Page 14 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

Ed steps up beside me with downcast eyes and his jowls sagging with fatigue and age. “How’s she doing?”

I sigh and think of that sweet baby in the NICU only a few yards away from where we stand. As the ventilator tube helps her breathe and the feeding tube helps keep her strong. As Barbara the nurse predicted, her skin was in fact almost translucent and her sleep is non-existent some moments, then others, too deep and we worry for her survival.

Baby girl Lytto is in the incubator, lonely and unable to maintain her own body temperature, thus needing the special bed to keep her stable. It’s been three days since she was born, and though I went home to my bed on the second night and I got a full eight hours, I haven’t left this hospital since eight a.m. yesterday.

Shari has been a crying mess, but on top of the guilt of a premature baby, plus the hormone dump of having just given birth, add in being sore and exhausted, she’s also detoxing from her own addiction… just like that poor baby is. Her husband, the father of the baby, is nowhere to be found, and though Shari is allowed and encouraged to see her baby, she’s refusing, claiming exhaustion and asking to be left to rest.

With Shari’s permission, I’ve been allowed to sit with the baby whenever she’s allowed out of the incubator, and we’ve been doing some of the kangaroo care the special care nurses have been encouraging. I’ve had the pleasure and the heartbreaking pain of falling in love with a sweet baby girl as she sleeps on my chest, burrowing against my bare skin to borrow my warmth, and subtly army crawling along my torso until her face rests just above my heart. A heartbeat is the only clear sound she’s heard her whole life. It’s no wonder the sound brings her comfort.

I turn back to Ed as my coffee finishes pouring. “She’s doing okay.”

“She have a name yet?”

“Nah, not officially. Though Shari told me she liked the name Lily a while ago. She mentioned it again yesterday. She didn’t say ‘this is what I want to name my baby,’ but she mentioned it was a pretty name, so I guess maybe that’s what she’s leaning towards.”

He nods slowly and orders his own coffee. “How’s she doing physically?”

“The baby?” I clarify. “Or Shari?”

He scoffs dispassionately. “The baby.”

“She’s… okay. Today was the first day she started coming down off the drugs in her system. The nurses said it’s normal, but still, she’s struggling. She’s not settling very well, fighting us, then she’s exhausting herself and passing out for hours, so deep that her alerts are going off because she’s not breathing properly. And her bottom is red raw with diaper rash. She’s in pain.”

Ed sighs deeply. “I hate these cases.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s not fair.”

“Is she breastfeeding?”

“Is Shari expressing?” I clarify again, since the baby is too small to actually latch on or feed herself. She’d exhaust herself and actually lose more weight if she tried. “Nope. Said she doesn’t want to.”

I watch the angry color rise in his cheeks. “She’s not done making selfish decisions?”

“Ed.” I sigh and place my hand on his arm. Ed has children, and he has grandchildren. I’m sure seeing an innocent baby suffer like this hurts him, but even so, “It’s not our place to make those judgements. We’re just here to…” I trail off, because I want to make those comments too. I want to call her selfish, because she is being selfish, even if it is a mental illness that led her to take drugs the first time, or it’s a mental illness that stops her from quitting now. I know she wouldn’t make these decisions if she could fight it, but it still hurts that the baby suffers because of her mother’s decisions. “We’re just here to support the baby.”

“Alright… Well.” Ed looks to his left and studies the corridor that way, then he looks to the right and does the same. “Are you heading to the baby or Shari right now?”

“I was going to go see Shari. Perhaps try and get her to reconsider her stance on expressing. It could only help, and I want to help the baby, so…”

“Yeah.” He turns to the left. “I’ll go to the baby for a bit, then I have to get back to the office.”

“Alright.” I don’t know why he’s here at all, to be honest. He doesn’t normally spend a bunch of time on hospital visits, especially when it’s not even his file. I hold my already half empty coffee cup tightly in my hand and make my way down the hall, then through two security locked doors until I emerge into Shari’s ward.

Steeling myself and trying to push aside the judgements I was silently making only moments ago, I knock softly on the heavy door. I wait a full minute, but when she doesn’t answer, I push it forward quietly and step into the dark room.

The TV is on, a low murmuring coming from the corner that no one pays attention to. Shari lies in the bed staring at the wall, awake, breathing, but simply staring. Her gaze doesn’t move at my entrance, she simply continues to rhythmically pick at the white waffle blanket that covers her. The blanket rises over her long feet, dipping along her legs and hips then rises again over her still visible, though small, baby bump. The blanket sits an inch or two below her breasts, but her breasts draw most of my attention. They’re huge, swollen and the skin looks painfully stretched out. Blue veins crisscross like a road map across her skin, and her chest lifts and falls as she breathes rhythmically.

I knock again, because I feel awkward. Just a soft tap, tap, tap, but still, she doesn’t desert her watch of the wall. I take a step closer, then another as I make my way toward her bed in the center of the room. Her left hand picks at the blanket, her nails bitten painfully short on the thumb and middle finger, drawing blood and pulling at skin. Her right hand lies limp beside her body, resting beside the TV remote, though she’s not holding it, nor reaching for it. “Shari?”

Her eyes continue to watch the wall, something riveting that only she can see playing out behind me. If I couldn’t see her moving chest, I’d worry for her safety. “Hey, Shari? How are you feeling?” I take her spare hand in mine gently, and only at my touch does she blink, then slowly, she turns her head and focuses on me. I smile as bravely as I can manage, though I can admit, her behavior is scaring me. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“It’s hot in here,” she croaks out in monotone. She doesn’t make a move to toss her blanket aside, she just continues to pick at it as beads of sweat sit on her wrinkled brow.

“Do you want me to take your blanket?” I move my hand from hers and start to peel the blanket away, but her previously lazy hand stops mine. “Or maybe I could open a window?” I look around the room until my eyes stop on the window, but I realize immediately we’re on the ninth floor and I’m fairly sure it can’t be opened.

“It’s okay. I’m tired anyway.” She smacks her lips, licking the dry and cracked skin to moisten it. “I’m ready for sleep.”

“Did you want to come see the baby?” I bravely step forward and brush loose strands of hair out of her eyes. I’d never normally touch a client like this. Hell, I’d never normally spend this much time on a single case. I have stacks of folders that look just like hers on my desk. I have things I need to do, yet here I am, spending time with her baby or trying to talk Shari into getting out of bed to see her.

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