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Staying the Night
Carol Marinelli
Table of Contents
‘THAT’S it, Izzy…’ She could hear a male voice she didn’t recognise. ‘Stay on your back.’
She was under blankets and wanted to roll onto her side, except she couldn’t seem to move.
‘You’re doing fine,’ came the unfamiliar voice. ‘Stay nice and still.’
‘Izzy, it’s all okay.’
There was a voice she knew. Strong and deep and accented, and she knew it was Diego, she just didn’t know why, and then she opened her eyes and saw his and she remembered.
‘You’ve got a daughter.’ His face was inches away. ‘She’s okay, she’s being looked after.’
And then it was fog, followed by pain, followed by drugs, so many drugs she struggled to focus when Diego came back in the afternoon with pictures of her baby.
‘She looks like you,’ Diego said, but all Izzy could see were tubes.
‘Are you working today?’
Diego shook his head. ‘No. I just came in to see you.’ And he sat down in the chair by her bed and Izzy went to sleep. He flicked through the photos and tried very hard to only see tubes, because this felt uncomfortably familiar, this felt a little like it had with Fernando and he just couldn’t go there again.
He certainly wasn’t ready to go there again.
There was a very good reason that a normal pregnancy lasted forty weeks, Diego reflected, putting the photos on her locker and heading for home—and it wasn’t just for the baby. The parents needed every week of that time to prepare themselves emotionally for the change to their lives.
He wasn’t even a parent.
It was Tuesday night and a vicious UTI later before anything resembling normal thought process occurred and a midwife helped her into a chair and along with her mother wheeled her down to the NICU, where, of course, any new mum would want to be if her baby was.
‘We take mums down at night all the time,’ the midwife explained, when Izzy said the next day would be fine. ‘It’s no problem.’
Except, privately, frankly, Izzy would have preferred to sleep.
Izzy knew she was a likely candidate for postnatal depression.
As a doctor she was well versed in the subject and the midwives had also gently warned her and given her leaflets to read. Gus too had talked to her—about her difficult labour, the fact she had been separated from her daughter and her difficult past. He’d told her he was there if she needed to talk and he had been open and upfront and told her not to hesitate to reach out sooner rather than later, as had Jess.
She sat in a wheelchair at the entrance to NICU, at the very spot where she had first flirted with Diego, where the first thawing of her heart had taken place, and it seemed a lifetime ago, not a few short weeks.
And, just as she had felt that day, Izzy was tempted to ask the midwife to turn the chair around, more nervous at meeting her baby than she could ever let on. Diego was on a stint of night duty and she was nervous of him seeing her in her new role too, because his knowing eyes wouldn’t miss anything. What if she couldn’t summon whatever feelings and emotions it was that new mums summoned?
‘I bet you can’t wait!’ Izzy’s mum said as the midwife pressed the intercom and informed the voice on the end of their arrival. Then the doors buzzed and she was let in. Diego came straight over and gave her a very nice smile and they made some introductions. ‘Perhaps you could show Izzy’s mother the coffee room.’ Diego was firm on this as he would be with any of his mothers. If Izzy had stepped in and said she’d prefer her mum to come, then of course it would have happened, but Izzy stayed quiet, very glad of a chance to meet her daughter alone.
‘I already know where the coffee room is,’ Gwen said, ‘and I’ve already seen the baby.’
‘Izzy hasn’t.’ Diego was straight down the line. ‘We can’t re-create the delivery room but we try—she needs time alone to greet her baby.’
Which told her.
‘You know the rules.’ He treated Izzy professionally and she was very glad of it. They went through the handwashing ritual and he spoke to her as they did so.
‘Brianna is looking after her tonight,’ Diego said. ‘Do you know her?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘She’s great—she was there at the delivery. I’ll take you over.’
Nicola, Toby’s mother, was there and gave Izzy a sympathetic smile as she was wheeled past, which Izzy returned too late, because she was already there at her baby’s cot.
Brianna greeted her, but Izzy was hardly listening. Instead she stared into the cot and there she was—her baby. And months of fear and wondering all hushed for a moment as she saw her, her little red scrunched-up face and huge dark blue eyes that stared right into Izzy’s.
Over the last three days Diego had bought her plenty of photos, told her how well she was doing and how beautiful she was, but seeing her in the flesh she was better than beautiful, she was hers.
‘We’re just giving her a little oxygen,’ Brianna explained as Diego was called away. ‘Which we will be for a couple more weeks, I’d expect…’ She opened the porthole and Izzy needed no invitation. She held her daughter’s hand, marvelling that such a tiny hand instinctively curled around her index finger, and Izzy knew there and then that she was in love.
‘She looks better than I thought…’ Izzy couldn’t actually believe just how well she looked. Her mum had been crying when she’d returned the first day from visiting her granddaughter and Richard, the consultant paediatrician, had told her that her baby had got off to a rocky start.
‘She struggled for the first forty-eight hours, which we were expecting,’ Brianna said calmly, ‘but she picked up well.’
Diego had said the same, but she’d been worried he’d just been reassuring her, but now she was here, now she could see her, all Izzy could feel was relief and this overwhelming surge charging through her veins that she figured felt a lot like love.
‘Now, would you like to hold her?’ Brianna said to Izzy’s surprise. ‘She’s due for a feed, but she needs it soon, so would you like to give her a cuddle first?’
She very much would.
Brianna brought over a large chair and Izzy sat, exhausted, then got a new surge of energy.
‘Open