Читать книгу His Bundle of Love - Patricia Davids - Страница 9

Mick caught up with the baby as they wheeled her into the nearest elevator. Squeezing in beside them, he stared in amazement at Caitlin’s daughter. He’d never seen anything so tiny. Her head was no bigger than the palm of his hand; his little finger was thicker than her gangly legs, yet she was so complete. Downy, brown hair covered her head and miniature wrinkles creased her forehead above arching brows. She even had eyelashes! The tiny spikes lay curved against her cheek. Awed by the wonder of this new life, he gazed at her in fascination. Truly, here was one of God’s greatest creations.

Her delicate hands flew up and curled around the breathing tube taped in her mouth.

“No, honey, don’t pull on that,” a nurse chided as she pried the tiny fingers loose. “Hold Daddy’s hand instead,” she suggested with an encouraging smile.

Hesitantly, almost fearfully, Mick reached for the baby’s hand. Her thin fingers gripped his large, blunt one. Her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him and blinked, then her frown deepened into a scowl. An identical, miniature version of her mother’s, and Michael Aaron O’Callaghan fell hopelessly in love.

“She looks like her mom,” he said, surprised to hear the catch in his voice. He glanced at the woman beside him. “Will she be all right?”

“She has a very good chance, but there is a long road ahead of her, I’m afraid. I’m Dr. Wright. I’m one of the neonatologists on staff here. Her lungs are much too immature to work properly, so she’s going to need help. She’ll be placed on a ventilator once we reach the unit.” As she spoke, she continued rhythmically squeezing a small, gray bag that delivered oxygen to the baby. “Do you have a name for her?”

“Beth,” he answered, “or maybe Elizabeth. Her mother can tell you for sure. When can she come and see her?”

“We’ll be busy getting Beth admitted and stabilized for the next hour or so. I’d suggest you wait until then to bring Mom in.” The elevator doors slid open, and Mick followed them as they wheeled the baby across the hall and into the NICU.

A flurry of activity began as soon as they entered the large room. At first, it seemed like nurses were scurrying in all directions at once, but it quickly became apparent it was a controlled rush as Beth was placed on a larger bed, and hooked to a waiting ventilator. Within minutes, a jungle of wires, IV poles, tubing and oxygen hoses surrounded her.

Glancing around the room, Mick noted with amusement its peculiar mix of Mother Goose and science-fiction technology. Rows of flashing monitors and digital displays shared wall space with giant nursery-rhyme characters above the open beds and incubators. IV poles held bags of fluid, swaying mobiles and colorful toys.

Dr. Wright spoke as she worked. “We need to administer a medication directly into Beth’s lungs to help mature them and start some IVs.”

Mick interrupted, “What are her chances, honestly?”

“She weighs barely two pounds, and she looks to be about twenty-six weeks gestation, which means she was born fourteen weeks early. Her chances of survival are good if she doesn’t develop any serious complications. Only time will tell.”

After the excitement of Beth’s admission died down, the nurses let Mick sit beside her bed. He couldn’t get over how adorable she looked in spite of the tubes and wires. His heart warmed to her as he watched her with a sense of wonder and fascination. After a while, he glanced at the clock surprised to see how late it was. In the rush of events he had forgotten to call home.

“I’d better go and tell your mother how you’re doing. I know she’s worried.”

He took a last look at the little girl whose arrival had generated so much activity. “Goodbye, Beth. Be well,” he whispered, knowing he might never see her again. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, and he smiled. He took hold of her tiny hand. “May God grant you many years to live, for sure He must be knowing, the Earth has angels all too few, and heaven’s overflowing.”

A nurse across the bed smiled at him as she added medication to a bag of IV fluid. “Are you a poet?”

Sheepishly, he grinned. “It’s an old Irish blessing, something my mother always says as a kind of birthday wish.”

“It’s darling. I’ll write it out and put it on her bed. We like to keep personal things by the babies, like toys or photos. Things that help the families connect with their baby.”

She reached out and patted his arm. “I’m Sandra Carter. Try not to worry, Irish. She’s a fighter, I can tell.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Hold out your hand.” He did and she fastened a hospital wristband around his arm. “You’ll need this to get back in.”

He fingered the white strip of plastic without comment. He was here under false pretenses, but only because Caitlin had insisted. Still, that didn’t quite ease his conscience.

After making his way back to the E.R., he halted on the threshold of the room where he’d left Caitlin. It was empty.

Out at the main desk, Mick spoke to the heavyset woman seated behind it. “Excuse me. Can you tell me where they’ve taken the woman who just had a baby here?”

“The patient’s name?” she asked in a bored voice, continuing to write on the paper in front of her.

“Caitlin Williams.”

She laid down her pen, then shuffled through the charts beside her. She located one, flipped it open, then gave him a startled look. “Let me get Dr. Reese to speak with you.”

She hoisted her bulk out of the chair and opened a door behind her. “Doctor, there’s someone here asking about the Williams woman.”

The unease Mick felt intensified when the grave-looking doctor emerged from the doorway. “Are you family?” he asked.

“No. I’m—a friend. Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so. Ms. Williams has developed a rare complication of pregnancy called amniotic fluid embolus.”

“What does that mean?”

Drawing a deep breath, the doctor continued, “It means during her delivery, some of the amniotic fluid got into her blood stream. Once there, it traveled up through her heart and lodged in her lung preventing her from getting enough oxygen. That stopped her heart.”

“She’s dead?” Mick struggled to grasp the man’s words.

“No,” Dr. Reese admitted slowly. “We were able to restart her heart. Ms. Williams is on a ventilator now, but she hasn’t regained consciousness. The lack of oxygen can cause profound brain damage, and the embolus can cause uncontrollable bleeding problems. Her condition is extremely serious. She’s unlikely to survive.”

Unlikely to survive? The phrase echoed inside Mick’s head, filling him with a profound sadness. Caitlin was so young. She had a baby who needed her. What would happen to Beth now?

He raked a hand through his hair. “I should have stayed with her. I knew something wasn’t right.”

“I heard her tell you to go with the baby,” the doctor said gently. “These patients often have an overwhelming sense of doom. She knew, and she chose to have you stay with her child. She’s a very brave young woman.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the clerk spoke up. “Doctor, you’re needed in room six.”

He nodded, then looked at Mick. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more,” he said, then hurried away.

“Are you Mick O’Callaghan?” the clerk asked. Mick nodded. The woman pushed several sheets of paper toward him and offered him a pen. “We need you to fill out these forms, and I’ll need a copy of your insurance card.”

“My insurance card? For what?”

“For your baby.”

“No, you don’t understand. Beth isn’t mine.”

“According to Caitlin Williams, she is,” the clerk said smugly.

Just then, Sandra and two other NICU nurses rounded the corner and walked past. “Hey, Irish,” Sandra said with a bright smile. “I’m glad I ran into you. My shift is over, but I’ll be back in the morning. Your daughter’s doing fine, but you need to leave us a phone number. We overlooked that detail in the rush of her admission.”

She started to leave, but stopped and turned. “Oh, I wrote out your mother’s blessing and taped it to Beth’s bed. Several other parents have asked for a copy of it. I hope you don’t mind.” She waved and followed her friends out the door.

“It seems a lot of people think she’s your baby,” the clerk said with a smirk.

It took a call to his attorney to convince the woman that unless Mick himself had signed the paternity papers, he had no legal responsibility for the child—something Mick suspected she knew already. After that, he called home to make sure his mother was all right. Surprisingly, his mother’s friend and part-time nurse Naomi answered the phone.

“It’s about time you called,” she scolded.

“I know. I had to take someone to the hospital. I’m glad you could stay. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.”

“I can watch my favorite TV shows here as well as at home. Besides, your mother is good company.”

“How is she today?”

“Determined to get up and clean house even with her arm in a cast. I knew it was a mistake for that doctor to take her ankle brace off. The woman has less sense than you.”

“Keep her down even if you have to sit on her. And tell her I’ll be home in a hour or so.”

Knowing that his mother wasn’t alone was a relief. After hanging up, he went in search of Caitlin. At the medical ICU, a nurse led him to Caitlin’s room. He paused in the doorway. A single bed occupied the small room. He stepped next to it and rested his hands on the cold metal rails.

She looked utterly helpless lying with the sheets neatly folded under her arms and her hands at her sides. A thick, white tube protruded from her mouth connecting her to a ventilator. The soft hiss it made as it delivered each breath made it sound as though the machine had a life of its own. Like a mechanical monster, it crouched there controlling her fate. One breath. She still lived. Another breath. She still lived.

Someone had combed her hair. It made her look younger, sweeter. The hard edges of streetwise homelessness didn’t show now, only the face of a lovely young woman.

He had promised her that everything would be all right, but he hadn’t been able to keep that promise.

The world wasn’t full of happy endings; his job, if not his personal life, had taught him that long ago. Only sometimes, like now, when God’s plan was hidden from view, he had trouble accepting things which seemed so unfair. Saddened beyond measure, he turned away knowing he could do nothing except keep her in his prayers.

After taking a cab home, he opened his front door and Nikki, his elderly golden retriever, met him with a wagging tail. Mick stooped to ruffle one silky ear. She licked his hand once then padded back to her bed in front of the fireplace, lay down and watched him across the room with calm, serious eyes. He sank onto the sofa and rubbed his hands over his weary face. The clock on the mantel began to chime midnight. He had to be on duty in less than seven hours. He considered pulling the throw over himself and just sleeping where he was, but decided against it. Instead, he rose to his feet and climbed the stairs with Nikki at his heels.

He glanced down the hall and saw that a light still shone from under his mother’s door. He walked to the end of the corridor and rapped lightly on the thick oak panel. At her muffled answer, he eased the door open.

Elizabeth O’Callaghan was sitting up in bed reading by the light of a lamp on the bedside stand. She was dressed in a simple cotton robe of pale blue that matched her sharp eyes behind her bifocals. Her long white hair hung over a thick plaster cast covering her left arm from elbow to wrist, the result of her auto accident. Around her neck she wore a small gold chain and simple gold cross that glinted in the light when she moved.

She once told him that the cross had come all the way from Ireland with her mother. Like her own mother, Elizabeth O’Callaghan had spent her life praying for the less fortunate. And she hadn’t stopped with simply praying for them.

After his father’s death, Mick’s mother had worked to raise her own children and then went on to help other young women who were alone in the world. Mercy House had been her idea. Her work, her heart and soul had started it. With the help of several women and the local pastor, her work still went on. Mick’s heart swelled with love and pride when he thought of all she had accomplished. The Lord gave her a strong will, and she used it to help serve Him.

“Hi, Mom. How’s the arm feeling?”

“Not too bad.” She wiggled her fingers for his benefit.

“Has Naomi gone?”

“She helped me with my bath then I sent her home. I’m better now. I don’t need a sitter around the clock. A few more weeks and I’ll be able to move back to my own apartment.”

“You can move back when your doctor gives you the okay and not before.”

“I’ve put you out long enough. A man your age shouldn’t be saddled with caring for a feeble old woman. You should be looking to get saddled with a pretty young woman.”

“Where am I going to find one prettier than you?”

She grinned at him, laid her book aside and patted the mattress beside her. “You can’t sidetrack me with flattery. I’ve been waiting up for you. What kept you? Naomi said you had to rush someone to the hospital. Come here and tell me everything.”

She sounded like a schoolgirl eager for gossip. He crossed the room in a few long strides and bent to kiss her cheek. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere and neither are you until you tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, young man.” She grasped his arm and tugged until he sat on the bed.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Okay. I was on my way home from Mercy House when an old bum stopped me to help deliver a baby, but we got the mother to the hospital first, and since the baby weighed only two pounds she had to go to intensive care, and the mother asked me to go with the baby and I did, only while I was gone she told everyone I was the baby’s father before she lapsed into a coma. Any questions?”

His mother’s eyes were wide with stunned surprise. “About a million. Why don’t you start at the top and go more slowly.”

He grinned and repeated the story with as many of the details as he knew, stopping often to answer her questions. At the end of his tale, he met her sad, concerned gaze and wished he hadn’t shared quite so much.

“This woman really doesn’t have anyone we can notify?”

“Not as far as I know. It’s the only reason I can think of why she would say I’m the father.”

“That poor woman. And that poor little baby. Thank goodness you were there for them. Is there any chance the mother will recover?”

“The doctor didn’t think so. I’m not Beth’s father but I can’t stand thinking of someone so tiny being all alone in the world. Frankly, I’m not sure what to do.”

“Why, you do the right thing! And don’t be telling your mother that you don’t know what that is,” she declared. “I raised you better than that.”

Mick rose and wished her good-night. On the way back to his room he considered her words. This time I really don’t know what the right thing is. I need Your guidance, Lord. What is it that You want me to do?

He got ready for bed and lay down, but sleep wouldn’t come. Each time he closed his eyes he saw Caitlin’s face. He saw her eyes wide with relief when he’d followed Eddy into her room, and he saw them filled with fear for her baby. Such beautiful eyes, closed perhaps forever, yet repeated in miniature, along with her fearsome scowl, in her daughter’s tiny face.

He barely knew the woman, but he kept hearing her voice. “Stay with Beth. Watch over her for me.” It was the last thing Caitlin had said to him.

Had she sensed that she was dying? Had she been asking him for something more? Was that why she told them he was the father? So her baby girl wouldn’t be left alone?

Mick threw back the quilt and sat up on the side of his bed. The light from a full moon cast a glow into the room. Rising, he crossed to the window. Nikki watched him from her spot at the foot of the bed, but she didn’t bother to get up.

Pulling the curtains aside, he looked out the second-story window of his home and stared at the shadows of the trees in the park behind his property. It was deserted now, but during the day it would be filled with neighborhood children playing on the swings and slides. On nearby benches, smiling young mothers would follow their play with watchful eyes.

Yet across that park and the railroad yards beyond it, there existed a world those happy children would only know in passing or see on TV. It was a world of intense poverty, where children played in filthy streets and lived in crowded, run-down apartments if they were lucky enough to have a home at all, and where mothers seldom smiled because they worried about where the next meal would come from.

Caitlin came from those streets. If she lived, she’d go back there and take little Beth with her. But if Caitlin died, where would her child go? Into foster care until she was old enough to run away and end up like her mother? Or would she be one of the lucky ones playing in a park like this?

He let the curtain fall back into place. None of the children in the park would ever be his. Facing that fact was more painful tonight than it had ever been. Perhaps because, for a moment, when Beth had grasped his finger and gazed up at him, he had known what it felt like to be a father.

He raked his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t responsible for Caitlin or her child, yet somehow the two of them had captured a piece of his heart. He felt connected to them. It wasn’t right that they were alone. They needed someone to care about them. They needed him. Before he could change his mind, he crossed the room to the closet where he pulled on a gray wool cable-knit sweater, a pair of jeans and his sneakers, then he headed out the door.

A fine mist fell as he drove down the dark streets. The swish-swish of his wiper blades was almost mesmerizing. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Wondering if he was being a fool, he hurried out of the rain and through the emergency room doors.

At the NICU he showed his wristband, and a nurse answered his questions. Beth was doing as well as could be expected. She invited him in, but he declined. He needed to see Caitlin.

When he entered the ICU and reached her room, he hesitated at the door. What did he hope to accomplish here? Maybe nothing. He pulled a chair up beside her bed. Reaching through the rail, he took hold of her hand.

“Caitlin, it’s Mick,” he said softly, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Glancing at the array of machines and blinking lights around her, he sighed. He didn’t know if she could hear him. But if she could, he wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone. He began to talk about her baby.

“We’re calling her Beth for now. She weighs only two pounds. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but she really is a cute, little thing. She looks like you, I think—except kind of scrawny. She has brown hair with a touch of red,” he added and smiled. “I don’t suppose you’re part Irish, are you?”

His words died away in the dimness of the room, and only the sound of the ventilator continued. One breath. One breath.

What should he say? What would a young mother clinging to life want to know about her child? What would he want to know if it were him? His grip on her hand tightened.

“Your baby is doing fine. The nurses are great. They really seem to care about her. One of them called her a fighter. I guess that means she’s going to take after you.”

He studied the small hand he held in his large one. Her fingers were long and delicate, but some of her nails were short and ragged. Did she chew them? He knew so little about her, yet she had entrusted him with her baby.

“Girl, do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me? I don’t know why you told them I was the baby’s father, unless you thought you weren’t going to make it. But I’m not her father, although—well, although I wish I were. She needs her mother—she needs you. You’ve got to hold on.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He bowed his head and sought comfort for himself and for her in the words he knew so well. “Our Father, Who art in heaven…”

Lost in a strange darkness, Caitlin searched for a way out. She had to find her baby. She didn’t want her daughter to know the terrible, gut-wrenching fear of being left alone—of wondering what she had done that was so bad her own mother would leave her. That was the one promise Caitlin meant to keep. No, she wouldn’t leave her baby—not ever.

Pain came again, deep inside her chest. She cried out, but no sound formed in her mouth. Perhaps it was her heart breaking because she missed her baby so. She tried to move her arms but she couldn’t. Something or someone held her eyes closed.

A faint voice called her name, and Caitlin struggled to listen. Her baby was fine, the voice said. Had she really heard those words? Joy filled her.

She listened closely. She knew this voice. It was a man’s voice. He was praying. The sound of his deep, caring voice saying those simple words brought a sense of comfort unlike anything she had never known.

Then the pain struck again and she began to choke. Somewhere, a shrill alarm sounded.