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I draw in a ragged breath. “Will they look after him?”
“They're the best.” She says it with a serious face. “He couldn't be in more caring hands. Now sit here and I'll ask one of the receptionists to bring you some forms to fill in. Is there anybody you can call?”
How sad I must look, crying on my own in the middle of an empty waiting room. I nod, showing her my phone. “I can't use this here, can I?”
“In here is fine,” she reassures. “Just not near the equipment.
David arrives a few minutes later, rushing into the waiting room and looking wildly around. As soon as he spots me, he runs over, scooping me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder as he strokes my hair, my face. “Where is he?” His voice is raspy and low.
“Being examined. They said they'll come and talk to me soon.”
“Is he okay?”
I shake my head. “I don't know. The paramedics said something about an infection, but it all went so fast. I couldn't concentrate.”
David holds me tighter still. “Of course you couldn't.”
Half an hour later, Tina and Amy have joined us, their faces pale, lips pinched. Andrea is apparently on her way, too, and Beth has already texted to say she'll catch the first morning train to London. So I sit, surrounded by a makeshift family, feeling desperately lonely without my two lovely boys.
Sensing my fear, David folds my hand in his, squeezing tight. I notice Tina glancing our way, staring pointedly at our hands, but I can't bring myself to care. Instead, I look at the clock fixed high on the wall, willing the minutes to pass quickly, wondering what is taking so long.
Is my baby able to breathe? What if he isn't? What if they're putting off coming to tell me bad news?
I bite my mouth closed, swallowing my sob. My arms feel achy and empty. Having held Max all night, I'm bereft without him.
“I'll try Alex again.” Tina presses some buttons on her phone, putting it to her ear. I can tell by her expression it goes straight to voicemail. She leaves a short message, explaining the situation, asking him to call back. I'm trying to work out the time difference between here and Chicago, when a pale-looking young man walks out into the waiting room, his light green scrubs denoting his job.
“Mrs Cartwright?”
Of course, Tina and I both stand up. Despite being long divorced, she's still kept the name of her only husband.
“I think he means me,” I say gently.
The doctor walks forward and offers me his hand. “I'm Doctor Logan. I've been assisting Doctor Kulkarni with your son.”
“How is he?” I'm aware of how desperate I sound.
“I'm afraid he's a very poorly boy.” The doctor offers me a seat, pulling his chair up beside me. The others huddle in, as anxious as I am for news. “We believe he has a condition called Bronchiolitis, which is a chest infection caused by a virus called RSV. Basically all the tiny airways in his chest have swollen, making it hard for Max to breathe.”
I'm finding it hard to breathe, too. “How serious is it?”
“His oxygen levels are low, in the mid-eighties, and he's very dehydrated. We need to attach him to some tubes to help
him out.” He smiles reassuringly. “In most cases there's a full recovery, but the next two days are crucial. We need to increase his oxygen levels enough to kick start his system.”
“Is he going to live?” Tina asks, leaning forward.
“There are no guarantees, but I can tell you that ninety percent of babies go on to make a full recovery.”
My voice is small. “What about the other ten percent?”
Of course, there's no answer to that.
The doctor shifts his feet. “Would you like to come and see him, Mrs Cartwright?”
I nod, standing up. The others stand too, David grabbing my hand again, Tina pushing to the front.
“I'm sorry, only Mrs Cartwright at the moment. We're moving Max to a ward and all the other children are asleep. You'll be able to see him tomorrow.”
