I arrived about half an hour after your mother’s admission and remained there until two hours ago. For me—the last two and a half days have been a fi ngertip hold on the precipice of Purgatory. For you—reading your e-mails, I can only imagine it was a plunge into Hell itself.
I am so, so sorry. For not replying. For not answering your pleas.
For not assuaging your fear. You asked if you had done something wrong? The only person guilty of wrongdoing in all of this is yours truly.
*
Adam withdrew his fi ngers from the keyboard and studied the unfi nished sentence on screen. He had no excuses. There were PCs at the hospital; technology that could have been accessed with a request or an appeal or a beg. He could’ve
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continued ‘The Umbilical Word’ dialogue if he’d wanted to.
He’d justifi ed not wanting to.
What if there was no message from B? Meeting Maddy’s eye would be nigh impossible. As it was, he had hardly spoken to her (What words could possibly be said? ‘It’ll be alright’? ‘It may not happen this time’? ‘There are others worse off than us’?) and holding her hand was all the usefulness he’d been able to muster from memory. In light of such token support, how could he then refuse to look at her? Abandon the courage required to glimpse the dagger lodged in her soul? What help could he possibly be if every meaningless object in the room became necessary distractions to his wife’s tears? He had to be strong. For Maddy’s sake, he would stay with her and ignore the Inbox.
It had been a lie. He’d been afraid. Weak. He’d chosen silence because he hadn’t wanted his own pain—a pittance next to his child’s, a speck of dust next to his wife’s—to return.
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
…Please forgive me, B. I will not let you down again.
*
From: “Tin Lid”
It’s okay.
I think I let you down, too, Dad—I should’ve trusted you more. This was an opportunity to learn trust, you know?
I’ve learned a lesson.
I won’t doubt you again, Dad.
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*
Adam closed his mail, exited ‘The Umbilical Word’ fi le and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his polo shirt.
Had he learned a lesson, too?
He knew this much—no one could be blamed for what was occurring. Maddy, in accordance with History’s precedent, would continue to beat herself up over things that should or should not have been done. But she wasn’t responsible. An event like this was beyond anyone’s control. An event like this was their opportunity to learn trust.
Faith was the requirement. Faith in the masterplan, in Destiny.
Faith in their child.
Adam headed for bed, sleep now a necessary chore. Dawn Marks would be swinging by the hospital at seven thirty in the morning and he wanted to be there at least twenty minutes early. Maddy had gone to Galbraith because Dawn insisted she go, but since being admitted she had point blank refused to let any doctor touch her; their arguments for scans and tests and common sense bouncing off her like rubber bullets.
And now, after three days, Adam sensed she was starting to feel vindicated. The bleeding, the ‘spotting’, the scourge, was not worsening—perhaps might’ve even thinned a little—and Dawn’s examinations had not unearthed additional causes for alarm.
He wasn’t about to second-guess Maddy’s freeze out of the establishment but a thawing couldn’t be entirely discounted. He recalled a doctor by the name of Samantha Pole dropping by twice yesterday, each time free of judgement and wearing kid gloves. Given the bedside manner of some of the practitioners in their experience (approaches that approximated a vulture standing over roadkill), they were welcome visitations. And the head nurse suggested they might continue for the duration of Maddy’s stay. However long that duration might be.
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“Let’s make it one more day only, little B,” murmured Adam, turning the bedside light out and rolling over into unoccupied bedspace that felt like barren earth. “Those tiny legs and arms you’re now growing—twist ‘em, turn ‘em, lift
‘em, shake ‘em…show everyone you’re strong. And then Mum can come home.”
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12
“C an I go home now?”
Dawn Marks instructed Maddy to pull her shirt down, sat back and placed her hands in her lap. Her eyes were more bulbous then ever, seemingly ready to leap from their sockets.
“On the whole, how are you feeling?”
“Bit funny.”
“Pain?” asked the attentive, white-coated woman at the foot of the bed.
“No.”
“Bad funny?” asked Adam.
“No. Not bad bad. Sort of squirmy.” Maddy sat up a little straighter and cast a contemptuous eye at the breakfast tray.
“Probably that atrocious excuse for an omelette they gave me for breakfast.”
The midwife addressed the woman in the white coat.
“Still stable you think, Doctor Pole?”
Doctor Samantha Pole—graduate of UQ and resident gynaecologist of Galbraith Private Hospital for three years—
tugged at her earlobe and nodded once. “From what evidence we’ve got, yes.”
“So how long do I have to stay in this quackhouse then?”
Adam noted the folded arm wrap Maddy had clamped across the small swell of her tummy. It was like an amulet, warding off evil hospital spirits and stethoscope-brandishing demons.
“A little while yet,” replied the midwife. “I know you don’t think so, but you need this place right now, Madeline.
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It’s a ‘B and B’—‘Bed and Bed’! Off your feet for everything bar powdering the nose. Those tiny things you thought risky but couldn’t help doing when you were at home alone on the couch? They’re irrelevant now. Someone else is doing them. The getting the glass of water and the extra blanket.
And the lovely omelette!” She squeezed her patient’s hand.
“And besides, you wouldn’t want to insult Doctor Pole’s hospitality!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you wouldn’t be here but for Doctor Pole. She’s taken you on as a patient, even though I’m the one examining you.”
“But for her, you would’ve been drop-kicked out of Galbraith on Friday,” added Adam.
“Oh no! How awful!” Maddy stared her husband
down, then made eye contact with the medico. “I guess I should thank you then.” She extended a hand. The other arm remained steadfast against her abdomen. “Thank you, Doctor Pole.”
The gynaecologist smiled and accepted, matching Maddy’s fi rm business-like grip. “No problem. And you can call me Sam if it’s more comfortable for you.”
After arranging follow-up appointments, the carers departed. Adam sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Doctor Pole’s being very good about this, isn’t she?” he said. “It can’t be good for her professional standing to be seen twiddling her thumbs whilst an outsider runs the show.
I’m pretty sure the Registrar would consider her borderline negligent.”
Maddy pressed the TV remote. “That arrogant bastard considers me over-the-borderline psycho.”
*
“So what’s going to happen at school tomorrow?”
Adam closed the tabloid magazine he’d bought ( Australia’s 25 Most Inane People) and looked at his watch. Visiting hours
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were almost over. He brought his chair bedside, took up Maddy’s hand and stroked her fi ngers.
“I think it’ll be ugly,” he con
fi ded. “I told The Sarge what was going on when I left on Thursday. He would’ve briefed the Science staffroom on Private O’Doherty’s reasons for going AWOL and no doubt it’s spread from there. I hope so anyway. Save re-living every little detail.” He began massaging her palm. “Mad, people are probably going to ask about…visiting. What’s your feeling…”
The pampered hand clenched.
“Visitors? Yes. I think visitors should come.”
“Babe, you’re crushing my fi ngers.”
“They should see that there is no reason for concern.
There isn’t any reason for concern, is there?”
“Well…not much. Not as it relates to our child’s situation anyway.”
“They should see that everything is under control. Yes?”
“Babe, the fi ngers.”
“Visitors must come. Must…come.”
Adam was taken aback. Not by Maddy’s death grip, but by her tone. The anger and sadness of the fi rst few days had been replaced by fl int-hard determination. The warrior mentality of his wife was hardly a novelty—six years of battling History had seen it called upon numerous times—but he couldn’t recall ever observing this level of instant resolve.
Her brown eyes were like primed fi sts. Her elf ears were sunburn red. The contracted muscles of her jaw had become the standout feature of a once open and inviting face.
Magic Maddy appeared...immovable.
He felt sorry for the prospective visitors. Tradition suggested they should be sources of joy or, at the very least, temporary escape. Tonics for the mind and spirit. The Maddy cum Terminator accepting their cards and fl owers would regard them as a necessary endurance, much like a learner driver test or a prostate exam. It was a tough ask.
Given these prevailing conditions, Adam doubted whether anyone would relish dropping by 4C.
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After all, who would want to be tagged as the medicine rather than the honey?
*
“I don’t care if she’s grumpy, Ad. I have to visit her. It’s my penance.”
Adam paused in his ‘Grateful Guest’ sink duty, holding a handful of sudsy cutlery, waiting for a punchline. There wasn’t one. He looked toward hubby. Boyd pressed the lid down on some Tupperware, allowing the patented freshness burp to provide his response.
“I think I might’ve jinxed her, Ad,” continued Jenna. “You know, with that note.”
“The note.”
“Yes. Starting it with ‘I’M NOT PREGNANT!’…that might be the reason why Maddy’s in hospital. Maybe it jinxed her or put a curse on her...or something…stop looking at me like that!”
“Voodoo infl uence aside, you never gave it to me, Sweetheart! She never read it!”
“I’m not sure it matters. The fact that it was written at all…you know? It puts negative energy out there, out into the world. It’s like that Indian saying Dilip told me one time: ‘The farmer that sows bad seeds gets…crap crops’…or something. The way he said it was much more profound.”
Jenna slumped down into an armchair and slapped the open TV guide down onto her face.
“Pregnancy is one of God’s great miracles,” she said, her sad voice emanating from the cover mug of Eddie McGuire.
“If you don’t treat it with the respect it deserves, there’s hell to pay.”
Five minutes later, on the stroke of nine-thirty, Jenna Grimson meandered off to bed.
“She’s not feeling the best lately,” confi ded Boyd over one for the road. “She might even give school the swerve tomorrow.”
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Adam fervently hoped she might see fi t to swerve Maddy as well.
*
From: “Tin Lid”
I’m stressing about Mum. I sensed recently that she was changing and, at the time, I thought the change was for the better. But listening today, her voice is, like, totally foreign to my ears. Low.
Measured. Hard. Like a heartbeat, but hollow.
I heard plenty of it when Mum had her fi rst visitor today.
In the lead-up, Mum and Doctor Pole—‘Sam’—were discussing an apparent epidemic of something known as ‘Wardrobe Malfunction’.
Then he came by…
*
“Ms O’Doherty, it is in the best interest of all that you have a psych evaluation.”
Maddy held a hand up toward Sam Pole, waylaying the gynaecologist’s retort. She poured a glass of water and drank. She held the last mouthful for a few seconds—
sloshing it around, cheeks distended—then gulped it down.
The Registrar continued:
“Ms O’Doherty, it is my opinion that you are demonstrating signs of emotional instability and depression, perhaps even paranoia. I’ve set up a referral for you with a fi ne psychiatrist here at Galbraith, Doctor Thornquist. He will provide a clearer picture of your mental state. He might also be able to help you with some medication. That will certainly-”
“It’s Doctor Mitchell, right?”
Despite his preparedness for battle, the Registrar fl inched.
A small tug on the tartan bow-tie and a jut of the chin restored his composure. “That’s right, yes.”
“Doctor Mitchell, you ever wanted something with all your soul?”
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“It is not in your best interest---”
“You must have, surely.”
“This has no relevance---”
“Maybe a Gold Coast penthouse? A Mercedes?”
“Ms O’Doherty-”
“Maybe a six under par round of golf at Royal Brisbane?
Or a hole-in-one at Royal Brisbane? Or maybe both! Yes, a hole-in-one in your six under par round of golf at Royal Brisbane!”
The Registrar pivoted on his heel, stopped, turned back again. “It’s Royal Queensland, for God’s sake!” he blurted.
“Royal Queensland!”
Maddy drank more water.
“Of course it is,” she said. “Now, Doctor Mitchell, in the pursuit of these most worthy of ambitions, if you were to, say, throw your sticks around or swear at your ball, if you were driven to park one of Royal Brisbane’s little motorised carts in the lake or in the clubhouse when it seemed you would come up short of your goal, then the last person you would want in your face would be me. Why? Ask me.”
The Registrar cast a pleading glance in his colleague’s direction. A smirking Sam Pole held up a glass of water.
“Go on. Ask me. Don’t be-”
“Okay, why? Why would you be the last person I would want…in my face?”
Maddy adjusted the pillow behind her back. “Because I’ve never picked up a golf stick in my life.”
The Registrar held his hands up. “Is there a point to this diatribe?”
“The point is, Bruce,” interjected Sam, “She won’t be seeing the psychiatrist. As Maddy’s overseeing physician, I believe there is no need for anything beyond her current care.”
A momentary pause was ended by a sharp huff of breath.
Florsheim footsteps commenced, trailed off, gave way to the loud ‘gatump!’ of the door.
“He should pay a visit to Doctor Thornquist,” said Maddy, nodding empathetically. “He might be able to help him with
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some medication.”
Sam Pole laughed. “No chance with the wardrobe.”
*
From: “Tin Lid”
…Dad, I get the feeling Doctor Pole is more than just a cool person helping someone in need. I think she understands the change in Mum.
Have you noticed the change? Is it freaking you at all?
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
: “Tin Lid”
Don’t worry, B. The change is temporary and it is for the best. Mum is just being extra protective, making sure you are getting the highest quality care whilst dealing with some diffi cult circumstances.
*
I wish you could have spent some time with me this evening. Dinner was with the very understanding couple of Sandy and Kelly Clark this evening. Without asking me, they clued into the very thing we need right now—optimism. No talk of hospitals or hard times. Just of things getting better and a trouble-free run home.
And whispering…
“I’ve bought a book, Ed.” Kelly retrieved a sky blue paperback from the lavatory and handed it to Adam.
“The Secrets of the Baby Whisperer. You bought this?”
“When you want us to mind your little tyke,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “we’ll be up to speed.”
Adam observed Sandy taking the Glad Wrap off a plate of mini caramel tarts. “You’re reading this, too?”
“No, I prefer ‘Wheels’ magazine.”
“Don’t listen to her, Ed,” warned Kel. “She’s dead keen to mind your bub as well.”
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Sandy planted a tart in her husband’s mouth and resumed her seat. “If Michael Jackson’s unavailable, we’ll be only too willing to fi ll in.”
Adam turned the book over, noting the promotional pitch:
‘…reassuring, down-to-earth and often fl ying in the face of conventional wisdom’. Summed up his hosts to a tee.
“So, they were all out of The Secrets of the Muffi n Whisperer, then?” he asked.
“Totally. Here, look at the subtitle— How to Calm, Connect and Communicate with Your Baby. Communicate!” Kelly scoffed. “Dunno what advice she’s gonna have for that!”
“Maybe you write them e-mails.”
“Nah. Text ‘em on the mobile. They’re all being born with giant thumbs these days.”
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
…No swerving permitted here—Sandy and Kel are a must to visit Maddy. Just the sort of folk she needs to have around right now.
And speaking of the sort of folk Mum needs, I just got off the phone with her family in Canada. You’ll love them—Mirna and Dom’s smiling, furniture consignment store faces; Uncle Jake’s yellow ‘Cool Bus’
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