LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Lucy had no compunction about doing just that on my behalf.

      Minutes later, my still-thrashing daughter was strapped to a stretcher and hustled indoors. I recognised several of the staff and nurses and knew one or two of the paramedics on shift, at least by name.

      They would help Rosie, I reassured myself. They had the equipment and resources to control her fever – much more so than what I could do at home. I allowed myself to feel just the tiniest bit of relief and reminded myself that while febrile seizures were scary, they were mostly harmless; a natural result of the body’s high temperature when fighting illness. On a practical level, I knew all this but it still didn’t make it any less scary.

      Rosie was in good hands in Glencree, it was the best place for her just then. I had to trust the very talented people around me. I had no choice.

      A little later, they were indeed able to stabilise her and bring her temperature down just a little.

      I literally pounced on Dr Jackson, the on-call paediatrician who just then was coming my way. I knew her a little, but personal decorum goes out the window when you’re frantic for your child.

      ‘How is she? Will she be OK?’ I babbled, my heart in my mouth at the sight of the doctor’s worryingly expressionless face.

      ‘Kate…’ she began, using that tone, one I’d heard uttered by hospital staff countless times (hell, I’d used it myself) when bracing themselves to give people news that wasn’t good.

      Oh God…Terrified, I waited for the doctor’s next words to come out of her mouth, bracing myself for the worst.

      ‘It’s looking like Rosie has pneumonia,’ Dr Jackson told me gravely, and I gasped with horror.

       Pneumonia…

      My God, how had I missed it? I should have had my little girl seen to long before now… what kind of idiot was I? I was supposed to be an RN for goodness’ sake… I had a goddamn Masters degree and still I didn’t realise my own child had pneumonia…

      The doctor put a gentle hand on my arm. ‘As a precaution, probably best if we transfer her to Dublin where they can keep an eye on her,’ she said, referring to the national children’s hospital in the city. We’ve given her antibiotics and are now trying to get her hydrated and in better shape for the ambulance journey, but it’s going to take a little time.’ She smiled gently. ‘Kate, I know what you’re thinking and, please, try not to be too hard on yourself – sometimes it’s hard to tell with these things…’

      ‘I just can’t believe I didn’t even consider it…’ Especially when pneumonia was one of the most common complications with measles. I burst into tears, and allowed Lucy to lead me to a nearby chair, whereupon she let me cry on her shoulder exhausting myself even further.

      Dr Jackson lightly patted my shoulder, and advised that I would be able to reunite with Rosie when they’d finished prepping her for the transfer, while once again reassuring me that I couldn’t have known.

      But of course I could; I’m her mother, aren’t I? The one who’s supposed to protect her from harm and keep this kind of stuff from happening in the first place.

      Fat lot of good I was at that, I thought sniffing.

      I stood up and began pacing, wearing a path in the linoleum floor as I waited to see my daughter.

      ‘Come on, Kate, try to relax,’ Lucy said as she fought back a yawn. It was now three o’clock in the morning. I had already told her repeatedly that she should go home to her own family, but she’d insisted on staying. ‘Rosie’s in good hands – think positive.’

      I shook my head. ‘No, if I sit down, I’ll drive myself crazy thinking.’

      About how this was all my fault. How I should have known. Why had I waited three whole days before getting her seen to, assuming she could just fight this on her own?

      Right then, a nurse entered the general waiting area and gave me a gentle smile. It was enough to make me want to run over and hug her, yet I still couldn’t be sure if it meant…

      ‘Rosie’s sleeping now, and we have her on an antibiotic drip. The ambulance should be ready soon, and you’re free to go back in and sit with her while we wait.’

      Almost sick with relief, I thanked the nurse and looked quickly at Lucy, who offered to head back to the house to bring me some toiletries and clothes – things I hadn’t had the time or the foresight to grab when we hightailed it over here hours ago.

      I nodded my assent and she asked me if there was anything I needed specifically, but my mind was blank. I didn’t care what she brought me frankly, because I couldn’t recall a thing that I needed as much as I wanted to be by my little girl’s side. Hold her close, keep her safe.

      Like I thought I’d been doing up to now.

      On entering Rosie’s hospital room, I was immediately struck by how big the bed was and how small and fragile she was. My heart felt like it was breaking.

       My God; she’s only five years old…

      She was so pale and she had monitors and machines all around her, tracking every heartbeat, every breath. I walked slowly to the side of the bed and sat down, taking Rosie’s little hand in mine and murmuring, ‘Mummy’s here, buttercup. It’s going to be OK.’

      But was it? a small voice in my mind asked. Again, my brain instinctively tried to go clinical on me – it was ready to spout off the measles statistics that I had been trying not to think about since I first spotted that telltale rash. I tried to tell it to shut up.

       It’s just pneumonia – the antibiotics will sort it, it will be OK.

      I worked my hardest to take Lucy’s advice and try to think positive, but my mind was too busy lecturing me that there were no guarantees from one minute to the next.

      I understood that lesson better than most.

Chapter 8

      The following week, Madeleine felt herself breathe a sigh of relief and offered up the quietest of thankful prayers as the GP took another look into Clara’s mouth and nodded.

      Her rash still looked angry and sore, but her fever had all but disappeared, thank goodness. Some colour had returned to her cheeks, and today – a week since first displaying any signs of illness – Madeleine’s five-year-old was looking much more like herself.

      Dr Barrett stood up and took a final glance down at Clara. ‘It looks like you are on the mend, princess,’ he said with a smile. ‘You’re a very lucky girl.’ His smile disappeared as he looked at Madeleine. ‘As are you,’ he added in a grave tone.

      She kissed her daughter’s forehead, tears of relief pricking at the corners of her eyes, but her attention was returned to Dr Barrett when he cleared his throat and motioned with a sharp jerk of his head that he wanted to speak with her – privately.

      She turned to leave the room and dutifully followed in his wake.

      ‘When will Tom be home?’ Dr Barrett enquired. In his sixties, the Knockroe doctor had been on first name terms with Madeleine’s family for years, and had been her GP since she was a child. She secretly wondered when he was going to retire. Tom said that Frank Barrett would retire at his funeral. He was probably right.

      ‘Not until later. He had to get back to work. He was here for the first few days, of course, but when it looked like she was out of the woods, he went back yesterday.’

      Tom had been wonderful at keeping poor Clara’s spirits up, especially when one day he’d arrived home with, of all things, a blow-up kayak and a huge cuddly dolphin, promising their little girl that once she was all better, he’d take her out on the water like they did in Florida. This had raised a much needed smile from

Скачать книгу