‘It’s perfectly normal to have feelings of disbelief when your child falls ill like this,’ Maggie assured Bree, giving her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Would you like to chat to our social worker to talk some of these feelings through? I can arrange it for you.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Sister.’
Maggie turned to find Christopher’s rather overbearing grandfather behind her. He was an odd man, often rude and abrupt, but he’d lived with Christopher and Bree since his grandson had been a baby and there was no denying how good he was with Christopher.
She took a deep, steadying breath as Bree said, ‘Dad, Maggie’s just trying to help.’
‘Well anyway,’ Maggie said, ‘just let me know if you ever require their services.’ She gave Bree’s shoulder another squeeze and moved back towards Linda, keeping one ear on the conversation between father and daughter.
‘Are the results back yet?’ he asked.
‘Not yet, Dad.’
‘I think it’s a mistake to give him a blood transfusion. We don’t know what diseases could be passed on to him.’
‘Dad, we’ve been through this,’ Bree muttered. ‘Leave it alone.’
Maggie shared a look with Linda. Bree had let them know in the beginning that her father was a control freak and a conspiracy theorist. He’d been under the care of a psychiatrist for long periods of depression since his wife, Bree’s mother, had passed away years ago from a hospital bungle.
She’d warned them that her father would find Christopher’s hospitalisation difficult. And she hadn’t been wrong. He had been quite trying, questioning the necessity for every single treatment, every blood test, every X-ray and drug.
Being allocated to Christopher’s bed was fast becoming something to avoid. Bree was great but her father was trying everyone’s patience.
Still, it was all part of the job and Maggie knew that underneath the man’s incessant badgering and tendency to interfere he was basically a concerned grandfather and a grieving husband who hadn’t worked through his issues from his wife’s death. Everyone reacted differently when their loved ones were critically ill and the PICU staff were well used to dealing with the many manifestations of grief.
‘You okay here?’ she asked Linda quietly.
Linda nodded. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll holler if I need you.’
Maggie moved to bed three to check out Toby’s progress. The nurse looking after him took advantage of Maggie’s presence and scooted to the bathroom and Maggie greeted Brett before turning her attention to Toby.
‘Hello, little man,’ she crooned, moving to the opposite side of the bed from his father. ‘Have you got a smile for me yet?’
‘Nope. Still cranky with the world, I’m afraid.’ Brett grimaced.
‘Ah, well.’ Maggie smiled at the little boy whose bottom lip was wobbling. ‘I guess he has a right to be.’
But he was improving rapidly each day. He hadn’t needed to go back on dialysis and despite being stuck for weeks with his ventilation, even that was now improving with some good progress being made with weaning.
The monotonous, worrying holding pattern had lifted as Toby’s condition turned a corner. Everyone was hoping that Alice and Brett’s Christmas present would be a newly extubated son.
She picked up Toby’s foot and waggled her fingers against his toes. Toby’s face scrunched up as he started to cry, tugging his leg out of her grasp.
Brett laughed. ‘Sorry.’
Maggie gave him a rueful smile. ‘It’s okay. Us PICU nurses know we’re not exactly popular with our patients.’
‘No, but the parents think you’re marvellous.’
Maggie smiled at him. It was great to see Toby’s parents looking so positive. Toby’s nurse returned and Maggie excused herself. She headed to the side rooms but was temporarily waylaid by the colourful sight of the Christmas tree. With only two more days till Christmas the bottom of the tree was crowded with gaily wrapped Secret Santa presents.
‘Looks fantastic, doesn’t it?’ Nash murmured near her ear.
A trail of goose-bumps marched down her arm. ‘Magnificent.’
Nash knelt and started sifting through the presents. ‘Now, where is it?’ he mused.
‘Hey,’ Maggie objected. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Finding my present and trying to work out what it is,’ he said matter-of-factly.
Maggie pulled at his collar. ‘You’re not supposed to do that.’
‘Sure you are. That’s half the fun.’
Maggie shook her head at him. He was incorrigible. Just as well he wasn’t going to be around for their baby. She could just imagine him teaching their son a whole bunch of endearingly naughty things.
Being fun Daddy and leaving her to be the bad guy.
‘Aha! Here it is.’ Nash stood brandishing his present. ‘It’s a bit small,’ he murmured, giving the hard rectangular box-shaped gift a shake.
Maggie shrugged. ‘Good things come in small packages.’
Nash looked down at her. ‘I know.’ He heard a satisfying little rattle as he continued to shake it. ‘Hmm, I wonder what it is?’
Maggie knew. She couldn’t believe it when she had drawn Nash in the Secret Santa draw. Buying a gift for someone for ten dollars was hard enough, but for Nash?
The man she loved.
She’d searched high and low, trying to find just the right thing, hoping that he’d be able to see the depth of her feelings in the perfect gift. When she’d stumbled into an Australiana store in the city and found eucalyptus-impregnated gum nuts for sale she knew she’d found exactly what she’d been looking for.
Something to remind him of home. The bush. And maybe her.
Nash grinned at her. ‘Let’s find yours.’
‘No,’ Maggie protested as Nash knelt again. ‘I’ll leave it for the twenty-fifth, thanks very much,’ she said primly, and departed, removing herself from temptation.
Of Nash, not the tree.
Twenty minutes later Nash tracked her down in the tearoom. ‘Christopher’s results are back. His haemoglobin is sixty-four. I’ve organised the cross-match with the lab. They’re going to ring us when the blood’s ready.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Have you told Bree?’
Nash easily read between the lines. He knew what she was really asking was, does the grandfather know? ‘I’ve told Bree. And her father.’
‘How’d that go?’
‘He’s not happy.’
Maggie felt a slight edge of worry and hoped he wasn’t going to be a problem. ‘Well, thankfully it isn’t up to him.’
Nash nodded. ‘I did explain again that it was vital. That Christopher’s low haemoglobin level has a direct effect on the oxygen-carrying capacity of the blood and with his lungs being so sick it was interfering with his body’s oxygenation.’
‘What’d he say to that?’
‘He thinks we could give him more iron tablets. And spinach.’
Maggie almost choked on her cup of tea. ‘What?’
‘I know.’ Nash nodded. Christopher’s anaemia was way beyond being benefited by any pharmaceutical or nutritional intervention. Especially with the potential for further pulmonary haemorrhages. ‘Anyway, as you say, Bree’s given her consent and that’s all that matters.’