To Dr Cartwright, A Daughter

by Meredith Webber

'I beg your pardon?'

  She turned to Jake, aware he'd been talking while she chastised herself.

  'I said it wasn't like you to quit so easily. You know better than most how hard you have to fight for what you want.'

  He looked into her eyes, challenging her to deny his words and carrying her back with effortless ease to long-forgotten arguments.

  'But I can afford to pay your board and tuition,' he'd said, trying to persuade her to give up her crazy schedule of work and study. 'At least let me keep you.'

  'I won't take your charity!' she'd yelled at him. 'I was managing just fine before you came along. I can make it on my own!'

  He'd cursed her stubbornness, yet she'd suspected he'd admired it at the same time.

  'Well?' he asked, and she realised she'd missed another bit of the conversation. She had to stop flashing in and out of the past. Apart from weakening her mental armour against this man, it was making logical, work-related thought impossible.

  'Well?' she echoed in a puzzled voice, trying to pull herself together.

  'I said, if we don't have time during the week, we'll have to get together over the weekend. Would Saturday or Sunday suit you?'

  'I can't do that!' she gasped. 'I'm far too busy!'

  And her time alone with Julia was too precious to consider giving up!

  'You were never afraid of extra work,' he reminded her. 'Social life taking up all your time these days?' He looked swiftly around the room, as if to indicate he was thinking about the missing flowers. 'Did your fanatical work ethic finally break down when you realised what you were missing? Is that why you gave up nursing? Did it all get too difficult after all?'

  He sounded angry, but puzzled as well—and just a little as if he might care what had happened to her, and why!

  'My personal life is none of your business, Jake Cartwright!' she said with regal disdain, then she spoiled the whole effect by adding, 'And I'm still not afraid of extra work. In fact, I still waitress every Friday and Saturday nights, if you must know, which is why I don't want to spend what little spare time I get working on this stupid project!'

  He looked stunned by her outburst, but she was already regretting it. The new unit wasn't a stupid project—in fact it was very important to her that it succeeded.

  'I can go through the papers on my own during the week,' she muttered. 'After all, I'm the one who knows how Mr Forbes's mind works. I'll jot down the things I think he'll object to and you can work out how you want to respond.'

  'Why?' he demanded, the belligerence in his voice dragging her eyes up from her paperwork to focus, again, on his face.

  'Why do it?' she snapped. 'You're the one who suggested it.'

  He waved his hand as if to dismiss her words.

  'Not that,' he said. 'Why are you still waitressing? Aren't you paid enough? Should we be concentrating on admin assistants' wages rather than a new maternity unit?'

  She almost smiled. Jake was like a truffle hound when he perceived or suspected injustice!

  'I'm paid well, but...' She shrugged her shoulders. She couldn't explain that talking computers with raised characters on their keyboards cost only a little less than a space shuttle, nor could she admit that the two nights a week when she worked as a waitress had become a substitute social life for her.

  'I like waitressing,' she finished. Let him argue with that!

  She was saved by his pager, which buzzed as she finished speaking. He dialled the number shown, spoke briefly, then stood up.

  'I'll be in Theatre if you need me. Mrs Carstairs has come in. And before you ask, she's Dr Anderson's patient, remember? All I'll be is an extra pair of hands. It's not up to me to decide on delivery methods.'

  Katy tried to look offended, but it was hard when her lips wanted to smile.

  'Dr Anderson agrees with me about natural birth whenever possible,' she said primly. 'She's been taken to Theatre because there's enough space there for five humidicribs and access to more emergency equipment if it's needed.'

  He shook his head, as if again surprised by the extent of her knowledge.

  'Sure you don't want to take my place in the action?' he teased, and her heart raced into its rapid mode as she caught the full force of his smile.

  'Definitely not!' she told him. 'I like the theory, not the practical side of things these days.' She hesitated, then added, 'Good luck!'

  He'd been walking towards the door, but he turned and smiled again.

  'Thanks, Katy,' he said softly, then he continued on his way.

  She stared at the door panels for a moment, unable to escape memories of how things used to be between them. Then she remembered their strange conversation last night, her anger with him, and four words he'd said. "I had my reasons."

  What had he meant?

  She shook her head to rid it of such distraction and phoned through to the chief security officer to warn him that their action plan for the arrival of the expected Carstairs quintuplets should begin. The problem of keeping unwanted visitors off the fourth floor would fall to the security staff, but Katy knew any major disaster— like a photographer flashing his camera in the wards or corridors—would upset patients and staff and undoubtedly rebound onto her.

  Bill Head assured her he had it all under control and she hung up and dialled Sue Gates in the nursery.

  'I'll ring around for extra staff—is there anyone in particular you want?'

  'Thanks, Katy, I was about to call you,' Sue replied. 'Two of the nurses on duty today are willing to take an extra shift tomorrow, but the night sister will need at least two extra helpers—three if you can muster them. Once we know how much work there'll be, I'll juggle the staff to suit. I'd prefer to keep the same rota of staff with the babies, so the little mites aren't constantly readjusting to different people.'

  'Well, I'll find three for tonight,' Katy promised, pulling a list of casual staff from a drawer in her desk. 'Let me know tomorrow if you need more.'

  The hospital's 'casuals' were more like members of a private nursing service, with the hospital contracting them to work in patients' homes, medical centres, or even other hospitals when they weren't required for extra shifts in the wards. Katy's list contained the men and women who specialised in maternity and neonatal nursing. She began her phone calls, knowing whoever she found would need time to make arrangements for child-care or to cancel social engagements before they could report for work.

  As she finished the calls she smiled. The first three phone calls had been successful. In fact, the three women she'd contacted had all been delighted at the thought of nursing Lake Shore's expected quintuplets. Knowing Mrs Carstairs's love of publicity, they'd probably all get their photos in the paper!

  So cynical, Katy?

  She mentally chided herself. The Carstairs family would need all the help it could get in the weeks, months and even years to come. If they could sell their story to the press, good luck to them. But selling to the press brought its own problems, as the media outlet who bought the story would demand exclusive rights. And that would leave all the other news hounds baying at the doors, desperate for an unauthorised picture or story. It made the security angle a nightmare!

  But that was a mechanical problem she hoped Security could handle. Less solvable was the future of the babies. Katy worried because she was so aware of the increased risk of abnormalities in multiple births. In fact, considering the statistics, shouldn't there be ethical considerations in using drugs which promoted conception but led to multiple conception? It was something that nagged at her, making her wary about the excitement of the coming event.

  She shook her head and decided that the pros and cons of IVF treatments weren't her problem. She'd have enough to worry about with the media circus and staff—things which were her concern. Even with extra security staff on the fourth floor, some photographer could find his way into the nursery, anxious to take the first shots of the new arrivals. She'd heard stories where such a thing had happened after the birth of a 'cele
brity' baby—only the photographer had photographed the wrong child and the parents had sued the hospital!

  She tried to shrug off her feeling of apprehension, telling herself to think positively—there was every chance the whole operation would come off without mishap, that their security precautions would work, and, by far the most important factor, that all five of the babies would pull through the long weeks in the nursery.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Katy thought of Julia, born at thirty-two weeks, but small for her age, malnourished because Katy's own health had been so poor. For the first forty-eight hours she'd seemed all right, although Katy had thought her lips were cyanosed, and her nostrils flaring too much as the tiny mite gasped for breath. At seventy-two hours the specialist had diagnosed RDS—Respiratory Distress Syndrome. The oxygen saturation in the humidicrib had been increased and Julia had recovered.

  It had been months before Katy had realised the full extent of the damage to Julia's eyes. Too late to do anything except be grateful her daughter had survived!

  She glanced at her watch. She had twenty minutes before she was due to collect that same daughter from the crèche. She'd take the 'New Unit' file upstairs, then pop into the nursery and see the premature baby before she left.

  Mr and Mrs Robinson were sitting by their son's crib, gazing at the baby with wariness, despair and fear intermingling in their eyes.

  'Hi, I'm Katy. I work here, but I also had a pre-term baby much the same size as your little lad. She's five now, and has reached all the normal milestones in speech and motor dexterity. In fact, although she's still physically slight for her age, she's ahead of most of her peers in other ways.'

  The couple looked up at her, reaching for each other as if they could now fight together for their son.

  'It was such a little accident,' the woman said. 'Phil was distracted by a dog. We just bumped the car in front. We were travelling slowly and there was hardly any damage to either car.'

  Katy understood the guilt they were both feeling and hastened to reassure them.

  'I'm not a medical person, but I know these things can occur spontaneously. The accident might have precipitated it, but it could also have happened without the accident. It's very important not to waste energy apportioning blame but to get on with the positive stuff. Are you hoping to breast feed? Will you express milk so the little fellow can begin feeding on your milk as soon as possible?'

  She knew she'd diverted the woman, but Phil was still looking doubtful so she turned her attention to him.

  'And will you help with feeding? You can, you know, when they begin to wean him from the crib. At the moment his skin is very fine, and the tiny blood vessels in it are easily damaged, so the less he's handled the better. The staff will show you how to touch him so he knows you're here.'

  She gestured towards the crib.

  'They curl him in that little nest to help him breathe and keep him warm. Premmie babies haven't had time to put fat down beneath their skin, so they lose heat very rapidly.'

  The man was losing his dazed look and Katy felt a sense of relief wash through her. She knew the staff were too busy to spend much time with new parents, and the hospital counsellor was not always available immediately. That was one of the reasons she tried to see the parents herself, before their lack of knowledge and uneasiness built a barrier between them and the child.

  'Someone from a pre-term births organisation will probably call in this evening,' she assured them. 'They can help because, like me, they've been through it all and understand how you are feeling.'

  The woman smiled at her.

  'Thanks for talking to us,' she said softly. 'I think we'll go back to my room now. I feel as if I might be able to sleep for a while.'

  Katy watched as her husband helped her to her feet. Would having had someone to lean on have made her time in hospital easier? She'd had Julia in a huge public hospital in a southern city, and the staff had been so busy they'd barely had time to say hello when she'd slipped quietly into the nursery each morning.

  Well, it didn't matter now!

  She felt her face softening into a smile as she thought of her daughter playing happily downstairs, and hurried from the nursery, anxious now to see her.

  They walked home hand in hand, Julia pointing out the flowers on the trees as if she could see them as clearly as Katy could.

  'Now we're at the swans,' she announced. 'Are they swimming?'

  'They're swimming,' Katy assured her, remembering how Julia had been frightened by the hissing menace of the swans when they'd been nesting. 'And their babies are swimming in line behind them. They're growing some of their white feathers now and don't look nearly as cute.'

  'Like the Ugly Duckling in the story,' Julia chortled as they turned into the avenue of poincianas.

  Here they walked at the edge of the path so she could reach out and touch each tree trunk. Katy wondered if she counted her paces between them, for she always knew when to put out her hand so it could slide across the smooth trunk. It was another manifestation of the extra-sensory perception her daughter seemed to have developed to compensate for her loss of sight. It intrigued Katy, and she hoped one day to be able to study the phenomenon in more depth, to work with sight-impaired children and find out if this sensory awareness could be taught like other skills.

  There were so many things she wanted to do—one day! Would that day ever come? She doubted it! Her adult life had always been limited by the time she had to give to working to keep herself—and then Julia— alive. Would there ever be a time when she'd be financially secure, so she could stop working for long enough to complete her degree? Or conduct a study into the sensory awareness of sight-impaired children? Or even write a paper on Asian women giving birth in the western world?

  Jake had money! The thought insinuated itself into her head.

  She wouldn't take it for herself, of course—but for Julia? Her heart beat faster at the implications of the thought, then stilled as she remembered the past.

  There was no way she could risk it!

  She sighed at the momentary regret.

  'You tired, Mum?' Julia asked.

  Katy smiled down at her daughter and squeezed her fingers.

  'No, love,' she said. 'Just dreaming!'

  The jangling summons of the phone woke her from a deep sleep. She glanced blearily at the bedside clock as she lifted the receiver. Nine-thirty! She must have fallen asleep the moment she'd turned the light out ten minutes earlier.

  'Hello!'

  She tried to make her voice sound alert, annoyed at being caught in bed so early. Julia's fault! Since birth her daughter had been a morning person, and now Katy always woke at five—whether Julia was at home or not.

  'It's Jake, Katy. I know I shouldn't be bothering you at home, but I've just got back to the office and needed to talk to someone sane. Fortunately, my predecessor's little book of useful numbers has your home number at the top of the list.'

  'Something's wrong?' Her heart was thundering against her chest wall, but she couldn't tell if it was apprehension about work or excitement at hearing Jake's voice on the phone again.

  Back when they'd been lovers as well as friends, he'd rung her every evening they'd been apart—rung her to say goodnight and, 'I love you, Katy!'

  'Not really!' he said gruffly. 'If you discount Mrs Carstairs's insistence that a film crew be present for the entire delivery, and then Stewart Anderson demanding all but one of them leave and suggesting I help the security men remove them. Then a scuffle with a newspaper photographer in the nursery and one of the security men pulling a gun when the man refused to budge.'

  'Oh, Jake! That last bit can't be true,' Katy protested, her voice muffled by the laughter bubbling in her throat. 'The security men don't carry guns, do they?'

  She closed her eyes and tried to picture the uniformed men she saw around the hospital each day. But all she saw was Jake's face—older now than her worn images had shown—smiling into the phone.


  'Actually, some of them do, I've discovered, but in this case it was a torch. It just looked like a gun,' he told her. 'And the photographer must have thought so, too, because he scarpered.'

  'Has it quietened down?'

  She heard a shuffling noise, as if he was settling more comfortably into his chair.

  'I suppose it's as settled as it can get, with men guarding the main foyer and the fire doors, and all visitors to the fourth floor being screened before they're allowed out of the elevator. But it still won't work, Katy! Someone will eventually arrive to visit one of our other patients and slip away to take whatever snaps they want. Since Mrs Carstairs announced she was having labour pains over talk-back radio this morning, half Australia's media contingent—to say nothing of the usual rush of onlookers and thrill-seekers—have been camped on our doorstep. Most of them arrived before the patient.'

  'She announced it on the radio?' Katy echoed. 'I know once a multiple birth had been confirmed she made a great production of the whole pregnancy, much to Dr Anderson's annoyance, but I can't believe she would go that far.'

  'Believe it,' Jake told her gloomily. 'She rang the local radio station herself. You must have seen the people gathering outside the hospital when you left. I considered going for a walk—to get some of the air-conditioned air out of my lungs—but when I saw the pack of hounds baying at the main entrance, I headed back up here instead.'

  'We go out the back way,' Katy explained. 'I suppose you're lucky you have rooms in the building. The press love photos of the doctors. Poor Dr Anderson will eventually have to run that gauntlet.'

  'Not a bit of it,' Jake told her, his voice lightening again. 'He smuggled himself out in an ambulance. Says it happened to him once before. The photographer's flashlight caught him as he was yawning and he ended up with his face splashed across the front page, looking like an incapacitated fish.'

  Katy chuckled, remembering the photo Jake described.

  'Well?' The single word doused her laughter.

  'Well, wh-what?' she stuttered, sensing a shift in the conversation.