There was no sign of her baby.
Propelled forward by madness and fear, Shaundra raced towards him, launching herself at his face, arms windmilling as she tried to slap and scratch. She heard Samia squeal in surprise, and Nathanael grunted.
“What the—”
“You bastard! You son of a bitch!”
“Shaundra—”
“Where is he? Where’s my son?”
She could feel the rasp of Nathanael’s beard under her nails, and frustrated because the closely trimmed hairs were a protective barrier for his cheeks and chin, went for his eyes instead. “What did you do to him?”
Samia threw her arms around her waist, begging her to stop in French and then Arabic. Nathanael grasped her hands, pinning her wrists together. She could see a long red scratch at the side of his face and was glad about it. She hoped it stung like a bastard.
“Get ahold of yourself!” he commanded.
“I will not—!” She could hear her own voice in her ears, was well aware of how bat shit crazy she sounded, but couldn’t stop. It was like skating down an icy slope, gaining momentum, not knowing how to slow down before you crashed into the bottom. The mothering instinct had completely taken over her mind and spirit. There was literally nothing she could think about now, no greater purpose in her life, other than Benjamin.
“Mon cœur,” Nathanael’s voice was soothing. He still held her hands in his strong grip. “Benjamin is very sick. He is in triage now. We can see him in a moment, okay?”
She stared at him, understanding his words, but unable to process them.
He released one hand, but held her firmly by the other. “Come. Come with me.” He led her forward as Samia stepped aside to let them through a pair of sliding doors, which immediatelywhooshedopen at their presence. A single word to the nurse positioned inside, and she pointed down the hall.
Shaundra followed, fueled purely by adrenaline and anxiety, feeling her heart thump in her chest and echo at her temples. They entered a small, sterile-looking white room, whose walls were laden with instruments. Tiny lights flashed. Machinesbeepedlike little cartoon robots.
Shaundra had never been so scared in her life.
There was a presence at her side, and she realized that someone was holding out a disposable gown and mask to her. She tried to put the mask on, but her hands shook too much. She could feel the gentleness of Nathanael’s hands as he put them on for her. And then the coat followed.
Only then were they allowed to proceed.
Before them was a surgical table, and on it was her baby.
He was strapped into a medieval torture device, hands and feet immobilized, pulling his hands toward his feet until he was curved into a C-shape, like a little shrimp. His back was exposed, the tiny bones of his spine like a string of prayer beads.
One technician was carefully swabbing an area on his lower back, and another produced a needle, lifted it, and began searching Benjamin’s spinal column for a spot to go in.
I’m about to become a murderer.That was the thought that crossed Shaundra’s mind.That man is trying to make a hole in my child’s spine, and I am going to kill him.
Nathanael must have read her thoughts, because his grip on her strengthened. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
It wasn’t. The needle went in, and the screaming began.
In those five, ten, fifteen seconds it took for them to perform the spinal tap, to withdraw a few drops of precious fluids, Shaundra felt as though she had stumbled backward into the darkest pit of hell, and rose again.
A doctor in a white coat stepped away from the gurney and walked towards them, a placating smile on his face. He began to speak in rapid French, much too fast for Shaundra’s limited language skills.
Nathanael said, “Please speak in English, Doctor. So that my wife can understand.”
The doctor nodded and transitioned smoothly. “Madame, your baby is very ill. His fever is at a dangerous level, but we are doing what we can to lower it. But your response was most appropriate. May we say that it is a good thing you brought him in when you did, as his condition could have worsened in a matter of hours.”
Shaundra glanced at Nathanael’s implacable face. She’d been so furious with him for disappearing with Benji, but what would have happened if he’d stayed and waited for her to return?
“What are you going to do about it?” Nathanael demanded. “And what is your diagnosis?”
Shaundra reacted with surprise. Did Nathanael really care enough about Benji to want to know? In the way a father was impelled to protect his own child? Or was that simply a basic human response to another?
The doctor chose his words carefully. “We have already begun treating the baby with anti-biotics, even though we still have many tests to run.” He gestured towards the table, where the techs were releasing Benji from the horrific-looking restraints. “I know that this looks scary, but I am afraid the lumbar puncture was necessary. We already have a preliminary diagnosis, but an examination of the cerebrospinal fluid is necessary for a confirmation.” He paused in the way people did when they were about to deliver bad news.
Shaundra was glad when she heard Nathanael ask, because she didn’t think her own mouth could form the words. “And what is your preliminary diagnosis?”
“Meningitis,” the doctor said gravely. “It is a serious condition, especially in one so young. The next few hours will be critical for him. This illness has the potential to overwhelm a body so tiny, and can cause severe brain damage, deformities,” he gave Shaundra an anxious look, “even death.”
All she could see were colors and lights swirling around her. All she could hear was a drumming, pounding, pulsing sound. And the next thing she felt was the thud of her body as the ground rose up to meet her.