Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I turn to find Eira already filling the bag full of nappies and milk and bottles.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
The nearest hospital is UCH and it has a specialist children’s A&E. She’ll be in the best possible hands.
Eira pulls bags onto her shoulder and then takes Guinevere in her arms.
“Keys?” she asks. “You need your phone and your coat.” She’s already wearing hers.
I nod and follow her as we head out.
Eira works quickly, strapping Guinevere into the car seat. “Do you want me to drive?” she asks. Her tone is calm and comforting but I can barely think straight.
“I think—”
“I’ll drive,” she says. “Get in the passenger seat.”
I do as she asks, unable to do anything but leave Eira to put the pram in the boot and the bags next to Guinevere.
She gets in beside me and starts the car. She’s not panicking or flustered, but I’ve never seen her move so quick.
“Call your brother,” she says. I look at her blankly. “Jacob. Call him and ask him to meet us there. He’ll probably know the doctors in pediatric A&E. He’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”
I nod and pull out my phone. “I only have twenty percent battery.” Shit. I’m not prepared for this at all.
“Plenty to call your brother, and I have my portable charger with me.”
She turns out of my underground car park and speeds onto the street.
Jacob answers the phone on the second ring.
“Guinevere is sick,” I say. “It might be meningitis.” My voice collapses as I speak the words. “Can you meet us at UCH?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he says without hesitation, and he hangs up.
I don’t even need to tell Eira to park on a double yellow line. She just pulls up opposite the hospital entrance and gets out.
Within seconds we’re at the children’s accident and emergency check-in.
The receptionist is disinterested. She can barely look up from her phone.
“I’m a doctor here. I want my daughter tested for meningitis,” I say.
“Name?” the receptionist asks.
I’m so angry at her apathy, I’m only vaguely aware of Eira giving the necessary information as I stalk around the corner, Guinevere in my arms, looking for someone who can help us.
“I need a doctor who can test my daughter for meningitis,” I call out as I head to the nurses’ station. I can’t remember the care pathways for meningitis. It’s been a minute since I did my A&E rotation. “Should we start her on steroids?” I ask. “A drip at least.”
A nurse comes towards me and guides me out of the station and into one of the triage bays. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
“I’m a doctor,” I say. “Here. Research. I do—I want a doctor to see her.”
“The doctors are all seeing other patients at the moment,” the nurse says. “But they’ll want a temperature and a pulse check. Let me do that.”
I know she’s right. I note the time. I want to see a doctor within two minutes.
Once some basic stats are done, the nurse removes Guinevere’s babygrow and starts to examine her, talking to her while she does. Guinevere is increasingly fussy. I step forward and stroke her head. “Hey, Guinevere. Daddy’s here. Eira’s here. You’re safe.”
I hope I’m right.
Have I kept her safe?
A heavy ball of regret lodges in my chest, threatening to pull down my entire body. It’s my job to keep her safe.
Eira appears at the curtain. Our gazes meet and she gives me a reassuring nod.
The nurse finishes the examination.
“I’m going to find a doctor. I’ll be back.”
I want to go with her, but I don’t want people focused on the father who can’t keep it together. I want to have all the attention on my daughter.
“It’s going to be okay,” Eira says, placing a thin muslin over Guinevere’s naked body. “It’s okay, sweet girl,” she says to her.
I bend and place a kiss on Guinevere’s forehead. For a second or two she settles as we both look over her.
In a matter of seconds a doctor arrives, Jacob right behind him. Thank god Eira suggested I call him. As a consultant pediatrician in the same hospital trust, the junior doctors accept his authority when he starts ordering people around. Within minutes, Guinevere has blood taken, is put on a drip and is prepared for her lumbar test.
Eira and I stand at the edge of the bay, watching as the doctors and nurses work.
“Is she going to be okay?” I’m not sure if I’m asking Eira or god or the universe. But I need something from someone. I’ll do anything, I think. I never wanted to be a father, but I don’t want to lose her. She’s mine. So tiny and vulnerable and completely dependent on me, her dad, to keep her alive.
I close my eyes and try to think. What can I trade for her?