Hold My Girl, by George Ezra (acoustic version) - Three Weeks Old
Dylan looked on, awestruck, as Sam deftly disentangled their daughter from her wires and tubes to lift her from her incubator. It filled his heart with a warmth that was becoming familiar, though it remained just as wonderful as the first time he'd felt it. She was a very tiny baby, but Harriet occupied a huge space in his heart: he hoped it would always feel so special to see her rest on her mother's chest, her little lips opening and closing like a time-lapsed rosebud and her hands clasping outstretched fingers, clothing seams or strands of hair that tumbled her way. Harriet would be blonde one day too, he was sure of it.
These days, it was only Dylan who held his breath each time Hattie was lifted, though the first time Same held her, they had both been wide-eyed and nervous as a nurse placed an eight-day-old, delicate little creature on Sam's skin. She had grown steadily since then, nourished by the satisfaction of skin-to-skin contact.
He had not yet summoned the courage to hold her himself. At first only Sam had been allowed, what with Hattie's immune system being so poor. But for almost a week now, he had been avoiding the task - he had been lucky to have his reliable, relentless pager as an easy excuse. It had either sounded and heralded his departure, or acted as a very good reason not to be holding such a delicate baby.
Sam knew full well that Dylan was using his pager as an excuse. She saw him hold himself more stiffly whenever she was out of the incubator, noticed the hitch in his even breaths when he thought Hattie might be offered to him. It was yet another aspect of having a premature baby that was breaking her heart day-by-day: that her own father hadn't yet held her. Not that Sam had broached the subject yet.
It was too familiar a pattern not to follow, to skirt around the issue and leave it as the elephant in the room.
Christmas had arrived, at last. Following the trauma of Hattie's early arrival, it really hadn't felt like it, but by Christmas week, there was a small tree well-established in Dylan and Sam's living room. A real one, at Sam's insistence, because it would be the last year for a while that all the glass baubles would be out and she was determined to enjoy them properly. Fairy lights draped around the living room and kitchen, too - steadily on, unless Sam got to them first and set them to gently twinkle.
Sam came into the kitchen with unsteady footfalls.
Dylan looked her up and down as kindly as he could, before mumbling his assessment and returning to preparing dinner. "Go and sit down, somewhere comfortable," he said quietly. "I can do this, you don't need to be in here."
She frowned, her eyes slightly puffy and ringed with pink from lack of sleep. "You've just done a long day shift, you shouldn't be the one sorting everything out." She had been leaning against the doorframe as she spoke, but at this, she was forced to give in and take a seat at the kitchen table. Elbows on the edge of the table, she loosely clasped her hands and rested her head against them.
Dylan paused. He rinsed his hands quickly, only half drying them before leaning back against the sink, looking at her. "I hardly think I need to remind you that only three weeks ago, you had a baby. Not only that, you lost a hideous amount of blood, and you're now going through sky-high levels of emotion every single day. You're allowed to be tired."
"What, and you're not?" she countered, summoning energy from a far-flung reserve. She sat bolt upright at once, her face formed in deep frustration. "Am I the only one worrying about her?"
"No, of course not!" He backtracked, but the smouldering embers had erupted. The argument they hadn't been having had finally sprung to fruition.
"Because I don't think I was the only one in the SCBU while she was fully intubated!"
"Samantha…"
Sam pushed herself up from the table. "No! Don't start calling me 'Samantha' and trying to pretend this isn't happening! I don't want to do that again, I don't want that to happen to us again, when we've got a baby to think about. Not that you'd know, seeing as you'll barely touch her!"
He'd been the level one, but that was a step too far. "That's not fair!"
"Isn't it? I thought you wanted to be a good dad; when I was pregnant you were desperate to undo all the damage your own dad had done!"
The anger he'd felt, dissipated, replaced with agonising crestfallenness. He abandoned the half-prepared meal and left the room in silence.
She'd gone too far, and she knew it. She'd known it, and regretted it, the moment the words left her mouth, but it really hit home, the moment she followed his defeated footsteps upstairs and laid eyes on him in what would become Hattie's bedroom.
He sat with his back against the cot (which he'd assembled one night while she had still been admitted following the birth) and seemed disconnected from the whole world. His jaw was set, and his eyes were focused on a sole spot in the middle distance.
Very gingerly, Sam took a seat next to him. When she put one hand over his on the floor, he flinched, as though unaware that she'd even come into the room.
"I shouldn't have said… what I did," she murmured.
"You seemed pretty sure of it, downstairs." He didn't yet look at her, though he didn't move away when she closed her hand around his.
Sam sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. It was a low blow, and I was out of order. You were right, I was tired - I am tired - but I shouldn't be taking it out on you. This isn't easy for either of us, and it's not my call, how you choose to deal with it."
For the first time since she'd joined him, Dylan looked at her. He pressed his lips tightly together for a moment, as though holding back the words he wanted to say. His eyebrows creased, morphing his expression from upset to worried. When Sam brought her free hand up to caress his face, he tilted his head towards and into her touch, closing his eyes but retaining his expression.
"What is it?" she whispered. "What can't you tell me?" She could read him as far as knowing he was holding something back, but no further.
He felt the pulse under his jawline throb. "You were right too, down there. When you said I don't touch her."
"You do a little," Sam said, eager to try and make amends.
"I don't do enough, and you know it. The staff on the unit know it, and I bet the other parents in there have noticed too." He broke her gaze, ashamed. "I just… I can't. I can't do it. I don't know how, and I don't want to get it wrong, and I don't want to hurt her, or set her back, or… I can't." He screwed his eyes shut and pulled his hand free of Sam's to cover his face.
It surprised him, when Sam took his hands away from his face, to feel her lips pressing against his. There were a lot of unsayable words in that kiss.
"You can."
Zoe hovered outside the SCBU, desperate to enter but not wanting to do so uninvited. Well, she was invited - but a text first thing this morning wasn't enough to go bounding into the Special Care Baby Unit mid-afternoon, at her first opportunity to step away from the ED for an extended period.
It was Christmas Eve, and experiencing it anywhere in the hospital except the ED was a whole new world. There were fairy lights along the corridor, and wall stickers of elves and reindeer had been painstakingly applied. Though it was a wipe-clean, entirely disinfectable Christmas, it was beautifully festive nonetheless. Peering through the large panes of glass at the end of the unit, Zoe smiled. Each cot was decorated in some small way: some had little baubles, some bore a string of tinsel, others had hand-coloured pictures by older brothers and sisters. It was hospital, so that antiseptic smell pervaded all, but this was a little patch of undeniable Christmas cheer.
By stroke of luck, Sam got up to stretch her legs and caught sight of Zoe at the door. Her face lit up - a friendly face could not have come at a better time.
It was the first time in almost a month that Zoe had seen her. The short time had made a world of difference: the stress of having a newborn in SCBU had melted away the weight Sam had gained around her face in pregnancy, and then some, revealing her high cheekbones in painful clarity. The younger woman lacked her previous electrifying haste, having replaced it with a more gentle, considered manner.
There was a moment's silence, in which Sam briefly wondered if the addition of a baby had shattered the gloriously easy friendship they had shared.
"It's so good to see you," Zoe said warmly, throwing caution to the wind and putting her arms around Sam, despite the gift bags she held. The tissue paper crinkled enticingly.
When they pulled apart, Sam ran a hand through her hair. "Look at you, coming up here with presents, when I've got nothing for you!" She frowned, embarrassed.
Zoe shook her head. "I think, all things considered, you're off the hook this year." She raised her eyebrows sympathetically and tilted her head minutely to one side. "Everything okay?" she asked, a different tone seeping into her voice.
"Yeah," Sam replied, not entirely convincingly. "Do you… Do you want to come and see her, then?"
"More than anything."
Shoulders back with a pride she'd never experienced, Sam welcomed Zoe onto the ward.
"You practically have to scrub in, to get anywhere near these babies," she explained as she led Zoe to the parents' handwashing station and nodded in the direction of the posters indicating a handwash that almost reached the elbows. "It's almost become normal now - three weeks of doing it every time I go in and out, plus an extra one if I'm going to hold her."
Zoe glanced over as she reached for the paper towels. "Your poor hands," she said. The cold weather outside was not kind to regularly-scrubbed hands, even if it was Christmas. "I haven't been looking at Dylan's hands, the last few days," she went on, lowering her voice though they were alone. "I've been more preoccupied with making sure his eyes are right, you know?"
Sam nodded. "I do know, and it helps so much to know that you're looking out for him, now he's back at work."
"How's he managing… everything?"
"How long have you got?" Sam answered, with a meaningful glance.
Zoe would have hugged her again, were it not for the fact that would probably mean going through the whole routine of handwashing all over again. "I've got as long as you need. It's Christmas Eve, and I've got a free pass from Connie to be up here as long as I like." She lifted the pager from the pocket of her dress momentarily. "I can be summoned if it's that desperate. Talk as much as you want, Sam."
Sam could not hold in her delight when she lifted the delicate layers of tissue paper from Hattie's present to reveal a miniscule onesie, white with little embroidered stars and a false pocket that read My first Christmas.
"But how did you… We've found it so hard to find anything small enough for her!"
Zoe offered a coy smile. "I might have done a little detective work with the team on the ward, and been in touch with someone I used to know in the States. Dylan had mentioned the lack of small-enough clothes, and I thought it was only right for her to have something special for Christmas."
"It's beautiful, thank you." Sam held the onesie in her hands, circling her thumbs in the soft fabric. Looking back up to Zoe, she bit her lip. "I guess he's not been overly forthcoming, talking about what's been happening? Or, more accurately, what hasn't been?"
The end of the shift on Christmas Eve couldn't come soon enough for Dylan. He might have been back at work for a little over a week, but Connie had manoeuvred shifts to allow him not to return to the ED until the twenty-eighth: a welcome Christmas present for both Dylan and Sam. The former was wiped out by his return to work on top of daily SCBU visits, while the latter was grateful to have uninterrupted company.
On his way to his locker, Dylan accepted people's greetings and 'merry Christmases' with far less of a Scrooge-like attitude than in previous years. Something about the thought of Hattie upstairs in her incubator, in desperate need of some festive spirit, made it easier to feel Christmassy this year. And he might as well get the practice this year - by next year his daughter would be crawling or toddling towards everything sparkly and getting involved in every bit of Christmas in her reach.
The part of his brain where the OCD lay in wait suddenly brought Dylan down to earth with a bump. If she makes it as far as next Christmas, it taunted. Don't get ahead of yourself, she's not through this Christmas yet.
He shook his head firmly. No.
A Christmas card had been pushed through the vent of his locker. There was no name on the envelope, so Dylan slid his finger under the paper flap to tear it open, his curiosity piqued.
It was a simple enough card, with a watercolour design of Santa's sleigh and the reindeer.
Inside, however, was the handwriting of each member of the ED team.
Happy Christmas Harriet
On your first Christmas, stay strong little one
We're thinking of you Harriet, merry Christmas
Keep fighting Harriet, the world is waiting for you
And plenty of other handwritten messages of hope and goodwill.
Dylan was dumbstruck. After a few moments' examination, it was clear who had organised it all: David's cramped handwriting took up the prime space in the card. It was touching, really, to imagine quiet, reserved David badgering the rest of his colleagues into sharing expressions of kindness. Dylan smiled privately, then reached into his locker for a card he'd picked up from the doormat this morning but hadn't had time to open before leaving for work. The Norwegian stamp and postmark alone were enough to notify him who had sent it.
Dear Dylan, Sam and Harriet,
It might not be the Christmas that you imagined, but I'm sure you'll find a way to make the best of it and make memories to cherish. Don't forget, Ethan and I are coming back to the UK for New Year's - I can't wait to meet your new arrival, if she's well enough.
Stay in touch, and Merry Christmas,
Lily
Dylan sighed and pulled out his phone. Accounting for the time difference, he was certain that she wouldn't be in work anymore, so with only a slight nervous hesitation, he tapped on Lily's name and 'call'. It was a sweet relief that neither of them were inclined to meet societal expectations of small-talk. It didn't take long to reach the crux of the conversation.
"I had forgotten, you know? That you're coming back for the New Year." The fact was one more on a long list of little things that had slipped his mind in the continuing chaos.
"I dare say you've had other priorities," Lily said calmly. "I can't imagine it's easy; you're back at work now too, aren't you?"
Dylan nodded. "Hm, and I think I'd rather be upstairs with Sam." He turned and leaned against the lockers, his brain instantly analysing his choice of words. "I mean - obviously I want to be up there - please don't think I'm avoiding SCBU…"
"I don't," Lily reassured him at once. More than once, Dylan's sparse messages had indicated his stress around being in the unit with Sam and Hattie, but not for one moment had she assumed he was brushing off his responsibility. "Something's worrying you, though," she said quietly. "I'm not going to pry if you don't want to tell me. I'm sure there's more than enough to worry about with Harriet being where she is. Just know that you don't have to handle it alone, that's what's important. You have Sam there, going through all of it with you, and Zoe who'd make the earth turn backwards for you if you asked her. And I'm still here, at the other end of a phone call, granted, but I will still listen." She paused. "In any case, it's Christmas Eve! Go and enjoy being a first-time dad."
This brought a small smile to Dylan's lips. "It's on the to-do list," he said wryly. "Enough about me, though. Tell me about normal life at your end. Has it snowed yet?"
Having a 'normal' conversation was, unexpectedly, an excellent Christmas present.
When Dylan arrived in the SCBU, the sudden burst of bravery he had felt on leaving the ED had dissipated.
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming!" Sam said with a smile, though she couldn't help noticing a strange expression on his face. He had obviously completely missed her joking suggestion that he would simply abandon her in the ward to go straight home from work.
"Sorry," he replied distractedly. "I… had a lot to think about. I know it's Christmas Eve and you probably want to get home…"
Sam gestured at the seat next to her. "Dylan, what's wrong?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm not sitting down - I -" He stammered, the words sticking around a lump in his throat.
"Hey, it's okay." Sam stood up at once. She pulled his hands away from each other: he wasn't aware of wringing them, his eyes fixed on Hattie. "What's wrong?" she repeated gently.
He swallowed hard, regaining some composure. "I want to hold her," he said simply.
Sam's expression lightened considerably.
"It's nearly Christmas, and she deserves to be held by her daddy at last."
"And you're not… anxious about it?" Sam said with some uncertainty.
Dylan let out a syllable of laughter. "Of course I am," he replied off-handedly, "But I think she's about the best driving force of 'feel the fear and do it anyway' that I'm ever going to get."
Sam's heart swelled. She reached into the incubator to untangle her daughter, something that was becoming almost second-nature now. "Are you ready, sweetie-pie?" she murmured down to her baby. "Now, be a good girl, for Daddy. He's being so brave, just for you."
On hearing Sam's words, Dylan dropped his gaze and felt warmth in his cheeks.
"Dylan? Just undo your top few buttons and pull your shirt open so I can put her on your skin… There you go, you're holding her just right. And you're okay?"
Speechless, he just nodded, his eyes trained on his tiny daughter. He was doing it, he was holding his daughter. The world had not stopped turning, he hadn't caused a medical disaster, and he wasn't mentally falling apart.
"Little victory," he said at last, looking back up at Sam.
"Little?" she questioned. "Give yourself some credit, Dylan!"
He thought for a moment, then relented. "It is Christmas, I suppose. Big victory?" He raised one eyebrow.
Sam rolled her eyes, smiling. "Yes, Dylan. Big victory." She sat down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, one hand cupping his as they held Hattie together, for the first time.