“What have I done? I’m so sorry, oh, god, I’m so sorry.” The mother of the little boy just rushed in howls, a chilling, terrified sound that makes the hairs on my neck stand. She clings to the rail of the cot, knuckles pale, and rivers of tears streak her ghostly face.
“Move back,” Joel demands, his tone harsh but ineffective. She can’t move. I know that look, the guilt. I recognise the fear. Placing my hand on her arm, I squeeze and try to move her away before Joel is forced to call security, or more likely, judging by the dark scowl across his face, physically pick her up and throw her out of the way.
“You need to let the doctor do his job, ma’am,” I say, and she seems to spark to life, nodding wildly. She releases her hold on the cot as if shocked with a bolt of electricity. She steps back, and I gently ease her farther away so the team can work unhindered.
I have the best co-workers, and if Joel needs me, he’ll yell. His focus is rightly on the baby, but it’s clear as day to me there are two casualties in this room. This very young woman is breaking before me, and if her little boy survives, he’s going to need his momma. “You did the right thing bringing him in. He’s in the best hands.”
“He wouldn’t stop crying, days and days. He cried for days, and I just needed five minutes of quiet.” She grabs my arms and starts to shake me, only to end up a trembling wreck, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Shh, this isn’t helping your son. Please let me take you to wait outside.” I pull her toward the door when she wrenches herself free of my hold and rushes back to her baby.
“I want to help,” she cries.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” Joel snarls, disgust colouring his open hostility.
“Doctor Prescott!”
“Get her out of here, Nurse Jones, before I call the police.”
“Come with me; I’ll take you to the relatives’ lounge. Come on,” Holding her shoulders, I manoeuvre her out of the room. Whatever strength was holding her rigid in that space evaporates when we reach the threshold and she looks back at the hive of activity working around the little naked body in the cot.
“Is he going to be all right? Please say he’s going to be all right. I never meant to…” She breaks, guttural sobs rip from her body as I lead her down the corridor away from her baby. He has only just been transferred from the ER. I did the preliminary examination before Joel arrived, and although barely conscious, he was stable, and there were no other signs of abuse. I need to calm her down to understand exactly what happened even as my stomach churns with a sick, familiar feeling. I think I know exactly what happened.
The relatives’ lounge is brightly lit, with large coloured murals on the walls. Fairy tales and fantasy worlds where children never get sick or harmed in any way, and magical adventures await the very brave. Toys lie scattered in one corner, and there is a set of low and comfortable sofas where I sit the mother before fetching some water.
“Here, sip this, and tell me exactly what happened.” I sit and face her. Her eyes meet mine, and as if the words are taking their time to register, her face slowly distorts from sadly vacant to utter despair and horror.
“I…I…Oh, god, what have I done? Is he going to die? Why won’t he wake up?”
“What’s your name?” I calmly ask, unable to answer her questions even if I wanted to.
“Lyla,”
“How old are you, Lyla?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” she snaps and lurches back, affronted and defensive.
“Calm down, I didn’t mean anything by it.” I try to soothe and offer a placatory smile. I need her to open up to me if I’m to help. And she doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to need my help.
“I’m seventeen, and I’m a good mom.” Her face screws into ugly, pain-ridden contortions, and she folds into herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist as if that will ease her agony. It won’t; nothing will, not until she knows her baby is going to be all right.
“I believe you.” I take her hand in mine, a surge of emotion mixes with my own empathy and churns like a storm inside me. I know.
“I can’t lose him. He’s all I’ve got to remind me that Kirk even existed.”
“Kirk?”
“Ricki’s father, high school sweethearts, ya know.” The briefest smile flashes over her face and is instantly gone again. “He died in a car accident before Ricki was born. My parents kicked me out when I got pregnant. It was me and him, and I was happy, scared, but happy, and now I’m on my own. I love Ricki, I do, and we’re happy too. I was just so tired, so very tired.” Her eyes are swollen and red, and her face is a picture of heartbreak and devastation I can only imagine, so much loss at such a young age.
“I know,” I say, because that, at least, I don’t have to imagine.
“I’m so sorry,”
“I know that too, Lyla. Can you tell me exactly what happened? It might help with Ricki’s treatment if we know more.”
“He was crying and crying. I’d done everything, fed, changed, sung to him. He didn’t have a temperature of anything, I checked. He was fine; he just wouldn’t stop, not for a minute, and I only wanted five minutes peace. I…I took him to his crib, and where I normally lay him down carefully, I let him drop from my hands. He just kept crying. I screamed at him to stop, told him I hated him. What mother does that?” She sobs, broken, and it takes a full painful minute for her breathing to calm enough to carry on with her confession. ”I left. I shut the door and walked out of my apartment.”
“For how long?”
“An hour.”
“Where did you go?”
“I have no one.” Her shoulders shake with a fresh wave of sorrow. I drape my arm and pull her into a hug. She clings to me like she’s drowning.
“Where did you go?” I repeat softly.
“I just wandered the street, feeling numb.”
“Lyla, it’s okay. You did the right thing bringing him here.” I tell her something, anything positive that comes to mind in the hope she can draw some comfort at a time she probably couldn’t feel any worse.
“Is he going to die?”
“Dr Prescott is the best.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I’m not going to give you an answer, because I don’t know.” She sucks her lips in tight and gives a short nod. Pulling my arm free, I pat her clasped hands and shuffle to stand. “I’m going to go and check how he’s doing. I’ll come and get you soon, okay?”
“Okay.” Her eyes fill with more tears, and I don’t think there’s enough tissue in the whole world to absorb the guilt and pain on that girl’s face.
I round the corner and freeze when I hear Joel’s booming voice. His profile is rigid and almost fills the space at the nurses’ station; the phone at his ear is gripped with white angry knuckles.
“Yes, I believe the child is in danger. I wouldn’t be calling if that wasn’t the case.” I jump the top half of my body across the desk and slam my hand over the receiver, cutting the call dead.
“What the hell, Regan?” He spins to face me, fury darkening the familiar handsome features of his face.
“What are you doing?” I look around to check we are alone. I slide back to my feet and rush around so I am standing closer to his towering frame and I don’t have to shout.
“Calling Child Protective Services. What did it sound like I was doing?” His dismissive condescension riles me, but I don’t rise to the bait. This isn’t the time, and with people approaching from all directions, this isn’t the place. I grab his hand and pull him toward the fire escape. Once the heavy door clicks shut, I release his hand.
“You don’t know anything about this case.” I start my defence and am immediately met with a tight jaw, a barrier of crossed arms and an impassive expression.
“I know she told the ER staff that she dropped her son deliberately, what more do I need to know?”
“The rest of it, you need to know the rest of it, Joel, before you jump to conclusions.” I exhale, frustrated. “Did he have any marks, any bruising? Did he look malnourished? Did he look abused in any way, in your professional opinion?”
“No, but she said—”
“She was distraught and terrified. Is he going to be okay?”
“Suspected meningitis, just waiting on the test results.”
“So bringing him in has probably saved his life, and for that, she’s going to lose her kid?” He sniffs, seemingly dismissing my concerns; however, his expression tells a whole other story. “Don’t you raise your brow at me like I’m overreacting. She’s seventeen, on her own, and with a damning recommendation from you, yes, she’ll lose her kid.”
“You think I should let it slide? You can live with that when next time he comes in with—”
“With what, Joel? He doesn’t have a mark on him, he barely has a fever, there was no vomiting and that rash has only just started to develop.” I point out because I checked when I first examined him.
“She dropped him,” he argues, but I can see the conflict of inconsistencies begin to trouble him.
“She did, and that woman couldn’t feel any worse than she does right now.”
“Cry me a river. It’s my job to do what’s best for my patient.” Oh, maybe conflict isn’t the right word, stubborn dick.
“Then do it, and go and talk to her! She deserves five minutes of your judgmental time before you ruin her life and your patient’s.”
“Ruin?”
“Yes, ruin. We all make mistakes, Joel, and everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Even if he’s in danger?” He slaps my face with the ridiculousness of his counterargument. How could he even ask me that?
“No, not if he’s in danger, of course not! But he isn’t, and you’d know that if you’d put that gavel down for a moment before you pass sentence.”
“And you know that for sure? You’re a hundred percent on that, Regan? You’d let her look after Ruby, would you?”
“God, you can be an asshole sometimes,” I mutter, feeling the futility of defending the indefensible. “No, nothing’s a hundred percent, and not that I’d ever need a stranger to look after Ruby, but yes, I believe Ruby would be fine in her care. She’s a young mother, on her own, and right now, she’s terrified you’re going to do the one thing that she fears the most: take her baby away.”
“You believe her?”
“I do, and you will too. Just talk to her.” I reach for his arm but stop myself. I don’t want to confuse this with personal favours; this is my professional opinion, and I want him to respect that for what it is. This is nothing to do with us. “She’s scared, and I can point her in the right direction to get support. She doesn’t have to be alone.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
I release a long breath I had been holding and nod, relief making me smile. That’s all I wanted. “I won’t press for an intervention, but what she said is still going on his record. I won’t risk him slipping through the cracks because she might not do it again. I’m sorry, I won’t risk him, and I’m surprised you will.” His tone is more curious than accusatory, and I accept that. I understand where he’s coming from, but not every case is the same, thankfully.
“I don’t believe it’s a risk, but I understand it needs to be on the records. It won’t be a problem, I know it.”
“Always seeing the best in people.” Despite my attempt to keep the distance, he tramples through my weak defence and pulls me into his strong arms. Like an oversized blanket, I welcome the warmth and comfort, even find myself nuzzling into his scent before I regain my sense and push myself out of his hold. He holds the fire door open, and I pass underneath, keeping a better distance than last time.
“Lucky for you,” I joke, elbowing him lightly in the stomach for playful measure.
“Yeah, lucky for me.” The seriousness in his tone almost makes me turn to see what expression he has fixed on me.
I don’t, I daren’t.