Their Special-Care Baby. Fiona McArthur
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‘I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Sophie,’ she said to the photo.
She ran her fingers over her stomach and desolation hit her again. Except for the slight softness that could have been recently stretched skin, she couldn’t tell she’d been pregnant.
Perhaps she hadn’t shown much at nearly seven months. What sort of pregnancy had it been? Had she been sick or well? Excited to be having another baby or too sad after the loss of her husband to be in tune with her foetus?
Instinctively she touched her breasts and both felt tender. She guessed she’d figure out the breastfeeding as she went along, even though there would be no poster-perfect pictures of her new babe at the breast for a long time to come. Hopefully she’d breastfed Sophie and it would come back to her.
She guessed there might be many weeks before her baby would be strong enough to feed normally.
Desiree shook her head in despair. How did she accept that she was a widow of a man she couldn’t remember? Or the mother of a child in the paediatric ward? Plus the dreadful knowledge that her premature baby was fighting for her life on another floor?
All this when she hadn’t even recognised her own name—it was too much. She dragged her hands over her eyes and squeezed her fingers into her eye sockets, as though the pressure would bring back visions from her past life.
All it did was increase her headache and circulate stars.
Her fingers fell to pluck at the bag again. ‘I don’t feel like Desiree Kramer,’ she said, out loud this time, and the horror of having no memories to anchor in reality burst in her chest like a cave full of bats exploding from their perches.
Panic fluttered with larger and larger wings until she thought her throat would close.
Desiree fought the emotion as she clutched the bag tightly between her fingers. She breathed in and out grimly until she’d fought down the panic.
You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine, she told herself. Everything would work out—and whether it was the white coat or the kind eyes, she did trust Stewart, her new brother-in-law.
She trusted the sweetness in the face of the obviously forgetful Leanore.
Most importantly, she and both her daughters had survived.
Four hours later, Desiree’s new mother-in-law, pushed in her wheelchair by Stewart, returned with a nurse who steered a portable cot into the room.
A little girl stood clutching the rails with her tiny feet planted determinedly into the mattress as she swayed with the movement. Enormous blue eyes stared tremulously at the grown-ups.
Desiree’s eldest daughter looked chubby and alert but decidedly lost. Why wouldn’t she feel lost? Her own mother couldn’t remember her!
When the nurse lifted Sophie and placed her on the bed beside her, Desiree had to admit she felt better with the weight and feel of the little body against her. She gathered Sophie into her arms and hugged her.
Sophie had eyes like her uncle’s and grandmother’s. She stared up at Desiree, and then her little face dimpled and she grinned toothily. Unconsciously, Desiree hugged her close again.
‘Well, that’s the first smile we’ve seen the wee thing give since she came in.’ The nurse nodded complacently at the picture in front of her.
Leanore smiled mistily and Stewart lifted one sardonic eyebrow. ‘Well, Sophie remembers you.’
‘I wish I remembered her.’ Desiree spoke softly and brushed the baby’s cheek with wondering fingers. Her daughter’s skin was downy soft and far too pale.
The children’s ward nurse bustled forward. ‘She won’t drink for us. I’ve brought a bottle up with me. Maybe she’ll take some milk from you.’
Desiree stared down into the bright little eyes. Sophie? She tried the name out. No bells rang, nothing about the little face or her name was familiar, but Desiree couldn’t doubt that she was at ease with the toddler.
Sophie latched onto the teat immediately and Desiree smiled as she looked down into the trusting face below her as the level of milk in the bottle rapidly receded towards the teat. At least she could do something right for her daughter. ‘I’m sorry, Sophie. I have forgotten you for the moment, but I’ll look after you.’
‘And we’ll look after you.’ Leanore rubbed her hands with delight at the picture in front of her. She turned to her son. ‘They will come home to us? Won’t they, Stewart?’
‘Of course.’ There were unexpected misgivings in his tone and Desiree shot him a glance.
Something was bothering him and Desiree didn’t welcome the added stress of wondering what his problem was. The last thing she needed was another undercurrent she didn’t understand.
‘I’m sure I will be able to look after my daughters and myself quite well without your help.’ She hoped the pure bravado didn’t show.
He shook his head decisively. ‘You’ll have enough on your plate, travelling to Neonatal each day. You’ll need help and we’ll give it to you.’
His voice was flat. ‘You moved here to live with us. I’m sure even Sean would agree to you accepting our help especially now.’ He included his mother in a glance. ‘We’re glad to finally have the opportunity to meet you and Sophie.’
‘We live quite close to the hospital and have plenty of room. Stay at least until we’re sure you won’t suffer any other health setbacks. You could stay longer, of course.’
He produced a final inducement. ‘It would be easier for Sophie if she didn’t have to come to the NICU all the time with you.’
She couldn’t dispute any of his rationales, or an identity she couldn’t remember. It just didn’t feel right to lean on them so heavily.
Stewart went on. ‘Remember that Leanore is Sophie’s grandmother and she has been denied access since her granddaughter’s birth.’
‘What do you mean, denied?’ Desiree frowned at the censure in his voice. Had she prevented Leanore seeing her granddaughter? Had her husband—and she had let him? She didn’t like Stewart’s tone or the inference she had hurt his mother.
He avoided a direct answer and softened his tone. ‘My mother wants to get to know her grandchild.’ Suddenly it was Leanore who wanted to look after them, which was at odds with his caring eyes. Desiree wondered if he had reservations for another reason.
Why had he changed?
She removed the empty bottle from her daughter’s mouth and sat her up to burp her again. Sophie blew a bubble at her and Desiree kissed her cheek. Thank goodness her daughter was too young to know she had been forgotten by her own mother.
Desiree’s eyes narrowed with the effort of pinpointing her greatest concern, but she was interrupted by Sophie’s wind.
They all smiled at the third loud burp but despite the surface amusement something wasn’t right. Not just in this room but with her whole world.
So many things were out of kilter she had no way of diagnosing the most worrying feature.
It was too exhausting to worry about things she couldn’t change for the moment, so she rested back and just savoured the weight of Sophie in her arms. Her head ached.
Later that evening Stewart pushed Desiree’s wheelchair into the neonatal intensive care unit, and strangely Desiree felt less adrift than she had since she’d woken up.
She was so terrified for her baby but not overwhelmed by Neonatal Intensive Care, which was strange.
The beep and hum of the equipment, the bustle of medical and nursing staff, the parents beside most cribs and the tiny patients in their plastic cocoons and open cots all seemed to make sense. Maybe she’d been in one of these places before.
Then