Cherished Beginnings (18 page)

"A beautiful baby girl!" cried Xan, cradling the child in his hands. "She looks perfect in every way. A wonderful birthday present for you." Xan cut the cord and held the baby so that Samantha could see it.

"My baby," she said softly, her eyes shining now. "May I hold her?"

Maura would have said yes.

"No," said Xan. He handed the baby to a nurse. Samantha's eyes followed the baby, almost pathetic in their longing. The nurse efficiently began to suction the baby's mouth and nostrils. Ointment was put in the baby's eyes.

"When can I hold her?" Samantha asked, still watching her child.

"Not for a while," Xan said cheerfully but evasively.

"Is there something wrong?" Samantha rose up and craned to see her baby, hidden from view by the attending nurses.

"We test her for—"

"Test? Test my baby?" Samantha's voice gave away her alarm.

Xan, to his credit, smiled reassuringly and stroked his patient's arm. "Don't worry. It's routine. She's fine."

Maura turned away, unable to hide her disapproval. It was common to administer the Apgar test to newborns at one minute and five minutes after birth. The test assessed appearance, pulse, grimace, activity, and respiration. Her patients were informed of this before they went into labor. Samantha seemed to known nothing about it.

Samantha fell silent then, and by the time Maura turned back to her, Samantha's eyes were filled with tears. Her compassion for the other woman made Maura clasp Samantha's hand. She knew, from what other women had told her, that at this point Samantha felt unutterably cut off from her baby. She had carried and nurtured this baby for nine long months, and despite her relief that the baby was safely delivered, she wanted to hold it in her arms.

"You can hold her now," the nurse said cheerfully as she settled Samantha's new daughter in her arms. The baby was tightly swaddled, and Samantha wore the same hospital gown that she'd worn during the delivery. Maura would have made sure that the baby rested on Samantha's abdomen, skin to skin. She was a great believer in this type of bonding for her patients.

Xan finished his work. "Everything looks good," he told Samantha. "You're doing fine and the baby is great. Her Apgar's 9 on a scale that goes up to 10. Now we're going to let your baby have a rest, just like you. Nurse will take her to the nursery."

"I want to hold her," Samantha said, clearly bewildered.

"You'll have lots of time for that when they bring her to you later," Xan said comfortingly.

"When will that be?"

"After you've slept a bit. Don't worry, your baby will be well taken care of. We have lots of experience."

Maura watched helplessly as the child was carried through the swinging doors to the hospital nursery where, Maura knew, it would be ensconced in a bassinet alongside the other babies until many hours had passed. After leaving the warm and safe environment of its mother's body which had sheltered it for nine months, it stood to reason that a newborn would be bewildered and in shock. In the absence of medical problems, to bundle a newborn into a Plexiglas box alongside other infants, some of them crying, seemed cruel when the baby could be cradled by its mother instead.

"I'm going to shower and change clothes," Xan told Maura.

"May I stay with Samantha? Please?"

Xan's expression softened. "Sure. Until they take Samantha to her room."

Maura continued to hold Samantha's hand, reassuring her from time to time and all the while despairing of the hospital procedure that deprived mother and child of each other in that important time when the baby desperately needed to know its mother's love and caring.

"So you have a new little daughter. Will you call her Samantha?" Maura talked mostly to get Samantha's mind off her baby's absence."

"My middle name is Elaine," said Samantha. "We'll probably call her that."

"Elaine Giles. A very pretty name," said Maura.

Samantha smiled. It was a proud smile, a joyful smile. "It is, isn't it? Oh, I'm so happy. So very happy."

Maura squeezed Samantha's hand. She herself didn't know the incredible happiness of giving birth, but she had experienced it vicariously hundreds of times. It never failed to leave her uplifted and filled with joy.

This time, however, her elation was soured by the knowledge that she'd soon have to face up to Xan, and she had plenty to say.

Chapter 9

Xan found Maura afterward in the staff lounge. Their eyes clashed over the top of a cardboard cup. She was drinking hot chocolate and dreading the condemnation that was sure to come.

He stood glaring at her in the harshness of the fluorescent overhead light. They were separated only by a narrow table. "Well?" he said. "Who goes first—you or me?"

"It might as well be you," she said, lowering the cup and crumpling it before tossing it in a nearby trash can. She waited.

"Your dislike of procedure here was quite obvious," he said, leading with a remark calculated to put her on the defensive. It was something she didn't appreciate.

"What did you expect? You know how I work," she shot back.

"We'd agreed that you would be only an observer," he retorted, but there was an underlying weariness in his tone.

"I could hardly stand by and watch Samantha suffering." She met his eyes without blinking.

Xan dismissed this assertion. "Maura, there's always a certain amount of pain that goes along with having a baby. I've been told that it's the most easily forgotten pain in the world. I don't want my patients suffering any more than you do. But it goes with the territory." Now his eyes sparked with a dangerous green light.

She leaned forward on the table, resting her weight on her hands. She spoke quietly but emotionally. "Samantha didn't need to be suffering in that way. Placing pillows under her back lifted her so that the delivery could progress. The delivery room nurses should have done it, but they didn't. I did a minor thing, but it helped. Admit it, Xan."

"Admit it? Maybe. But you should have asked my permission. I can't fault you for making my patient more comfortable, but you were supposed to be an
observer,
Maura."

"Then let me tell you some of the other things I observed," she said, preparing to count them off on her fingers. "First, Samantha was scared. Two, her fear inhibited the birth process because it made her tighten her muscles. Three, you could have relaxed those muscles by the application of hot compresses, an idea that never occurred to you. Four, she needed to hold her baby in her arms for more than a few minutes. Not wanted, but needed. Didn't you see the tears in her eyes when the nurse carted the baby off to the hospital nursery? Don't you have the compassion to see that mother and child belong together in those important first moments after birth?" Her words were impassioned. She utterly believed in them.

"Are you quite through?"

"For the moment, yes. But I'll always believe that, no matter what, the beginning of a new life should be cherished."

Xan ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"All right. Here's what I have to say. And most other obstetricians would tell you the same things."

"Go on." She had known that this airing of their professional differences was inevitable. They might as well get it over with.

"First, most women are apprehensive during their first experience with childbirth, and Samantha was no exception. Second, tightened muscles or not, the birth proceeded normally and she has a fine, healthy baby."

"She also has an episiotomy to heal from," Maura shot back. "Perineal massage and hot compresses could have prevented the need for it."

Xan ignored her and continued. "Third, there wasn't time to apply compresses. My delivery-room team has enough to do without wringing out wet washcloths. And fourth, it might be nice for a new mother to hold the baby for longer than Samantha did, but our procedure dictates that the baby be observed in the hospital nursery for four hours after birth. Samantha had a safe delivery. That's what's important—not these cherished beginnings you're so fond of."

"What about emotions? Aren't they important to you?"

"Don't ask me about emotions! I'm a doctor, not a damned psychologist!"

"You're a doctor, not a robot! How about showing some sensitivity toward your patients?"

By this time, their exchange had become a shouting match. A passerby peeked into the lounge but tiptoed away when he saw what was going on.

Xan's chest heaved, and he shook his head. "It's no use, Maura. We have different views. Get your things. I'll take you home."

Her shoulders sagged. Despite her fervent speeches, she hadn't convinced Xan of anything. Dispiritedly she followed him as he stalked out of the room and down the lonely long hospital corridor.

Outside, the drizzle had increased to a downpour. The bright lights of the parking lot reflected from the rain-dimpled puddles. Xan ran through the rain to get the car, pulling it up in front of the door.

Maura climbed in, only slightly wet after her short dash to the car. She glanced at Xan from the corners of her eye. Rain slicked his hair across his forehead, and his eyebrows resembled wet feathers. His cotton shirt clung to his back and upper arms.

They didn't speak. Their progress was measured by the tick-swish, tick-swish of the windshield wipers. Xan drove slowly because of the heavy rain. Far away a bolt of dull lightning cut the nighttime sky, and thunder rattled the car windows.

The rain seemed to be thickening as they pulled out on the Shuffletown highway, and soon it was so torrential that they could barely see the road ahead of them. Water driven by the strong winds gushed across the pavement. The wind whacked the rain against the car in great sweeping gusts.

"I'm going to have to pull over," said Xan tersely. "I can't drive through this."

Maura said nothing, just watched as Xan slowed the Lexus to a complete stop. She heard the slap of wet weeds on the car's underbelly as he drove off the asphalt onto the shoulder of the road.

He opened the front windows slightly for air, and the air felt cool and smelled like dust. Then he turned off the engine, and the windshield wipers stopped their sweeping. Finally he switched off the headlights and reached for the control that would ease the car seats backward to give them more legroom. If they had to sit there in the rain, they might as well be comfortable while they did it.

He never should have taken Maura to the hospital. Xan knew that now. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. He'd wanted to see her, and he didn't think she'd agree to a date with him, not after that night at his house when it had taken all his restraint to let her go. He'd known she would accompany him tonight if it had something to do with her calling, and anyway, he was proud of the way he interacted with his patients. He loved his work, loved everything about it.

He was dedicated to bringing good medical care to the patients at the Quinby Hospital and intended to continue. He'd watched Maura deliver a baby. She had made an art of it. Well, he approached delivering babies as a science, as any good doctor would. And he was damned proud of that.

He glanced at her. She was staring at the runnels of rain creasing the windshield. His heart softened at the sight of her clean, uncluttered profile. Her head was regal on the long stem of her neck, crowned in brilliant red-gold like the daylilies in the exclusive Teoway Island flower beds. She was so unknowingly beautiful and so uncommonly self-assured. He found himself caring for her as he had cared for no other woman. His feelings for her were built on admiration and respect and a gut feeling that the two of them were very much in tune, despite their different philosophies.

Xan cleared his throat. "Maura, about what we said back there," he began, framing an apology in his mind.

She wouldn't let him finish. "There's nothing more to be said," she told him. She wasn't cold, or even cool. She was just Maura. He would have expected her to sulk or argue. Except Maura wasn't like that.

He sighed, determined to try again. "All right. We won't talk about it. When are we going furniture shopping?"

She swung her head around, wafting the earthy fragrance of wet hair toward him. He liked the scent of it. It reminded him of the fragrance of her skin that night in his bedroom.