Читать книгу Her Baby Out of the Blue - Алисон Робертс - Страница 8

SOMETHING was different.

Flipping open another set of patient notes that Mike handed her, Jane took a quick glance at her watch. It was 9 a.m. and they were well into their Saturday morning rounds that had started at 8. ICU had been covered and they were on their way around the ward. Not behind or ahead of themselves. Nothing important had been missed. Everything was the same as it always was.

Except it wasn’t. Something different, that shouldn’t be here at work, was making its presence felt, even though Jane couldn’t identify what it was. She tried to push the odd feeling of disquiet away. It was hardly surprising that life seemed slightly out of kilter this morning, given that she’d left a half-naked man and a baby in her apartment.

Well, not really half-naked. Dylan had been wearing those faded blue denim jeans and a singlet when she’d discovered him in her kitchen at 6 a.m. He had been mixing baby formula with one hand, his other arm occupied by holding Sophie, and he was making what had to be an awkward task look effortless.

Jane hadn’t heard the baby awaken. The apartment had been peaceful and disconcertingly normal when she’d shut herself in the bathroom for a shower. They must have just emerged from the small spare bedroom when Jane had found them. The baby’s fine dark hair had been almost as tousled as her uncle’s, but only Dylan had smiled at Jane. Sophie had taken one look and started wailing.

‘Coffee,’ Jane muttered—as she had done in response to the ear-splittingly loud noise that baby was capable of producing.

‘Sorry?’ Mike sounded startled. ‘You want…um…coffee?’

‘No.’ Jane gave her head a sharp shake. ‘Of course not. I…’ She glanced up from the notes she was holding into the door of the room they were standing outside, her brain finding an escape route with commendable speed. ‘Matthew’s parents are looking pretty tired, don’t you think? They might appreciate a coffee.’

Her registrar gave her a strange look. Jane ignored him and stepped briskly into the room where fifteen-month-old Matthew was standing in his cot, banging a plastic hammer on the top bar. His father was trying to read him a story and his mother, Sarah, was picking up toys that looked as though they had been flung from the cot.

Jane smiled. ‘I see Matthew’s feeling a lot better.’

Sarah’s smile chased much of the weariness from her face. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? He’s almost himself again.’

‘Did you get any sleep?’

‘Not much.’

‘We can let Matthew have a bit more freedom today. He’s doing exceptionally well, seeing as his surgery was only three days ago.’

‘What about the results?’ Matthew’s father had discarded the picture book. ‘Are they all in now?’

‘Most of them. They’ve confirmed the first results we obtained during the surgery. Matthew’s neuroblastoma is definitely Stage 1.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Sarah dropped the toys she was holding into the cot and responded automatically to her son’s raised arms and demanding chirps, scooping him up gently to hold him.

‘It’s the best we could have hoped for,’ Jane agreed. ‘We’ve managed to remove the tumour completely and there’s very few signs of any microscopic residual disease. Tests on the lymph nodes have all come back negative.’

Tears shone in Sarah’s eyes. ‘So he’s going to be all right?’

‘He’s low risk.’ Jane had to add a note of caution. ‘My part in his treatment is over for the moment. The paediatric oncology team will be in to see Matthew and talk to you very soon. They’ll be the ones to make any decisions about chemotherapy and any other treatments.’

‘So it could come back.’ Matthew’s father moved closer to his wife and son. He put his arm around Sarah. Matthew smiled and reached up with a chubby fist.

‘Dad dad dad,’ he said proudly.

‘The five-year survival rate for children with Stage 1 disease is seventy to ninety per cent,’ Jane told them, trying to sound upbeat. ‘We’re going to watch Matthew very carefully but the odds are good. Very good.’

But not good enough, judging by the fear Jane could still see in the eyes of Matthew’s parents.

She had seen that fear before. Many times. Jane specialised in dealing with patients like little Matthew who had needed surgery for childhood cancers. She was very good at what she did and she knew that her skills improved the odds for survival. Sometimes even provided a complete cure.

Yes, she was used to seeing that fear. Understanding it and reassuring people as much as possible.

But this time it was different.

Jane could not only see the fear and understand it. She could feel it. As if it were her own. As if it were Izzy and Josh standing there, holding Sophie, and she had just delivered a verdict on odds that didn’t sound so great if you turned them around and said that this baby had a ten to thirty per cent chance of not surviving.

This was what was different today.

Because her world had tipped and now included a baby she was connected to—whether she liked it or not— Jane was seeing her world through a new perspective.

A dangerous perspective. One that she had deliberately avoided. Yes, she was good at what she did but she intended to get a whole lot better. She couldn’t afford distraction or burnout and if she became too emotionally involved with her caseload, that was precisely what could happen.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t or didn’t empathise with her patients and their families, but Jane had to hang on to the clear, scientific perspective that enough distance could provide. She had to think like a doctor, not a parent.

She had always known that if she became a parent it had the potential to cloud her judgement. Colour her decisions. Leach a little more of her strength every time she had a difficult choice to make or a heartbreaking result.

She couldn’t be a parent.

Sophie seemed to know that, too, because she hated the sight of her, as she had demonstrated so ably again this morning. And that was a good thing. It would make sorting this situation so much easier. It was also good that the rest of this weekend was available to focus on doing exactly that.

Jane popped into the ward office before she left work a little after 11.30 a.m.

‘Sally? Thanks again for your help yesterday.’

‘My pleasure.’ The older nurse manager smiled at Jane. ‘What a wee poppet. It was a treat to have a healthy baby to play with for a while.’ She reached for the files Jane had put down on the side bench. ‘We tend to forget that most of the babies in the world are like her. Our perspective gets a little skewed, working in a place like this.’

‘Mmm.’ Jane had the disconcerting thought that Sally sensed the way her perception had been challenged that morning.

Had Sally touched on how paediatric doctors who were also parents coped? By being aware of that balance? Did they get to relieve some of the stress engendered by work by appreciating what was normal and healthy?

They still had to be too much in tune with how their patients’ parents felt, however, and that had to dilute the kind of focus you needed if you wanted to be exceptional in your field.

The way she intended to be.

Sally was slotting the files into the trolley in alphabetical order. ‘Did it get sorted?’ she queried. ‘The crisis that left you looking after Sophie?’

‘We’re working on it.’ Jane’s hesitation was only momentary. Sally had seen it all over the years, hadn’t she? She was motherly and wise. ‘The baby’s actually an orphan.’

‘Oh!’ Sally’s face creased in sympathy. ‘The poor wee mite!’