I was standing in the paediatric ward of St. Marys when I heard the familiar clatter of a young womans heels against the linoleum. She was perched on the edge of a cot, legs drawn up, and muttering to herself with a sharp edge in her voice.
I dont want him. Im turning my back on him. All I want is Andrew, and he says he doesnt want a child. So I dont need this one either. Do what you like with the baby it makes no difference to me.
My dear, thats barbaric to abandon your own child. Even the wildest beasts wouldnt do that, said Sister Margaret, the ward matron, her tone soft but firm.
The girl snapped back, I dont care what beasts do. Discharge me at once, or youll see what Im capable of! Her eyes flashed with a desperate fury.
Sister Margaret sighed, Youre a foolish, stubborn girl, love. God help you. She knew, from years of experience, that medicine could do little for such obstinacy.
Just a week earlier the newborn had been transferred from the maternity suite to our ward because his mother, a volatile and quarrelsome sort, refused to nurse him herself, no matter how gently we pleaded. She consented only to pump her milk, but that left her with nowhere to be. Dr. Emily Hart, the junior paediatrician, tried in vain to reason with her. The woman threw endless tantrums, insisting the baby was unsafe and that she would run away if we forced her to stay.
When Dr. Hart called Sister Margaret for help, the matron spent a good hour trying to coax the irrational mother, who kept insisting she had to be with her boyfriend. Hell leave without me, she whined, so I need to get to him.
Sister Margaret, however, refused to give up. After decades on the job shed seen countless mothers like this, and she could keep the child for another three days just enough time for the mother to think, perhaps, a little more clearly. The very mention of three days set the woman off.
Are you mad? Andrews already angry with me over this blasted baby, and now youre trying to trap me. If I dont go south with him, hell take Katie away from me. She broke down, shouting that everyone was stupid and that Katie her lovers name only wanted to whisk him away. She clung to the hope of marriage as her only reason to keep the child.
Sister Margaret, after another weary sigh, ordered a dose of valerian and turned toward the door. The resident, a quiet young doctor named Hannah, followed her out into the corridor and asked in a low voice,
Do you really think a child will be alright with a mother like that?
My dear, replied the matron, what else can we do? If we dont, the baby ends up in a childrens home, then an orphanage. At least the families on both sides have decent incomes. Perhaps we should speak to the grandparents? Find out their details and see if theyll take him in.
The mother fled that very afternoon. Sister Margaret phoned the boys grandparents, but the young mans family refused even to speak. Two days later her father a sullen, unfriendly man arrived to collect his daughters things. He dismissed our offer to see the child, saying hed have his daughter write a formal refusal and have it delivered by his driver. Sister Margaret told him that the baby could not be discharged without the mothers own signature; the rules were the rules, or wed face trouble. The man grew tense, his bureaucratic fear evident, and finally said hed send his wife to deal with it.
The next day his wife a pale, trembling woman arrived, perched on a small stool and weeping uncontrollably. She whispered about a terrible misfortune, explaining that the boys parents had whisked him away abroad. They were wealthy, with big plans, and now this scandal haunted them. Their daughter sobbed endlessly, swearing she would fly overseas to fetch the child, no matter how the world turned against her. She claimed she would be with Andrew even if the whole world fell apart.
Sister Margaret, trying to keep the babys spirits up, handed the woman a cup of valerian. The woman clutched a fresh handkerchief and wailed louder, calling the infant so precious. She said she would love to take him, but her husband forbade it and her daughter refused. The matron could only mutter, Oh, dear, and order the nurse to give the woman more valerian, cursing that such nonsense would soon empty the wards stock of sedatives.
She rushed to the chief consultant, explained the situation, and asked to keep the baby in the ward a while longer. The consultant, once a brilliant paediatrician, smiled at the infant and asked, What does the little fellow eat? He chuckled, calling the baby Biscuit because of his round, doughy cheeks a nickname that stuck.
Biscuits stay stretched over several months. The mother, who occasionally visited, claimed she was saving money for a ticket to find her boyfriend. She played with him, but each time she left she wept, apologising for her daughters cruelty, calling it mad love. Sister Margaret called it nothing more than lust.
Despite the mothers sporadic visits, neither she nor the grandparents ever signed the discharge papers. The matron decided to have a serious talk with them, explaining that the babys health was deteriorating. The ward was abuzz, and Dr. Emily was at Biscuits side constantly, noting his weight loss, his sweaty head, his limp little fingers clinging to her sleeves. She whispered, Youre not a biscuit any more, youre a little pancake, yet the boy soon regained his strength and became the wards favourite again, giggling whenever Emily dangled bright coral beads before him.
One day, the mother discovered that her boyfriend had married someone else. She exploded, shouting that everyone was conspiring to keep them apart, that she hated everyone, especially the baby. If he werent here Id be with Andrew now, happy, she snarled, and stormed off to hand in a formal refusal to keep the child, intending to have him sent to a childrens home. She placed the signed paper on the chief consultants desk and left without a word.
The chief called Sister Margaret into his office. She returned, eyes hard, and announced, Its done. Shes signed the refusal. Well have to process the paperwork for a childrens home. The young resident began to weep. Sister Margaret removed her glasses, wiped them slowly, muttering to herself a habit shed developed whenever nerves got the better of her. The ward fell silent as Biscuit, in his cot, squealed joyfully at the sound of a nurse entering.
The nurse cooed at him, and he responded with a highpitched giggle, waving his tiny arms and legs. Suddenly he froze, his bright eyes fixed on something unseen. The nurse knelt, trying to understand, and tears rolled down her cheeks as she felt a strange ache in her chest. She later learned that the moment the mother signed the refusal, the babys demeanor had shifted, as if sensing the sorrow around him.
Sister Margaret, irritated, snapped, Stop making a fuss, its nothing but superstition. She reminded everyone that abandoned children always feel the sting of rejection, whether its a whisper from an angel or a quiet ache. They become invisible, hoping not to trouble anyone, as the world seems eager to tuck them away in grey institutions.
Yet there is still hope. A small kindness, a chance encounter, can turn the tide. Children, even those left behind, deserve a chance at love. From that day forward, Biscuit lay quietly in his cot, his eyes solemn, his smile gone. Dr. Emily tried everything Biscuit, would you like a cuddle? Look, I have beads, shed say, extending her hand, but the infant stared back, expression grave.
One afternoon, Emily burst out, Were betraying him! Its not his fault he was born into this mess! She collapsed onto a sofa, head in her hands, whimpering. Sister Margaret rose from her desk, sat beside Emily, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Love, I dont know what to do. My heart breaks for Biscuit, she said softly. God, what a cruel job this is.
Emily answered, I wont just stand here and wait.
Then dont sit, snapped Sister Margaret, irritated. Youve been shouting, soaking my coat. If youre going to act, do it properly. Dont expect us to hand you the baby. You have no husband, no flat youre just a student. Ive dealt with countless Biscuits in my career. Lets make a deal: well give you time, and you find him a proper family.
So Emily set out to find Biscuit the best possible parents. Her determination lit a fire in the ward, and even the senior nurses felt the pull of that hope. When Biscuit fell ill with a common cold, Sister Margaret remarked, For once Im almost glad hes sick something to rally around. She whispered a prayer, Forgive us, Lord.
At last, a couple appeared: Laura and Lee, both in their early thirties, childless but eager to adopt. Laura was a graceful woman with a soft smile and a melodic voice; Lee was a sturdy, former army man who adored his wife. Their home was bright and welcoming. Dr. Emily introduced them to the ward, and Sister Margaret, though a little taken aback by Lees imposing stature, greeted them warmly.
Sorry, Im a bit starstruck, she giggled, whats your babys birth weight, love?
Oh dear, Lee stammered, I dont have the numbers Ill ask the nurse.
He cant remember his birthday, can he? Laura laughed, Hell keep us on our toes.
Sister Margaret explained, You dont need the exact stats for adoption. You just look like you could be his new family.
Laura stepped into the cot room, the door closing behind her. Biscuit, asleep, turned a pink hue, his tiny hands and feet curling. A single tear lingered in his eye.
He woke, blinked, and scanned the room. When his gaze landed on Laura, he sat up, widened his eyes, and reached out. He grasped her thumb with surprising strength. Both adults burst into delighted laughter, calling him a lively little chap. Laura smiled, and Biscuit let out a faint, contented squeak.
The matron cleared her throat gently and said, Lets call it a day for now. Youll go home, think things over, and decide.
Weve already decided, Laura replied without turning, we want him.
Sister Margaret raised an eyebrow, glanced at Lee, who nodded. Right then, she said, just remember the grip reflex at this age is strong.
Laura, still facing the cot, whispered, Ill be back soon, love. I promise youll have a home with me. Biscuit, still holding her thumb, seemed to understand, and finally let go, his small fingers relaxing. A bright grin spread across his face, and he let out a happy chirp.
Sister Margaret muttered, Its just reflexes, thats all, as she peeled off her glasses and rubbed them with the cuff of her coat, mumbling under her breath.
And so Biscuit found a family, a warm home, and a future that had once seemed impossible. The ward returned to its rhythm, the echoes of cries fading, replaced by the soft hum of new beginnings.
