‘I don't want the image of her, the knowledge of her, the scent of her, the feel of her against my skin. I don't want it. I can't cope. I can't, I can't! I’m supposed to go home with my baby, not hold her and watch her take her last breath and, then what, hand her over to who? How would I do that? And where will they take her, what then?’
She had shaken her head at the horror that lurked in her thoughts.
‘Okay, Ruby. Okay.’ The nurse had then pulled the top sheet on her bed taut, patted her on the leg and left the room with a long, lingering look over her shoulder, which Ruby caught. A look that was silently pleading yet understanding too.
It was the most horrific of situations, something she could never have imagined. Her pregnancy had been a surprise. Actually, not a surprise, a shock. She and Marvin, acquaintances at best. She fancied him. Liked his company. He made her laugh. But did she love him? No, she barely knew him. Did she envisage a future with him? No, nothing like that. They'd simply made a mistake, a drunken mistake, which had been fun and frivolous, nothing more. Until it was something so much more, the truth staring at her as she held those two plastic oar shaped sticks in the bathroom, having unceremoniously peed on them. Knowing, before those little lines of confirmation popped up in the small result window, exactly what would be revealed.
She might only have been nineteen but understood her body well enough to know what missed periods, sore boobs and that awful metallic taste in her mouth, meant. Telling her mum had been the hardest of all, and, to her eternal shame, it was a relief that her dad wasn't around to be part of the fiasco, to see his face crumple in disappointment the way her mum's did.
‘Not my Ruby, not my little girl, not clever, clever you! You’re going to university, you’re going to do great things, take over the world! That’s what you’ve worked so hard for! This foolishness is what happens to other people, silly girls who are careless, who don't know how to take care of themselves! Not you, Ruby!’
Turns out that was Ruby. She was silly and careless and didn't know how to take care of herself. But she was determined to figure out how to take care of her baby. At least in that regard she could step up to the plate and do a great thing. University would wait, but she’d still make it, she was sure. Plenty of other women did it, it was all about timing and planning, she’d figure it out.
The pregnancy had passed in a bit of a blur. Marvin did his best, shifting from one foot to the other at awkward hospital appointments where medics discussed her body as though he were familiar with it, and not just a boy who happened to have got caught in this pantomime.
‘It's okay, Marv, you don't have to come in with me.’
‘I want to. I do!’ he'd nodded sincerely. Sweet, well brought up, kind, well intentioned Marvin, a good man, a good man who had gone on to marry Genevieve, and they'd moved away.
It was actually a relief knowing she wasn’t going to bump into him in the supermarket or see him in the street or have to sit next to him on a bus or in church. All of it a relief. He was gone, married to someone else. Genevieve’s husband now, and Ruby didn't have to think about him or being pregnant or anything that had come after.
Instead ofgoingto university, a little frail, a little changed, she had decided to stay at home and nowworkedat the university, a simpler life. An easier life.
That's what happened when you had a breakdown. For her, at least. It had felt almost impossible to get back on track, to concentrate in the way she needed. And so she imagined a different future, watching other students fulfil the dreams that had once been hers.
The changes had all started right here, in the NICU.
Turns out the nurse was right. She had regretted not holding her child, not saying goodbye to her daughter. It had actually made things much harder for her, not having the scent, the memory, the imprint of Sahara on her skin. Sahara, that was what she named her, her baby girl,theirbaby girl. Sahara Rose Brown.
‘There you are, Ruby.’
The nurse spoke as if she had only seen her minutes ago and not as if years had passed.
‘Here I am.’
She smiled at a nurse whose face she'd forgotten, but yes, familiar as someone who worked in the NICU and who she now recognised. Her manner, efficient, on high alert. Her tone, blunt. Fingers, nimble, as she watched and listened. Moving and shifting wires and tubes, settling tiny limbs, stroking skin, administering drugs, speaking phrases of reassurance, placing woolly hats, doing everything and anything on her watch to make sure those little hearts kept beating and those lungs kept inflating, and the blood in those veins so visible under thin – so very thin – skin, kept pumping around those tiny bodies.
‘Would you like to visit Sahara?’
Ruby nodded.
‘You know the drill, let’s get you scrubbed up!’
The memory of this too had dimmed: heading into the ante room with the big sink and the antiseptic hand soap. The particular way she had been shown to wash and dry her hands, the pulling on of the rubber apron and gloves when needed. The reminder of the pneumonic emblazoned on a poster: THANKS – Think Hands And No Kisses! These babies had immature, compromised immune systems and were susceptible to infection. Hands had to be scrupulously clean, and kissing the little ones on the face was a no-no.
It was as surreal as it was emotional, to be guided towards the plastic incubator where her little girl slept.
‘Oh! Look at her!’
Sahara looked so tiny, reminding her of a little bird with her big eyes and translucent skin, the small, striped hat that kept her warm.
Ruby’s nipples tightened with the need to feed and the unmistakeable pull of her womb, the throbbing ache of loss in the nest that had nurtured this little girl, also sensations she had almost forgotten.
‘She’s so beautiful!’ she managed through a mouth contorted with emotion.
‘She is,’ the nurse confirmed. ‘Would you like to hold her?’
Ruby stared at her baby.
