by A. R. Moler
“Bad?”
“Positive for heroin. It could have been worse. I’ve seen babies with six different drugs in their system. She is addicted though. The withdrawal started a couple of hours ago. Best guess, it’ll take a couple of weeks to wean her off. Surprisingly, her birth weight is not bad. Six pounds 3 oz. Her lungs are developed enough that she’s probably full term, or at least close to it. Although it’s not my end of it, I think she’ll be logged into the foster care system in the morning. Even if the mother showed up, which I would bet against, there’s no way CPS would allow her to take the baby with her.” The nurse glanced at her watch and in the direction of the NICU doors. “It’s getting close to the end of the day for me. If you’re willing to gown up and put on a fresh mask, I could probably let you peek at her.”
“That would be amazing. Thank you.”
It took a few minutes for Tristan to put on a protective gown, along with a mask and safety glasses. He followed the nurse through the NICU to a clear plastic isolette along the left wall. The baby girl lay in the cube, diapered, tiny striped hat on her head, cords monitoring her pulse and oxygenation. She was clean and although somewhat fretful, in much better shape than when he found her.
“She’s stable, which puts her in better shape than some of the babies here. You can talk to her, but I can’t let you touch her without a COVID test,” said the nurse.
“I understand. Like I said, I was the one who found her. I had a moment of second thoughts about even picking her up, but getting her somewhere safe and to proper medical care seemed worth the risk.”
“Good call. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” The nurse picked up a tote and walked toward another isolette.
“Hello, little one. I see the label on your bed says baby Jane Doe. You don’t look like a Jane to me. On the other hand, I have no idea what name suits you. I wonder if the woman who gave birth to you ever even considered a name. I’m guessing maybe not, since she left you all alone.”
The baby waved a foot and squirmed slightly, making a cry of discomfort. Tristan tucked his hands under his armpits to remind himself that he couldn’t touch her. “Maybe I’ll get a chance to come back and check on you tomorrow. I know you’re having a rough time. From what I’ve been told, withdrawal sucks really bad for adults, who at least have some idea why it’s happening.” He stood watching her fret, helpless to do anything to comfort her.
The nurse returned. “It’s hard. Seeing them like that. In some ways it’s harder than taking care of the preemies and the ones whose parents did everything right and still ended up with medical issues.”
“Thank you for letting me see her.”
“Go home and hug your children,” she said.
“No children.”
“I saw the wedding ring, and thought maybe you and your wife had kids.”
“Husband.”
“Oh. Well, that doesn’t preclude the idea you might have a family…if you want one.”
As Tristan walked to the hospital parking garage, he rolled the words of the nurse around in his head.
* * * *
The steps creaked slightly on the staircase to the third floor. Brian looked up from his computer to see Tristan coming into the room he now used as an office. “You look wiped.”
“Mmm. Long day.” Tristan flopped into the upholstered chair that occupied one corner of the room.
“Bad one?”
“Yes and no.”
“My, aren’t you being inscrutable.”
“Inscrutable?” Tristan asked with a smile. “Have you been playing scrabble online with your sister?”
“Not since last week. So, come on, tell me about the day. I know you had warrant things scheduled,” Brian prompted.
“That was just the beginning,” Tristan said and spent the next couple of minutes telling Brian about the baby in the trash heap, and the aftermath.
Brian was stunned. “Wow. I mean I’ve lived in New York City for years now and read about some of the abandoned babies. How long would she have survived if you hadn’t found her?”
“I don’t know. I guess no more than a few more hours.”
“What happens to her next?”
“Hospital time I think, while they wean her off the heroin and then she goes into the foster care system.”
Brian gazed at Tristan, his mind suggesting things that probably fell between problematic and impossible.
Tristan met Brian’s eyes. “Yeah, the thought occurred to me, too. Not while I was trying not to panic waiting for the ambulance to show up, but after I left the hospital.”
“We haven’t jumped through the final hoop of getting the home visit done. And I was of the opinion that was going to be an unknown limbo of ‘someday’ with the pandemic crap still raging.” Brian blew out a puffed cheek breath. “Okay. Logic. Start with the fact that an abandoned, drug addicted baby is not going to be most foster parents first choice. Does the fact we might even be considering the idea put us at the front of the pack? And what are the chances we can actually handle this at all?”
“I don’t know. Part of me kept thinking about that philosophy quote thing as I was driving home. The one where if you save a life, you’re responsible for it? I’m not sure that’s the exact statement but if I hadn’t gone looking for the perp down that alleyway. If I hadn’t heard the sound that I thought was probably a cat. If I hadn’t lifted away the hunk of cardboard…That baby would probably be dead. Part of me thinks maybe this is fate. And the other part thinks I must be out of my mind.” Tristan ran his fingers back through his hair.
“A foster child was always likely to have some kind of problems, be it emotional or physical, either from neglect or abuse. We answered all those questions on the forms, about what we thought we’d be willing to cope with and what we wouldn’t. Even if we said yes for this child, there’s no guarantee the system would okay it.”
“True.”
“You never told me what she looks like. Well, looks like when she’s not bloody and fresh out of a trash pile,” Brian said.
“The nurse said she weighs six pounds, three ounces. She has brown eyes, and a little bit of dark fuzz for hair. My guess at ethnicity is Hispanic, but I could be wrong. She might be biracial. Does it matter?”
“Nope. I’m just curious.”
“If I go back tomorrow after work, if they let me in, I don’t know if they would let you come with me. The nurse did say I couldn’t touch her unless I had a negative COVID test, which makes sense.”
“So maybe that’s the starting point, go back to the hospital. See her if they let you. Ask if there’s even a possibility that we would be considered for foster parents.” Brian got out of the desk chair and walked across to kneel in front of Tristan. He took Tristan’s hands in his own. “Maybe in the midst of this very shitty year of plague and death, there’s a ray of hope for a baby whose own mother threw her away.”
* * * *
It wasn’t the same nurse the next evening and Tristan explained again that he was the cop who had found her, that technically this was a follow up. It took more wrangling and the obligatory giant Q-Tip up his nose, followed by waiting on the result. Finally, he was allowed to gown up to go into the NICU.
Baby Jane Doe was screaming. Arms tense and trembling, face scrunched up, she lay in the isolette.
“The withdrawal is kicking in full force today. Even though she’s been given a dose of morphine it’s probably less than her body wants,” said the nurse.
“Can I touch her?”
“You can hold her if you want. We never have enough nurses to do all the essentials and also try to provide any kind of comfort to those who have no parents. She may not stop screaming even if you hold her. You are aware of that, right?”
“I understand.”
The nurse pulled a rocking chair close to the isolette. “I can’t disconnect her monitors.” She wrapped a small blanket around the baby as Tristan sat down, then she put the baby in his arms. She handed him a ve
ry small bottle. “You can try this. She’s not that good at feeding. We’ve gotten a few ounces in her but most has been by the NG tube.”
Tristan nodded. He cradled the baby snuggly to his chest and rocked her gently. She continued to scream, that pathetic bleating noise that had first caught his attention. He began to talk to her. “Remember me from yesterday? The guy who picked you up and wrapped you in something warm? I’m glad they’re letting me touch you today. Maybe you would like something to eat? Well, I guess it’s actually to drink, since you have no teeth.” He held the nipple softly against her lower lip and let a couple of drops fall into her mouth. Her tongue swiped at the formula and her cries calmed somewhat. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. His name’s Brian. He’s my husband. He and I talked about you some last night. He’s nice. I think you’d like him.” Did babies have any real comprehension of what adults said at this age? Or was it all about the tone?
A few drops at a time, he coaxed her into consuming what he guessed was a couple of teaspoons. And gradually her body was less rigid as she relaxed in his arms.
The nurse came back. “Did she feed at all?”
“A little.” Tristan held up the bottle to show the volume was a finger width lower. “Do you know if a case worker has been assigned to her yet?”
“I think so. Why? Did the mother reappear?”
“No. I wanted to find out what the plan was once Baby Doe was detoxed enough to leave the hospital.”
“Finding foster parents willing to take a baby born addicted is sometimes tough.”
“I know. My husband and I…we wanted to find out what our chances are.” Tristan added. “We’ve already made it most of the way through the vetting process. We started that back before the pandemic began.” He didn’t want to sound like this was a totally off the cuff offer like deciding to take a puppy home.
“The crying and the shaking may get worse.”
“I’m aware.” Tristan felt frustrated. It seemed like this nurse was dubious of his interest. “I’ve been a cop for a decade. I have a fair idea how complicated this might be. I’d like to bring my husband with me tomorrow. Can permission be arranged?”
“I’ll have to ask.”
* * * *
Binge reading forty articles on drug addicted babies left Brian feeling halfway between optimistic and terrified. He glanced at the clock in the corner of his computer screen. Alicia was due to Zoom call him any second. Oops, there was the notification.
“How’s your day going?” Alicia asked.
“Um…complicated.”
“You didn’t catch COVID, did you?”
“No.”
“And Tristan’s okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Explanations are in order, unless this is a sex thing.”
Brian laughed. “Not a sex thing. What kind of baby carrier thing did you buy? I’ve forgotten.”
“I bought two. One is a front carrier. I bought that first because it looked easy. However, I put a teddy bear and a big can of soup in it and walked around the house. Don’t judge me. The bear only weighs about a pound and so I was trying to get an idea how a kid’s weight would feel.”
“And obviously an infant and a can of soup are similar,” he teased.
She flipped a middle finger at the screen. “Anyway, it confirmed that I think lugging my kid around that way will make my back hurt. So, I bought a sling. Having the weight against my hip seems to work better. Why? Don’t buy me another one.”
“I…I might need one.”
“Did Tristan knock you up?” Alicia giggled.
Brian stuck out his tongue at her. “Only if we’ve migrated to an alternate dimension.” He proceeded to tell her about the abandoned newborn.
“Holy shit. I mean I knew you two were inching your way through the foster care process, but does this mean…”
“I don’t know. The fact we haven’t done the last step might count us out right there. Tristan’s planning on talking to the hospital staff this evening to see what he can find out.”
“If this happens, you need some bare minimum stuff to start. Oh, does she even have a name?”
“I don’t think so. Tristan said the NICU has her labeled as Baby Jane Doe.”
“Ouch, that’s harsh. If you get to foster her, do you get to name her?” Alicia asked.
“I don’t know.”
* * * *
Going to the hospital after his shift had added another hour and a half to Tristan’s day. Hopefully it was worth it. He let himself in the back door in the kitchen. Now the number of new cases as well as the death toll had diminished significantly, he had mostly quit the “strip and shower” routine except for days when he thought his risk factors were high.
Brian was in the kitchen, pulling a beer bottle from the refrigerator. “There’s pork chops and stuffing leftovers.”
“That sounds good.” Tristan pulled his shirt loose from his slacks, and went toward Brian. As Brian shut the door, plastic container in hand, Tristan pinned him against the refrigerator and kissed him.
With a noise of appreciation, Brian asked, “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh. It’s just been a long day.” He took the container from Brian and put it in the microwave to heat as he grabbed a plate out of the cupboard. “I went back to the hospital.”
“Is she still alive?” Brian’s tone was cautious.
“Yeah. She’s detoxing and utterly miserable, but they’re taking care of her.”
Brian rubbed a hand down Tristan’s back. “Any info on foster care placement?”
“Sort of.” Tristan pulled the container out and dumped the contents on the plate. He sat down to eat. “I spoke with the woman the case was assigned to. Her name’s Wanda Cogan.”
“And?”
“She doesn’t make the decisions, but she did say that the fact we’ve already made it most of the way through the process, and would be willing to take an addict baby combined with the sheer chaos of trying to find foster parents in the middle of a pandemic, might play in our favor.”
“That sounds like a maybe.”
“At least it wasn’t a no. On the hospital front, I did get permission for you to go there with me tomorrow. I’d like you to see her before we even think about pushing this any further.”
* * * *
The NICU was a daunting place, Brian thought. Walking softly through the maze of isolettes, monitors, IV stands, and things he couldn’t identify, he followed Tristan and the nurse.
“I have a diaper to change. You can stand and talk to her and touch her but you need to wait until I get back to pick her up,” the nurse instructed.
Brian looked down at the infant wrapped in a blanket inside the plastic cube. A thin tube snaked across her cheek and up her nose. Wires protruded out the top edge of the blanket, and he guessed those monitored her pulse and oxygen saturation. Knowing someone had literally tossed this child in a trash pile was a gut punch.
“Hello, little one,” Tristan said. He stroked a fingertip across the top of her head. The baby opened her eyes and jerked. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“I was going to say she’s so tiny, but noticing the couple of babies we passed that look like they’re barely longer than my hand…She’s reasonably big in comparison.”
“Despite the mother’s addiction, the staff thinks she’s full term, or at least close. It makes her chances of getting through this better.”
Brian gazed from her little face to the label above her- Baby Jane Doe. His heart broke a little more. She didn’t even have a name, not a real one. Would he and Tristan get to name her? Would she grow up to be a girl with two daddies? Emotion surged through him but he squashed it down as best he could. If he let himself get attached too fast and it all fell through, he knew he would grieve.
The nurse returned. “She had her dose of morphine less than an hour ago, so she should be reasonably calm for a while.”
“Can I hold her?” Brian asked, and looked at
Tristan, who smiled.
It took a few minutes to place the rocking chair close and arrange the tubes and wires. The nurse laid the baby gently in Brian’s arms. “Don’t be surprised if she starts to cry. Like most drug babies, she’s not great at changes.”
The small warm weight of her body wiggled slightly in Brian’s arms. “Aren’t you just adorable?” She stared up at him, brown eyes seemingly searching his face. “I’m a new person. Someone you haven’t seen before. Of course, I guess at this stage, most people are new to you. What do you think? Would you consider coming home to live with me and Tristan?”
The baby blinked and continued to watch him.
“Here sits the lord mayor.” He touched her forehead. “Here sits his two men.” He touched her eyebrows. “Here sits the rooster and here sits the hen. Here sit the little chickens. Here they run in. Chin-chopper, chin-chopper, chin-chopper, chin.” He ended with tapping a finger lightly on her chin. Baby Jane continued to stare at him.
Tristan raised an eyebrow and gave him a confused look. “What the hell was that?”
“A nursery rhyme. My mom used to do it with Heather, which probably means she did it with me, too.”
“Obviously I’ve heard the piggies one, but never that one.”
Baby Jane began to fuss. Brian cuddled her close and rocked her. She quieted somewhat, but banged her face on his chest. “I think she’s hungry.”
“I’ll see if I can get a bottle from the nurse.”
The fussing turned into a wretched bleating wail as Tristan crossed the room. Brian continued to rock, wondering what the chances were that he could manage to comfort her. The articles he’d read implied addicted babies sometimes cried for hours. Could he handle that?
Tristan returned with a small bottle and gave it to Brian.
Rubbing it against her lips, Brian coaxed her to open her mouth and suck with desperation. That worked for all of a few seconds before she coughed and gagged, and began screaming again.
“I tried a couple of drops in her mouth at a time yesterday. It seemed to calm her down after she realized that I was going to keep doing it,” Tristan said.
