Page 34 of Knot Just Their Nanny
“She’s the same, Ben,” I reply soothingly. “But we’re not taking any chances, okay?” I hold out Mia for him to take so he can place her carefully in the car seat.
He cradles her close, breathing deeply like he’s trying to reassure himself that she’s still here and real. It breaks my heart a little because I can sense his fear as tangibly as if it were mine. His pinecone scent has filled the air with his panic, and it’s making my head spin a little.
Ben carries her down carefully and steadily and clicks the car seat into place as I quickly make up four bottles and follow with the baby bag.
When I exit the house and close the front door, I see Ben standing there frozen for a moment before reality seems to settle back over him. “Right,” he says firmly, nodding to himself as if trying to shake off the panic. “Let’s go.”
The drive is tense. Mia’s soft fussing from the backseat is like a thread pulling taut with each mile we cover. Ben’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his eyes focused so intently on the road that I’m not even sure he’s blinking.
I reach over and lay a hand on his arm. “She’ll be okay,” I whisper, but he hears me.
He glances at me, then back to the road. “I know,” he says, but his voice is heavy with worry.
Time passes too slowly. Ben wasn’t kidding when he said the hospital was an hour’s drive away. Thank God this isn’t a life-or-death emergency.
We hope.
When we finally arrive, Ben parks the car, and I get out with the bag while he gets Mia, still in her car seat, to take to the Reception.
“Mia Scott,” Ben states. “She’s got a fever.”
I take over and tell the Receptionist all that I know and have done.
When she tells us to take a seat in the child-friendly waiting room, I can’t just sit there. I unbuckle Mia and try to give her a bottle, which she refuses. That’s not good. She starts crying again so I walk with her, up and down, up and down wearing a path in the floor until finally her name is called.
“Mia Scott?”
“Here,” I say as Ben races over to the nurse, and I join them at a more sedate pace.
“Could you follow me, please?” the nurse says with a smile that is meant to be calming but does little to calm Ben down.
We trail behind her down a corridor that smells like antiseptic. It clings to the brightly painted walls despite the cheerful drawings of zoo animals trying to convince us otherwise.
She ushers us into a small examination room where another nurse waits, this one holding a digital thermometer.
Ben’s alpha control frays even more at the edges. “Please, just help her,” he pleads.
I place Mia down on the examination table and the nurse checks her temperature. She gives no indication one way or the other. “Dr Evans will be with you shortly,” she reassures us as she makes notes in her chart.
Ben and I sit on either side of the examination table. We’re both staring at Mia, who’s now settled on the table, looking small and vulnerable amidst the white sheet.
I take Ben’s hand in mine, giving it a squeeze. He returns it, his grip firm, grounding me as much as I am him.
A few minutes later, Dr Evans walks in—a kind woman with kind eyes. She washes her hands before turning to us with a warm smile.
“How are we doing today?” she asks brightly as if we’re here for a routine check-up rather than a feverish baby emergency. But her tone is just what we need, the normalcy of it all easing some of the tension in my shoulders.
“We’re a bit worried,” I manage to say. “Her fever was forty when we took it last.”
Dr Evans nods as she slips on gloves. “Understandable. Fevers can be scary, but you’ve done exactly the right thing bringing Mia in.” She approaches the table and starts examining Mia gently, asking questions as she goes.
“Has she had any other symptoms? Coughing, vomiting, diarrhoea?”
I shake my head. “Just the fever, and she’s been fussier than usual,” I reply. “And I think she’s teething.”
Dr Evans nods and checks for a rash anyway and looks in Mia’s ears, then listens to her chest with a stethoscope. She’s thorough but quick, making soft cooing sounds that have Mia staring at her with wide-eyed trust.
“I can’t see any outward signs so it could be the teething or possibly a standard viral infection. You’re doing the right thing by giving her Calpol at four-hour intervals, and you need to get fluids into her. Her nappy is wet, so that’s a good sign, but you need to keep an eye on that.”
