There were so many things that could go wrong, that could already be wrong. Lisa wished she could still the voices in her head.
She knew what she’d tell the parents if she was the attending pediatrician. And she couldn’t bear to hear the words. This time she was the parent. And that hopelessly tiny silent baby was her daughter. Sara Barbara Cartwright. She had a daughter. Who was to have had a perfect life.
And suddenly Lisa knew that any decision she had to make had already been made. If Marcus could not be a father to their daughter, she couldn’t live with him. Because if the baby survived—and she would if Lisa had to breathe life into her every day until she could breathe on her own—she was going to be raised in a house of love.
Debbie finished with Lisa, making way for the nurse to prepare her to go to her room, and Marcus stood aside while they did what they had to do.
“You came through this just fine, Lisa. Much better than I expected, as a matter of fact. I suspect you’ll be released sometime tomorrow.” The doctor didn’t smile, didn’t attempt to sugarcoat her words. She was fully aware that Lisa knew exactly how grave the situation really was.
Lisa could go home the next day. The baby wouldn’t be going home for a long time. If ever.
Tears streamed down Lisa’s tired face and Marcus wiped them away. Turning her face into his palm, Lisa kissed him. In spite of the decision she’d made, she needed him desperately. Needed his strength. His warmth. She wasn’t going to get through the next hours without him.
“I’ve ordered something to help you sleep as soon as you get settled in your room,” Debbie said, pulling off her gloves.
“I don’t want to sleep. I have to see her, see what they’re doing. I have to know.”
“Listen to the doctor, Lis,” Marcus said, his hand on her shoulder.
“You have to be sensible, Lisa.” Debbie stood on the other side of Lisa’s bed. “For the baby’s sake, as well as your own. You just came through a rough birth, you came close to hemorrhaging, and you need your rest if you’re going to do that young lady any good later. And they won’t let you in with her right now, anyway. You know that. Randal Cunningham is with her. He’s the best there is. Let him do his job.”
Marcus stayed with Lisa until she fell into an exhausted sleep. It was more than an hour after the birth, and she’d fought sleep with every bit of strength she had, waiting to hear about her baby, but the sleeping pill Debbie had prescribed had finally done its work, allowing Lisa the rest she so desperately needed.
Marcus rubbed
his hands down his face as he sat beside Lisa’s bed, more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life. What a night. The most frightening night of his life.
He shuddered when he saw again all that blood soaking the blanket around Lisa. He’d never been so afraid of anything as he’d been during that trip to the hospital and the minutes immediately following.
Standing, he took one last look at his wife, and then headed out into the silent corridor of the sleeping hospital. He needed to get home, get some rest, if he was going to make it back by the time Lisa awoke in the morning.
Stopping only long enough to notify the night nurse that he was going home and that he expected to be called if Lisa so much as turned over in bed, he continued on down the hall toward the elevator. Most of the rooms he passed were in darkness or lit only by a soft night-light, but there was a window down by the elevator that-was glaring with so much light it spilled out into the hospital corridor.
Marcus found out why when he reached the window. It was the nursery. He told himself to keep on walking, that there was no reason for him to glance that way, but as he passed he heard the plaintive wail of a newborn baby and turned his head instinctively. It wasn’t Lisa’s baby he heard.
Hers was the one everybody was working on in a separate part of the nursery. Marcus could barely see the tiny body in the sea of medical personnel surrounding the funny little crib in which she lay. It was a box not more than two feet long and maybe eight inches wide, with huge bright lights hanging above it. He winced as he saw the many hands, which looked so big next to such a small body, working over it so quickly.
Marcus moved around the corner, entering a viewing room with a couple of couches and chairs that had another window into the nursery, a window closer to the peculiar bed with the miniature baby. From there he could see the card that hung at the end of the crib. Cartwright Girl.
His gut clenched as he looked again. Cartwright Girl. That tiny baby girl had his name.
He knew he needed to go, that he had to get some rest before he collapsed, but he couldn’t make himself leave the window. Lisa’s baby was barely the size of his hand. He didn’t see how it could possibly have all the working parts necessary to sustain life. He knew the baby was still alive. There would be no reason for anyone to be working over her if she wasn’t. But that bit of news didn’t tell him anything about her chances to survive.
One of the nurses moved away from the crib for a moment, reaching for something on a tray, and Marcus had a clearer glimpse of the baby. A tube wider than her arm was taped to her mouth with what looked like a big Band-Aid. The other end of the tube was connected by a series of contraptions to a ventilator machine. She wasn’t breathing on her own.
He had no idea what the rest of the many tubes and wires applied to her minute body were for, but knew it wasn’t good that they took up more room in her bed than she did. Other than the medical paraphernalia attached to her, the baby was naked, her diminutive bottom lying on an open disposable diaper. Her tiny head wore a blue-pink-and-white-striped cap, covering up the thatch of hair that was the first sight he’d had of her. Her eyes were closed. He wondered if she was actually sleeping through all of the ministrations, or if she simply couldn’t open her eyes.
She appeared to have all her fingers and toes.
The nurse returned to the crib, blocking Marcus’s view, and he slumped back into the chair closest to the viewing window, watching as the specialists worked. Cartwright Girl. He’d kept himself so apart from the life Lisa had been creating these past months that he’d never even considered there would be a name for the child. His name.
He wondered what else Lisa planned to call her baby. But he already knew. Sara, for her beloved little sister. And Barbara, after her mother. Sara Barbara Cartwright. The name had a familiar ring to it. Sara. He hoped Lisa was calling her Sara. They’d always said they’d name their first girl Sara.
Personnel came and went from the baby’s crib for most of the night, and as the hours passed, Marcus continued to sit, to watch. He wondered about the baby’s father. Was he a young college student who’d given a donation to the sperm bank for a quick buck? Or a good samaritan who wanted to make dreams possible for women who couldn’t have children any other way? Maybe he was in the medical field. If so, Lisa’s baby was going to be one smart little girl. If she survived.
And suddenly Marcus knew without a shadow of doubt just how badly he wanted the child to survive. Lisa would never be the same if her baby died. After all she’d been through, after all the lives she’d saved and the ones she’d lost, she deserved this chance for herself. And the baby deserved it, too. She was Lisa’s baby. That alone made her the most special child in the nursery.
The tall silver-haired doctor who hadn’t left the baby’s side all night finally turned away from the crib, stripping off his gloves. Marcus’s heart caught in his throat as he waited for some sign that the battle had been won—or lost. The doctor spoke to a nurse who’d remained beside the crib, and the nurse nodded several times before pulling a chair up to the side of the crib and sitting down to watch the baby’s monitors. It was then that Marcus noticed what he thought was some kind of heart monitor, set way off behind the baby. The marks he saw were wavery. But they were there.