West Wing to Maternity Wing!(5)

She touched her abdomen. 'I have signs of pre-eclampsia and this baby  means more to me than anything in this world. If my baby is born  prematurely I want him to have the best chance in the world.' She  hesitated for a second, before looking into his eyes. 'And I knew the  best chance for my baby would be you.'

Lincoln shook his head and his brow furrowed. He waved his arm. 'You  must know a dozen doctors who could take care of your baby. Why me,  Amy?'

Her answer was immediate and straight to the point and he could see  tears glistening in her eyes. 'I might know a dozen doctors, Linc, but  none of them are like you. You're the best. The best neonatologist I've  ever known. You did things on that boat that TV movies are made out  of-with virtually no equipment and only the most unskilled staff.' She  gestured towards herself.

He shook his head. 'You're not unskilled, Amy. You're a damn fine nurse and you know it.'

'I'm a damn fine theatre nurse, Linc. I had no experience at all with  neonates. I went there as a specialist nurse in eye theatre, and that  was fine for all the cataract, squint and glaucoma surgeries. I even  managed to struggle through with cleft-palate surgeries and emergency  appendectomies. But I'd never really worked as a general, medical or  paediatric nurse before-I'd never looked after pregnant women before. I  was seriously out of my depth and you helped me-you know you did.'

Lincoln leaned over and took her hand again. 'But we were a team, Amy,  we helped each other. Everyone was selected because of their individual  skills and level of expertise. But at the end of the day we treated what  came through the door.'

She shook her head. 'No one was as dedicated to those babies as you  were, Linc. You were the one who would stay up half the night, watching  over them.' His brow furrowed. 'Why was that, Linc? I asked before, but  you wouldn't tell me.'

He shrugged his shoulders and she could see him searching for the words.  His eyes looked darker than normal, heavier from fatigue. He sat down  next to her. 'My sister had a premature baby around twenty years ago.  There weren't any facilities near where we stayed and her daughter-my  niece-died.'

Amy took a sharp breath and rested her hand on his shoulder.

He gave a rueful smile. 'My sister was ten years older than me at the  time. I watched my little niece struggle for breath, turn blue and die.  Our family didn't really talk about it after that. It was too painful. I  hadn't really been interested in school before then. I was just  coasting along. But everything changed after that. I knew if I wanted to  be a doctor to help babies like my niece, I had to knuckle down and get  the grades-so I did. Medicine for neonates has come a long way in the  last twenty years. If my niece had been born now, she would have  survived.'

'You never said anything. Why didn't you tell me this on the boat?'

Lincoln met her with a pointed stare. 'Some things are easier not to talk about-don't you think?'

The heavy air hung between them. Amy held her breath, waiting to see if he would say anything else.

'Dr Adams?'

A nurse appeared at the curtains, with David standing behind her. 'They need you in NICU.'

NICU. The neonatal intensive care unit. A place that normally didn't  exist in Pelican Cove-there had never been a need for it. A place that  currently held the First Daughter. In the last two days more personnel  and supplies had been transferred down from San Francisco Children's  Hospital than he'd thought possible. Didn't there have to be more than  one baby for it to be termed an NICU? He pushed the thoughts from his  mind.

'What can I do for you folks?' David strode through the curtains with  his normal joie de vivre. Lincoln's eyes met his and he lifted the  battered envelope from the bottom of the gurney and handed it to him. 'I  need you to see a friend of mine, please, David.'

David's face changed, his eyes taking in the patient on the bed. The  pregnant patient on the bed. He pulled the notes from the envelope,  glancing to see which hospital they had come from, then gave Lincoln an  inquisitive stare.         

     



 

'My patient now, Dr Adams.' David's manner was brisk and to the point.  'I'll let you know if I need you.' His tone was almost dismissive.  Whilst at times he gave the impression of being a bumbling fool, as a  clinician he was second to none. And Lincoln knew it-it was why he'd  asked for David's help. Amy couldn't be in safer hands. But there was no  mistaking who would be in charge here.

Linc took a deep breath and stepped away from the gurney. 'I'll be  back,' he muttered, his eyes not meeting hers, and he stepped through  the curtains.

David's hand caught his shoulder. 'Dr Adams?'

The professional title. He must be annoyed. 'Yes?'

'Just remember your first and only priority is the First Daughter. Don't let other things get in the way. Don't get distracted.'

'You think I am?' The words came out automatically, snappier than he expected.

David's voice was quiet. The voice of years of learning and experience,  both academically and human. 'I think you could be. Let me handle this.'  He turned and ducked behind the curtains, pulling them tightly shut  behind him.

Linc walked the few hundred yards along the corridor. Pelican Cove was a  small community hospital, not a sprawling metropolis with new  technology sprouting from every corner. That was why, when the First  Lady had gone into labour here, he'd had to transfer staff and equipment  from San Francisco Children's Hospital to ensure the safe delivery of  the thirty-two-weeker.

As usual, the black-suited security detail was at the door-it was  getting to the point they just blended into the background. He pushed  open the door to the newly kitted-out NICU. The heat encompassed him  immediately, the temperature warmer in here to compensate for the early  arrival's rapid heat loss.

He walked over to the incubator. Two of his best nurses were on duty.

'What's up?'

For a premature baby, the First Daughter had an air of determination  about her, obviously a chip off the old block. She'd come out screaming,  breathing on her own and continued to do so.

He glanced at the nearby monitor. Her O2 levels were good and there was no nasal flaring.

'She's not feeding well. In fact, we can't get her to latch on at all.'

Lincoln frowned. A common complaint in premature babies who hadn't yet learned how to suck. 'What about kangaroo care?'

Ruth, the nurse, nodded and stared down at her charge, 'The only reason  Esther is back in here is because Jennifer Taylor is currently sleeping.  She's exhausted. Up until now it's been skin-to-skin contact the whole  time. Six hours since delivery and we've not managed to get her to feed  yet.' She leaned over the incubator. 'And little missy is getting  cranky.'

Lincoln scrubbed his hands at the nearby sink. He'd already examined  Esther just after delivery, but there was no harm in rechecking. He  pulled on some sterile gloves and slid his hands into the incubator. He  ran his hand around and inside her mouth, ensuring her palate was  correctly formed. Checked her skin tone, colour and fontanel for  clinical signs of dehydration. Sounded her chest to check her heart and  lungs and gently probing her small abdomen. Once he was finished he  stripped off his gloves, washed and dried his hands again and checked  her charts.

'Okay, there are no immediate problems, except her blood glucose has  dropped slightly since delivery. Once Jennifer Taylor wakes up, can you  give me a shout and I'll go and have a chat with her? I'm really  reluctant to start any kind of supplementary or tube-feeding. At  thirty-two weeks I think she's more than capable of breastfeeding and I  don't want to do anything that will jeopardise that. We might have to  suggest that Jennifer expresses some milk in the meantime to try and get  some fluid into her.'

Ruth gave a nod. 'I'm sure she'll be awake shortly. I'll give you a shout.'

Lincoln entered some notes in the electronic record and went back  outside, glancing at his watch. Half an hour. Would David Fairgreaves be  finished with Amy yet?

He walked over to the nurses' station, glancing around him before  picking up Amy's notes. They were thicker than he would have expected  for a healthy woman her age and he started to flick through them to read  over her obstetric care. If he was going to look after her baby he  needed to know what he was dealing with. IVF pregnancy. The words caught  his attention instantly.

Why had Amy needed IVF? His fingers went backwards through the  notes-away from the area of his expertise-and froze at the long clinical  letter near the end. His eyes scanned it quickly, his breath catching  in his throat. The diagnosis was in bold type at the head of the letter.  Breast cancer. Amy had breast cancer.         

     



 

No. She was too young. She didn't smoke, rarely drank alcohol, and lived  a relatively healthy lifestyle. How on earth could she be a candidate  for breast cancer? It seemed unreal. Even though the words and clinical  evidence were there in front of him. He couldn't believe it. It was  almost as if he were reading about someone else.