Despite herself, she felt defensive. ‘Lucy, I’m sorry but I can’t talk about it now,’ she said wearily. ‘That’s between me and Tom. It’s a family decision.’
And she knew exactly what her husband would have to say on the matter. No way.
‘Sorry, Maddie,’ Lucy replied quietly. ‘I just thought… sorry.’
Madeleine took a deep breath. She knew her friend was only trying to help. ‘No need to apologise. It’s just a shock… and I’m trying to get a grip on what I should do.’ In truth, she was still a bit floored that this had happened, but at the same time she needed to get her ass in gear… she’d have to call Tom at work and the GP of course, as well as haul Jake out of school and a million other things…
A cold shiver ran its way up Madeleine’s spine as she looked back at her feverish daughter and suddenly a new realisation set in – one that carried with it a whole new level of worry. Measles… Clara really was ill too – a lot more feverish and uncomfortable than Jake had been.
Maybe it would be more serious this time.
The odds were small, but they were still odds: measles could be fatal.
For all these years, she and Tom had played them, and now that horrible realisation, albeit distant and buried, rose once again to the fore.
Oh God… what have we done…
Madeleine swallowed hard, and her thoughts instantly turned to Kate O’Hara, who was in the same situation as her at that moment. Well, almost the same. After all she had Tom to share the burden, whereas poor Kate was on her own.
‘Is Rosie OK?’ she asked, trembling. ‘Should I call her mother?’
Lucy was circumspect. ‘I’m not sure that’s the best idea just at the minute. Like you, she has a lot on her plate now. Maybe you should just focus on Clara for the moment,’ her friend advised.
Madeleine nodded. In truth, the idea of talking to Kate just then was horrifying, especially if she too suspected Clara was the carrier.
Lucy was probably right and she knew Kate much better than Madeleine did. In fairness, she hardly knew Rosie’s mum at all, having only minimal contact with her at the school or related activities, and of course that time when the poor thing lost her husband.
But, more to the point, what could Madeleine possibly do for Kate’s daughter now other than apologise?
Deciding she’d spent more than enough time wallowing, she said goodbye to Lucy before springing into action and trying to get a handle on this thing.
First, she called Tom’s work, but, failing to rouse him anywhere in the building, Ruth his secretary promised she’d get him to call his wife straight back. No response from his mobile either, so Madeleine immediately phoned their GP’s surgery, quickly outlining the situation to the receptionist.
‘Measles? Are you sure, Madeleine?’ Rachel Kennedy, another mother with a much older child at Applewood asked. ‘Isn’t Clara immunised against that?’
Swallowing her mortification, she explained to Rachel that no, neither of her children had received the MMR jab.
‘I… I had… no idea. I’ll have to get Dr Barrett to call you back about a house call then.’ Rachel’s disapproval was so thick Madeleine could actually feel it down the line. Her voice dripped with scorn. ‘Obviously you can’t bring a highly contagious child to the surgery.’
Obviously.
‘I understand that. Thanks, Rachel.’
After hanging up the phone, Madeleine moved once again to her daughter’s bedside and choked back a sob at Clara’s now undeniably rash-ridden feverish body; the full implications of her and Tom’s decision now well and truly coming home to roost.
I felt ready to tear out my hair as I paced the floor at Glencree Clinic. My personal and professional lives had once again merged in the worst way.
Yet I hadn’t worked, at least here, for days.
I’d spent the weekend at home with Rosie when I was more certain of my diagnosis and she displayed all of the classic measles symptoms. Of course, I had consulted with a GP too, but ultimately for measles – much like chicken pox – you had to let it run its course. It’s a virus and can’t be treated with antibiotics.
On Friday morning when I called in to work and stayed at home with Rosie, I worked to control her fever, tried to keep her comfortable, all the while wondering how on earth this had happened, and hoping against hope that my tough cookie survivor would have the strength to battle it out.
This was the outcome Greg and I most worried about back when her allergy was first diagnosed and we had to make a call on the MMR vaccine.
‘If she catches something, we’ll just have to deal with it,’ my husband advised, typically implacable. ‘It’s unlikely though – herd immunity for measles is very high in this country. And anyway what choice do we have?’
None whatsoever I knew, realising now that Greg’s faith in so-called herd immunity had clearly been misplaced. Measles might be rare these days, but it was still possible.
And for my poor Rosie just now, terrifyingly real.
At least I knew my own chances of getting sick were slim. As a healthcare professional I was vaccinated as a matter of course against most standard infectious diseases. Still, as any parent knows, those first few hours dealing with a coughing child and a germ-filled house is enough to drive you crazy.
But I’d thought we were getting through it OK – or rather Rosie was – until tonight.
Lucy had come over earlier in the evening to help me out and confirmed that yes, little Clara Cooper had indeed also gone down with it, but according to Madeleine seemed to have improved over the weekend.
I started to think positive; maybe Rosie was close to being out of the woods too? But then, almost out of nowhere, her early fever returned. And spiked. Seriously spiked, over 104 degrees. Almost in tandem, my heart dropped the other direction.
I knew the danger zone all too well and my daughter was in it.
Lucy and I hustled to get her undressed and into a cold bath, but still, we couldn’t get her fever down. I’ve dealt with a lot of stressful medical situations, but it’s completely different when it’s your child, your own flesh and blood.
While I was trying my damnedest not to panic, in truth I was very scared. But even though I was scared, I’m not an idiot. And when Rosie had a febrile seizure, right there in the bath, I knew that this was very serious. Fighting the infection was consuming her and I needed to get her to hospital – fast.
Unlike the good hour it would take to reach one of the Dublin hospitals, Glencree was only fifteen minutes down the road, and my workplace was well enough equipped for paediatric emergencies. Notwithstanding the fact that I implicitly trusted my colleagues to do their best for my little girl.
Lucy and I got Rosie wrapped up and into the car, but the poor thing was in a bad way, shivering and burning up at the same time. I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to remain strong, hoping and praying that it was just one seizure and that it wouldn’t happen again.
But then it did – right as we were flying down the road in Lucy’s Jeep, only minutes away from my workplace. I held on to my daughter in the back seat – to hell with the seat belt – trying to get her to turn on her side safely so she wouldn’t choke on her own tongue.
All the while screaming inside and praying to God not to do this to me again.
Please don’t take my daughter away too…
When