The nurse comes out to him again, asking about other family members. They should be informed, she says. He knows that this woman is just doing her job, but to him she is like a circling bird of prey.
‘There are no relatives,’ he manages. ‘Just me.’
She looks surprised, says, ‘OK’, and walks back inside.
He thinks about that, how there are no relatives. Louise’s mother isolated herself by drinking, isolating her daughter along with her. Rory knows of no relatives other than Louise’s father, who never came back. She has friends, lots of friends. He should let them know. And he will – as soon as he can trust himself to string a sentence together. What will he even say? Not that she is dying. He will never admit that. Then, he stops pacing, walks outside and opens his phone. The person that he calls is Naomi.
‘She’ll be all right,’ Naomi says, with powerful confidence.
She doesn’t understand the danger. Rory tries to explain.
‘She will be all right,’ Naomi insists. ‘And I’ll keep the shop going.’
‘Don’t worry about that. It doesn’t matter now.’
‘I’m opening up today. And I’ll keep opening up until Louise is back on her feet. Because she will be back on her feet.’
Rory doesn’t know why he suddenly feels a whole lot better. But he does.
If he can’t be with Louise, he can be with their daughter. He makes a high-speed trip across the city. In the NICU he recognizes a few faces from his last visit. Other parents. All in the same boat. They exchange polite smiles. This time he knows where he is going. This time the shock of seeing his baby isn’t as enormous. Voice almost inaudible, he talks to her for the first time.
‘Hello. Hello, Thumbelina. I’m your dad. Yes, I’m your dad. How’re you doing? Are you nice and warm in there? Are you sunbathing?’ He should tell her about Louise. ‘Your mum would be here, beside me, but she’s not well. She’s fighting, like you, to get better. And when that happens, I’m going to make everything OK again. Are you listening? Can you hear me? We’ll have fun together. We’ll play rugby. We’ll go to the movies. We’ll even do girly stuff if you want.’
‘Would you like to touch her?’ a voice says behind him.
‘Has Emer gone off duty?’ He was familiar with Emer.
She nods. ‘I’m Grace.’ And smiles.
‘Hi.’
‘Would you like to touch her?’
‘She’s so tiny,’ he says, afraid he will hurt her.
‘It would be good for her.’
He looks hopeful.
He runs his finger along her arm with a featherlight touch.
‘I’ve taken some photos,’ Grace says, ‘so you can bring them to Mum.’
He swallows. But takes them, thanking her.
‘How is she doing?’
His face speaks for him.
‘Oh,’ she says.
‘Yeah.’ His voice is hoarse. Suddenly he needs to be with Louise.
This time he gets five minutes with her. He tries to ignore the machines. Wishes he could take her in his arms. He lingers over the kiss he places on her forehead. Still, it is shorter than he’d like.
‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he says gently into her ear. ‘It’s your secret admirer.’ He sticks the baby’s picture to the bed. ‘This is our little girl. She’s so beautiful. So tiny. You should see her feet, Lou. I don’t know what to call her in case you won’t like it. When you get better, we’ll pick something together.’ Because she will get better.
He doesn’t want to know that if not for dialysis, her kidneys would not be functioning. Nor does he want to know the results of her appalling liver function tests. Or that the ventilator is doing all the work. What he wants to do is download all her favourite songs back onto his iPod and bring it to her. He knows that she can hear. The unconscious often do. He can get through to her. He can make her want to fight.
At midday, he calls his mother. When he tells her he has some news, his tone leaves no doubt but that it’s not good. ‘Louise had the baby.’
There’s a second’s silence as the implications register. ‘Oh, Lord. It’s too early. The baby… is it… all right?’ Alive.
‘It’s a girl, Mum. And she’s on life support.’
‘Will she… be OK?’ Her anxiety and helplessness are audible.
‘I don’t know… It’s too early to tell.’
‘Oh, please, God.’ She is silent for a moment, and he guesses that she is in prayer. ‘And Louise, how is Louise?’
He could tell her about the liver, the kidneys, the fact that her system is shutting down, but instead, he tells the truth, finally admitting it to himself. ‘She is dying.’ Downloading all the songs in the world won’t change that.
‘Oh, God, Rory.’
He clears tears with the heel of his hand.
‘What can I do?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Should I visit?’
‘No. No visitors. Anyway, she’s unconscious.’
When his mother finally speaks, she sounds more confident. ‘Well, you can’t be in two places at once. Someone should sit with the baby. I will. And I’ll tell the others. We’ll take turns. Isn’t that what they say? Babies know when you’re there, and it helps, doesn’t it? That’s what we’ll do. We’ll sit with the baby.’
‘How will you get there?’
‘Don’t you worry about that.’
38
The following day, when Rory walks into the ICU, Louise’s bed is gone. He looks frantically at the nurse, who comes over to him.
‘They’ve taken her to theatre,’ she explains.
‘Theatre?’
‘We tried to get in touch with you, but your phone was going to voicemail. You’ve signed a consent form for any procedures that may be necessary.’
‘What procedure is she having?’
‘Repair of the laceration in her liver.’
He panics. Her situation must have changed. ‘Did she have another bleed?’
‘No, no. Her surgeon felt her condition had improved as much as it was going to so they should go ahead.’
‘How long is she gone?’
The nurse checks her watch. ‘Almost an hour.’
Rory takes a deep breath, tries to decide what to do next. He can wait here and go out of his mind or he can go see the baby.
A surprise greets him at the end of his drive. Sitting outside the NICU is Orla. Head down, she is blowing her nose.
‘Orla?’
She looks up and he sees that she is crying.
He panics. ‘Is everything all right? The baby?’
She shakes her head, eyes wide. ‘No. No. The baby’s fine. The baby’s wonderful. Your mum is in with her.’
‘Then why?’ And suddenly he understands. He sits beside her. ‘Are you all right?’
She nods. ‘Your mum asked me to give her a lift. Siofra brought her yesterday afternoon, but Alex is sick today and Owen was in some important meeting. I should have stayed outside. I should have known it would be too much. But I wanted to see her. I want her to make it so much. I wanted to tell her that. But I wasn’t prepared… She’s so small. I just kept thinking –’ She starts crying again.
And he puts an arm around her.
‘I’m so sorry, Rory.’
‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘It’s OK.’ And it is. There was a time he thought he’d never forgive her. But he does. He just does. He was too hard on Louise and now it’s too late. And he was too hard on Orla. But she is here, conscious, able to understand, and he can forgive. They can have a relationship. Maybe they can even help each other.
A nurse lets him in to the NICU. He washes his hands and gowns up.
His mother is bending over the baby singing softly. ‘I’m a bear called Jeremy.’
This makes him smile. ‘Hello,’ he says.
She jumps.
‘I’m sorry, but there can be only one person at a time,’ the nurse says, behind them.
‘I�
�m going now, anyway,’ says his mum.
‘I’ll walk you out,’ he says.
When they get to the gowning area, she speaks. ‘She is the most beautiful creation I have ever seen.’ She rubs his arm. Then starts to undo her gown. ‘Poor Orla. She was very upset.’
‘Maybe best not to ask her again. If Siofra can’t bring you, ring me. Or Owen.’
‘Wish I’d taken more of those driving lessons.’ She smiles, but it fades quickly. ‘How’s Louise?’
‘In theatre. They’re trying to repair her liver.’
‘Please God,’ she says, and closes her eyes as though making a wish. ‘I’ve been praying like mad.’
‘Hope you asked for a miracle.’
‘Two.’
He sighs. ‘I better go in.’
She puts a hand on his arm, to stop him. ‘Rory, I’ve been praying to your father. If he has anything to do with it, that baby in there will grow up to be the biggest, strongest, fastest child in Ireland. And her mother will witness it all.’
He hugs her. And is in no rush to let go.
Two days after the surgery, one of those miracles seems to have occurred. Louise’s liver function tests have returned to normal. The surgeon expresses amazement. Three more days and Louise is producing urine, not much, but some. Rory, afraid to allow himself hope, asks his mother to keep praying. He even prays himself. The doctors begin to reduce the amount of work the ventilator is doing to see how Louise’s lungs cope. Then one magical day, when Rory kisses her forehead, she opens her eyes and tries to sit up. Alarms go off and a nurse rushes to settle her back down. A doctor gives her sedation. She cannot be awake and on a ventilator. But that is not a worry to Rory. Louise is no longer unconscious. Her sleep is medically induced. Maybe now he can afford to hope. The doctors talk about removing the ventilator altogether. And ten days following the surgery, they do. Louise no longer needs sedation. When it wears off, she opens her eyes. Rory is there, holding her hand, waiting. She is so weak that the only things she seems to be able to move are her eyes. And mouth. Her first words are, ‘The baby?’
Rory squeezes her hand then stands up and pulls the photo from the bed. He holds it up to her face so she can see. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
But her face is filled with worry. ‘Is she OK?’
‘She’s perfect. Tiny and perfect.’
‘We had a girl,’ she says, and looks into his eyes.
‘She’s almost two weeks old and every day she’s getting stronger.’
With what seems like great effort, Louise turns her head. ‘I’ve been asleep for two weeks?’
He nods. ‘You had us worried.’
She closes her eyes. It seems all she is able for. But then she opens them again. ‘Have you given her a name?’
‘Thumbelina.’
She smiles. ‘I like it.’ Then she closes her eyes.
Days later, Louise is moved out of ICU to the renal ward. All she talks about is seeing the baby, but she is still on dialysis, under the care of three different teams, and still very weak. Rory witnesses a fighting determination to get well, get out of hospital and hold her baby. Louise has always been determined, but this is like nothing he has ever seen before. She pushes herself to eat, get out of the bed, walk with the help of the nurses, do every exercise the physiotherapist gives her and more. Sometimes the nurses tell her to slow down. But she will not.
‘She seems so far away. Over there, all alone,’ she says of the baby.
‘She’s not alone. She has Mum, Siofra, Jenna. And me. She is loved. She’s not alone.’
‘I know. But I’m her mother and she’s never even seen me. She’s three weeks old and she doesn’t know what it’s like for her own mother to hold her, to tell her she loves her, comfort her when she cries, feed her. I want to tell her I was sick, that’s why I didn’t come.’
‘I’ve told her for you.’
‘She needs to hear it from me.’ The genuine distress in her voice saves him from feeling hurt. ‘She heard my heart every day, for weeks and weeks. Then it stopped.’
‘Thank God it didn’t,’ Rory says, automatically.
When she looks at him, he holds her eyes, wanting her to know what that would have done to him.
Louise is weaned off dialysis and put on close observation. She hassles the doctors until they let her out for a few hours to see the baby. This they do only on the assurance that Rory, a doctor, will be with her.
‘I can’t believe we’re out,’ she says to him in the car. ‘I can’t believe I’m finally getting to see her.’ Her excitement makes him love her even more.
‘Last time I went through these doors,’ she says, when they arrive at the maternity hospital, ‘I’d no idea what was coming.’
Rory offers her his arm. Still very weak, she leans on him, but refuses a wheelchair. As they go up in the lift, she grows quiet. He feels her tense.
‘What if she doesn’t know who I am? What if she doesn’t like me? What if I make her cry?’
‘You’re her mother. She loves you already.’
He helps Louise with her gown. And they go to their baby. When Louise sees her, she starts to cry. When she speaks, her voice is high. ‘Hello, hello, sweetheart. Mummy’s here.’
One of the nurses pulls up a comfortable chair. ‘You might like to sit down,’ she says.
Louise looks at the nurse as though seeing her for the first time. ‘Thank you. Thank you for looking after my baby. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘She’s doing so well. She’s really come on in three weeks.’ The nurse starts to explain what all the equipment is for, but Louise appears not to hear, gazing at her little girl as though she is the only person in the room. When the nurse stops talking, Louise starts – to the baby.
‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. But I am now. And I’ll never leave you again. I’ll be the best mum. You’ll see.’ Eventually she turns to Rory. ‘Her little arms! They’re so thin.’
‘We’ll feed her spinach.’
‘She’s a miracle.’
They’re beautiful together, Rory thinks, mother and child, staring into each other’s eyes. He is in awe.
The doctors start to talk to Louise about discharge. And home support. She’s still very weak and will require a lot of medical care. Her dressings need to be changed, her blood pressure monitored. She needs ongoing physiotherapy, occupational therapy. When they discover that she lives alone, they want to discharge her to a convalescent home.
‘I want to get out,’ she says to Rory. ‘But not to a home. I have to be able to see the baby.’
‘Then come home with me. Let me look after you.’ He doesn’t want to let her go, afraid he’ll never get her back. He has his excuse ready: he’s a doctor. He can keep an eye on her. They’ll let her out if she stays with him. But in the end, that’s not what he says.
‘I love you. And I don’t want us to be apart again – ever.’
She’s about to speak, but a nurse comes in to ask if she wants any painkillers.
‘No. No thanks, I’m fine.’
The nurse leaves, and Louise turns to Rory.
He clears his throat. ‘I love you, Lou. I never stopped, even when I tried to. Don’t ask me to live without you. Not again. When I thought I’d lost you –’ His voice cracks and he stops.
She gets up and goes to him. Sits on his lap and puts her arms around him. ‘You haven’t lost me,’ she whispers.
Epilogue
June parks her husband’s car outside the church and hurries inside. Naomi pulls up in a ten-year-old, slightly battered silver Honda and Jason hops out in shirt and tie. He looks towards the church, just as a priest with long wavy hair and Jesus sandals is walking in a side door.
‘Come on, Ma, we’ll be late.’
‘Coming,’ she says, silently cursing the traffic that delayed them.
Inside the church, sitting in the front row, Rory looks up as the priest enters and is reassured that he and Louise made the right decision. This is
the kind of person they want celebrating their daughter’s christening – a relaxed, easygoing, positive man. Rory thinks back to Daisy’s christening and his father’s presence behind him. Everything is going to be different for Grace.
Rory turns to look at his family, as he often does, as though reassuring himself that they’re still there and haven’t disappeared. Louise looks up from the baby and smiles. He leans to kiss her, doesn’t care who is watching. This is his little family, the two most important people in his world.
Louise passes Grace to him. She is asleep, their angel, her tiny fingers curled into fists. He can’t believe the overwhelming love he feels for her, with her little pixie face and tiny pointed chin. She is their miracle child, whose struggle for life has made her all the more precious. Ten long weeks in hospital. Endless ups and downs. It is four months since she was allowed home and, to Rory, she seems so big and strong, though she is the smallest baby being christened.
They will never have another. He’d never let Louise risk it, even if she wanted to. He knows how lucky he is to have her here beside him. And is in no doubt about just how much he loves her. He even manages to share this with her on those scary occasions he remembers how close he came to losing her.
Jason sits in beside him now, asking him to ‘shove over’. Rory smiles at him. He must be the youngest godfather on record.
‘Rugby finished late,’ Jason explains.
‘That excuse always works with me,’ Rory whispers. He wonders where the other godparent is, but reminds himself of how late he was when it was his turn. He’s not worried. Orla will be here.
A baby cries and Rory turns. Owen, father for the first time to a boy, is searching for a soother. In one swift movement, Kate shoves one in. And Owen’s shoulders relax. Rory looks at him and realizes that all it took for him to settle down was for the baby to be born. His brother has started over and seems to have accepted that there is no going back.
Do You Want What I Want? Page 30
