Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

The paediatric Intensive Therapy Unit was in a completely different part of the hospital. Joanna pressed the buzzer to the right of the door and waited for a response.

Until now, she hadn't even dared to believe that the baby would survive. The nurse had been as good as her word and had called to let her know that the delivery had gone smoothly. She'd also offered to call ahead to the ITU to let them know that Joanna would be on her way there. Her kindness – and the utter relief that the baby was okay – had made Joanna weep silent tears in the middle of the coffee shop queue. People had watched her from behind their paper cups.

Sally had been beside her in moments and led her away from the counter and back out into the corridor. ‘What is it? What's happened?'

Her throat had been so thick with emotion that she'd barely been able to speak. ‘The baby is here. She's doing really well.'

Sally had put her hand to her mouth, then her heart. ‘Her? A little girl?'

A little girl. She could hardly believe it. ‘The nurse said that I can go and see her straight away.'

‘Oh, that's wonderful. Jo. Go now. I'll wait for you.'

She hesitated and looked at Sally, wanting her to read her mind. ‘I asked when I can see Charlotte. But she didn't know.'

Sally nodded. ‘I'll go and find out. You go and check on that baby.'

She was just about to press the buzzer again when the door opened and a nurse smiled at her. ‘Mrs Woodley?'

‘Yes. Joanna. Nurse Asenyi said I should come.'

The nurse stood back to let her pass. ‘We've been expecting you. Would you like to come and meet your grandaughter?'

Joanna had never been in a special care baby unit before, let alone an ITU. Nurses – some wearing plastic aprons – moved quietly around the room past two rows of plastic cribs. Beside five of the six cribs, mothers – and sometimes fathers – were intent on the precious contents. Joanna's heart ached; Charlotte should be here, just like them. But right now, she needed to focus on the baby. Fear curled at her heart at the thought of whether she was going to be okay, whether she had enough strength to make it through these first important hours.

The nurse who'd met Joanna at the door stopped beside the crib in the far corner and spoke quietly to the nurse sitting beside it. She smiled at Joanna. ‘Hello, I'm Jenny. Baby is doing really well. She's a little fighter.'

Though she was trying not to draw attention to herself, a sob escaped from Joanna. Relief, pride, sadness; all mingled together. ‘Her mother was a fighter, too.'

Kindness and sympathy lit up Jenny's face. ‘I'm so sorry you lost your daughter. She did so well to hang on for this little one. She gave her the best chance possible.'

Grief threatened to overtake Joanna, but she refused to let it be here in the moment. This was about new life. ‘Can I come closer?'

‘Of course.' Jenny made way for her. ‘Here she is.'

And then she was there. Wearing just a nappy, which looked enormous next to her bird-like frame. Tiny arms and legs akimbo as if she was sunbathing without a care in the world. Although much of her face was obscured with what she assumed was an oxygen mask, Joanna could see enough to know that she was exactly as she should be. ‘She's so perfect.'

The nurse smiled. ‘Would you like to touch her? If you sterilise your hands here—' Jenny showed her the tub ‘—you can reach into the crib if you'd like to come and sit here.'

She followed the nurse's direction to the seat next to the crib. There was a flap on the side and she showed her how to pull this down and reach her hand inside. She stroked the baby's tiny fist, each finger a miniature work of art. ‘How can she be so tiny and yet still have all the bits and pieces inside her that she needs?'

Jenny smiled. ‘A lot of people say that. The human body is amazing, isn't it?'

Amazing, yet so fragile. The baby's skin was the softest tissue. She stroked her arm. ‘Hello, little one. I'm your granny.'

Jenny took a step back. ‘I'll leave you both alone for a while. But I'll be just over here if you need me.'

Joanna barely heard her: she was absolutely transfixed. Though she'd had a few days to get used to the idea that Charlotte was pregnant, it was still a completely surreal experience to be here with her child. ‘You have a very brave mummy, you know. She used everything she had to make sure that you'll be well. And you will be. Because you're like your mummy. Beautiful and strong and determined. And I'll be here, little one. I'll be here for all of it.'

Aside from a huge white nappy, the baby was naked and Joanna could see her tiny bones beneath the skin. Covered in circular stickers, which were attached to wires, attached to monitors, it was difficult not to think of Charlotte in the hospital bed and her heart ached so much. Not only for her loss, but for this baby's loss. That she would never know her mother and what a wonderful human being she was. ‘She would've loved you so much, your mummy. She would have done everything right. I just know she would.'

The baby stirred in the cot and opened a hand. Gently, Joanna slid her finger into the baby's palm and, when she closed her fingers around it, a wave of love washed over her, almost strong enough to bowl her over. She could remember these same precious moments when Charlotte was a baby. The joy on Steve's face when he'd held Charlotte's hand just as she was doing now. ‘And your grandpa would've loved you, too. He was such a soft touch. When your mummy was little, she used to wrap him around her little finger. He would do anything to keep her smiling. I've got so many stories to tell you.'

As she spoke, tears coursed down her cheeks. She had a lifetime of stories to tell. Though it was over two decades ago, it didn't feel that long since Charlotte was almost as tiny as this. It'd felt so difficult, the responsibility of keeping her safe. When she first brought her home, she'd had her crib beside the bed and would lay awake watching her little chest rise and fall before exhaustion claimed her. Then as a toddler, she followed her around the room determined to catch her if she fell. If only she could've kept her safe this time.

Around the bed, monitors beeped and the familiar hiss of an oxygen tube punctuated her one-way conversation. But this was different and she had to keep reminding herself of that. This baby was going to survive and thrive and she would make sure that she had the best life she could possibly have.

Above the crib, on a white board, were details about the baby's care. At the top, her name was written as Baby Woodley.

She was going to need a name. And soon. Joanna didn't want to keep thinking about her – or talking about her – as ‘the baby'. But what should it be? Her mind drew a blank. Charlotte had never talked about having children so she had no idea what she would've wanted to call her. She tried to remember if she'd had any favourite names when she'd played games as a child. But she'd always been more into tools and cars than dolls and dresses. Maybe Sally would know something. Or her friends.

She wriggled the finger in the baby's grasp. ‘We'll come up with something your mummy would like.'

Much as she wanted to stay here and stare at the baby all day, half of her mind and heart were still with Charlotte on that operating table. When Jenny came over to check the monitors, she asked her who she should speak to, to find out whether Charlotte would be out of surgery, and where she was right now.

‘I'll find out for you as soon as I've finished these obs.'

How many times in her life would she be pulled in different directions? Between caring for her mother and leaving home, between grieving for her husband and trying to look out for her daughter. And now, between her daughter and her grandchild. If Joanna could've torn herself in two, she would've done. It was a wrench to leave the baby, but she wanted to go to her daughter. Joanna watched Jenny work, trying to read her face as she wrote on her clipboard. ‘Is she doing well? Is she going to be okay?'

‘All the numbers are right where we want them, so that's a great sign.' She nodded at Joanna's hand in the crib. ‘What you're doing right now is really helpful. Contact is good. Will you be visiting frequently?'

‘Yes. Every day if I can?'

‘You can come as often as you'd like. The only times we ask parents to wait outside is during handover and if we have to have a private conversation with other parents about one of the babies, but mostly we'd like you to be with your babies as much as you can.'

Joanna didn't know if the nurse had slipped up by calling her a parent or whether she wanted her to know that that's how they saw her. ‘Will I be able to hold her at some point?'

Jenny ticked the last box on her sheet then nodded. ‘We just want to keep her warm in there a bit longer before bringing her out, but it's good to get some skin on skin going as soon as we can. Maybe in a few hours, or tomorrow, we can have her out for a little cuddle with granny. I'm all done here, so I'll call through to surgical for an update on your daughter.'

Once she'd walked away, Joanna leaned towards the cot and whispered to the baby, ‘Did you hear that? You're doing really well. We're going to get through this and then take you home.'

She did her best not to think about the solicitor's words. That it would be up to a social worker to decide where this baby's home would be. With every fibre of her being, she was going to make sure this child was going to be safe. With her.

Jenny came back with news that it would be about another half an hour before she could go to Charlotte and, shortly afterwards, a message came through on her phone from Sally saying the same thing. Time seemed to stand still in the ward. Chairs were faced towards the wall, to give people privacy she'd imagine, but glancing to the left and the right, she saw two mothers cradling their child, singing to them. The mass of wires attached to the babies served as a reminder of how much was going on to keep them alive. Again she asked the nurse for reassurance. ‘Is the baby going to be okay?'

Jenny lowered her clipboard so that Joanna could see what she was writing.

‘She's getting a big tick from me on everything. A doctor will be in later and they'll give you an update. She just needs time to grow.'

Time to grow. Joanna couldn't help but think that she needed that, too.

Outside the ward, Sally – her precious loyal supportive friend – was still waiting for her.

‘I can't believe you're still here.'

She held out her arms for Joanna to walk into. ‘How's the baby?'

Joanna accepted a big squeeze then pulled away. ‘She's doing so well. She's so tiny, Sally. So so tiny. But she's perfect.'

Sally smiled. ‘Of course she is. Look at who her mother is.'

Tears filled Joanna's eyes. ‘I wish she could've seen her. Held her.'

‘I know. Me, too.' She paused, her voice growing hoarse. ‘Are you going to her now?'

Apart from the baby's side, she wouldn't be anywhere else. But dread lay heavy as stone in the pit of her stomach. This was the final time she would see her daughter. ‘I can't do it, Sally. How can I say goodbye to her?'

It was inconceivable. Unnatural. No mother should ever outlive her child.

Sally was fighting to keep the crippling grief from her face. ‘You have to, Jo. I'm so sorry. I know this is so hard.'

Hard didn't even come close. Grounding her when she begged to go out was hard. Holding her when she cried about the end of her first relationship was hard. This was impossible. ‘I can't. I can't, Sally.'

Sally was crying now. ‘I know. I know. But you don't have a choice. I can come with you?'

For a moment, she might have taken her up on it, but she knew that wasn't how it should be. ‘No. It's okay. Thank you, but I have to do it on my own.'

Though everyone says you forget, she could remember every moment of Charlotte's birth. Though Steve had been there – along with the midwife – it'd been as if she was all alone. In the final stages, she'd retreated so far inside herself it was as if no one existed except her and her baby. When Charlotte was born, she recognised her immediately.

And now, at the end of her life, it would be just the two of them again. Just her and her baby girl. Just like those final stages of labour, she would have to find the strength from somewhere.

Sally held out her arms and gave her the tightest squeeze she could. ‘I'll be right here. I won't move an inch.'