West Wing to Maternity Wing!(25)

The voice was talking, but she wasn't sure what it was saying. A strong,  calm voice. 'Amy. Amy. Calm down. Everything's fine. It's Cassidy  Yates. You're in hospital-in San Francisco Maternity. Here … let me put  this mask back on your face for a few moments.' The figure moved around  to the side. 'I'm going to raise your bed slightly, Amy.' There was a  buzzing noise and Amy felt herself move upwards. The white view changed  to a hospital scene.

A hospital scene she should be familiar with. A busy ICU. As a former  theatre nurse she'd spent many hours transferring patients to and from  Theatre to ICU and back again. But even the familiarity didn't help.

There was a sense that something was wrong. She didn't feel right. She felt … empty.

Then it struck her. Her brain shifted sharply into focus and a million  panicked thoughts filling her mind. 'My baby? Where's my baby?' Although  she felt as if she was shouting, her voice was quiet, barely a whisper.

Cassidy leaned forward, touching her hand and squeezing it tightly.  'Your son is fine, Amy. He's in NICU. Lincoln's with him-I don't think  he's left his side in the last forty-eight hours.'

Amy blinked. This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening. What did she mean-the last forty-eight hours?

The confusion must have registered on her face. Cassidy kept hold of her  hand. 'Amy, do you remember anything about what happened?'

Amy shook her head. Her mind was currently mush. She couldn't take in where she was, let alone anything else.

Cassidy bent closer, reaching up and moving some loose strands of hair  from her face. Why was this woman being so nice to her? Something turned  inside her stomach. She didn't like this woman, but she couldn't  remember why.

Her eyes went downwards. There was an IV in her hand. That's what the  strange feeling was at her wrist. The tape surrounding it was catching  the little hairs on her wrist. Tiny pieces of the jigsaw puzzle started  slotting into place in her brain. Cassidy was talking again. 'You had a  seizure, Amy. Two days ago. Lincoln brought you in, we stabilised you,  then we had to take you to Theatre and deliver your baby. You've been in  here ever since.'

Amy clung to the one part that registered in her brain. 'Zachary. How is Zachary?'

Cassidy's face broke into a smile. 'Zachary? That's what you're calling  your son? What a beautiful name.' She glanced over her shoulder.  'Lincoln will be so pleased to hear it. He's been calling him Junior  these last two days.'

Amy tried to pull her dry lips together again. 'Lincoln's looking after my son?'

Something registered on Cassidy's face. A fleeting glance, as if she  shouldn't say something. But she pressed her lips together. 'Yes … and  no.' It took her a few seconds to decide what to say. 'He's not your  son's doctor. But he's been acting as a … surrogate parent for the last  two days. He hasn't left Zachary's side. He's been doing all the  kangaroo care for your son.'

Images flooded into Amy's mind. Her brain was still befuddled. Lincoln  with her baby. Holding her baby, feeding her baby. She knew Zach would  have been in safe hands. But hadn't he promised to be her baby's doctor?

'I don't understand … '

Cassidy stood upright, the relief on her face obvious. 'Oh, good, he's  here. I'll let him speak to you himself.' She gave a final squeeze to  Amy's hand. 'I'll come back later-to talk with you about your  treatment.'

She walked towards Lincoln and gave his shoulder a little squeeze on the way past.

Amy watched as the green-suited figure appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were taking a little time to focus. Why was that?

Then she felt him engulf her in a hug, pulling her head and shoulders  clear of the bed and into his chest. He held her so tightly she started  to cough.

He released her quickly. 'Sorry. I'm just so pleased you've woken up.  I've been so worried.' He clasped her hands, words tumbling from his  mouth. 'The baby's doing well. He's breathing on his own-right from  delivery-and he's a good weight for twenty-nine weeks: three pounds  eight ounces. He's not feeding on his own yet, we've had to put a tube  down, but I've made sure that he's getting breast milk. Oh, and you need  to tell me his name, so I can put it in his records.'         

     



 

Lincoln. It was definitely Lincoln. He was babbling. She didn't have any  problem focusing up close. She could see his green theatre scrubs, his  tousled dark hair and blue-rimmed, tired eyes. There was a definite  shadow around his jaw-she'd felt it brush her cheek as he'd hugged her.

She blinked, focusing further-giving her brain time to make sense of it  all in her head. She could see the deep lines etched into his forehead  and filtering out from the corners of his eyes. Had they always been  there? He looked exhausted.

She blinked. And in that instant there was something else. A fleeting  picture of a darkened restaurant and a smell … a strong smell of fresh  fish. The memory gave her a jolt, startling other little pieces of the  jigsaw puzzle into place. An expression on Lincoln's face that she  didn't recognise. He'd been angry with her. They'd been fighting.

That's why he looked like hell.

His fingers touched the inside of her palm. 'Amy, are you with me?' The anxiety was back.

She nodded, her dry tongue coming out and trying to lick her lips. He  responded instantly, picking up a glass of iced water with a straw from  her bedside table. Where had that come from?

He held the straw at her lips and she sucked deeply. 'Steady,' he said,  pulling it away for a second then bringing it back to her again. He let  her take some more sips. 'Better?'

She nodded and let out a sigh. 'Zachary. Zachary John Carson. That's my son's name.'

His eyes met hers and he nodded in recognition. 'It's a beautiful name.'

'I want to see him.' Now she'd found her voice again, it was steely and  determined. A wave of emotions rode up inside her, like a crest of a  wave. She'd missed the first two days of her son's life. She hadn't been  the first person to hold him, to hear him cry or feed him. She'd missed  so much already. 'I want to see him now.'

Lincoln hesitated. 'You've just woken up, Amy, I don't think you're  stable enough to go to NICU. And I'm sorry, but I can't bring Zachary in  here.' He waved his hand around the ICU. There were four other adult  patients in the room. One was attached to a ventilator-that must have  been the burring noise that she'd heard-and two others had assisted  ventilation. 'There's too big a risk of exposure to infection.'

Amy knew he was being eminently sensible. But forty-eight hours' worth  of post-birth hormones didn't care. 'I need to see my son.'

Something washed over Lincoln's face. Guilt. Why did he feel guilty? 'I  know you do, Amy.' His hand was still pressed next to hers. 'Let me see  what I can arrange. I promise you'll see your son soon.'

For a second she thought he was going to bend over and kiss her. But he  hesitated midway across the bed, pulling back and heading out the door  in his green scrubs.

And that's when the floodgates opened.



Two hours later she was ensconced in a side room. Lincoln pushed the  neonate crib into the room and Amy's breath caught in her throat. Her  son.

That tiny little scrap she could see through the plastic was hers. Her  baby. Wrapped in a pale blue blanket with a tiny knitted cap on his  head. Fists punching angrily in the air. And a tiny plastic tube coming  from his nose and taped to the side of his cheek.

Her breast ached. She wanted to feed her baby. She wanted to feel his  little body next to hers. She could feel her lips tremble as Lincoln  lifted him out of the crib and handed him to her.

Zachary gave a little groan and snuggled towards her-a natural response.  She felt transfixed. His little eyes were screwed up, his skin pale  just like hers, a few tiny strands of dark hair on his head. The  wrinkled forehead smoothed out and his eyes blinked open, staring  upright straight into her eyes. Her heart gave a little flutter at the  blue eyes, then she realised that all babies were born with blue eyes.  His eye colour could change over the next year. The thought brought a  little smile to her face.

The next year. She was going to spend all that time with her son. She  might have missed the first few days but there was nothing to stop her  now. A little warmth spread across her chest. She lifted her finger and  stroked it down her son's button nose. He was all hers. Six years she'd  waited for this moment, and now she finally had her child in her arms.

Lincoln shifted his feet beside her, obviously not wanting to interrupt  her first few moments with her son. She blinked back the tears forming  in her eyes. 'Thank you for looking after him,' she whispered.

He looked uncomfortable. He sat down in the chair next to her bed, bringing him level with her. 'I need to tell you something.'         

     



 

'What?' She couldn't take her eyes from her son.

'I couldn't do what you wanted me to.'

Cassidy's words started to float around her brain again. This time,  though, they started to register. Something about Lincoln not being her  baby's doctor …

She found the little hospital band attached to his tiny wrist and  rotated it. Baby Carson. Three pounds eight ounces. And his date of  birth. Dr Lomax. Who was Dr Lomax?