Dr. Carlisle's Child

by Carol Marinelli

  Lucinda laughed. ‘Actually, I do know what you mean. I’ve got a godson in Sydney—’

  ‘Miss Chambers, sorry to interrupt.’ Professor Hays smiled broadly, looking anything but sorry, and Lucinda’s sentence was left unfinished. Seb gave her a slightly questioning look but there was no chance to complete the conversation as the professor had other plans.

  ‘Its nearly time to head over to NICU. Mr Doran wants us there to discuss one of the infants,’ Professor Hays explained to Seb. ‘Fabulous speech, don’t you think? It doesn’t do any harm to be reminded who we’re here for. I think Miss Chambers is going to be a real asset, don’t you agree, Dr Carlisle?’

  Seb nodded in agreement and, turning back to Lucinda, for a second his gaze flickered downwards, his eyes travelling briefly over her body. Lucinda felt her heart rate quicken.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Seb replied, his voice deep and rich. ‘A real asset.’ Replacing his empty glass on the table, he excused himself and left. For a split second Lucinda had the craziest notion to run after him. To tap on his shoulder and explain that what she’d been trying to say had been that she’d moved into her friend’s house whilst she’d been on a placement and had seen at first hand the destruction a toddler could cause. That she wasn’t so shallow as to think a godson in any way gave her an insight into parenthood. But, of course, she didn’t. What would be the point? she reasoned. Sebastian Carlisle had, after all, only been there today to be polite. He’d probably forgotten their conversation as soon as he’d walked out of the door. So why couldn’t she just forget it? Lucinda wondered as she joined the professor and walked along the corridor towards NICU, for all the world appearing to listen intently as Professor Hays spoke. Why couldn’t she?

  Walking along Southbank, the delicious fragrant aroma of the Suriyan Indian Restaurant was just too good to ignore.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Doctor. You took the job, I gather?’

  Lucinda smiled at the greeting, touched Vijay had remembered her.

  ‘Your delectable butter chicken was a very favourable deciding factor. I think we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I’ll have it to go tonight, though.’ Her friendly remark wasn’t untrue. Southbank, set along Melbourne’s Yarra River, with its multitude of shops, restaurants and food court all open until late into the night, meant that she would never have to worry about cooking. Not that she didn’t enjoy it but the ridiculous hours she worked hardly left enough time for shopping, let alone preparing meals. This cultural melting pot set in such beautiful surroundings offered her a different choice every night, but Indian food was definitely a favourite.

  Vijay handed her a card. ‘You ring me before you leave the hospital and I’ll have your order waiting, no worries. If you’re on call, my son will come and deliver to you,’ he said in his Indian accent, peppered with Australianisms. ‘I know how hard you doctors work. You see my son?’ Vijay pointed to a strapping teenager setting up the restaurant tables. ‘He was no bigger than this…’ Holding up his hands, Vijay showed such an impossibly tiny gap between them that Lucinda knew, unless his son was a medical marvel that even she hadn’t heard about, Vijay was exaggerating, but she didn’t spoil the story, enjoying the lighthearted banter. ‘But when you see him now, such a fine young boy… Your hospital makes many miracles.’

  ‘Do you want a garlic naan?’ he added more as an afterthought.

  Lucinda shook her head. ‘Not very fair on the patients. What was that lovely bread I had last time, with fruit and nuts?’

  ‘Ah, my sweet mincemeat naan. Very good choice, Doctor. And how about some beautiful saffron rice to go with your chicken?’

  How could she refuse?

  Minutes later Lucinda nodded briefly to the doorman as he pressed the lift button for her. Letting herself into her twentieth-floor apartment, Lucinda set the white plastic bag containing her dinner onto the gleaming benchtop. The cleaner had obviously been in as the morning’s breakfast dishes and discarded clothes were all back in their various cupboards, making the place look more like a sterile hotel room than ever.

  Her mother had organised the apartment for her through a real-estate contact, and while it was sumptuous, with glittering bay and city views shimmering through the full-length windows, it didn’t do much for Lucinda.

  Kicking off her cream suede shoes, she wiggled her toes luxuriously in the thick white carpet. White everything really, she noted, except for the black granite benchtops and stainless-steel appliances. Yes, it was luxurious, but hardly homely. There was nothing remotely personal about it. Still, she could set about finding somewhere more to her taste in a few months when she had the job under control.

  Checking the answering machine, Lucinda couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment that her parents hadn’t rung to see how her first day had gone. Then she checked herself. What did she expect? Instead, there were a couple of boring messages, one from her new bank, the other from the caretaker of the apartment block warning her of a fire-alarm check. She toyed with the idea of ringing her parents, but what was the point? They were probably out at some restaurant.

  Instead, she put the foil cartons into the cooker, set it on low and then ran a deep bath. Slipping into the water, she closed her eyes, resting her head back as she reflected on her first day as a consultant. It had taken a lot to get here, so why now, she wondered, when she was at the top, or at least very near, didn’t she feel happier? Why wasn’t she lying in the bath in this marble bathroom with a self-satisfied grin and a glow of achievement?

  Because there was no one to share it with. Lucinda tried to ignore the thought and pulled out the plug, wrapping herself in a huge bathrobe, but that inner voice wouldn’t go away. Because for all your talk and bravado, you’re not that hard and you do care.

  Listlessly she served up her dinner and, carrying the plate over to the sofa, took in the gorgeous sunset. The whole of Melbourne lay before her, the bay shimmering gold. It was a view made for sharing.

  For a second Lucinda felt so lonely it hurt. She had never had a problem attracting the opposite sex, and was never short of offers for dates. But her relationships, if you could call them that, never seemed to get anywhere. Men didn’t like playing second fiddle to her career and the gloss soon wore off for her, too. Maybe she set her sights too high? But what was wrong with that? She wanted to get it right the first time. Imagine ending up like Sebastian and Gemma Carlisle? What a mess. Casting her mind back, she remembered the way Seb had looked at her at the luncheon.

  ‘A real asset,’ he’d said, but it was the way he’d said it. Lucinda felt her stomach tighten just at the memory of his voice. Sebastian Carlisle was gorgeous, disturbingly so, but completely out of bounds, of course. Lucinda didn’t have a hard-and-fast rule about not mixing business with pleasure, but on the whole avoided it. Who needed the complication? Anyway, on Wednesday she would be operating with Professor Hays on his son. The word was a sobering thought.

  Covered by the green sterile theatre drapes and with a multitude of wires, tubes and monitors attached to his body, the small form lying on the operating table was unrecognisable as Billy. But there was an increased air of tension in the theatre that morning as all of the staff worked alongside and knew Sebastian Carlisle well. The fact it was Seb’s son lying there didn’t mean Billy would get better treatment—all the young patients were afforded the best possible care. But it did mean that each staff member had a personal stake in this operation for they had all heard about Billy and his setbacks and achievements relayed in Seb’s deep drawl over the past five years.

  For Lucinda, however, the emotions that ran through her when the boy was prepared with a Betadine solution and a large occlusive dressing placed over the site of incision to reduce his chances of infection came as a total surprise. Her air of tension had nothing to do with the fact his father was an anaesthetist at the hospital. This morning it was all to do with Billy.

  When she had popped into the ward that morning for the pre-op round he had again
given her the benefit of that cheeky smile and she’d felt her hardened heart melt slightly. She’d smiled back at him and, more amazingly, had stopped to listen when Billy had turned his robot on for her benefit, watching as the metallic figure had clunked around his bedside table. Gemma had been nowhere to be seen, but Seb had been there, smiling appreciatively at her for taking the time to indulge Billy.

  ‘Thanks for that.’ He’d come up to her as she’d left the ward. ‘He might seem all right but he’s pretty nervous.’

  ‘You, too?’

  Seb had nodded. ‘I know technically it’s a pretty straightforward operation, but that’s the medical side of me trying to rationalise things. At the end of the day it keeps coming back to me that it’s my son’s heart that’s being operated on.’

  ‘We’ll take good care of him,’ she’d said in her most confident voice as she’d stridden off towards the theatres. It was what she said to all the parents but for some reason this time it hadn’t seemed enough, and she had been left wishing she could have somehow comforted him more.

  But like the rest of the theatre staff, Lucinda put her emotions to one side as the operation commenced and Professor Hays made his incision. Billy’s temperature was brought down to reduce his body’s demand for oxygen and he was placed onto heart bypass. Professor Hays was indeed a skilled operator and Lucinda’s talent complemented his skills. Neither was the type for small talk or background music. They worked in quiet harmony, with only the occasional exchange of words.

  Their attention was completely focused on the small damaged heart until finally, with her back aching, Lucinda sat up on her stool and Professor Hays instructed the perfusionist that Billy was ready to be weaned off the bypass machine. The tension in the room increased again but lifted as the small heart filled with blood and started pumping.

  ‘Good work, everybody. Miss Chambers, I’ll leave you to close Master Carlisle and I’ll go and speak to his parents, let them know how well it went.’

  Lucinda stayed with Billy in the recovery room, writing out the post-operative instructions and ordering the multitude of drugs Billy would be needing, as well as the intravenous fluids orders. For the next twenty-four hours he would be in Intensive Care on a respirator to allow him to rest and to enable the staff to concentrate on his heart. But, all being well, he would then be moved off the intensive care unit and back onto his old ward, but in the four-bedded high-dependency section.

  A nurse escorted Seb, Gemma and a woman Lucinda didn’t recognise to the gurney where Billy lay. Lucinda stepped away slightly, allowing them nearer. Only Gemma held back.

  ‘Mummy and Daddy are here and Aunty Isabella. Professor Hays said you’ve been a very brave boy. We’re all so proud.’ Seb’s words were gentle and comforting but Lucinda could hear the break in his voice, could see the tension in his shoulders as he leant over the trolley, his strong brown hands gently caressing his son’s face.

  ‘It went very well.’ Lucinda said gently to Gemma, knowing Professor Hays would have said the same thing but realising it was all they would want to hear. ‘He’s heavily sedated but talk to him, hold his hand.’

  Seb turned to his ex-wife. ‘Come on, Gemma, hold his hand let him know we’re all here for him.’ His voice held no malice, just a hint of pleading. Gemma stepped forward and hesitantly picked up one of Billy’s pale hands.

  ‘Mummy’s here, Billy.’ But it was Seb who spoke. Gemma just stood there, frozen. ‘Talk to him Gemma, please,’ Seb said gruffly.

  Gemma replaced Billy’s hand on the starched blanket. ‘I have to make a phone call. I’ll be down in the canteen.’

  ‘Gemma, please,’ Seb pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Gemma hurriedly left the recovery area.

  ‘Just let her go,’ Isabella said wearily.

  ‘Sometimes all the equipment can be a bit intimidating,’ the theatre nurse ventured, but Seb said nothing and Lucinda was sure she could see a glint of tears in his vivid eyes as he gently stroked his son’s hair. Lucinda carried on writing up the charts, relaying her instructions to the theatre nurse as she wrote them. The nurse would in turn pass on her orders to the intensive care staff.

  The porters arrived to wheel the gurney over to Intensive Care.

  ‘We’ll get him over now, Dr Carlisle,’

  Seb nodded. ‘Isabella, will you go and tell Gemma they’re moving him? I want to stay around.’

  Isabella gave Billy a quick kiss and made her way out of the recovery area as the staff checked and rechecked the oxygen and equipment on the trolley to ensure they were prepared for any eventuality on the short journey across to the unit.

  ‘I’ll come and let you know when they’re ready for you to see him, Seb,’ the theatre nurse said kindly but firmly.

  Seb nodded resignedly and Lucinda knew that he wanted more than anything to go with his son, but though he had been allowed into the out-of-bounds theatre recovery area it was better that they settled Billy away from Seb. He wasn’t a doctor here, but the child’s father.

  As the trolley moved off Seb made his way over to the small annexe off the recovery area.

  Lucinda watched as he walked off, his face etched with anxiety and his usual air of confidence gone. She had given him the usual spiel on the ward, and it had left her feeling empty. It was time for something more.

  Sometimes words did help, but then there were times when knowing when to say nothing helped more. As Lucinda made her way into the annexe she knew it should be Gemma here, that Billy’s parents should be comforting and leaning on each other through this terrible angst-filled time. But for some reason Gemma was instead sitting in the canteen, making her calls, leaving Seb to battle with a myriad emotions in that small sterile room.

  Lucinda knew there was nothing she could say to help so instead she went and sat quietly beside him. It was a moment or two before Seb acknowledged she was there and when he finally spoke his voice was thick with emotion.

  ‘He’s been through so much, poor kid. It’s bad enough with all the operations and his asthma, but his mum and dad breaking up as well and now Gemma can’t even bear to hold his hand. It’s like she doesn’t want to even be in the same room with him.’ His voice broke. ‘How much can one little guy take?’ Seb took a couple of deep breaths and sat up straight, embarrassed at betraying so much feeling. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear all this,’ he said in a gruff voice.

  But Lucinda shook her head. ‘Please, don’t apologise. I know it’s awful for all of you.’

  Seb continued tentatively as if he had to justify his words. ‘It was just so awful to see him like that. More than anyone, I knew what to expect but it was still a shock. The prof told me it went well, told me a bit too much detail really.’ He winced. ‘There’s some things you really don’t need to know.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said, but the words came out wrong and she almost heard her mother’s affected tones in her voice.

  Seb turned and gave her a cynical look. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said dryly. ‘After all, you’ve got a godson.’

  Lucinda stiffened. She knew he was hurting but at least she was here, at least she was trying. She stood up smartly. ‘I’d better get back.’ Her crisp demeanour returned and she made no attempt now to hide it, but Seb was contrite for his sarcastic words and he stood up as well, his hand reaching out and touching her arm as she turned to go.

  ‘That was completely uncalled for. I know you’re trying to help.’

  Lucinda said nothing. Acutely aware of the warm strength of his hand on her bare arm, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from his steady gaze. It was Seb who finally broke the spell.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘Thank you for being here.’

  Lucinda nodded. For a moment she was speechless, bewildered by the turbulent thoughts he so easily evoked. Finally she found her voice. ‘I really do have to go now.’

  They left the annexe together. Seb returned to Billy and Lucinda made her way to the sink where she started the long and t
edious process of scrubbing for the next operation. But for both there was a gentle disquiet, a lingering feeling that something special had happened in those few moments. Something good and strong, a tiny foundation from which to build.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘WE ARE honoured.’ Ann Benton looked up from her desk and gave Lucinda a tired smile as she entered the nurse unit manager’s office. ‘A registrar and a consultant on the ward on a Saturday evening. Is one of my patients sick that I don’t know about?’

  Lucinda shook her head. ‘I hope not! One of the premmies on NICU went into atrial fibrillation. She’s kept us all on our toes this afternoon,’ Lucinda explained. Little Kimberley’s heart had been beating too rapidly and causing a lot of concern. Lucinda had been called in for an emergency consultation and after a multitude of tests and drugs the baby’s arrhythmia was starting to settle. ‘Who else is here, then?’

  ‘Pete Hughes. He’s going out with one of my nurses. We’re short tonight and Ellen offered to stay till seven, so Pete’s hanging around, otherwise we wouldn’t see him for dust.’

  Lucinda raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment. ‘How are my patients—any concerns?’ she asked instead.

  ‘You mean, how’s Billy? You really have got a soft spot for him, and here was me expecting an ice queen. You’re as soft as butter, Miss Chambers.’ Ann had an ability to say exactly what everyone was thinking and somehow manage not to cause offence. Lucinda knew all about her own reputation and it was in some way a relief to be able to let down her guard with this likeable, knowledgeable woman.

  ‘Billy’s fine. We’ve taken him out of high dependency this morning and he’s back on the general ward now. He’ll probably be going home on Monday or Tuesday, but then that’s up to you, of course. He’s already watched his favourite video three times.’