Tracy

070:

He ran a hand through his hair, and smiled encouragingly. "Well, Tracy, if I may call you Tracy--- we all feel like we know you since we know all your music and some of us have been to your concerts."

Tracy stood outside the small room. The glow from Steven's incubator barely lit the walls inside. She tried for a real smile, and failed, feeling lower than she'd ever felt, and wondering if this--- the head ache and the depression and the disorientation would pass soon. Would she ever get used to a world without Casey?

She forced the smile again, and nodded.

"We have some good news and some bad news." The doctor said slowly, his understanding and compassion evident in the crinkle of his eyes and the slight puff of his upper lip. "The baby, Steven, doesn't at this point in time test positive for HIV."

Her relief almost made her crumple, and she stepped to the wall to brace herself, feeling wave after wave of shock course through her. Relief poured out of her like beads of sweat. She felt giddy and yet, reserved, not wanting to fall apart in front of anyone else. Especially since they were all watching her--- knowing who she was--- knowing what had happened. It was like the pressure of mountains resting on her to keep up some kind of image. She couldn't lose it.

She simply felt darkness at the corners of her awareness, as if everything periodically closed in, or tried to.

"What is the bad news?" She croaked out.

"We're taking Steven in for a chest x-ray, Tracy. His breathing is labored, and the skin around his lips is blue. He's not getting enough oxygen. It's pretty common with low birth weight preemies. It's called neonatal respiratory distress syndrome."

"And what can you do for that?"

"We'll give him warm moist oxygen, he'll have to be even more closely monitored, and he may need assisted breathing ventilation. I hope it doesn't come to that, but quite often it does in these cases, the next two to four days will be crucial."

Tracy covered her lips with her fingers. "And what will happen in those few days?"

"He will either get better or get worse. Hopefully better."

"Worst case scenario?"

The doctor gazed at her steadily, obviously wishing she'd asked something else. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

"You're saying he could die?"

He nodded. Tracy turned to the wall, her head up, her eyes filling. She shook her head. I need to be strong now, Steven needs me to be strong.

"Okay. And best case scenario?"

"He's fine, goes home in a couple of weeks."

"I see. And not before?"

He shook his head, sadly, and shrugged. "It's understandable that you need to go to the funeral. A few hours, or even a day isn't going to change things."

She shook her head in tiny negating jerks. "I will not leave him."

He nodded succinctly. "Everyone here will understand if you do. You've been close to Casey your whole life."

"Everyone out there will simply have to understand if I don't leave my son's side, too." She blew out her breath looking at the incubator. Steven lay on his back, his chest rose and fell shallowly. She could see that indeed there was a blue tinge to his skin. "Is there any chance of me having the missionaries from my church in to give him a blessing?"

The doctor smiled, pursing his lips and glancing up in a slightly stalling gesture. It was New York, and Mormons were not unheard of, but they weren't as prolific as out west. She wasn't sure if they were known or even liked for sure.

Finally the doctor nodded. "There can only be two people in this room at any given time from here on out. Can you live with that?"

She swallowed hard, forcing her mind to accept that if Steven did have a blessing, she would not be able to hear it. But the blessing was more important. She nodded. Apparently the doctor was at least that familiar with Mormon protocol.

"Do you think I could ask for a phone to be in the room?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, what Steven needs right now is the calmest most serene atmosphere. Only the gentlest of voices, and handling. You understand, I'm sure."

She nodded quickly, looking away, finding a spot on the wall she could stare at and get ahold of her emotions. "And what is the in between prognosis? If he doesn't die, and isn't perfect? What can I look forward to?"

Now he drew in his own breath quite sharply, reluctant to give specifics, but seeing the steely cold expression in her eye, he understood she needed to take it standing. "Without oxygen absorption--- proper amounts, etc, he could sustain brain damage, or lung damage or both. The symptoms might worsen over the next two to four days."

She nodded. He'd already mentioned that. Her mind was moving forward. "And NICU visiting hours? Do you make exceptions for mothers? Will I be able to stay here?"

Again, he looked very apologetic. "Our night staff is simply not as equipped to handle visitors. So, the visiting hours will stand for all visitors, even Mom's." He clipped the clipboard once again to its spot and signaled the waiting nurses to come and get the incubator and take it for the tests.

Tracy watched stiffly, as they wheeled him out of the room, leaving her standing there, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Feeling like she was being torn apart, and run over by a steamroller.

She took the few steps into the hallway after him, her hand covering her mouth to keep from crying her anguish. Sweet little baby, sweet little brother, don't leave us now. We love you so much, don't leave us now.

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