‘Okay, Junior, let’s get you back inside your incubator for a while. I need to go and see your mommy.’
He glanced down at his rumpled clothes—the same shirt and jeans he’d been wearing when Amy had seized in the restaurant two days ago. He really needed to get changed.
Lincoln placed the baby carefully back inside the incubator, pulling a little blue hat over his head. He checked the chart hanging at the end of the crib. Baby Carson was actually doing quite well. His weight at three pounds eight ounces was good, and gave him a ninety-five per cent survival rate. The steroids had obviously done their job of maturing his lungs and he’d come out screaming and breathing on his own. There had only been a few incidences when he’d tried to feed that his oxygen saturation had dropped. And since he’d had the tube put down, there had been none.
The little guy had fighting spirit. Now, if only he had a name.
But Amy hadn’t told him what she was going to name her son—she’d expected to be there to do that herself.
Lincoln felt the small hand wrap itself around his finger. Please let her wake up soon.
* * *
Amy felt weird. She was having a dream. But instead of a nice, pink, floaty dream, this was a strange, distant far-away dream. And her throat ached. Her mouth was dry and felt brittle and she couldn’t even swallow. Her head was pounding and noises were disturbing her peaceful sleep. She couldn’t concentrate. Maybe if she could just have a drink of water…
Her eyes felt heavy, crusted, and she struggled to pull her eyelids apart. White. That was all she could see. What was that?
She moved her hands. Something was hurting her wrist. Like a little pinch, a little squeeze. Her hands moved to her stomach, seeking the comfort of the rounded bump she’d spent the last few months embracing. The firmness was gone. In its place only soft sagging skin. Alarm bells started racing in her head. Something wasn’t right. Where was she? What was happening?
She could feel something pressing on her face and she reached up to pull it aside. She started struggling to breathe, taking short, rapid breaths. A figure appeared in her line of vision. Blonde. Boobs. Was it Barbie?
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.’