take it easy, Clara. You’re not well yourself.’

  ‘Please, Timothy, go with her, stay with her. She’s so tiny, she’ll be so scared.’

  It was the longest night of Clara’s life.

  Nurses popped in and out, giving her updates, the neonatologist came and gently guided Clara through her daughter’s status, her treatment, her chances. And though the news was cautiously optimistic, nothing would calm Clara until she saw her daughter for herself, her anxiety mounting with each laboured breath until finally Casey gave her a sleeping tablet, insisting she get some rest.

  ‘When can I see her?’

  ‘When you’re well enough’ was the best Casey could offer. ‘And the sooner you get some sleep, the sooner that will happen.’

  It was the only reason she complied.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘HEY, you.’

  Opening her eyes, for a second or two the world seemed OK, but it didn’t last long.

  There was Timothy smiling down at her, those green eyes gentle now, but Clara knew there had been tears and she dreaded what was coming next.

  ‘Is she—?’

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Timothy said softly. ‘Little stick arms and legs, and she’s so tiny it terrifies me, Clara, but she’s a fighter.’ He picked up a handful of Polaroids and passed them to her. ‘She’s got your red hair.’

  He stared at the picture a moment longer. ‘The neonatologist thinks she’s behaving as if she might even be twenty-nine weeks gestation.’

  ‘Another thing I got wrong,’ Clara mumbled.

  ‘Another week’s good,’ Timothy said gently. ‘And despite how you’re feeling, you did really well, Clara. You hung in there long enough to give the steroids a chance to work. I’m so proud of you.’

  She waited, waited for a ‘but’, waited for some recrimination, but it never came.

  ‘I should have told you.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘you should have, but I know now that you tried.’ Pulling an envelope out of his pocket, he laid it on the bed. ‘This was in my pigeonhole in the doctors’ mess. Why did you wait so long, Clara? Did you think I’d be angry or something, that I wouldn’t stand by you?’

  ‘I knew that you would stand by me,’ Clara said cryptically. ‘And that was the bit that worried me.’ She looked up at his noncomprehending face. ‘I don’t want to have one of those marriages where people stay together for the sake of the children.’

  ‘And that’s what you think it would be?’

  She didn’t answer, just stared at her hands as he sat on the bed and let out a long weary sigh.

  ‘Casey’s called the porters and they’re going to wheel you down to see our baby soon, but before we go there’s one thing we have to agree on.’ She looked up at his glittering eyes and knew that he was close to tears, but his voice was firm. ‘Like it or not, I know now about the baby and whether you want me in her life is immaterial. I’m her father and nothing’s going to change that fact.’

  She gave a small nod but still she couldn’t look at him.

  ‘We need to talk, that much is clear. But not today. Today’s about meeting our daughter, and if marriage isn’t what you want, if a united front is the best we can manage for her, then it has to start here and now.’

  A tiny frown puckered her brow, her red-rimmed eyes jerking up. ‘You’re the one who left, Timothy. You’re the one who didn’t want me.’

  He didn’t get a chance to answer as a midwife appeared with two porters hovering behind her and a huge smile on her face.

  ‘Ready to meet your little lady?’

  And even though there was so much to be said, so much that needed to be cleared up, Timothy was right. Now wasn’t the time.

  Someone else came first now.

  ‘Now, you know what to expect,’ the midwife checked as she kicked off the brakes. ‘I explained about all the tubes—’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Clara broke in, wiping her face with backs of her hands, excited and scared all at once as the bed slid down the hall.

  It took for ever to wash her hands, for the bell in the neonatal unit to be answered and the door to swing open, but finally she was being wheeled through and even though there must have been twenty cots, her eyes fixed only on one, tiny little tufts of red hair coming into focus as they pushed the bed up beside her.

  ‘She’s beautiful.’ The staff had moved the equipment enough so the bed could be pushed alongside the incubator. Leaning over, Clara was able to put her hand in, and never had something felt so sweet, so soft, so pure. Tiny little fingers that curled around Clara’s, her little chest moving up and down so fast, the soft down that covered her frowning forehead as her tiny closed eyelids moved rapidly.

  ‘Mummy’s here…’ Clara whispered gently. And even though it felt strange to say it, to believe that after all the
babies she’d delivered, all the newborns she’d held, this little one was actually hers. But the word came naturally from her lips, the gush of maternal love flowing so strong it made her catch her breath. Timothy’s hand was on her shoulders, holding her tight as she gazed on and on, and even though she couldn’t see him she could feel the love that emanated from him as he gazed upon his tiny daughter. ‘Daddy’s here, too,’ she added, as Timothy’s hand tightened on her shoulder. ‘And we both love you so very much.’

  ‘Have you chosen a name?’ the nurse asked as Clara gazed on, overwhelmed, terrified, exhausted but utterly devoted, and it was Timothy who spoke, his voice thick with emotion, breaking every now and then.

  ‘Not yet. We’re just getting used to the fact she’s here.’

  ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ the nurse said gently, moving into the background but constantly present, the baby just too tiny to allow for anything else.

  It was a lot to take in.

  And for a few days their relationship, or what was left of it, was put on the back burner as they concentrated instead on their daughter. Feeling every needle, every tube and every grimace as she struggled to hold on, to stay with a world she had joined too early.

  ‘I want to hold her.’ Clara’s dry eyes were no indicator of the pain behind her words and Timothy pulled her in closer, a cuddle all he could offer as the days ticked by into weeks.

  ‘Tomorrow perhaps,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘They said that yesterday.’ She could hear the mistrust in her voice, the gnawing panic that seemed to constantly snap at her, and she struggled to quash it.

  They were living in a tiny flat attached to the neonatal unit. Although living might be a slight exaggeration—existing perhaps a more apt word.

  Existing between visits to the unit, and long, long heart-stopping nights, praying for the phone not to ring…

  Dying a bit inside when it did.

  And no one could know, unless they had been there, the agony of those calls, the dash to the unit, washing your hands because you had to as staff rushed around behind those glass doors and struggled to get your baby through one more night. The lack of elation when the panic was over, just the cold fingers of fear as you wondered how much a tiny body could take, how long till this roller-coaster ride ended.

  ‘They know what they’re doing, Clara, you have to trust them.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And we have to start trusting each other.’

  Clara jerked her eyes up and shook her head. She had known this day was coming, knew there was so much to sort out, but she simply couldn’t deal with it now, her emotions so raw she simply couldn’t take any more pain and be expected to function.

  ‘We need to talk,’ Timothy said softly. ‘And if that’s too hard, then I’ll talk and you can listen.’

  Wearily she nodded, bracing herself for the impact as she stared down at her hands.

  ‘I can see why you don’t want to get married, and if you’d bothered to talk to me about it you’d have found out that I actually agree with you. I had a miserable childhood, endless silences followed by endless rows followed my endless silences. It never ended and to this day it still goes on. My parents only stayed together “for the sake of the children,” and frankly I wish they hadn’t bothered.’ She heard the quotation marks around his words, heard the pain behind them, and tears filled her eyes for what he must have been through. ‘The saddest part is, now that the children have finally grown up and left home, they’re still stuck with each other, too bitter and jaded to pluck up the courage to leave. So you see, Clara, I do understand where you’re coming from. I promised myself before I even knew what it really meant that if ever I married it would be the real thing, that if it wasn’t what we both wanted then it wasn’t worth doing.’

  He knelt down beside her, taking her pale shaking hands in his. ‘Even if we’re not together, though, it doesn’t mean I won’t be there for you both, it doesn’t mean I’m not going to be the best father I can be.’

  He was right, she knew that deep down, knew there was no point in living together if he didn’t really love her, but hearing him say it hurt like hell.

  ‘I love you, Clara. I have since the day I met you.’

  Startled, she looked up, her eyebrows furrowing as she begged a rewind on the previous conversation, her mouth opening to speak then closing again, sure she must somehow have misheard him, or more likely he was about to add a quick postscript: ‘As a sister’ perhaps or ‘as the mother of my child’. But what he said next utterly floored her

  ‘I just can’t be second best.’

  ‘You’re not,’ she croaked, then cleared her throat. ‘You never have been.’

  ‘Oh, Clara, you love Kell. Don’t try and deny it now. Every time I mentioned his name, tried to find out how you were feeling, you shut me out, Matthew went missing, and who did you turn to? Everywhere I go he seems to be there. Hell, I’m surprised he wasn’t the midwife on duty when you delivered.’

  A very watery smile wobbled on her lips, but it changed midway and she started to cry.

  ‘When Ross offered me the job I was so happy. I forgot we were supposed to be meeting at the pub and I raced over to the house and there were pictures all over the table, pictures of Kell, and I knew then I couldn’t do it, couldn’t keep pretending I was good enough, that I was what you wanted.’

  ‘You are what I want,’ Clara said. ‘I couldn’t talk about it because I thought I’d scare you off, and as for those pictures…He was getting married, Timothy. I was helping Shelly to put together some photos for Abby, and it didn’t hurt a bit, not one single bit. My life was perfect from the day you came to Tennengarrah to the day you left. I love you, Timothy, I always have.’

  ‘So why couldn’t you tell me?’ Timothy pushed. ‘Why couldn’t you just say it?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me.’ Screwing her eyes closed, she pulled her hands from his and covered her eyes, but he pulled them back down, cupping her face and forcing her to look.

  ‘Who hurt you, Clara?’ he rasped.

  ‘No one hurt me,’ she sobbed. ‘Everyone’s always been nice, but only because they had to be. I’m sick of being “poor Clara”, I’m tired of people asking me for Christmas dinner just because they know I don’t have a family, sick of the duty dances because they feel obliged—’

  ‘Clara.’ Timothy’s voice broke in. ‘They aren’t doing those things out of a sense of duty. Your parents died fifteen years ago. Hell, where I come from the casseroles and visits end after a couple of weeks, but even allowing for Tennengarrah being a bit more neighbourly, I think fifteen years is pushing things.

  ‘They love you, Clara. Not because of what happened but because of who you are. Good and kind and gentle. For the very same reasons that I love you.

  ‘Love you,’ he repeated, just so she could be absolutely sure she wasn’t hearing things. ‘I don’t want to marry you out of duty. Life’s too short for that. I want to be with you and only you, and I’m actually starting to believe that you might want to be with me. Can you see that now?’

  She couldn’t, not yet. He knew that, knew that her pain ran deep, and he held her close as he spoke.

  ‘You didn’t just lose your parents when you were fifteen,’ he said softly. ‘You lost that unconditional love that comes with it. Maybe I don’t have the best mum and dad in the world but, as much as I rant and moan, deep down I know that they love me. I knew that when I was sixteen and had the worst acne in the world and no one would even come near me. I knew that when the first of many girls dumped me and even when I’d wasted three years studying for a degree I’ll never use, as much as they berated me, they still loved me.

  ‘You never had that, did you?’ His eyes were brimming now. ‘The confidence that being loved gives you?’

  ‘Everyone was good…’ she started, but then she gave in. Cried for all she had lost, all those lonely, lonely nights and the horrible, horrible feeling of never
quite fitting in, never being quite good enough.

  And he held her, held her and rocked her and loved her until finally, as the shadows on the wall lengthened, the world suddenly didn’t seem such a lonely place, his strength, his touch giving her the confidence it took to say the three hardest words of her life.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you, too.’ Timothy kissed her salty cheeks, kissed her blonde eyelashes and held her tight. ‘I got up yesterday and I hated the world without you. Hated the fact I get up now the second the alarm goes off because it’s easier than lying in a bed without you, and I knew then that I had to talk to you. That’s why I rang, not because you were pregnant—I didn’t even know. And not because I felt obliged to, but because I love you and I don’t think I can make it without you.’ The ringing of the phone made them both jump, scared that somehow, because they hadn’t been concentrating for a moment, hadn’t been praying hard enough, their little girl might have slipped away.

  Timothy got there first, listening intently as Clara hovered anxiously, wringing her hands as he replaced the receiver. ‘What did they say? Is she all right?’

  ‘Better than all right.’ Timothy smiled. ‘Our baby needs a cuddle.’

  It was the sweetest moment of them all.

  With shaking hands Clara undid her blouse as the nurse gently instructed. ‘Your skin’s the best blanket of all.’

  And suddenly what she had yearned for, ached for was next to her now, the softest skin nuzzling in as the nurse wrapped a bunny rug around them, stepping back slightly as Timothy edged nearer, his camera ready, determined to capture this most precious moment. But in mid-shot he changed his mind and, putting the camera down, came over and held Clara, marvelling in the miracle they had created.

  ‘I’ll do the honours.’ The nurse smiled, picking up the camera. ‘One for the album.’

  Clara didn’t even look up as the photo was taken, her eyes never leaving her baby.

  ‘Some memento of your holiday, huh?’ Clara said softly as Timothy pulled them in closer.