I stare into his little face, the face of my ten-week-old son—Nash Alexander Mason—resting in my arms while he manages to sleep without the cries of pain.
It has all been a whirlwind since the moment I stepped off the plane and headed straight for the hospital. My stomach was twisted in knots over the concern for my son and feeling completely helpless. It instills a level of fear every parent endures when their child is sick, especially an infant.
Upon arriving, Olivia is distraught, doing her best to hold it together, but I can see the exhaustion on her face from the lack of sleep to the fear over Nash’s well-being. It’s late, and she’s in her tee and sweats with her hair in one of those messy buns. Since I saw her last, she’s lost a lot of weight, the remnants of her pregnancy weight almost gone.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mason,” the doctor calls as she walks into the room with her chart. “I’m Dr. Lester.”
“No, he’s not my husband. But that’s beside the point. What’s wrong with Nash?” Olivia rushes, panicked.
“Nash has an infection. We’ve tested a range of things, some have come back negative, and other results take longer. We’d like to monitor him overnight. If his fever drops and he continues to stay hydrated, he’ll be able to go home tomorrow. Being that he’s an infant, we won’t be inducing any medication, hoping his body can fight it off.”
“How did this happen?” I question, still rocking him in my arms.
“It could’ve been anywhere. Most likely, he was exposed to someone contagious.”
Olivia bends her neck as her eyes glass over, and her posture falls in the tattered GAP t-shirt she’s wearing. “I take him for walks and to run some errands, but that’s it.”
“Let’s continue to observe him tonight. Both of you are welcome to stay, and I’ll see you in the morning,” Dr. Lester informs us before scribbling something on her chart and leaving the room.
“There was this lady at the post office. She touched his face to squeeze his cheek. It’s my fault. I’m a bad mother,” Olivia cries.
“You’re not a bad mother,” I reassure her, keeping my voice low not to wake him. “I remember when Jessa was one, we took her to the playground, and she caught chicken pox from another kid who wasn’t showing signs of the virus. These things happen, but the important thing is that you followed your maternal instincts and rushed him here.”
Olivia nods her head, wiping away the tears from her face.
“It’s been hard, Noah. He’s a fantastic sleeper during the day, but at night, he’s up every four hours,” she chokes, trying to compose herself. “My milk slowed down for some reason, and I’ve had to switch him to formula. It turns out the formula made him constipated, so then I had to try another brand.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this?” I stress, slightly irritated she’s held this information from me. “I told you I want to be a part of his life as much as I can be. That means kno
wing his struggles or changes to his routine.”
“Honestly, Noah, I didn’t want to burden you.”
“He’s my son.” My tone wavers before I clear my throat. “You’re not burdening me.”
Olivia raises her eyes to meet mine. “I promise to share this information, okay? I’ve just been tired. And work has been asking me to come back, and it’s a lot of things.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing. I have no idea how to juggle working as an airline hostess with an infant. My hours are long, it’s not a nine-to-five job, as you know. But I can’t stay on leave forever. There are bills to pay. I’ll have to look for something else.”
“I told you I want to help, split the cost. It’s the least I can do.”
“I know, Noah. You just need to be patient with me. I have no clue what I’m doing, and I appreciate having you help when you can, especially because you’ve done this before. Speaking of which, I meant to ask you, does Morgan know about Nash?”
I nod my head, staring at Nash’s little face. Although he’s so young, his features have developed and look almost identical to when I was his age. At least, that’s according to my mom.
“I told her. She said nothing. Actually, no, she said congratulations with a forced smile and hasn’t asked about him since.”
Olivia’s brows draw together as her face softens. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I remark harshly, frustrated with Morgan’s attitude. “Morgan is difficult, and it’s not your problem.”
“Here, let me take Nash, and why don’t you go get something to eat?”
I hand him over to her, the instant weight disappearing from my arms, leaving me hollow. I tell her I’ll be back, walking out of the room and outside the hospital for some fresh air.
The air in San Francisco inhales much differently than LA. Clearer, or perhaps, it’s all in my imagination. With my phone in hand, I hit dial to Kate, promising I’d update her once I had some news.