Arthur raised his head from his hands when he heard quiet footsteps on the hardwood floor. He looked up and saw Hannah standing near the crib in her light green pajama-like scrubs. His first reaction was anger and annoyance because he had not given anyone permission to send a low-level nurse to his home. He stood up quickly from his chair, adjusting his suit jacket, his tone sharp and full of bite.
Arthur Vance: Who allowed you into my private residence?
Hannah Reed: The door was opened for me, Mr. Vance. I am Hannah.
Arthur Vance: I do not need a home nurse. I had chief physicians in this room an hour ago.
Hannah Reed: And where are those chief physicians now, sir?
Arthur Vance: They left because there is nothing left to do!
Hannah Reed: Then they were wrong to leave you alone in the dark with a child who needs help.
Arthur opened his mouth to shout at her to leave, but the calm look on her face stopped him in his tracks. Hannah did not look impressed by the tall marble columns, the expensive oil paintings, or the massive chandelier hanging above them. She walked right past Arthur without waiting for his permission and stood right next to the white wooden crib. She leaned over gently and placed her warm, bare hand gently on little Leo's cold forehead.
The baby gave a tiny, pitiful whimper, his small fists clenched tight against his chest. Hannah observed the way the baby was breathing, noting the tension in his tiny neck and the rigid position of his body. She did not open a laptop or check a chart; she simply watched the baby's subtle body movements for several quiet minutes. Arthur watched her from the center of the room, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, feeling both skeptical and desperate.
Arthur Vance: He turns away every time we bring a bottle near his face.
Hannah Reed: Because he is terrified of being rushed, Arthur.
Arthur Vance: Rushed? We have been trying to feed him for hours at a time!
Hannah Reed: You are holding him like he is a fragile glass statue that might break.
Arthur Vance: He IS fragile! He is fading away before my eyes!
Hannah Reed: Children feel fear in your hands. He feels your panic, and it tightens his stomach.
Hannah unzipped her small canvas bag and pulled out a simple glass bottle filled with warm liquid. It was not the high-tech, expensive chemical formula that the hospital doctors had prescribed. It was a simple, old-fashioned mixture that pediatric nurses used years ago for sensitive newborns with nervous stomachs. She moved toward the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the nursery, setting her bag on the floor next to her.
Arthur Vance: What is that bottle? The doctors said he can only take specialized amino acids!
Hannah Reed: His body cannot handle harsh, heavy chemicals right now, sir.
Arthur Vance: If you give him something unapproved, you could hurt him!
Hannah Reed: He is starving to death, Arthur. Right now, doing nothing is what is hurting him.
She lifted little Leo out of the crib with incredible care, cradling his tiny head in the curve of her left arm. She wrapped him snuggly in a fresh white cotton blanket, pulling it warm around his tiny shoulders. Then, she sat down slowly into the old wooden rocking chair, letting the smooth wood creak gently as she began to move back and forth.