Chapter 14 Daisy - Soulmate Theory
DAISY Soulmate Theory
Hello, my darling Maisy,” I sang, picking up my favorite charge in the nursery.
I held her close and smelled the top of her baby head.
I had missed this little girl. Before she left, the nurse on the night shift had debriefed me on my patients’ vitals, medications, feedings, and changes that had occurred since my previous shift.
And now it was time to get to work. “You are doing so well underneath your special lights,” I cooed to her.
“And you were such a big girl taking all your feedings last night.”
I walked with her over to a chair in the corner. As I held the bottle to her lips, I said, “You are doing such a good job getting all that yucky extra bilirubin out of you. Yes, you are. You are going to be out of here in no time.”
Her big blue eyes were locked on me. As soon as the words left my lips, a wave of panic overtook me.
At first, I thought it was because of the last baby I’d taken care of in Charlotte.
But, no. This panic was different. Because what was next for my Maisy girl?
What would happen when she left this hospital?
Would she become a ward of the state? And what if they found her mother who had left her in the dumpster, the one who clearly didn’t want her?
I didn’t judge the woman or girl. I didn’t know her circumstances, which must be dire to have done what she did.
But I couldn’t bear the thought of my Maisy being an unwanted child.
As she sucked the bottle, I mused that this was the danger of being a nurse.
This was the thing that we were warned about over and over again in nursing school.
It was far too easy to become attached to these little patients of ours.
They were so small, so helpless. We were their lifelines.
We were the ones with them all day and night.
It was hard not to feel ownership, even over the babies with great parents who visited every time they could.
Because in the nighttime moments, in the hours when parents were off at work or with the babies’ siblings, they were ours.
And watching them leave was tough. But, in those circumstances, I always knew when I said goodbye—even if it was a teary goodbye—that those babies were going off to a certain and wonderful future with a family who would love them madly.
This was different. Maisy didn’t have that.
An IV pump beeped, and I looked up, about to act, but Sandy swished in, smiling calmly at me.
She was the ultimate head nurse. Cool, collected, and supportive.
She was a real mentor to the younger nurses.
I had encountered many of those in my career.
“Dr. Manuel is coming in to check this guy out one more time,” she said, swooping a baby boy into her arms. “And then it’s home for you, buddy. ”
I smiled at her. “Our work here is done,” I said.
She smiled back at me. “It’s the best job in the world,” she said. “But sometimes it’s hard to watch them go.”
I nodded furiously at her. “Yes! I’m so glad you feel that way too.”
“It’s not just you,” she said. “It’s the hardest part about this job. But you know our role.”
I scrunched my nose. “Care for all. Love none?”
She nodded, and my heart clenched. My face must have changed, because Sandy’s did too.
Cradling the baby in her arms, she paused, and I thought she was going to bring it up—my past, the thing that had brought me here. But, instead, she said, “How’s everything going? Are you liking it?”
“Oh, yes. Cape Carolina is wonderful! I went on a boat tour on one of my days off, met some very nice people at a wine tasting…” I could feel myself lighting up. “And everyone at the hospital has been so kind to me too.”
She smiled. “And it’s not every day we have a Jane Doe. Talk about being thrown into the deep end!”
Maisy, I thought to myself as Sandy swished off. Her name is Maisy. Don’t call her Jane Doe.
Of course, as soon as she left here, Jane she would be again. And then, her new family would call her whatever they chose. I tried to feel happy for her.
Maisy had drifted off to sleep while I was talking, and I sat her up, leaning her forward, her chin in my hand, to try to simultaneously burp and wake her. I patted her back, and, after a few seconds, she released the sound I was looking for. “Maisy,” I whispered. “That was not ladylike!”
I smiled to myself and lay her back for the second half of her feeding, promising myself I’d be more vigilant about keeping her awake.
I thumped the bottoms of her feet as she sucked and talked to her.
“It’s very important for you to be extra hydrated right now,” I said, “so you can get healthy and strong, okay?”
When she finished, I changed her and, very reluctantly, put her back in the incubator, turning on the bili light.
She slept contentedly, not a worry in the world, and I could tell she felt safe.
Sometimes babies don’t, and you know it right away.
It’s heartbreaking because we do our best, but it’s not like you can reason with a three-day-old and explain to them why their mommy can’t be here right now. But not Maisy. Maisy was okay.
I touched her little cheek, then put her down to attend to another patient, reminding myself of the cardinal rule: Do not get overly involved with patients! They were all important to me; I cared for each like my own. But I knew I was becoming too attached to Maisy.
As I took the vitals of a day-old newborn, I reminded myself that this was why I had gone through all the classes and certification credentials I needed to become a foster parent.
Sure, fostering your own patient was probably crossing the line of becoming too close.
But I had been in positions before where I had to make a call to have a patient separated from a parent, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
I knew that if that ever happened again, I would be prepared to step in and help.
But I hadn’t fostered yet. Knowing that I was about to move, how could I? Plus, I reasoned, I had to be available in case a medically fragile patient needed to be fostered. Those kids were the most difficult to place because so few people were qualified or willing to care for them.
Dr. Miller walked in and, gesturing at the baby I was holding, I said, “Max Jamison’s vitals look great.”
He smiled at me. “Amazing. Let’s check this big guy out.”
So, he was kind of cute. I glanced down at his left hand.
Empty. I scolded myself. No doctors. No doctors.
No doctors. For the first time in a few hours, I allowed my mind to wander to Mason, to our great night together.
I didn’t keep my phone on me while I was working, but I was headed to the nurses’ station anyway, so I’d take a quick peek.
I picked up my phone, and my heart nearly burst when I saw a text from him:
So, I have a game at 6 if you’re off early enough and want to come see me in all my glory, sweating and yelling simultaneously. I know. I’m talented. Then maybe I could take you to a real dinner? Without fifteen of my family members?
I smiled. There was another text below that:
Just to be clear, I’m asking you on a date. And it would be a shame if you didn’t say yes—just to test your soulmate theory. Imagine if I’m wrong, you’re right, you’re the one, and I never even know it?
I laughed. He was good. Very, very good. I couldn’t imagine how many women before me had fallen for this very handsome and way-too-charming man. But I pushed that thought aside and responded:
You can sweat AND yell? I knew you were a catch, but whoa. I’ll look forward to seeing that. And the food after.
I put my phone down, ready to head back to the nursery, my stomach full of butterflies.
I had a date with pitching legend Mason Thaysden tonight.
Sometimes I could let the heaviness of my job get to me.
But not today. Today, I was light and free and fun.
And I had a date with a man who just might be the one. A girl really never did know.