Wanted: Parents for a Baby!. Laura Iding

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СКАЧАТЬ orders to drop her ventilator settings,” he said brusquely. “Should I ask the unit clerk to page the respiratory therapist?”

      “I’d appreciate that, if you don’t mind. I’ll be here for a while yet.” More proof that Dr. Ryan was a great doctor. He didn’t think menial tasks were beneath him. Or maybe he was simply anxious to get Emma’s vent settings changed. “So far I haven’t seen any evidence of seizures.”

      “Good. You’ll probably get a call from Child Protective Services, I put them on notice about Emma.”

      “Oh, okay.” Cassie suppressed a flash of disappointment. Of course calling CPS was the right thing to do. “I guess, once she’s stable, Emma will end up in foster care, then,” she murmured, trying to hide the wistfulness in her tone. She had no right to be so emotionally attached to Emma. The baby wasn’t hers to love and to care for. Except here, at work.

      Dr. Ryan’s lips tightened in a grim line. “I imagine so.”

      She couldn’t say anything past the lump of regret lodged in her throat. Ridiculous to think she could become a foster parent for Emma. For one thing, there was a long process, including classes to take, along with other hoops to jump through, before she’d be granted that privilege. Even then, she knew that a married couple would have a better shot of getting custody of Emma than a single parent such as her.

      Barton turned his face away from the bottle, reminding her it was time for a burp. She lifted him up, turned him and placed him against her shoulder, rubbing her hand in soothing circles over his back. She couldn’t resist brushing a kiss against his downy temple, enjoying the scent of baby shampoo that clung to his skin. He squirmed a bit and made gurgling noises before letting out a loud belch.

      “Good boy,” she praised him with a wide smile. Gently she turned the baby round so she could try to give him the rest of his bottle. He was still pretty tiny, less than five pounds, so he usually only took a small portion of his bottle at each feeding.

      “You’re a natural,” Dr. Ryan said in a low tone.

      The longing to have a baby of her own stabbed deeply, but she pushed it away with an effort. Her cheeks warmed and she cursed herself for responding to every little thing Dr. Ryan said. He had no way of knowing that she’d miscarried twice before her marriage had shattered into irreparable pieces. “Thanks.”

      Abruptly he turned and walked toward the unit clerk’s desk. She overheard him requesting the respiratory therapist on duty to be paged for vent setting changes.

      Little Barton took another ounce before thrusting the nipple out of his mouth, indicating he wasn’t interested in any more. She mentally calculated the total, pleased that he’d taken a half-ounce more at this feeding.

      As she returned Barton to his bassinet and cranked on the mobile that hung over his head, she noticed Dr. Ryan was standing over Emma’s warmer. She assumed that he was checking the baby’s vital signs but as she approached she noticed that her little pink knit hat was off and he was softly stroking his thumb over Emma’s downy head, murmuring softly.

      “You’re going to be fine, pretty girl. You’ll see.”

      His words made tears prick her eyes and she subtly wiped them away. Dr. Ryan had called her a natural, but right now she was thinking the same about him. He was gazing down at Emma as if the baby was important on a personal level, rather than just another patient.

      She hesitated, wondering if she was intruding, but he must have sensed her presence. He glanced at her and gently tugged the pink knit cap over Emma’s head. “Do you need to get in here?” he asked.

      “Yes, I need to check her vitals again,” she said, trying to deal with her bizarre reaction to him. “But I can wait until you’re finished.”

      “No, go ahead,” he said, stepping back to give her plenty of room.

      She avoided his gaze and tucked the buds of her stethoscope into her ears, taking her time to listen to Emma’s heart, lungs and abdomen. When she straightened and pulled off the stethoscope, she caught Dr. Ryan’s intense gaze resting on her once again.

      She grappled for something intelligent to say. “Everything sounds good, but her bowel sounds are still hyperactive.”

      “I know. I’m reluctant to begin feeding her until we know for sure she won’t start having seizures,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “But if things continue to go well, I’ll insert a feeding tube for bolus feedings.”

      “Sounds like a plan,” she agreed. Since he was still logged on to the computer, she gestured toward it. “Do you need the computer?”

      “Not at all.” He leaned over to log off with quick keystrokes and she caught a whiff of his woodsy aftershave, the heady scent wreaking havoc with her senses. He stepped back, giving her room to sit, but he was still far too close for comfort.

      Cassie tried to concentrate on documenting Emma’s assessment, but it wasn’t easy. She made several spelling mistakes, requiring her to backspace several times to fix them.

      Why wouldn’t he leave? Was he reading her charting, double-checking her work? Surely he had better things to do. Better places to be other than here.

      Validating vital signs was easier, merely requiring a point and click, and she was nearly finished when she heard him say her name in that deep, husky voice of his.

      “Cassandra.”

      She couldn’t seem to untie her tongue enough to tell him he could call her Cassie. After all, he insisted everyone call him by his first name, even though most continued to use his formal title, too. She glanced up, only to find his gaze glued to Emma.

      Immediately, she rose to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

      “Get me point two milligrams of midazolam and a half milligram of phenobarbital. Emma is having a seizure.”

      Cassie’s heart plunged to the pit of her stomach as she rushed over to the medication dispensing machine to get the medication.

      She dashed back to Emma’s warmer, holding each of the syringes up for him to see. “Point two milligrams of midazolam,” she said. “And a half milligram of phenobarb.”

      “Yes, that’s correct.”

      She gently injected the medications into Emma’s IV then watched the baby’s heart rate on the monitor.

      She couldn’t prevent an overwhelming sense of dread. Seizures were a bad sign. If they continued, there was a chance that Emma might suffer permanent brain damage.

      The little girl could even die.

       She has us. We care about her.

      Cassie strengthened her resolve to do everything possible to make sure Emma had the best chance to survive.

      Ryan shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, hating every moment of feeling helpless.

      This poor baby might not make it to her first birthday, all because her mother hadn’t sought help for her addiction.

      Anger was useless, so he did his best to breathe it away, keeping an eye on his patient instead. The СКАЧАТЬ