What am I doing? I should be comforting her, helping Antonio, but here I am wallowing in fear. Didn’t I say I’d be brave?
I draw deep breaths. Lara stops crying and my chest begins to loosen up. By the time Antonio appears in front of me, I’ve managed to calm down.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
I keep my head down because I’m too ashamed of myself to meet his gaze.
“It’s fine.”
I shake my head. No, it isn’t.
“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
“No.” He sits in the chair beside me. “I sent you out because things would be worse if you passed out. You were clearly terrified.”
I clasp my hands on my lap. “I’m useless, aren’t I?”
To my surprise, Antonio places his hand over mine. “Everyone has nightmares, Triss, sometimes when they’re asleep and sometimes even when they’re awake.”
I lift my head and look at his calm expression. He really isn’t mad?
“Besides, you’re not the first person I’ve known to be afraid of needles. It’s pretty common.”
I turn to him with arched eyebrows. “It is?”
Antonio nods. “I’m just curious. Did you give birth without an epidural? Or were you too distracted by labor pains to mind a needle then?”
Epidural? I don’t know what that is.
That reminds me. Wasn’t I supposed to tell Antonio the truth about Lara? Do I tell him now?
Just then, I hear Lara crying again.
No. Now isn’t the right time.
I glance in the direction of the sound. “Is she going to be okay?”
“Yes,” Antonio answers confidently. “The fact that she is crying right now means she still has a lot of strength left. It’s more worrisome when they don’t cry. As for her dehydration, the IV fluids will replace the ones she’s lost. She’ll be fine.”
“And this… rotavirus? How long before it goes away?”
“Her fever should subside soon. The vomiting should stop as well, or at least become less frequent. She’s expected to have diarrhea for a while, but it should resolve after two to three days. The virus is present in her stool, so you should remember to wash your hands carefully after changing her diapers or you might get it, too.”
And I don’t want that. “Okay.”
“When she’s a year old, she can have her rotavirus vaccine,” Antonio adds. “I can get a vial at the hospital. She’s almost seven months old, right?”
I nod, but the truth is I only said that after Antonio said she looked like it. I made up her birthday, too.
“Do you know what other shots she’s had?” Antonio asks next.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
A concern pops into my head. I have no clue about Lara’s medical history. What if Lara has already had shots? What if she has some kind of medical condition I don’t know about? She’s been perfectly healthy until now, but what if she inherited some kind of disease that she’ll eventually need extensive and expensive treatment for?
Antonio pats my shoulder. “That’s okay. For now, just be by her side. Be her mother.”
If only I was.
“And I’ll be her doctor.” Antonio gives me a grin. “With our combined efforts, she’ll be better in no time.”
~
No time sure is a long time, I think as I wash another of Lara’s soiled pajamas in the bathroom sink.
It’s been five days and she still has diarrhea. She still won’t drink as much milk as before. She still won’t eat. She still won’t sleep for more than three hours. Sometimes, she won’t stop crying for one.
I let out a deep breath and let my shoulders sink. I have to admit I’m so exhausted I feel like I’m going to get sick next.
A knock on the door breaks into my thoughts. I nearly jump, then turn my head to see Sally in the doorway, Lara in her arms. The wheeled pole with Lara’s IV bag is right behind her.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asks. “I just made a fresh pot.”
I pause. I’m not a coffee drinker, but I suppose I am in need of some kind of boost. Any kind of boost.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll be right with you.”
I finish washing Lara’s pajamas and head to the kitchen. Sally already has a steaming mug ready for me. Lara is in the bassinet, sleeping. Somehow, she sleeps better when Sally’s around. I wonder if it’s because she can feel that Sally is a mother and I’m not.
“Here.” Sally pushes the mug towards me. “When you’re done, you’ll still look like hell, but you’ll feel better.”
I run my hands through my hair. Do I look like hell?
Sally chuckles. “Don’t worry. It’s normal. I’d even go so far as to say it’s ‘the Mom look’.”
I grab my mug and hold it under my nose. The aroma of the coffee and the steam drift into my nostrils. I feel better already.
“I take it Lara has never been sick before?” Sally asks me. “This won’t be the last time, I tell you. My boys get sick at least once a year. And it doesn’t get better. Each time it happens, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. It’s not the lack of sleep that’s tiring. It’s the constant worry. But the exhaustion is nothing compared to the pain. When your child is suffering, you suffer, too. That’s why you couldn’t stand to see Lara pricked by a needle, right? Because you could feel her pain?”