born. Caitlin had planned to earn enough money selling her sketches to tourists down on the Navy Pier over the summer months to be able to afford a place to live. She’d made a few bucks in the past two months, but not many people wanted to sit for portraits when the cold north wind was whipping off the lake.
No matter, she’d manage somehow—she always had—but she hadn’t had a baby to look after. How was she going to pay the hospital bills, or find a job or someone to look after the baby while she worked? She forced those fears to the back of her mind. She couldn’t dwell on them or she’d go crazy.
“Feeling hungry?” the doctor asked.
She shrugged. “I could eat.”
Turning to the nurse, he said, “Betty, pull that IV and start her on a general diet.”
“Yes, doctor.”
After he left, Betty said, “This is great. Now you’ll be right down the hall from the NICU. Let me get you a menu. You can choose something for dinner tonight besides Jell-O.”
There didn’t seem to be any end to the things they wanted her to read in this place. If she wasn’t careful, they’d discover the truth. She hated the way people treated her when they found out. She hated being stupid.
“I don’t see how you expect me to read anything without my glasses.” It was her oldest line.
Betty’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know you wore any. Maybe they’re in the things that came from E.R. with you.” She opened the closet and began searching through a large, white plastic bag marked with the hospital’s logo. “They don’t seem to be here. Are you sure you had them with you?”
“I was unconscious, remember?”
“Why don’t I give Mick a call? Maybe he has them.”
“No! I mean, don’t bother. I’ll manage.”
“Perhaps I can read you the choices and mark them for you. Will that work?”
“Whatever.” Caitlin stared at the window. She didn’t like acting this way, but she had discovered early on that if people didn’t like her, they left her alone. When she was alone, she didn’t have to watch what she said or did.
“It’s no trouble. Let me take your IV out. The sooner that’s done, the sooner you can move out of here.”
Caitlin held up her arm. “Knock yourself out.”
Two hours later, Betty helped her out of a wheelchair and into her new bed on the maternity floor. As she watched the woman prepare to leave, Caitlin realized that she would miss the cheerful, little nurse. Betty had been nothing but kind even when Caitlin had been deliberately rude. As the nurse maneuvered the empty chair toward the door, Caitlin called out, “Hey, Betty.” She looked back and Caitlin managed a smile. “Thanks. For everything.”
Betty grinned, then surprised Caitlin by crossing the room and enfolding her in a quick hug. “Good luck, honey. I’ll keep you in my prayers,” she said, and then she hurried out the door.
Caitlin tried to swallow past the lump that rose in her throat. She wasn’t used to people being kind to her.
Somewhere down the hall a baby was crying. But not her baby. Her baby was barely clinging to life. Every time she heard that sound, she’d be reminded of what she didn’t have. Of what she had missed out on.
A new nurse came and took Caitlin’s temperature and checked her pulse, then offered to take her down to the nursery. Panic exploded through Caitlin. What if she did something else that hurt the baby? “No. I—I want take a nap. I’ve got a headache.”
It sounded lame, but it was no lie—the pain behind Caitlin’s eyes never let up. The nurse gave her a puzzled look but didn’t push the issue. After the woman left, Caitlin stared at the wall as thoughts of her daughter ran around and around in her mind. As the shadows of evening lengthened, Caitlin’s feelings of inadequacy and guilt grew. Beth needed a breathing machine, and IVs. She was hooked to wires of every kind. She needed doctors and nurses with her now, not a mother who had failed at
No matter, she’d manage somehow—she always had—but she hadn’t had a baby to look after. How was she going to pay the hospital bills, or find a job or someone to look after the baby while she worked? She forced those fears to the back of her mind. She couldn’t dwell on them or she’d go crazy.
“Feeling hungry?” the doctor asked.
She shrugged. “I could eat.”
Turning to the nurse, he said, “Betty, pull that IV and start her on a general diet.”
“Yes, doctor.”
After he left, Betty said, “This is great. Now you’ll be right down the hall from the NICU. Let me get you a menu. You can choose something for dinner tonight besides Jell-O.”
There didn’t seem to be any end to the things they wanted her to read in this place. If she wasn’t careful, they’d discover the truth. She hated the way people treated her when they found out. She hated being stupid.
“I don’t see how you expect me to read anything without my glasses.” It was her oldest line.
Betty’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know you wore any. Maybe they’re in the things that came from E.R. with you.” She opened the closet and began searching through a large, white plastic bag marked with the hospital’s logo. “They don’t seem to be here. Are you sure you had them with you?”
“I was unconscious, remember?”
“Why don’t I give Mick a call? Maybe he has them.”
“No! I mean, don’t bother. I’ll manage.”
“Perhaps I can read you the choices and mark them for you. Will that work?”
“Whatever.” Caitlin stared at the window. She didn’t like acting this way, but she had discovered early on that if people didn’t like her, they left her alone. When she was alone, she didn’t have to watch what she said or did.
“It’s no trouble. Let me take your IV out. The sooner that’s done, the sooner you can move out of here.”
Caitlin held up her arm. “Knock yourself out.”
Two hours later, Betty helped her out of a wheelchair and into her new bed on the maternity floor. As she watched the woman prepare to leave, Caitlin realized that she would miss the cheerful, little nurse. Betty had been nothing but kind even when Caitlin had been deliberately rude. As the nurse maneuvered the empty chair toward the door, Caitlin called out, “Hey, Betty.” She looked back and Caitlin managed a smile. “Thanks. For everything.”
Betty grinned, then surprised Caitlin by crossing the room and enfolding her in a quick hug. “Good luck, honey. I’ll keep you in my prayers,” she said, and then she hurried out the door.
Caitlin tried to swallow past the lump that rose in her throat. She wasn’t used to people being kind to her.
Somewhere down the hall a baby was crying. But not her baby. Her baby was barely clinging to life. Every time she heard that sound, she’d be reminded of what she didn’t have. Of what she had missed out on.
A new nurse came and took Caitlin’s temperature and checked her pulse, then offered to take her down to the nursery. Panic exploded through Caitlin. What if she did something else that hurt the baby? “No. I—I want take a nap. I’ve got a headache.”
It sounded lame, but it was no lie—the pain behind Caitlin’s eyes never let up. The nurse gave her a puzzled look but didn’t push the issue. After the woman left, Caitlin stared at the wall as thoughts of her daughter ran around and around in her mind. As the shadows of evening lengthened, Caitlin’s feelings of inadequacy and guilt grew. Beth needed a breathing machine, and IVs. She was hooked to wires of every kind. She needed doctors and nurses with her now, not a mother who had failed at
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