Page 16 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

“You’re officially naming her Lily?”

She nods softly and a small smile crosses her lips. “Lily Rosalee.” Shari turns to Barbara. “You heard all this. You know what I want, so when this becomes a thing, I want you to tell them you heard me say I want Ms. Samantha.”

“Ms. Lytto--”

“Do you know where my husband is? Has he been in?”

“No,” Barbara answers sadly. “He hasn’t been in.”

Shari nods softly again, resignedly, then she turns away and stares out the window, ignoring us as she studies the sky and Barbara finishes remaking the bed.

***

Four days post-partum, news spreads through the hospital like wildfire. Someone has committed suicide in the stairwell, jumping nine flights to their death and breaking their neck on the way down.

No one said her name. This is a huge hospital in the middle of a large city. It could have been anyone. But as I hold a sleeping Lily on my chest for the third night in a row, I cry softly as the rumors get louder and come closer, finally making their way to me and Shari’s sweet baby.

Shari Lilian Lytto committed suicide earlier today, four and a half days after giving birth to her tiny one-and-a-half-pound baby. She lasted five days without heroin in her body. Five days without hearing from her husband, her supplier, her enabler. Five days of excruciating and debilitating hunger, nausea, fever, even seizures, though I didn’t know those until after the fact. Shari lasted five days in hospital, as though the thought of him at home was enough to keep her strong, but only two hours after finding out her husband was found cold and unresponsive behind Skeeters with a needle in his arm and both his and Shari’s shares of the drug coursing through his body, she ended it.

She could live almost a week without the drug, but only hours without him. Her devastation crippling her, she chose that final selfish act, taking her own life instead of living for her daughter.

In one single morning, Lily, the baby with no official name on record yet, just the words spoken by her mother in front of her case worker and nurse, became an orphan.

– Sammy –

Going Home

Almost three months later

Baby Lily sleeps in the infant carseat on the floor, sucking on a purple pacifier almost bigger than her face while I rock her with my foot and we wait for discharge papers.

Lily is eighty-seven days old. Almost three months since she was born, and she’s being discharged early. She’s finally the size of a small newborn, sitting at a healthy seven pounds, two ounces. Her skin has changed in the last months; from almost see through to ghostly white, then jaundice yellow, to rose pink, finally settling on a soft olive tan.

Lily suffered weeks of withdrawals in the NICU, but with the help of some of the kindest special care nurses I’ve ever met in my life, she was helped through scary seizures and convulsions, she was drop fed formula until she was big and strong enough to suckle at a bottle on her own, and when she was, I was the first to give it to her.

In her first month, she suffered through severe irritability and was unable to settle and sleep for long periods of time. Her high-pitched crying rung in my ears and hurt me in more ways than one. She suffered sleep apnea, and I cried as they plucked my sweet baby from my arms and resuscitated her more times than I care to count.

She was born a micro preemie, and though she slowly but steadily gained weight, as soon as her feeding tubes were removed and she was forced to do the work herself, she lost weight again. One and a half to two pounds. Two to three. Three back down to two and a half. Lily has fought several wars already, but she’s a survivor, and with her on my chest more often than not, we continued to snuggle together, we fell in love, and we formed a bond that I’ll never allow to break.

I have a hell of a legal mess to clean up in the next year or so, but I’m not walking away now.

Ed has been down weekly to talk with me, and though he’s mad I called out of work on extended leave, he cares enough to help as best he can.

Shari and Lily’s case was immediately yanked from my caseload due to a conflict of interest, but Ed pulled strings and now he’s at the helm.

I’ve spoken with Shari’s lawyer a few times, and though Shari is no longer here, and therefore no longer paying the bills, her lawyer has agreed to stay on the case. She said she’s interested in the outcome and is willing to finish it out.

That’s… refreshing.

Not a single lawyer I know would donate their time for free, and though I’m willing to pay for her services, she’s not my lawyer, and seeing as I’m the intended adoptive parent, I can’t buy her services.

So we’re all at an impasse while we wait for the court hearing.

“She still needs to be woken every three hours for feeding.” Calicia, our special care nurse for the last few months sets papers out on the desk between us. Using a red pen, she points to a list of things I need to know before we can go home. “She’s too small for now to risk letting her sleep through. Every three hours. Your pediatrician will let you know when you can stop that. Her laryngomalacia is still an issue, but we’ve done all we can for now, so we’ll just keep watching. Again, your pediatrician will help you. She’s already come such a long way.”

“I can hardly hear the squeaking anymore.”

Calicia smiles proudly. She’s bonded with Lily right alongside me. “She’s much better. Over time, that noise will go away completely and you’ll forget it ever happened.”

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