A Father by Christmas

by Meredith Webber

  ‘Are you saying don’t tell them?’ the surgeon demanded. ‘We’ve a duty of care, a duty to disclose these things.’

  ‘I know,’ Sophie said, suddenly feeling so tired she was sorry she’d started arguing. ‘But they hear the forty-seven per cent and think, wow, that’s nearly half, but no one’s done studies of ops on babies as immature as Mackenzie. The positive result percentage could be as low as ten for all we know.’

  ‘Or less than ten,’ Gib put in, ‘but do we have an alternative?’

  ‘Only palliative care,’ Sophie said.

  ‘That’s another way of saying let her die,’ the surgeon snapped, and Sophie took a deep breath to stop herself snapping right back.

  ‘Not necessarily. We can continue to treat her for the infection, monitor her more closely and hopefully build her up to the stage where she’s strong enough that her chances of surviving an operation are considerably increased.’

  ‘Gib, this is your decision,’ the surgeon said, although the gastroenterologist had shown a hint of support for Sophie with a nod of his head in her direction.

  ‘I’ll talk to her parents and let you know,’ Gib replied.

  ‘Today?’ the surgeon persisted, but Gib remained calm.

  ‘If possible, but you know how it is. They’ll need time to think about it and probably discuss it with family members or their own GP, perhaps a religious advisor if they have a particular faith. I won’t push them into a decision they might afterwards regret.’

  ‘And if she dies while they’re deciding?’

  ‘Would that be worse than her dying on the operating table after they’ve agreed to go ahead?’ Sophie demanded, angry that the man kept pushing Gib, angry that Maria and Josh would have to make this terrible decision.

  She was a fighter, not a quitter, Gib realised as she faced down the surgeon with those stormy grey eyes. They needed fighters in a neonatal unit—babies who were fighters, parents who were fighters and staff who would stand up to anyone if they thought it was in the best interests of their charges.

  But he was still the team leader and he had to make the decision—operate now or wait.

  ‘What will you do?’ Sophie asked when the two consultants had left the room.

  Gib smiled at her.

  ‘Surely it will be the parents’ decision,’ he teased, and she gave a huff of derision.

  ‘As if!’ she muttered, apparently still angry from the surgeon’s words. ‘The poor parents listen to what we tell them, and pretend to think about it—no, that’s not fair, of course they think about it—but they don’t really understand and as far as they’re concerned the doctor—i.e. you—is God, and in the end they will inevitably ask you what you recommend. And they’ll go along with whatever it is—that’s the decision they’ll make!’

  ‘True enough,’ he said. Hearing it put like that made him feel depressed, although he knew the weight of these decisions he had to make was a personal burden he was fated to carry for ever.

  Would it help to share it?

  He’d never had a neonatologist on his team with as much experience as Sophie had. Perhaps sharing it might be an idea.

  ‘You had plenty to say before—do you really believe we should wait?’

  She raised her head and studied his face, her eyes scanning across it as if she hadn’t seen it before—or perhaps trying to read behind it and discover the consequences of her answering his question.

  ‘I think she’d be too unstable for an op today,’ she said, then frowned. ‘No, that’s wrong. I think she’s too unstable for an op this morning, but the situation can change so quickly with these infants that this afternoon it might be different.’

  ‘And if it came to operate or lose her?’

  ‘Oh, Gib,’ she said, so softly his name came across the desk like the whisper of a lover. ‘I really, really hate those decisions, but I know they have to be made. I’d say operate, of course I would, but with Mackenzie, I feel she’s picked up enough since 2 a.m. for the decision not to be critical—not to be immediate.’

  ‘The neonatal cardiac team operate on babies far more fragile than Mackenzie,’ Gib said, enjoying playing devil’s advocate with this woman whose work he was learning to respect.

  ‘It’s operate or lose them,’ Sophie reminded him, then she smiled as she added, ‘And I’ve already given you my answer to that situation.’

  Her face wasn’t exactly ordinary without the smile, so why did the smile make such a difference?

  ‘Do you want me with you when you talk to them?’

  He shook off the distraction of Sophie’s smile and agreed he’d like her presence.

  ‘You’ve already established a rapport with Maria and, though Josh is a forceful presence, I think behind the scenes it’s Maria who’s the boss. Say an hour?’

  Sophie nodded and left the room, anxious to check Mackenzie again, although it wasn’t long since she’d seen her. With rounds finished, Maria and Josh were both with their baby, the tall, solid rugby player making Mackenzie seem even tinier.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Maria asked, and Sophie realised she should have kept away until she and Gib could approach them together.

  ‘She’s stabilised a lot since last night,’ she answered, then she checked the monitors and excused herself, feeling bad because the information she had to put together was going to increase the load of strain these already stressed parents carried.

  ‘Let’s lunch,’ Gib said to Sophie, as they left the family room where they’d laid out all the pros and cons of operating on a baby as small as Mackenzie and given the parents the details of the operation she might need. He guided Sophie back into his office, stopping just inside the door to issue what might have been an invitation.

  She felt exhausted, not from lack of sleep but from the emotional tension of their conversation with Josh and Maria.

  ‘I was going to go down to the child-care centre and play with Thomas for a short time. Last night was the first stint of on-duty work I’ve done and I really missed him.’

  ‘Etty’s very good,’ Gib said, frowning at her as though somehow she’d maligned his aunt-in-law.

  ‘I have no doubt she is, but it’s not Thomas I was worried about—it’s me. After what we’ve just been through, I need a hug.’

  ‘I can do hugs,’ he said quietly, and Sophie felt all the blood stop running in her veins as a stillness she didn’t want to break fell between them. Then she saw his hand rise towards her—his left hand with the wedding ring.

  ‘Maybe not,’ she said, then was disappointed when he echoed her.

  ‘Maybe not.’

  Two words—whispered almost—sliding into her ears with a strange resonance as if they weren’t a denial but a promise.

  ‘But come to lunch with me before you visit Thomas for your hug. You’ve been up half the night and are on duty again tonight, so take an hour or two off this afternoon—for Thomas’s hugs.’

  Lunch sounded good and although lunching with Gib—spending any more time than absolutely necessary with Gib—wasn’t a particularly good idea, given how ‘nice’ she was beginning to find him, it would be good to discuss Mackenzie, and the other babies in their care, in less clinical surroundings.

  ‘Have you tried the café off the foyer?’

  Gib had taken her acquiescence for granted and was guiding her towards the lift.

  ‘I haven’t tried anything but the sandwiches in the staffroom fridge,’ she told him, feeling the skin-alert his closeness usually caused and wondering if familiarity might breed not contempt, in this case, but some kind of immunity from her physical responses to this man’s presence.

  ‘Then you’re in for a treat. Angelique, who runs the café, is a chef in her own right, and employs the best young apprentices from the local colleges.’

  The lift stopped on the ground floor, and once again he stepped close, guiding her with his hand to her elbow, a courtly gesture—old-fashioned in its politeness—but as potent as a kiss to Sop
hie’s skin.

  Seated opposite her at one of the small tables in the café, Gib wondered why he’d asked her.

  To talk work, of course.

  But was it?

  Wasn’t it more the effect of the smile?

  She was studying the menu, a slight frown creasing the smooth skin of her brow. Her hair was pulled back into its usually neat pleat, the way she’d worn it for the interview and always wore it to work, but he’d seen it falling from a loose knot when she played with Thomas on the terrace below the house and—

  ‘Pizza with chicken, banana, bacon, tomato and chilli sauce?’ She glanced up at him across the menu, grey eyes smiling, although he couldn’t see her lips.

  ‘It’s great,’ he told her, ‘and if you’re only having a slice or two, try the watermelon salad with it.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ she said, setting down the menu so he could see her whole face, smile and all. ‘And a lemon squash, I think. That way I get…’ she counted on her long, slim fingers ‘…four of my fruit and veg out of the way for the day. Is it nine we’re supposed to have?’

  How could she be so at ease when he was as tense as a tightened guitar string whenever he was near her? She’d been in his life less than a week, and already he was more distracted than he’d been since—since when? Gillian’s diagnosis? The first time she’d been hospitalised? Her death?

  Over the last four years he’d learned to think less and less about Gillian, but since meeting Sophie—

  ‘The waitress wondered if you’re ready to order.’

  Sophie’s gentle words broke into his reverie and he looked up to see the young woman standing by his chair, pencil poised over her notebook.

  ‘I’ll have what she’s having,’ he said, then, hearing Sophie’s laughter, realised it was a well-worn phrase that had originated in an old movie. Then he remembered the circumstances in which it had been said and felt distinctly uncomfortable!

  Sophie was still smiling as she handed her menu to the waitress, but as silence stretched between them she rearranged her place setting to hide the unsettled feeling the chance remark had caused. Although now the meal had been ordered they could talk about Mackenzie, for surely this was a working lunch.

  ‘Do you think they’ll go for the op?’ she asked, and Gib frowned at her, as if he didn’t understand the question.

  ‘Josh and Maria,’ she clarified, though why he needed clarification she didn’t know. ‘Which way do you think they’ll jump?’

  He studied her for a moment, an emotion she couldn’t read clouding his usually clear blue eyes, then he gave a little shrug, as if casting off whatever it was he’d been thinking.

  ‘They’ll wait,’ he said, no doubt in his voice.

  ‘But when Josh asked you what you thought, you said we might have to operate—that there might be no choice. It seemed to me he took that to mean an op was inevitable.’

  Gib nodded, then he smiled at her, and she felt a wistful longing that this might have been other than a working lunch.

  Nonsense, she chided silently, picking up the thread of what he was saying and following his reasoning.

  ‘But when he asked you the same question,’ Gib continued, ‘you said they didn’t need to decide right now. That we were giving them the information because it might become a life-or-death decision and they should know the possible outcomes so they’d be prepared.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So Maria was looking at the photo of Mackenzie as you answered. I don’t think she wants her baby suffering any more.’

  Oh!

  All pretence that this could be anything other than a working lunch disappeared, and Sophie closed her eyes, praying the tears pricking at her eyelids would go away. She knew she should be over crying for babies by now, but had accepted that would never happen.

  Gib seemed to understand, for he said, ‘We would be failing them if we didn’t feel for them.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, then sat back so the waitress could put her meal down.

  They ate in silence, but it was an easy quiet that lay between them—seductively easy, as she could get used to sitting like this with Gib, but deceptively easy as well, for just so could she slip into the way of thinking something might happen between them.

  Look at that ring, she told herself. Any time you start thinking nonsense, just check it out.

  ‘Blake Smith’s doing well. Will you move him into the general care nursery before he goes home?’

  ‘I talked to his parents when I came in this morning. Suggested they might like to spend the night in the private room, tending him themselves but with the staff as backup. I’d prefer to do that. They’re very young, and although I’m confident they’re committed to giving him the best possible start they can, it might freak them out, doing everything for him that first twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Nice medical term, freak them out,’ Sophie teased, and Gib smiled at her.

  ‘You know what I mean!’

  ‘First sign of apnoea and, yes, I know exactly what you mean, but they get such good training and support. I saw young Todd gently rocking Blake the other day, and when I walked past he said “apnoea” to me as if he’d known for ever that babies could forget to breathe.’

  ‘They’ll take a monitor home with them, but it’s good to use that first within the hospital confines, so they know what noise to expect and will learn whether the shriek of the monitor will jolt him into breathing again.’

  ‘There’s always something, isn’t there?’ Sophie said, feeling sorry for the young couple who were about to embark on the sole care of their tiny baby son.

  ‘They’ll manage,’ Gib assured her, and she was confident, with this couple at least, that he was right. As far as Todd and Jenny were concerned, there was no such thing as too much information and they were prepared to put in the time to give young Blake every chance to catch up with his age group.

  Was it coincidence that the first people she saw on her return to the unit were Todd and Jenny?

  ‘We’re staying the night then taking him home in the morning,’ Jenny announced, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Tonight it will just be me and Todd, but once we get home Todd’s mum’s going to come over every afternoon, so I can have a sleep. Todd’s got to go back to work, you see.’

  Sophie wished the young parents all the best, then, after checking that all the babies, even Mackenzie, appeared content, she went down to see Thomas, hoping he’d have had his sleep and she could play with him for a while.

  The hug he gave her was every bit as good as she’d imagined it would be, and the delight in his eyes when he realised she could stay for a while made her feel guilty that her job took her away from him at all. But as he drifted from playing just with her to playing with his friends, she was grateful he was secure enough in her love for him to be left in child care or with Etty without any adverse effects.

  ‘He’s a great kid,’ Vicki said to her when, after a long goodbye hug, Sophie was returning to work. ‘He’s fitted in so well.’

  Into my life, too, Sophie thought as the cold dread of the question she didn’t want to consider seized her heart with icy fingers.

  But Hilary had said the father wasn’t interested. She had been so definite about it, Sophie had demanded to know if she’d told the man she was pregnant.

  ‘I promised not to,’ Hilary had said—a strange kind of remark, followed up by an even stranger one. ‘And he promised he’d never ask.’

  This was Sophie’s dilemma. In seeking out Thomas’s father, was she breaking Hilary’s promise to him?

  Yet, with her mother already instigating court proceedings to take Thomas from her, she needed this unknown man’s support.

  With a sigh that came up from the tips of her toes, she entered the lift, knowing by the time she reached the fifth floor where the NICU was located her mind had to be one hundred per cent focussed on her work. She could—and did—worry about Thomas in her own time, but the babies on the fifth f
loor deserved the best that she could give them…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FRIDAY afternoon and Sophie gladly handed over responsibility of the NICU to Yui Lin, now officially pregnant, and a paediatric registrar Gib had poached from one of the other teams. The registrar would be on call all weekend, Yui on duty for the next two nights.

  Little Mackenzie was holding her own—in fact, Sophie felt she was improving, which wouldn’t be the case if her bowel had perforated. They were putting her sudden collapse the previous night down to sepsis—an infection picked up somewhere along the line, but not necessarily originating in her damaged intestines.

  ‘You’ve been worrying us all to death,’ she told the little girl, stopping by her crib before she left the unit.

  ‘You can say that again,’ Josh, who was beside his daughter, said. ‘Maria is catching up on some sleep. You look as if you could do with some as well.’

  Sophie didn’t argue but, tired as she was after two nights on call, sleeping at the hospital in case she was needed, computerising patient files whenever she had free time, she felt her spirits lift as she headed for the child-care centre to collect Thomas. They’d had so little time together this week, and though he obviously loved Etty and was thriving under her care, Sophie had missed his hugs and sloppy kisses—even his unanswerable questions.

  ‘He’s in with the big kids,’ Vicki greeted her when she walked in. ‘They’ve got a visitor and as Thomas knows him he went along as well.’