One Tiny Miracle... (7 page)

‘She was very flat…’ Ben gave the Apgar scores. ‘It was a very rapid delivery.’

‘Thirty-four weeks, the paramedics said.’ The paediatrician was looking her over. ‘But she’s quite big for
thirty-four weeks—do you know where mum was having her antenatal?’

‘I’m sure he didn’t have time to ask,’ Belinda said. ‘You were at a house auction, weren’t you, Ben?’

‘Actually…’ he cleared his throat a touch ‘…this is Celeste’s baby.’

‘
Our
Celeste!’ Belinda blinked and then looked at the admission card that the receptionist had just filled in. ‘Baby Mitchell…’

‘She lives in the same street as the auction,’ Ben half explained, ‘and she must have wandered down to watch it.’

‘Well, lucky woman…’ Belinda breathed out ‘…that you were there.’

‘She had gestational diabetes,’ Ben said, which explained the baby’s relatively big size for gestation, ‘and she had her antenatal care here,’ he added to the receptionist, and she rushed off to get the notes.

‘Does anyone know if there were any other problems?’

‘Hypertension,’ Meg said as still Ben struggled just to breathe. ‘She was signed off a couple of days ago.’

‘Her blood pressure has been up,’ Ben said, watching Belinda blink at the depth of his knowledge. ‘She looked very bloated today, and I thought she was tipping into pre-eclampsia,’ Ben added. ‘I think she was going to be admitted on Monday.’

He felt sick.

The resuscitation area was impossibly hot, and Ben felt stifled, hearing the blip, blip, blip of the monitor. Even watching the team at work was incredibly hard. Oh, he knew they knew what they were doing, knew that
babies were tough, even tiny ones, only they seemed so rough with their handling of something so very, very small.

‘I’m going to go outside for a bit,’ Ben said in a strangled voice.

‘You might want to change first.’ Belinda glanced up and smiled and only then did Ben register the state he was in.

He had a quick shower and selected some theatre blues, only instead of drying and dressing he sat on the wooden bench, dripping wet, with his head in his hands, her words playing over and over. ‘
What if I’d been at home, what if…?’
Scenario after possible scenario was playing out in his racing brain.

And not just for this morning.

Over and over the years he had beaten himself up with those very words—wishing he’d come home earlier, wondering about the outcome if he had. He’d been told that nothing could have been done for Jen, that even with the best of care she’d have died, or worse, that the brain haemorrhage she’d suffered would have left her a vegetable. But what about their baby? Could it have been saved if he’d been at home?

There was a myriad of conflicting emotions pelting him.

Relief, regret, resentment even, that he had been there for this child and not his own—and yet, even as resentment flickered it faded just as quickly. That tiny life he had held in his hands, he had willed and willed to live, had felt more for than a doctor should—and not just for the baby, but for her mother too.

Then he remembered his own stupidity, that he had contemplated staying with her after the traumatic birth of her baby.

Of course he should have gone with the baby!

Celeste was stable, another ambulance on the way…and yet instinct had overridden logic for a second, and all he had wanted to do was stay and comfort her.

No!

He stood up then and dried quickly, pulling on his theatre blues and making a firm decision. He wasn’t going to get involved with Celeste—whatever it took.

He just couldn’t go there again.

Wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

‘
W
HEN
can I see her?’ It was
all
she could think about.

The ambulance had arrived a couple of moments after they had taken her daughter, and she had been taken directly to Maternity. The midwives had been wonderful, keeping her up to date on her baby’s progress as Celeste was examined and an IV inserted and bloods taken.

‘Why do I need that?’

‘Your blood pressure’s still high,’ the obstetrician explained, ‘and you’ve got a lot of fluid retention. We just want to check your bloods and keep an eye on you, make sure everything’s settling down…’

The midwives helped her to wash and freshen up and get into bed and then Gloria, who Celeste had guessed was the one in charge, finally came in with some real news.

‘They’ve just transferred her from Emergency to Special Care. Once they’ve got her settled and as soon as
your
doctor gives you the okay, we’ll take you over to see her. Here.’ She handed her a photo. ‘One of the nurses took this…’

Oh, she was tiny, with a little pink hat and tubes and things everywhere, but she
was
hers…The few moments
she’d had with her daughter were imprinted on her mind and Celeste already recognised her, could walk into the special care unit now and pick out her daughter, of that she was positive…

‘Now,’ Gloria said, ‘she’s doing well, and she’s on CPAP. That just means she’s needing a little help with her breathing, to fill her lungs with air, and she’s been given surfactant and medicines to help with lung immaturity…’ She went through all the treatment her daughter was receiving till Celeste understood and then she
again
asked a necessary question, one that Celeste had so far refused to respond to. ‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’ Celeste shook her head.

‘I’ll ring my parents soon.’

‘You shouldn’t be on your own,’ Gloria said gently. ‘Is there a friend…?’

‘Later.’ Again, Celeste shook her head.

She wanted some privacy, didn’t want to share this moment now with parents who hadn’t helped, who apart from a terse phone call and a single cheque had done nothing. And neither did she want friends who hadn’t really been there around her, or a father who didn’t want to know—all of that she would face and deal with, but right now she just wanted to process all that had taken place by herself…

‘Hey!’ The door opened and Ben’s face appeared. He was perhaps the one person she didn’t mind seeing right now—after all, he had been there!

‘Thank you.’ How paltry it sounded, but she meant it from her heart.

‘You’re very welcome.’

‘How is she?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Ben said. ‘They moved her from Emergency half an hour or so ago…’

‘Oh!’ Of course he wouldn’t know, Celeste told herself. As if he followed his patients up to the ward! Once he had handed the baby over, that would have been it for him.

‘How are you doing?’ Ben asked.

‘Not bad…’ She didn’t elaborate, didn’t want to bore him with the tests she was having. He was asking politely, that was all.

‘Well…’ he gave a tight smile ‘…I can’t stay. I’ve got the real-estate ringing every five minutes—I need to sign the contract on the house.’

‘You’d better go, then.’

‘Do you need anything?’

‘No.’

‘If you need me to drop by the unit I can fetch some stuff. Do you have a bag packed?’

‘No.’ Celeste gave a weak smile. ‘I’m not that organised. Could I ask you just to check the plugs and things?’ she asked reluctantly, when he clearly just wanted out of there. ‘I think everything is off, but I only went out for a walk.’

‘Sure.’ He handed over her handbag, which was on her locker, and waited while she gave him her keys. ‘Anything else?’

‘Nothing I can think of.’

‘Well, I’m on a night shift tonight, so I’ll drop these back to you.’ And even though he was taking her keys, even though he would be going back to her flat and
checking her things, his voice, his stance was as formal as if he were just another doctor doing rounds. ‘Congratulations, Celeste.’

‘Thank you.’

It was an exhausting evening.

There was no rosy glow of motherhood for Celeste to bathe in. She told her parents the news and as expected they arrived a couple of hours later, bringing with them their endless questions and practically blaming her for the stress they were under.

‘What were you doing, walking?’ her mother Rita scolded her. ‘You were supposed to be resting.’

‘The doctor said that I was allowed a gentle walk each day.’

‘Have you rung him?’ Rita asked. ‘Whoever
he
is. Have you let him know he’s a father?’

‘No.’

‘Well, don’t you think you should? It is
his
responsibility…’

The time or place didn’t matter. The same arguments that had ensued since the day she had told them she was pregnant carried on at the hospital bedside. So much for a baby bringing peace, Celeste thought, waving goodbye to the fantasy that the arrival of their grandchild would cast the arguments aside.

‘When will we get to see her?’ Rita demanded as Gloria came in.

‘It’s just Mum allowed in for now,’ Gloria said, seeing Celeste’s strained face. ‘They’re ready for you, Celeste.’

It was a relief to be wheeled out of the room and away from them.

‘You can actually have one of them come in with you,’ Gloria said once they were out of earshot. ‘If you want—’

‘No,’ Celeste interrupted. ‘I’d rather see her on my own first.’

They had to sit in a little annexe for a few moments until they were ready for them.

‘You poor thing.’ Gloria gave her a kind smile, as they sat there. ‘I bet this is so not how you planned it.’

‘None of it’s how I planned it,’ Celeste admitted.

‘You are allowed to cry, you know.’ Gloria put her arm around Celeste’s shoulders and felt her stiffen. ‘It’s been such a difficult day…’ Celeste wriggled away because if she started crying she wouldn’t stop.

And then it was time…She was wheeled in to wash her hands, and then she was wheeled past the incubators and finally she got to see her daughter.

Lying like a little washed-up frog with all drips and tubes and that little pink hat on…Even then she couldn’t cry, couldn’t give in, because she felt she had to be responsible, so she listened instead as the special care nurse explained all the drips and tubes and that her daughter was comfortable…

‘Can I hold her?’ Celeste asked, when they didn’t offer.

‘Not today. We’re keeping her very quiet for now, but probably tomorrow…’

So she got to hold her fingers instead and stared at her teeny pink nails and waited for this whoosh of love to come. It was there a little bit, only it wasn’t exactly
whooshing as she’d expected—because there was this huge plug of guilt lodged in its way.

‘Have you got a name for her?’

‘Not yet,’ Celeste said. ‘I wanted to see what she looked like.’ She gazed at her daughter and tried to think of a name that might suit her, but her brain was too fuddled for such a big decision. ‘I don’t know.’

‘There’s plenty of time,’ Gloria said. ‘We should get you back—you’re not well either, remember.’

She wasn’t.

The obstetrician came in and explained that her blood tests had come back and the results weren’t great. ‘They should all settle over the next few days now that you’ve delivered, but we will need to keep an eye on you. You’ve got pre-eclampsia, Celeste.’

‘Had.’ Celeste frowned. ‘Doesn’t it go away once the baby is here?’

‘Not straight away,’ he explained. ‘You’re still quite sick. You were being observed for it as your blood pressure was raised at your last antenatal, but…well, you had a lot of other stresses that could have accounted for that. It’s good that you’ve delivered. It could have been dangerous for you both had the pregnancy continued.’

It was a long, lonely evening—friends came and visited, but it was as if they were speaking a foreign language. Oh, they cooed and oohed at the photos, but when eight o’clock came and they headed out for Saturday night, Celeste just lay there with her eyes closed, not because she was tired but because she was scared she’d cry. She ignored the footsteps coming into the room, they could take her blood pressure without
talking, and then she heard her keys being placed on the locker and screwed them closed more tightly.

Ben could see a tear slipping out of the side of one eye, and could only hazard a guess as to how hard this day had been for her.

He knew he should just put down the bag and walk out quietly. After all, he had resolved not to get involved—a young single mum was the last thing he needed. She was so young and fragile and he was so jaded and bitter, and his heart was closed so tightly. Only sometimes she managed to wedge it open a little…

‘I know you’re awake!’ Reluctantly he broke the silence, smiling a little at her defiant answer.

‘I’m not.’

‘I packed a few things for you—your toothbrush and hairbrush…’

‘Thanks.’

‘Is there anything else you need—a nightdress or anything?’

‘No, thanks,’ she answered, her eyes still closed. ‘Mum said she’d go shopping tomorrow.’

‘How were they?’ Ben asked, even as he told himself he shouldn’t, looking up at the diuretic infusion and the magnesium infusion and then back to her poor, swollen face.

‘Cross.’ More tears were spilling out the sides of her eyes now, and he picked off a few tissues and put them in her hand. ‘They’re still cross with me.’

‘They’re worried,’ Ben said.

‘And cross,’ Celeste said. ‘And so are you.’

‘Cross?’ Ben frowned. ‘Celeste, why would I be
cross…?’ His voice faded as her eyes opened to him, because she was right. Cross was how he felt—or was he just worried?

He truly didn’t know.

‘Because we kissed…because you think I just go around flinging myself at men—’

‘No,’ Ben interrupted, ‘I’m not cross at you for that, I’m cross with myself.’

‘Why?’

‘Because…’ He blew out a breath, and he couldn’t help but admire her for being so open, for just bringing it out. He sat on the bed, because he definitely wasn’t a doctor dropping in now. ‘Because I’m the last thing you need right now.’

‘You don’t know what I need.’

‘You don’t need
me
,’ Ben said very firmly, very surely. ‘Since Jen, I’ve had a few relationships and they don’t work. You’ve been messed around enough without getting involved with someone like me, someone who doesn’t want children…’

‘You think I’m after a father for her?’ Celeste asked incredulously. ‘Some long-term commitment from you? Hell, Ben, it was only one kiss!’

‘That shouldn’t have happened,’ Ben said.

‘I know,’ Celeste admitted. He was right, absolutely he was right. ‘You’re wrong about one thing, though,’ she challenged. ‘I’m not after a relationship. I’m having enough trouble getting used to being a mum without someone else in the picture. It’s bad enough that her own father…’ She started to cry then because she couldn’t believe how wrong she’d got it, that the man she
had thought she was in love with had thought so very little of her.

‘Have you told him?’ And he said it in such a different way from the way her mum had—not accusing. He just asked the question and watched her face crumple.

‘I rang just before you came…’

‘And?’

‘He doesn’t want to know.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said gently.

‘I’m not,’ Celeste sniffed. ‘Well, I am for her, but not for me. At least I know where I stand. I will be okay on my own, you know!’

‘I know that,’ he said with a small smile at her vehemence.

‘And I’m not after a partner or a surrogate father for the baby—it was just one stupid kiss and I regret it, because I really did like having you as a friend and I hate that it’s been spoilt.’

‘You were the one who told me not to drop round,’ he pointed out.

‘You were glad that I did,’ she accused.

She was so honest, all he could do was smile at her again. ‘We should have spoken about it,’ Ben admitted. ‘Tried to work it out.’

‘That’s what friends do,’ Celeste said.

‘That’s what we are doing,’ Ben replied. ‘So I guess that’s what we are.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Honestly,’ Ben said, and to prove it he squeezed her fat sausage-like fingers. ‘Have you got a name for her yet?’

‘Nope,’ she sighed.

‘Any ideas?’

‘About a thousand…’

‘I’d better get down to work.’ He stood up. He wasn’t making excuses, he was already five minutes late. ‘I’ll drop by soon, but call if you need anything.’

‘I will.’ She gave him a watery smile, glad they were friends again, and so grateful to him for his skill today and for his honesty tonight.

Yet she had been honest too. She didn’t want a father for the baby, neither was there a need for a relationship to survive….

And that thought was confirmed when at midnight she finally got to hold her.

She held this little scrap of a thing to her heart and thought it might burst as finally love whooshed in.

She stared at her daughter.

Just a few hours old and so, so, so raw and vulnerable and so reliant on her. No, she didn’t need a surrogate father or a partner to make things work for her baby. She would take care of that all by herself.

She just wanted Ben for himself.

‘We’ve been waiting for them.’ The midwife cuddled her a little while later when she was wheeled back to bed and the tears finally flooded in. ‘You have a good cry…’ So she did, soothed that apparently it was completely normal to weep, to sob, that it was obviously hormones on top of an early delivery, estranged parents and a very new, sick little lady who was lying in a cot in Special Care, with a father who didn’t care a jot…

Trying to convince herself that her tears had nothing to do with Ben.

‘How is she?’

Ben had washed his hands and put on a gown over his clothes, even though he would only be looking.

‘Good.’ The special care nurse looked up. ‘I’m Bron.’

‘Ben.’

‘You’re the doctor who delivered her?’

‘Yep.’ Ben peered into the crib. ‘I’m a friend of her mum’s as well.’