*
Over lunch in his office the next day Mitch spent a lot of time answering the TV documentary director’s questions methodically, keeping the medical content to a minimum without actually dumbing everything down too much. Now he needed to do some real work. He pushed his empty coffee cup aside. ‘If that’s all for the moment?’
Carl stood up, smiling good-naturedly. ‘Sure. I know you’re busy and I’m a pain in the butt.’
Mitch grinned back. ‘We understand each other. So how do you think your documentary is working out? Are you getting some good footage of the patients and what we deal with?’
‘Absolutely. Your staff have been extremely accommodating to my crews.’
‘Right down to getting their hair done and wearing more make-up in a couple of days than any of them normally use in a year.’
Carl chuckled. ‘I’m used to that. The moment the word “camera” is uttered, out comes the lipstick and hairbrush.’ His face grew more serious. ‘We’re getting good footage but what I want now is a human-interest story that can run through the whole doco, tie it all together.’
Mitch winced. They’d discussed this prior to the crews starting in the department and he wasn’t so sure that he liked the idea. ‘Have you given consideration to how patients might come to regret it if they say yes while they’re dealing with pain and serious injuries?’
‘They’d have the opportunity to change their minds later. Whether that person is the patient or the patient’s parent or caregiver,’ Carl reminded him.
‘So you don’t think any of the patients you’ve filmed so far suit your criteria?’
‘Mitch.’ Samantha flew in the door. ‘Mitch, you’ve got to come now. The ambulance has brought in a little boy with acute renal failure.’
Mitch’s heart stopped. ‘Do we have a name for this child?’ The question squeezed through his clenched teeth.
‘Jamie Hawke.’ Samantha’s eyes were huge in her face, and there was a hint of something awfully like excitement as she added, ‘Jamie Maitland Hawke.’
Mitch’s chair flew backwards. Snatching up his phone, he scanned the messages as he raced for the cubicles. Nothing. Jodi hadn’t phoned or texted. Why not? If he was picking up the reins of fatherhood then she had to include him in everything happening to Jamie. ‘Where is he?’ he demanded.
‘Cubicle four.’ Samantha ran alongside him. ‘Is Jamie a relation of yours?’
‘Yes.’ More information than she needed to know.
‘I’ll tell the cameraman to head your way.’ Carl was with him too.
‘No. You. Won’t.’ He snarled. ‘Stay away from this patient.’
‘I didn’t think Max had any kids.’ Samantha had skin thicker than a rhinoceros’s.
‘He doesn’t.’ Oh, hell. Mitch cursed under his gasping breath. Now the whole department, no, the whole hospital would know he had a son by dinnertime. Not that he wanted to hide the fact, but he wasn’t ready to share any of Jamie’s story with everybody.
At cubicle four he jerked the curtain open and strode in. And stopped. Jamie was attached to more cables and tubes than a cat had lives. ‘Jamie.’ His gut clenched, threatened to throw his lunch back at him. Closing his eyes, he willed his belly to behave.
‘Mitch?’ Jodi’s hand gripped his. ‘We need Lucas here now. I told the nurse that but he insisted we wait until you arrived.’
Mitch blinked, stared down into the terrified face of his boy’s mother. ‘I’ll call him. Don’t you worry about that. Where is the PRF?’ He snapped his fingers at Chas.
The head nurse on day shift pressed the patient report form from the ambulance into his hand. ‘Severe vomiting and bloody stools. High temperature.’ Chas continued talking, filling in all the details he’d gleaned from the ambulance crew.
Mitch was grateful to him. There was no way he could see the obs on the page in front of him for the tears blurring his eyes. As he listened he stepped up to the bed, ran a finger lightly down Jamie’s arm, careful to avoid all the gear attached to him. ‘Hey, sport,’ he whispered around the lump cutting off the air to his lungs.
Chas finished the report and told Samantha, ‘Get the phone and the phone number list for Mitch.’
Jodi muttered, ‘Thanks, Chas.’ Then her fingers squeezed Mitch’s hand again. He could feel her fear through her grip. ‘It happened so fast. He was a bit grizzly and his temperature had crept up some more so I put him down for a nap. When I went in to check up on him he was vomiting. I called the ambulance to save time. The way I was panicking I’d have got lost for sure.’
‘We’ll get Lucas down here ASAP.’ He wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders, drew her close. ‘Where’s that damned phone?’ he yelled through the gap in the curtains. Carl stood to one side observing everything, his cameraman filming from an unobtrusive distance. Doing exactly what he’d been asked to do when any urgent cases presented. ‘Not this patient, Carl.’ And when Carl made to reply he held a hand up. ‘Not open to negotiation.’ His son was not going to make headlines on national television.
Then Samantha handed him the phone, her demeanour now serious and concerned. Had one of the nurses put her in her place? ‘Extension 324 for Mr Harrington.’
Punching in the numbers, Mitch watched over his son, despair gnawing at him. The little lad hadn’t moved in the minutes he’d been with him. At least he couldn’t see the pain and fright behind those fragile eyelids. But he knew it was there. He’d give anything to make it all go away for Jamie.
Even your kidney?
Even my kidney.
Wouldn’t Carl love that story for his show?
Mitch shuddered. He could see the show headlines already. ‘Carl, go away.’
*
‘How’s Jami
e doing?’ Mitch’s hand cupped Jodi’s shoulder, his fingers firm yet calming, strong yet tender.
She hadn’t heard him enter the room but, then, she hadn’t heard all the hospital noises going on around her either. Jamie was her only concern, her only focus. Jodi leaned her head sideways so her cheek touched his fingers, gathering strength from him. ‘Lucas just called by and gave him a top-up of antibiotics and a whole heap of other things.’
‘I passed him on my way here. He’s going to talk to Max, who’s rescheduling our appointment with the transplant team.’ Mitch squeezed her shoulder and dropped a kiss on her head.
That felt so right—as though they were on the same page. ‘Everyone’s being awesome.’
‘We figured you’ve had enough drama for one day, and another twenty-four hours isn’t going to bring the transplant surgery any closer.’
‘I guess you’re right, though I’d feel a little bit better knowing we had everything under way.’ Her bottom lip trembled when she looked at him. ‘But you’re right. Tomorrow will do fine.’
‘It’s going to mean more tests, another round of poking and prodding for the little guy.’ His voice was so sad, hurting even.
Jodi reached up, laid her hand over his. She didn’t feel any better. In fact, she felt like crap. ‘I’m glad you’re here for him. Sorry to dump you in at the deep end, though. If it helps, I wish I could turn back the clock to when I learned I was pregnant. You’d be the first to know.’ Her sigh was sad. ‘But I guess that doesn’t make you any less angry at me.’
Mitch lifted her chin with his finger. ‘Anger hasn’t come into it. Disappointment, yes. And sadness. But there’s also guilt. If I’d come knocking on your door and explained a few things, we might’ve worked something out so that you’d have trusted me to be a good dad. Even if we hadn’t got back together.’
His tone was so sad she had to wonder if that’s what he might’ve wanted after all. Them together, permanently. No way. Mitch was always too busy, too tied up in his own world to make that work. Or was she being unfair? Using that to justify her own actions? Ironic when now she’d change everything if she had the chance. ‘Only one way to go now. Forward.’