His Bundle of Love. Patricia Davids
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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