Hot Docs On Call: Healing His Heart. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
she might encounter as someone’s guardian hadn’t prepared her for this.
A fire at the school.
As she’d waved a tearful goodbye this morning and watched Simon walk away in his smart, new uniform she’d half expected a phone call. He’d looked so small, so lost, she’d almost been waiting for the school to call and ask her to pick him up, to come and hug him and tell him everything was going to be all right.
Not this. A fire was totally beyond her control. She couldn’t have prevented it and she couldn’t fix it. Apparently all she could do was fill in endless forms and she hadn’t even been able to do that until she’d contacted the local fostering authority to notify them about what had happened. Watching the frantic staff deal with the influx of injured schoolchildren, she’d never felt so helpless.
She knew Simon was badly hurt but she hadn’t been able to see him yet until they stabilised him. He could have life-changing injuries. Or worse. What if he didn’t make it? Her stomach lurched, terror gripping her insides at the thought of his suffering. This was supposed to have been a new start for both of them, to wipe out the past and build a better future. Now all she wanted was to see him and know he was okay.
She fidgeted in the hard plastic chair doing her best not to accost any of the nurses running from department to department. Perhaps if she was a proper mum she’d feel more entitled to demand constant information on his condition.
‘Are you Simon’s mother?’
A vision in green scrubs appeared beside her. His lovely Irish lilt was the comfort blanket she needed at this moment in time.
‘No. Yes.’ She didn’t know the appropriate response for this kind of situation.
As a pair of intense, sea-green eyes stared at her, waiting for an answer, she realised her temporary status didn’t matter. ‘I’m his foster mother.’
It was enough to soften the doctor’s features and he hunched down beside her chair.
‘I’m Matthew McGrory, a burns specialist. I’ve been brought over to assess Simon’s condition.’
Quinn held her breath. Good news or bad?
She searched his face for a sign but apart from noting how handsome he was up close she discovered nothing.
‘How is he?’
Good?
Bad?
‘Would you like to come through and see for yourself?’ The doctor’s mouth tilted into a smile.
That had to be positive, right?
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She got to her feet though her legs weren’t as steady as she needed them to be. Nonetheless she hurried down the corridor, powering hard to keep up with the great strides of a man who had to be at least six foot.
He stopped just outside the door of the Paediatric Intensive Care Unit, the last barrier between her and Simon, but an ominous one. Only the most poorly children would be on the other side and he was one of them. Not for the first time she wished she had someone to go through this with her.
‘Before we go in, I want you to be prepared. Simon has suffered severe burns along with some smoke inhalation. It’s not a pretty sight but everything we’re doing is to minimise long-term damage. Okay? Ready?’
She nodded, feigning bravery and nowhere near ready. Whatever the injuries, they would affect her and Simon for a long time but they were in this together.
‘He needs me,’ she said, her voice a mere whisper as she tried to pull herself together. She wondered if clinging to the hunky doctor’s arm for support was an option but he was already opening the door and stepping into the ward before she could make a grab for him.
They passed several cubicles but she couldn’t make out any of the faces as the small bodies were dwarfed by monster machinery aiding their recovery.
‘Oh, Simon!’ Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the gasp as she was led to the last bed on the row. She wouldn’t have recognised him if not for the glimpse of curly hair against the pillow.
The face of the little boy she’d left at the school gates only hours ago was now virtually obscured by the tubes and wires going in and out of his tiny form keeping him alive. His pale torso was a contrast to the mottled black and red angry skin of his right arm stretched out at his side. Lying there, helpless, he looked even younger than his meagre five years.
Quinn’s knees began to buckle at the enormity of the situation and the tears she’d been desperately trying to keep at bay finally burst through the dam.
Strong hands seemed to come from nowhere to catch her before she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap of guilt and manoeuvred her into a chair.
‘I know it’s a lot to take in but he’s honestly in the best place. Simon has severe burns to the face and arm and we have him intubated to help him breathe after the smoke inhalation. Once the swelling has gone down and we’re happy there’s no damage to his eyes, we’ll move him to the burns unit for further treatment.’
She blinked through her tears to focus on the man kneeling before her.
‘Is he going to be okay?’ That was all she needed to know.
‘The next forty-eight hours will be crucial in assessing the full extent of his burns. He’ll need surgery to keep the wounds clean and prevent any infection and there’s a good chance he’ll need skin grafts in the future. I won’t deny it’ll be a long process, but that’s why I’m here. I’m a reconstructive surgeon too and I will do my very best to limit and repair any permanent scarring. The road to recovery is going to be tough but we’re in this together.’ This virtual stranger reached out and gave her hand a squeeze to reassure her but the electric touch jolted her back into reality.
She was a mum now and following in the footsteps of her own amazing adoptive mum, who’d moved heaven and earth to do what was best for her. It was time for her to step up to the plate now too.
‘I’ll do whatever it takes. Simon deserves the best.’ And something told her that the best was surgeon Matthew McGrory.
Two months later
QUINN WISHED THEY did an easy-to-read, step-by-step guide for anxious foster mums going through these operations too. It was difficult to know what to do for the best when Simon resisted all attempts to comfort him pre-op.
He turned his face away when she produced the well-worn kids’ book the hospital had provided to explain the surgical process.
She sighed and closed the book.
‘I suppose you know this off by heart now.’ Not that it made this any easier. After the countless hours he’d spent on the operating table they both knew what they were in for—pain, tears and a huge dollop of guilt on her part.
She hadn’t caused the fire or his injuries but neither had she been able to save him from this suffering. Given the choice she’d have swapped places with the mite and offered herself up for this seemingly endless torture rather than watch him go through it.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked the back of his head, wishing there was something she could do other than stand here feeling inadequate.
The pillow rustled as he shook his head and she had to suppress the urge to try and swamp him into a big hug the way her mother always had when she’d been having a hard time. Simon didn’t like to be hugged. In fact, he resisted any attempt to comfort him. That should’ve been his real mother’s job but then apparently she’d never shown affection for anything other than her next fix. His too-young, too-addicted parents were out of the picture, their neglect so severe the courts had stripped them of any rights.
Quinn