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This was Lincoln Adams. And yesterday this gorgeous blue-eyed, brown-haired doc had been announced on television as looking after the First Daughter. He was world news. Women would be throwing themselves at his feet.
She had to concentrate on the most important thing right now—a safe delivery and outcome for her baby. She’d come here to find Lincoln Adams because he was the best doctor to care for her baby. Nothing else. No matter how he currently made her feel.
CHAPTER THREE
‘LINC? Linc?’
The voice was quiet, softly spoken, but the hand pressing down on his shoulder was firm, stirring him from the first hour’s sleep he’d had in two days.
‘What…what is it?’ His hands automatically went to his sleep-filled eyes and he rubbed hard. He looked around him. He’d sat down for just a minute in the NICU, waiting for the First Lady to awaken and try to feed her baby again, but the heat from the unit had enveloped him and before he’d known it…
Val, one of his nurses, was standing next to him smiling. ‘Wake up, sleeping beauty, you’re needed.’
‘Is Jennifer Taylor awake?’
Val nodded. ‘She’s been awake for the last half-hour. Both Ruth and I have tried to assist her with breastfeeding, but the truth is we just can’t get this baby to latch on.’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘And if we’re going to follow the protocols we normally use at San Fran then we’re at our time limit for getting some fluids into this baby. You’re going to have to come and talk to her.’
Linc gave a nod, stood up and tried to flatten his rumpled scrubs. He walked over to the nearby sink and splashed some cold water on his face and hands.
Neonates could be hard work. Esther, who had been born at thirty-two weeks, hadn’t yet developed her natural mechanism to suck and feed. It was a common complaint in premature babies and one he was used to dealing with. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to put a tube into the baby’s stomach and feed it artificially. The First Lady wanted to breastfeed and he would make sure that he and his staff did everything they could to make that happen.
He pulled some paper towels from the nearby dispenser and dried his face.
‘Have you had any success expressing some breast milk?’
Val nodded. ‘Ruth’s in there with her now—we knew that would be the next step.’
Lincoln took a deep breath and pushed open the door into the adjoining room. Charles Taylor, the President of the United States, was perched on the edge of the bed one arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, the other cradling daughter Esther. By neonatal standards Esther was a healthy weight at just under five pounds. Would Amy’s baby be so lucky? Where had that come from? Lincoln felt a little shudder drift down his spine. He had a job to do. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.
Jennifer’s brow was furrowed, her eyes fixed on the pump that the nurse Ruth was using to help her express some milk from her breasts. She looked exasperated as the smallest trickle of creamy breast milk started to collect in the receptacle.
‘What‘s wrong with me?’ she gasped. ‘Is that it? No wonder my baby can’t feed.’
Lincoln crossed the room in a few steps and sat down at the bottom of the bed. This was no time for pomp and ceremony. The last thing he wanted was for Jennifer to think she was failing at feeding her child.
‘Give it a few minutes, Jennifer. Ruth is an expert at this and it takes a bit of time for your milk to come in. Remember, Esther is a tiny baby and she won’t need a huge amount to start with.’ He pointed at the small amount already collected. ‘That is called colostrum. And it’s like gold dust for babies. It contains antibodies and is rich in protein and carbohydrates— exactly what your baby needs.’
The tears were already starting to form in Jennifer’s eyes. ‘But she won’t feed. I can’t get her to take anything.’
Lincoln nodded. ‘And that’s entirely normal for a thirty-two-weeker. Her natural instincts to suck and feed haven’t kicked in yet. Sometimes it can take a few weeks. In the meantime, we have to look at how to get some fluids into her. The last thing we want is for your baby to dehydrate.’
Jennifer sagged back against the pillows behind her. The effect of the relaxation had an immediate impact on the flow from her breasts. ‘Look, there’s some more. Once we have a few more mils we’ll start to look at an alternative method for getting some breast milk into Esther. Any extra milk we can refrigerate or freeze.’
‘But I want to breastfeed. I told everyone I want to breastfeed.’
Lincoln could see the stress on Jennifer’s face. He reached out and automatically touched her hand. ‘And you will. In the meantime, in order to keep your daughter from screaming the house down, we’ll give her your breast milk another way.’
‘How?’
‘There’s two possibilities and it all depends on the baby. We can try cup feeding or finger feeding. What we definitely won’t do is put your breast milk into a bottle.’
‘I’ve never heard of these. How on earth can a baby drink from a cup?’ She turned to face her husband. ‘Have you ever heard of these?’
Charles lifted his eyes from his daughter, still caught in the rosy glow of new parenthood, smitten with his daughter’s face. ‘Nope, you’ve got me. Never heard of them.’
Lincoln smiled. ‘The word cup might not be strictly true. We don’t use a regular cup—we use a medicine cup and, to be honest, this type of feeding isn’t anything new, it’s been around for a long time. We place the edge of the cup at the baby’s mouth and bring the liquid up to baby’s lower lip, so she can lap it up—a bit like a pussycat. It can get a little messy.’ He smiled at Charlie, who still had his suit on. ‘We can you give something to change into.’ He nodded at Val, who had just detached the breast pump. ‘One of us will take some time and teach you how to do it. It can take a little bit of practice to get it right. It does mean, though, that you can both help with Esther’s feeding.’
Charlie gave a broad smile. There was no mistaking the joy in his eyes as he looked at his daughter. ‘Whatever she needs,’ he murmured.
Lincoln watched Jennifer’s face. She looked a little easier. ‘This is only a temporary measur
e to help get some fluids into Esther. We’ll still try putting Esther to the breast and encouraging her to latch on.’
‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to put a tube down?’
‘In theory it might be. But if we feed Esther by tube and she has the sensation of feeling full, she won’t have any motivation to suck. That’s what we really need to work on. Feeding by tube would be the last resort and I don’t think we’ll need to do that.’
Jennifer nodded slowly. ‘So how do you know if she’s getting enough?’
‘We’ll monitor her diapers and check the tone and elasticity of her skin.’ His eyes caught sight of Val, transferring some of the breast milk into one of the medicine cups. He stretched his hands out towards Charlie. ‘Do you mind if I take her for a minute? We want to be sure and have her wrapped up securely before we start—little hands can make a terrible mess when we’re cup feeding.’ He smiled at the President’s suit. ‘Wanna play doctor for the day and change into a set of scrubs?’
Charlie nodded. ‘Come with me,’ Ruth, the other nurse, said as she headed towards the door. ‘I’m sure we can find something for you.’
Lincoln tried hard to focus on the task at hand. Getting the First Daughter to feed should be his first and only priority. So why were his thoughts filled with pale skin and red, curly hair?
* * *
The buzz from the monitor and the tightening cuff on her arm woke Amy from her daze. Damn cuff. How was anyone supposed to sleep with this stupid thing going off every thirty minutes? No wonder her blood pressure was rising—she couldn’t get any peace and quiet.
A smile crossed her face. Things were different from a patient perspective. She’d never really given much thought before to the electronic monitoring devices that she used as a nurse. Cardiac monitors that beeped incessantly, IV fluid pumps that alarmed when they needed changing and syringe drivers that required hourly monitoring. It was no wonder patients complained.
She turned her head and glanced at the screen beside her. Damn! Her blood pressure hadn’t gone down at all. The curtains surrounding her had been pulled tightly and lights around her had been dimmed. What time was it? Was it night-time? It must be—she’d just been about to slip into another X-rated, Lincoln-filled dream. Definitely not suitable for a hospital stay.
