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She’d have to work out a programme so she could visit Emmaline at unexpected times when Carlos was unlikely to be there, and though this would eventually make it harder for her to separate from Emmaline, at least she’d be sending home a well and contented infant.
She’d worry about her own contentment at a later date.
This would have worked if Carlos hadn’t also chosen one of Marty’s unexpected times to visit his daughter. Or maybe someone had contacted him to tell him it was feeding time, for he was holding Emmaline in his arms, peering down into her crinkled face, a look of bemusement on his usually impassive features.
Marty backed down the corridor, right into Sophie, who was heading for the unit.
‘He looks as if he’s holding an unexploded bomb,’ Sophie remarked, nodding towards the tall man with the little pink bundle clutched gingerly to his chest.
‘I think he might see her in those terms,’ Marty replied. ‘He feels she’s already wreaked havoc in his life, he’s just not sure when the next upheaval will take place.’
‘Right about now,’ Sophie predicted as a nurse approached with a feeding bottle. But although she proffered it to Carlos, he shook his head, handing back the baby with the tense arms of a man who was indeed holding a bomb.
‘That’s no way to bond with her,’ Marty snorted, and was about to stride into the room and tell him so, but Sophie held her back.
‘He has to do it in his own way and in his own time, Marty,’ Sophie reminded her friend. ‘You can’t force someone to love their child. Love’s organic—it needs time and nurturing in order to grow.’
Sophie spoke with the conviction of a woman deeply in love and Marty forbore to point out it had taken Gib and his new bride all of three weeks to decide they were made for each other, all of six weeks before they’d married.
But Sophie’s words were comforting in a very different way, confirming Marty’s belief that what she was feeling towards Carlos was a purely physical reaction and nothing whatsoever to do with love.
‘I’d better go,’ she said to Sophie, as Carlos moved towards the public exit from the NICU.
‘You won’t stay and feed her?’
Marty felt the ache in her chest that could only be alleviated by cuddling that small bundle in her arms, but the nurse would cuddle Emmaline and talk to her as she fed her and what was that, if not human interaction? It was during the time between feeds and changing that Emmaline needed company…
‘I’ve got to wean myself away from her,’ Marty explained, and Sophie, understanding, gave her a hug.
But avoiding Carlos was less easy. She had barely finished a planned Caesarean delivery of triplets when she was called to A and E—an ambulance bringing in a teenager with severe abdominal pain and vaginal bleeding.
Marty beat the ambulance, but not by much, and wasn’t surprised to find Carlos by her side as the attendants wheeled the young woman, looking childlike in her green and white checked school uniform, into the trauma room.
‘Regan Collins, fifteen, BP 120 over 65, pulse 90 and firm, temp 99.3, severe cramps and bleeding,’ the ambo recited as he handed over the paperwork. ‘We have her on fluid replacement but haven’t done anything for the pain.’
‘Because she could be pregnant,’ Marty murmured under her breath to Carlos.
She stepped forward and introduced herself to Regan, who looked as if she needed a hug more than medication.
‘You’ll be OK,’ Marty reassured her instead. ‘We’ll take a look at you and see what’s what.’
The girl grasped her hand and squeezed it tightly, fever-bright eyes looking pleadingly into Marty’s.
‘You won’t tell Mum,’ she begged, and Marty’s stomach tightened. She hated these situations—hated being the one who had to break her patient’s confidence.
‘You’re a minor, Regan, and you were at school when this happened. The school will already have contacted someone in your family.’
‘But I could just be sick—she needn’t know what it is,’ the girl said desperately, still clinging to Marty as if she held the promise of salvation.
‘Well, I can’t tell your mother what it is if I don’t know,’ she told Regan. ‘So how about I examine you and we take it from there?’
‘Mum can’t know,’ Regan wailed, then burst into noisy sobs.
Now Marty did hug her, gathering the girl’s upper body in her arms and holding her close, making soothing noises as she patted Regan’s back.
She used her free hand to smooth dark strands of hair back from the girl’s face, while an errant thought flashed through her mind. Would Emmaline’s hair stay black?
It was none of Marty’s business.
‘Hush now,’ she said to Regan, when the storm of tears appeared to be subsiding. ‘We’ll sort it out.’
But Regan’s head moved against her chest, denying this as an option, her drama-filled adolescent mind certain this was the end of life as she had known it.
‘You can’t, nobody can,’ Regan cried, confirming Marty’s thoughts, but the teenager allowed herself to be lowered back on the trolley so Marty could examine her, questioning her gently all the time.
When did she last have a period? Were they regular? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she having regular sex? Using protection?
Beside her, Marty could feel Carlos all but squirming—it was obvious why he hadn’t become an O and G specialist! But when he murmured, ‘I could never ask Sudanese women these questions,’ she understood.
‘Maybe a female nurse could,’ she suggested, as she completed a gentle internal examination of the patient.
‘It’s all Rosemary’s fault!’
Marty looked across at Carlos and smiled but he was looking slightly ill and so anxious Marty felt she should be reassuring him as well. He obviously didn’t know that once teenagers starting blaming someone else, they were back in control.