Page 117 of Where the Wattles Bloom

It was true, Rowena grew more confident every day—but she worked in the NICU. If she hadn’t already been, thanks to her personal obstetric history, she was primed for the worst-case scenario.

‘I’m … cautiously optimistic.’

Helena laughed as she removed her glasses. ‘I suppose that’s only natural given where you work.’

‘Yeah.’ Rowena grimaced. ‘Viability is a huge milestone, of course, but I also know a lot can go wrong between now and full term.’

‘Do you think it will?’

‘Not really. Not anymore.’ There had been a definite shift in her thinking the more the pregnancy progressed in a textbook fashion. ‘But I still … worry that it could.’

‘It’s probably not the best combo for you right now, is it? Pregnant in the NICU?’

Rowena gave a rueful smile. ‘There’s definitely something to that whole ignorance is bliss thing.’

‘Speaking of work.’ Helena tilted her head to one side. ‘How’s it been? Back at the coal face?’

‘Busy.’ Rowena had landed back in the middle of a December baby boom. The NICU had been running at capacity all week, every highly specialised neonatal cot occupied.

‘Okay.’ Helena nodded encouragingly. ‘And how has that been?’

‘Good, actually. Really good.’

‘Yeah?’

Rowena nodded. ‘Yeah.’

She knew it was early days, but it had been a long time since Rowena had been in a NICU without the cold slick of dread stalking her every action. The medication had obviously been the circuit breaker she’d needed, and a break away had given her perspective and recovery time.

‘I’m only doing three shifts a week for this month but it feels good. Like old times.’

‘And how have your colleagues been?’

‘Very supportive. Cautious, though.’

‘Cautious how?’

‘Just wary of giving me too much too soon, I think. Trying to ease me into it. But yesterday there was a lot of junior staff on the shift, which meant I had to take a really complex patient. Very intensive. Lots of infusions.’

‘And how did that make you feel?’

Rowena had found this question hilarious in the beginning. Such a psychologist cliché. But she’d heard it so much this year, she barely registered it these days.

‘A little nervous, I guess. To start with. But more nervous at the thought of it than the actual reality, you know? The work, the drugs, all the juggling of specialists and procedures, the three bradycardic episodes—’ Rowena shook her head. ‘I just slipped back into the groove and before I knew it, I was handing over to the late shift.’

‘And what about when you got home. Last night? Were you able to switch off?’

Rowena had been so exhausted she hadn’t even showered, just fallen into a heap on her bed. ‘Slept like a log.’

Helena beamed. ‘That’s great.’

It really was. So much so, the first thing she’d wanted to do this morning was call Lachlan—who loved her—and tell him. Hell, she’d wanted to pick up the phone and call him every damn day since she’d left.

‘Yes,’ she agreed, her smile more wan than beam.

‘Okay?’ Helena sat back a little in her chair and raised her eyebrows. ‘You want to tell me where you just went?’

Rowena did not. Talking to her therapist about Lachlan was a perfectly logical thing to do, but she was trying to get back into the groove of her work and it seemed like discussing Lachlan would surely only muddy those waters.