Chương 2
“I don’t know.”
Each answer landed with its own weight.
The older paramedic lifted Maya’s cardigan and examined the dressing without removing it. “Ma’am, I need you to stay awake. Can you tell me your name?”
“Maya Carter.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
“New Year’s Eve.”
“What time do you think it is?”
She looked toward the windows, where another flare of fireworks colored the glass. “Late.”
The younger paramedic slid a thermometer beneath Liam’s arm, then glanced at his partner. The glance was brief, but David saw it.
“What?” David asked.
“He’s cold. We’re warming him. Do you know his birth weight?”
“Six pounds, thirteen ounces.”
“Any feeding problems diagnosed at discharge?”
“They told us to supplement. Maya had trouble producing enough milk after surgery.”
Maya’s eyes closed.
David crouched beside her. “Stay with me.”
The paramedic fitted an oxygen sensor to her finger. “We’re taking both of them in. The baby will likely be evaluated separately. You can ride with one patient, but not both.”
David looked from Maya to Liam.
Maya saw the choice happen on his face. “Go with him.”
“I’ll follow you.”
“No.” Her hand moved weakly across the floor until it found his. “He’s so little.”
The older paramedic began cutting the sleeve of her cardigan to start an intravenous line. A fading purple hospital bruise marked her forearm. Maya flinched when he touched it, then apologized.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said.
David rode with Liam.
He sat beside the bassinet-sized transport carrier in the back of the ambulance while another crew took Maya in the vehicle behind them. The technician placed warming packs around Liam and checked his breathing. David kept one hand near his son’s foot without touching the medical equipment.
His phone vibrated.
MOM appeared on the screen.
He let it ring.
A message followed.
Did you land? I stepped out for only a little while. Maya was sleeping when I left. Call me before you upset her.
Another message arrived before he could read the first again.
She has been emotional and confused. Do not encourage the drama.
David took screenshots, then turned the phone facedown on his thigh.
At the hospital, Liam disappeared through one set of doors and Maya through another. A nurse directed David toward a registration desk where a clerk asked for insurance cards, dates of birth, home address, pediatrician, obstetrician, emergency contacts, and whether there was anyone besides David authorized to receive information.
“No,” he said.
The answer came too quickly.
The clerk looked up. “No one?”
“My mother was. Remove her.”
“I can note the request, but the clinical teams may need to confirm with your wife regarding her own records.”
“Then confirm it with her. Eleanor Carter is not to receive information about either of them.”
The clerk’s expression changed almost imperceptibly. She turned back to the screen. “I’ll document that.”
David sat between two locked doors beneath a television showing a countdown celebration in Times Square. The volume had been muted. People on the screen smiled beneath silver hats while hospital staff moved past carrying blood samples and folded blankets. A man in a delivery uniform slept with his chin on his chest. Somewhere down the corridor, a child coughed in a steady rhythm.
David’s shirt cuffs were stained with Maya’s blood.
He rubbed at one spot with his thumb until the fabric darkened.
A pediatric resident found him twenty minutes later. She looked young enough to be a college student and tired enough to have lived several lives.
“Mr. Carter?”
He stood.
“Your son is stable. His temperature is coming up. He appears dehydrated, and his blood sugar was lower than we’d like, but he responded to feeding. We’re doing tests and monitoring him closely.”
“Can I see him?”
“In a few minutes. We need to talk first. When did he last receive formula?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last see him before tonight?”
“Three days ago.”
She waited.
“I was traveling for work. My mother stayed with my wife.”
“Was there a feeding plan?”
“Yes. The pediatrician said to breastfeed if possible and supplement with prescribed formula. We had formula in the apartment.”
“And tonight it was gone?”
“The refrigerator was empty. Everything was gone.”
“Formula doesn’t necessarily need refrigeration before opening.”
“The cans were gone too.”
The resident’s face remained neutral. “Did your mother remove them?”
“I believe she did.”
“Why?”
David pictured the note taped inside the refrigerator. “She thought formula was harmful. She believed Maya should breastfeed exclusively.”
“Did you know she felt that strongly?”
He opened his mouth and found no answer that did not sound like an excuse.
“I knew she had opinions,” he said.
The resident held his gaze for another second, then glanced at the tablet in her hand. “A hospital social worker will speak with you. That’s standard when an infant arrives underfed or when there may be an unsafe caregiving situation.”
“Are you calling child protective services?”
“I’m not the person making that decision. Our priority is your son’s health and a safe discharge plan.”
A door opened behind her. David saw Liam beneath a clear plastic warming cover, his face turned toward the sound. The sight of him rearranged the room.
The resident stepped aside.
David approached the bassinet. A tiny adhesive sensor wrapped one foot. A bottle rested near his cheek, nearly empty.
“He took that?” David asked.
“Almost two ounces.”
David pressed his knuckles against his mouth.
The nurse beside Liam adjusted the blanket. “He was hungry.”
David stared at the small movement of his son’s chest. “I should have been home.”
May you like
The nurse did not reassure him.
Across the hospital, Maya’s blood tests showed infection, severe dehydration, and anemia. A physician told David by phone that they were starting antibiotics and fluids while arranging imaging to make sure there was no deeper complication near the incision. She was not yet in immediate danger, but she had arrived close enough to it that the physician’s careful language did not comfort him.
