West Wing to Maternity Wing!(24)

He lifted his head. 'Where the hell is that ambulance?'





CHAPTER EIGHT

LINCOLN shifted his position, his aching limbs objecting to the firm  hard-backed chair. Was it possible his body was getting used to no  sleep?

A little grunt came from under his chin. Baby Carson wriggled in the  strip of cloth currently cocooning him against Lincoln's bare chest. It  was almost as if the baby could hear the steadying beat of Lincoln's  heart and was trying to get closer to it. He could feel the heat from  his body wrap around the little figure, currently nestled under his  shirt. He, better than anyone, knew that kangaroo care offered a huge  range of benefits for pre-term babies-normalising temperature, heart and  respiratory rate, decreasing stress, reducing risks of infection and  promoting earlier discharge for premature babies. As a neonatologist he  was a huge advocate for the technique. But he'd never actually done it  himself. He'd never actually been the one sitting in the dead of night  with a three-pound baby strapped to his chest. He swallowed the lump in  his throat. He had to do this. He had to do this for Amy.

Cassidy Yates touched his shoulder. 'How you doing, Linc?' She sat down  in the chair next to him, her blonde hair pulled backwards in a bun, her  eyes lined and tired.

He moved forward to speak, but a little squeak from the baby made him  shift back to his original position. 'Is something wrong?' His voice was  strained. Please let Amy be okay.

Cassidy shook her head. 'There's no change, Linc. She still hasn't woken  up.' Cassidy gave a sigh. 'It's only been forty-eight hours.' A tight  smile appeared on her face. 'She'll wake up today. I know she will.'

The words hung in the air between them. Both of them hoping they'd be true.

Lincoln brushed his hand against hers. 'This is my fault, Cassidy, not  yours. I was the one who took her out to dinner. I was the one she got  into a fight with. I didn't even realise she had any other symptoms.' He  moved his hand back and ran it through his hair. 'If I'd been paying  enough attention … '

'Stop it, Linc. I was her obstetrician. I should have admitted her.'

Lincoln shook his head. 'But why? You'd monitored her every day. There  had been no change in her symptoms. What reason could you have for  admitting her?'

Cassidy sighed. 'Good old-fashioned instinct. I knew this wasn't going to turn out well. I let Amy down.'

Lincoln looked at the little bundle under his chin. He reached up and  stroked a gentle finger across the top of the baby's soft fontanel. The  first few sprigs of dark hair were just starting to appear.

Cassidy leaned forward in her chair, staring at Linc with her weary  eyes. 'I told her to phone me as soon as any other symptoms appeared.  How long did she have that headache, Linc? Why didn't she phone me?'

Because of me. Guilt tightened across his chest. Cassidy hadn't slept in  the last two days. She was worried sick. She felt guilty-as if she'd  made a mistake. But she hadn't. He had.

Deep down he knew why Amy hadn't phoned. She hadn't been focusing on her  symptoms. She'd been fixated on the fact that she thought something was  happening between Lincoln and Cassidy. She'd been jealous. And it had  affected her relationship with her obstetrician.

Lincoln cringed. He couldn't believe it had come to this.

Seeing Amy lying on the floor of the restaurant, seizing, had been the  single most terrifying moment of his life. Never had a five-minute  ambulance journey seemed so long.

And the E.R. events that had followed had felt like an out-of-body  experience. For once, he hadn't been in control. He'd watched as they'd  put her on monitors, inserted IVs and catheters, and stabilised her.  Once the seizure had been under control, a quick confab with Cassidy and  the anaesthetist had resulted in a rapid trip to Theatre and an  emergency Caesarean section.         

     



 

Two hours after he'd brought her in her son had been screaming in his gloved hands in the operating room.

And then he'd made the biggest decision of his life. Because that's when it hit him. Like a lightning bolt. He loved her.

And he couldn't be the baby's doctor. No matter what he'd promised Amy, he couldn't be the neonatologist her child needed.

He'd too much emotional investment in this. And it would ruin his objectivity.

Yes, he could stand on the sidelines and discuss clinical decisions with  the surrounding physicians but he had to step back. He had to take  himself out of the equation. Because he didn't feel like a doctor around  Amy's son. He felt like a parent.

But the one thing Amy had asked him to do was be her son's doctor. And chances were she would never forgive him.

Cassidy stood up again. 'I'm going back to ICU. She's going to wake up  today. I want to be there.' Her voice was steady and determined, but  Lincoln didn't know if she was trying to convince him or herself.

His hands cradled the little baby next to his chest. In most cases  kangaroo care was carried out by the mother. But in this case, while Amy  was unavailable, it seemed the most natural thing for him to be doing.

But he'd had no idea it would feel like this. The feel of the tiny  translucent skin against his, the feeling of the little body warming  against his, had swamped him. All this time he'd only really thought  about Amy. He hadn't really brought her son into the equation. And now  he was here, front and centre, and for the first time in his life  Lincoln hadn't been able to distance himself into professional mode. He  hadn't been able to sit on the sidelines and watch. He'd had to make  sure he was in the middle of it all. No one else was allowed to carry  out care for the baby.

And it would be easy right now to pretend this was all about guilt, and  that he felt he owed it to Amy to look after her little boy. If that was  how he felt, he could have stayed in doctor mode, in clinical mode, and  done the best job that he could. But it wasn't how he felt. He could  see Amy in this baby. And all the feelings he felt for her, whether he'd  vocalised them or not, seemed to be intensified into this tiny body.  Who could have known it could feel like this?

He'd often heard parents talk about being swamped by their feelings. But  he'd never experienced it. Not like this. And he couldn't even begin to  explain it. He had no genetic connection to this child. He had no  parental rights. Amy could wake up today and tell him she never wanted  to see him again. And he knew all of that. But it didn't change how he  felt.

He shifted the little feeding tube currently taped to the side of the  baby's nose. Amy had wanted to breastfeed her baby, so they'd used some  of the breast milk available in the NICU, but so far Junior hadn't  responded to cup feeding or finger feeding and with a premature baby  time was of the essence, so they'd had to resort to placing a small tube  down into his stomach. So every few hours Lincoln got a small syringe  and fed Amy's son tiny amounts of breast milk. Anything to help him.

'Okay, Junior, let's get you back inside your incubator for a while. I need to go and see your mommy.'

He glanced down at his rumpled clothes-the same shirt and jeans he'd  been wearing when Amy had seized in the restaurant two days ago. He  really needed to get changed.

Lincoln placed the baby carefully back inside the incubator, pulling a  little blue hat over his head. He checked the chart hanging at the end  of the crib. Baby Carson was actually doing quite well. His weight at  three pounds eight ounces was good, and gave him a ninety-five per cent  survival rate. The steroids had obviously done their job of maturing his  lungs and he'd come out screaming and breathing on his own. There had  only been a few incidences when he'd tried to feed that his oxygen  saturation had dropped. And since he'd had the tube put down, there had  been none.

The little guy had fighting spirit. Now, if only he had a name.

But Amy hadn't told him what she was going to name her son-she'd expected to be there to do that herself.

Lincoln felt the small hand wrap itself around his finger. Please let her wake up soon.



Amy felt weird. She was having a dream. But instead of a nice, pink,  floaty dream, this was a strange, distant far-away dream. And her throat  ached. Her mouth was dry and felt brittle and she couldn't even  swallow. Her head was pounding and noises were disturbing her peaceful  sleep. She couldn't concentrate. Maybe if she could just have a drink of  water …

Her eyes felt heavy, crusted, and she struggled to pull her eyelids apart. White. That was all she could see. What was that?         

     



 

She moved her hands. Something was hurting her wrist. Like a little  pinch, a little squeeze. Her hands moved to her stomach, seeking the  comfort of the rounded bump she'd spent the last few months embracing.  The firmness was gone. In its place only soft sagging skin. Alarm bells  started racing in her head. Something wasn't right. Where was she? What  was happening?

She could feel something pressing on her face and she reached up to pull  it aside. She started struggling to breathe, taking short, rapid  breaths. A figure appeared in her line of vision. Blonde. Boobs. Was it  Barbie?