Patricia Davids - His Bundle of Love

“She opened her eyes!” Excited, Mick stared at Caitlin and prayed he hadn’t imagined it.

“What did you say?” The nurse, who’d just entered the room, looked at him in surprise.

“She opened her eyes! She looked at me.”

It’d been five days since Caitlin had slipped into a coma, and for the last two days Mick had divided his waking hours between sitting with Beth, whose condition was slowly worsening, and sitting with Caitlin. This was the first sign of any spontaneous movement from her.

“Caitlin, open your eyes,” the nurse coaxed. Nothing.

Mick leaned close to Caitlin’s ear. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I know you’re in there. Give me a sign.”

Again nothing. The nurse pinched the skin on the back of Caitlin’s hand, then lifted her eyelid. Turning to him the nurse asked, “What were you doing when she moved?”

A flush heated Mick’s face. “I was getting ready to leave, and I kissed her cheek,” he admitted, feeling foolish.

Giving him a sad smile, the nurse touched his arm. “Sometimes we see the things we want to see, even if they’re not really there. How is her baby doing?”

Mick glanced at Caitlin’s still form and motioned with his head. The nurse followed him from the room. Once outside, he raked a hand through his hair and said, “Beth isn’t good. Her heart hasn’t responded to the medication they’ve given her. It looks like she’ll need surgery.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Are you Mr. O’Callaghan?” Mick turned to see an over-weight man with thin gray hair standing in the hall. His ill-fitting, dark blue jacket hung open displaying a wrinkled white shirt stained with a dribble of coffee. He held a scuffed black briefcase in one hand.

“Yes, I’m O’Callaghan,” Mick answered.

“I’m glad I finally caught up with you. I’m Lloyd Winston, the social worker for the NICU.”

“What can I do for you?”

Mr. Winston glanced at the nurse, then said, “Why don’t you come to my office. We can speak in private there.”

Mick held out a hand. “Lead the way.”

“Have you got a minute to help me change this bed?”

“Sure.”

Caitlin heard voices clearly this time—they were right beside her. Cool hands touched her body. She struggled to open her eyes, and for a moment, the blurred forms of two women came into view. Abruptly, they pulled her onto her side, and the movement sent waves of dizziness and pain crashing through her.

“Isn’t she the saddest case?”

“No kidding.”

“I heard the baby might not make it.”

“I heard that, too. Hand me the lotion.”

One of them smeared cold liquid across Caitlin’s back. Were they talking about her baby? She fought to concentrate.

“My cousin had a little boy that was born prematurely. He’s five now, but he’s blind and deaf. She feeds him through a tube in his stomach, and he takes round-the-clock care.”

“That’s awful.”

“It’s awful to see my cousin tied her whole life to a child who’s so damaged that he can’t even smile at her. At five, he’s hard to move and lift to change his diapers. Think what it’s going to be like when he’s twenty-five.”

My baby’s not damaged. She’s perfect. Caitlin wanted to shout at them. She wanted to cover her ears with her hands, but her arms were deadweights.

From the moment she suspected she was pregnant, she had wanted a little girl. Her daughter was going to grow up to run and laugh and give her mother a dozen hugs a day. They would have each other forever. Caitlin would never leave her baby hungry, or hurting, or scared and alone in the dark the way she had been treated as a child.

Without warning, Caitlin was rolled to her other side. Her joints and muscles cried out in protest and nausea churned in her stomach. She moaned, but no sound escaped her. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s time for her to stay on her left side. Can you help me change the sheets on that patient in room eight?”

The sound of their voices faded away, and Caitlin was alone again, but she was glad they were gone. She didn’t want to hear about a child who was deaf and blind. She had to find her own baby.

She concentrated on opening her eyes. Bit by bit, her eyelids lifted and a room came into focus. There was dark blue tiled floor and wallpaper with lines of deep blue flowers running up a pale blue background. It was a room she’d never seen before. She tried, but she simply couldn’t keep her eyes open and the room faded away.

Lloyd Winston’s office turned out to be on the same floor as the NICU, and the office was as untidy as the man himself. His desk and file cabinets were piled high with books, forms and folders. Empty foam cups overflowed from the trash can. He cleared off a portion of the desk by moving its contents to a stack on the floor, then sat down. Mick took a seat and waited for him to speak.

Flipping open his briefcase, Winston pulled out a file. “I understand you haven’t signed the paternity papers for your daughter. Do you realize that until you do, you’re not legally the baby’s parent?”

“I understand that,” Mick answered. “The situation with Caitlin and myself is a bit—well—unusual.” Mick watched the man’s confusion grow as he explained how he and Caitlin had met. When he finished, Winston leaned back and pressed his fingertips together over his ample paunch.

“You’d like me to believe that after meeting you for the first time, out of the blue, a woman, who may or may not think she’s dying, names you as her baby’s father?” His tone held more than a hint of disbelief.

“That’s what happened.”

Winston leaned forward and stared at Mick intently. “I know that taking on the responsibility of caring for a critically ill infant can be very daunting. It’s understandable that you’re reluctant to admit to being the child’s father.”

Mick leveled his gaze at the overstuffed social worker. “I’m a firefighter. Walking into a burning building is daunting. Trust me. Beth is not my biological child.”

The man’s eyes widened at Mick’s tone. “I see. This certainly complicates things. Dr. Wright tells me the child needs surgery. I’ll have to get a court order to make her a ward of the state right away.”

Mick frowned. “She has a mother. She doesn’t need to be made a ward of the state.”

“Ms. Williams’s condition prevents her from giving consent for any procedure, and I understand her recovery is doubtful. Since she’s incapacitated and you are not any relation to the child, the state must assume care.”

“For how long?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How long will Beth be a ward of the state?”

“Until we can locate a relative. Which we might have done by now if you had come forward with the truth sooner.”

“What if you can’t locate anyone?”

“If we don’t, she’ll remain a ward of the state and go into foster care when she leaves here.”

A knock sounded at the door, and a nurse from the NICU looked in. “Mr. O’Callaghan, you’re wanted in the unit.”

Mick shoved out of his chair. “Is something wrong with Beth?” Fear sent his heart hammering wildly.

“I’m afraid so,” she said. “Please come with me.”

Mick rushed into the NICU. A crowd surrounded Beth’s bed. The monitor above it alarmed as the blip of her heart rate barely moved across the screen. He stopped a nurse hurrying past him, glad to see it was Sandra Carter. “What’s wrong?”

“Doctor, the father is here,” she said.

“Good.” The man in green scrubs looked at Mick. “X-rays show your daughter has suffered a collapsed lung and the air trapped inside her chest is putting pressure on her heart.”

Sick with fear and powerless to help, Mick couldn’t take his eyes off Beth’s pale, gray color. She wasn’t moving.

Someone touched his shoulder. Glancing over, he saw Lloyd Winston standing beside him. “They’ll do everything they can,” he said gently.

“Prep her, then we’ll get a chest tube in,” the doctor barked orders before turning to Mick. “I understand you have some medical background. Do you know what we’re doing?”

Mick nodded. “You’re going to put a tube in her chest and suck the air out so her lung can reexpand. Will she be all right?”

“I believe so.” Dr. Myers opened a small plastic pack and pulled out a surgical gown. Quickly, he donned it as Sandra poured dark brown liquid antiseptic over the skin on Beth’s chest. “Have X-ray standing by, and give her a dose of fentanyl for the pain,” he instructed.

“Yes, Doctor. Her oxygen saturation is forty.”

“Gloves! Where are my gloves?” he snapped.

“Right here.” Another nurse peeled open a package. He pulled them on.

Beside Mick, Lloyd Winston spoke. “You don’t have to watch this. We can wait outside,” he offered.

“No, I’m fine,” Mick answered. How long had her heart rate and oxygen levels been this low? Five minutes? Longer? How much time did she have left before she suffered brain damage? Was it already too late?

As the doctor worked, Mick’s gaze stayed glued to the monitor. After what seemed like an eternity, Beth’s heart rate climbed to eighty, then one hundred. Slowly, the color of her skin changed from gray, to mottled blue then to a pale pink. One little leg kicked feebly under the drape, and Mick sagged with relief. “Thank You, Lord.”

Sandra glanced at Mick and frowned. “Hey, we don’t do adults in here. Someone get Dad a chair.”

“I’m all right.” Mike tried to wave aside her concern.

“No, you’re not. You’re white as a sheet. Lloyd, take him out to the waiting room.”

“I want to stay,” Mick protested. What if her other lung collapsed? She could die, he knew it.

“I know you want to stay,” Sandra said, “but this isn’t something you need to watch. She’s not feeling the pain, I promise you that.”

“You’ll come and get me if…things get worse.” Mick stared into her eyes. She nodded and he knew she understood what he was asking.

In the waiting area, he paced back and forth. Ten steps across, ten steps back. The same blue tweed chairs as in the adult ICU sat against the walls. It seemed that all he did anymore was wait—with fear grinding in his gut while doctors and nurses tried to save first Caitlin, and now Beth again.

Please, Lord, let Beth be okay. She’s so little. Hold her in Your hands and keep her safe.

Lloyd sat and watched Mick. “Can I get you something?”

“If you have a prayer to spare for her, that wouldn’t come amiss.”

“Certainly. I have one for her and one for you, as well. I’ve seen a lot a babies get chest tubes. It isn’t as serious as you think.”

Mick knew better. It was deadly serious, but he couldn’t find the words to tell a stranger that he feared Beth might die. Some of what he was feeling must have shown on his face.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Lloyd Winston said.

Mick sank into a chair beside the social worker. “I know. How do you deal with this kind of pain every day?”

“You said you’re a firefighter? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen some bad things yourself.”

Dropping his head to stare at his clenched hands, Mick nodded. He’d seen his share of terrible things—things a man couldn’t unsee. There were days when he wanted to quit. If not for the Lord’s grace, he might have.

“I expect it’s the same for both of us,” Winston continued. “We got into our lines of work to make a difference. We stay because, not every day, but some days we do make a difference in people’s lives.”