Rescued : A Novel

RESCUED

Prologue

hey stood silently and watched as the ewe strained against her contractions. Her wool had been neatly trimmed to keep her from overheating in the temperature-controlled laboratory. A photographer stood back some distance and the chatter of his camera interrupted the ewe’s mutterings. With the exception of the photographer, who changed position and camera occasionally, no one moved. The spectators dared not interfere unless absolutely necessary.

White-garbed and masked men and women held their breath, waiting. A deep gasp, a final grunt and a whoosh of amniotic fluid and the small, perfectly formed lamb lay on the soft bedding in the room’s pristine birthing pen. A quiet cheer erupted and was instantly hushed for the ewe’s sake. A doctor crouched at her hindquarters and began the task of wiping the wetness from the lamb’s nostrils and mouth.

Suction. The hum of the machine replaced the murmur of voices. Someone get me a towel. Let’s get this little guy cleaned up. A hearty high-pitched bleat interrupted the brusque voice, and the nurses and assistants smiled and chattered once more. The doctor checked the ewe that was now up on her chest and turning back to look curiously at the strange happenings behind her. He smiled for the first time and scooped the wobbly lamb into his latex-gloved hands, moving it to the mother’s nose. She answered that first bleat with one of her own and licked the damp baby.

Creeping quietly backward, the doctor pulled himself to his feet and exited the pen. And then the adrenaline rush hit him. The birth of the first lamb delivered through the process of embryo micromanipulation was a success. He beamed as he basked in the back-slapping and whispered congratulations. They would still need to repeat the procedure numerous times, but he and his staff had done what was considered impossible.

They had taken a lamb embryo from one ewe and transplanted it into the womb of another ewe. And because of their success, the transference of a human embryo from one mother to another would soon become a reality.

Chapter One

arian shook her head as the front door slammed. She muttered in exasperation at the sound. What am I going to do with that girl? A pair of eyes the colour of a stormy sea, and half-buried beneath a mop of red hair, peeked around the kitchen door frame and then just as quickly disappeared. I saw you, Daphne. You might as well come in and get it over with. Marian knew she sounded angry.

A tall, slender fifteen-year-old girl reappeared, an over-enthusiastic Jack Russell terrier named Flipper bobbing along beside her. Marian could feel the muscles clench tighter in her already knotted shoulders as Daphne’s bored voice grated on nerves that had been fraying for most of the day.

I got homework, Mom.

It can wait. You and I need to talk.

Silence followed then as Marian smacked the dish cloth against the last plate in what had been lunch’s dishes. The teen slipped further into the kitchen and parked on a stool at the island. Flipper immediately toddled over to sniff Marian’s heels and she tried to ignore the intrusive animal. She could well imagine the look on her daughter’s face as she sat behind her. The limp eyes and down-turned mouth. Classic uninterested teenager.

She was often reminded how different she and her daughter were. While her husband, son and daughter all shared the same unmanageable red hair, Daphne’s eyes were the family exception. Marian didn’t know where the grey came from. Her own eyes were a startling green contrast to her black hair, and Phillip’s eyes were brown. And the differences didn’t end with appearance. Daphne sailed through life as though nothing really mattered while her parents grasped at life as though afraid it would pass them by.

Marian pulled the plug from the sink full of grungy dishwater. Daphne hadn’t put up much protest over the command. The girl knew better. Homework was almost an institution in the Barrie household and it was only ever interrupted when something serious came along—like a natural disaster.

Or a pregnancy.

Marian took a deep breath, ignored the persistent dog, and turned to her daughter, her teary eyes turning hard. So were you ever going to tell us that you were sleeping with someone?

Daphne had been in the process of sorting through the plate of cookies. At Marian’s question, her hand froze in its random act and her head snapped up just enough to clear her face of the shoulder-length strands. Her eyes grew wide with shock and Marian had the fleeting thought that it wasn’t an act.

"Mom! That’s gross! I’m not—sleeping with anyone!" Daphne’s voice broke over the words and her cheeks reddened to a shade just barely lighter than her hair.

Why would the clinic call, then, and ask to see you concerning your exam and how it has shown that you’re pregnant? Didn’t expect to find that one on the camp physical, did you? Marian had lost all composure and she watched her daughter cringe at the vicious tone.

Daphne stood up and shoved the plate away from her. She shook her head and her face continued to burn. Mom! I don’t even have a boyfriend!

Marian frowned. She’d expected defiance. After all, it was that age. But she hadn’t expected outright lying. Did the girl think she was stupid? "Daphne, I’m surprised at you. Are we that awful that you can’t just tell us the truth? Who’s the boy? He should be part of this. Your father is torn apart. We taught you better than that, Daphne. Your father and I have taught you so much better than that. Suddenly exhausted, she lowered herself to a chair at the table and dropped her head into her hands. This will go through the neighbourhood like a brushfire. Your father—"

I didn’t do it! The reality of the accusation awoke the temper behind the red hair and Daphne slammed her palms onto the counter. I’m not like that!

Marian looked up and narrowed her eyes. An ultrasound has been booked for tomorrow afternoon. I will phone the school in the morning and tell them that you won’t be there. I suggest you go work on that homework you mentioned. She continued to glare at her daughter—her lying daughter.

Daphne screeched a frustrated cry, spun on her heels and sent the plate flying as she stomped from the room. Marian heard one last scream. I didn’t do it! And then the bedroom door slammed shut.

Dinner that evening was a silent affair. Marian could feel her husband’s helpless looks but she refused to lift her stare from her plate as she continued to toy with her food. Daphne’s spot remained empty. Craig, with the healthy appetite of an average eighteen-year-old boy, wolfed through his arrangement of beef and potatoes. He was oblivious to the tension—or wise enough not to mention it. Scraping the final dredgings off his plate, he pushed his chair back, pecked his mother’s cheek and offered a quick see ya before rushing out the door to a neighbourhood game of pick-up.

Do you think they could be wrong? Phillip’s voice cut into Marian’s troubled thoughts.

They’re not wrong. Why would they tell us this stuff if she wasn’t pregnant? Marian instantly regretted snapping at her husband. Putting down her fork, she looked at the stairs, hoping that Daphne would be there ready to confess and move on.

Oh come on, Marian. It’s happened before. Maybe they mixed up a chart or something. It’s just not like her. The insistent voice softened. At least I didn’t think it was. It was Phillip’s turn to look at his plate and Marian instantly felt sorry for him. He’d always been a good father. Any flaw in the children was immediately taken as some sort of failure on his part and he always struggled to address that failure in a way that would help the kids. She stared at him, noting in an abstract way that his thick rust-coloured hair seemed to have an extra salting of grey in it since the previous day’s news. She sighed. It hurt her to see him so helpless. His barrel chest was hunched over a slight paunch brought on by middle age, and she couldn’t stand to see the defeat resting on rounded shoulders that normally carried themselves with the bearing of a titan. Ageless pain sat squarely on his downcast face.

Marian pushed her plate away and rose to clear the table. The heady fragrance of tender roast and gravy-covered potatoes only succeeded in making her feel nauseated. She adopted a take-charge tone of voice and threw her own shoulders back as though her effort would force away her husband’s slouch. Well, there’s nothing we can do but wait until tomorrow afternoon. I hope you’re right, Phil. I would dearly love to be wrong. She picked up their half-full plates and moved off to the kitchen to busy her hands and her mind. She could feel her husband’s stare as she retreated, and the heavy silence pressed in on her as she worked to push away the possibility of such a grave error.

Chapter Two

he school had been non-committal about Marian’s phone call. They didn’t know that her world had just turned upside down. For once, the school didn’t know more than the parent. She kept it that way as she simply informed them that Daphne wouldn’t be at school for the day.

The heels of her black leather pumps clacked on the tiled floor that led to the reception desk just beyond the front doors of Milton District Hospital. Why did she even bother to wear the uncomfortable things? Or dress up for that matter? Her meticulous appearance did nothing to make the knot in her heart go away. But she had taken great care that morning to look her best—her most professional. She had pulled her hair back into a tense roll as though by its very tightness she could pin a smile on her face. A brief look in the car visor mirror as they had parked had revealed green eyes road-mapped with veins that had come from a night of tears. Even now the tears threatened and she blinked at them, pushing them away as though they were offensive.

Phillip marched along beside her, his previous day’s grief masked behind a stony face. The caving in upon himself was gone. He no longer hunched. The paunch was no longer pronounced. He stood taller and thrust his jaw into the air ahead of him. After his initial collapsing of soul, Phillip had resorted to a stoic strength—like a bulldog heading into battle. And it was a battle—a battle to overcome this bomb that had just landed in their midst. Marian drew strength from him and stood straighter.

Daphne held back, her sneakers letting out the occasional soft squeak as she dragged her feet. Marian could feel her daughter’s anger and resentment radiating against her back, and her own feelings were riddled with self-doubt.

They checked into the outpatient department and then walked the main hall to the Diagnostics Imaging Department. Following the small plain signs posted along the walls, they hurried past the gift shop and turned right just before the second bank of elevators into the hall leading to the offices that housed the ultrasound department. As they took a left through the second door, she glanced back and noticed that Daphne’s cheeks still burned. She hadn’t spoken a word to Marian since their conversation in the kitchen—if it could be called a conversation.

Marian felt the internal knot twist tighter. She hadn’t been very kind to her daughter. She had condemned her from the beginning. That brief glance had screamed the contradiction of what she had been told. Flushed cheeks. Hunched shoulders. Confused expression. Marian sighed. She would apologize for flying off the handle after the ultrasound was done. They’d have some privacy by then. She’d make things right.

They sat in silence, ignoring the receptionist as she tapped at a computer console. Daphne picked the nail polish off her fingernails, the ever-present curtain of hair separating her from Marian’s worried eyes. Every once in a while the girl fanned the air in front of her face to brush away the strong smell of disinfectant that had wafted down the hall on the end of a mop. She even managed to ignore the overenthusiastic air-conditioning unit. Whatever it took to let Marian know that Daphne was not going to acknowledge her in any way, shape or form.

A technician called Daphne’s name and pleasantly chatted away to the girl while the two of them disappeared behind the single door that opened into a room filled with state-of-the-art machinery. Marian tossed a glance at her husband and received a sad shrug. The waiting wouldn’t be nearly as bad as the visit with the doctor afterward. Letting out another deep sigh, she finally succumbed to the pile of crinkled and faded magazines spread out on a low table in the centre of the room. She pulled out a Macleans magazine and tried to drown her mind in the variety of articles and advertisements. Her vain attempts were finally interrupted by the deep tones of her husband’s impatient voice.

What’s taking so long?

She looked at the wall clock and was surprised to see that an hour had passed. It was unusual for an ultrasound to take an hour. Marian pulled at the lace collar of her dress shirt and wished for the third time that she had left the cream coloured suit jacket at home. She glanced at her husband and noticed that he had worn a tie. As though they could make things better by how they dressed. She tried to pretend that the article interested her but her stomach had begun to tighten. If she’d been wrong, Daphne would never forgive her. She’d never forgive herself.

Phillip stood and walked over to the receptionist. Why is our daughter still in there?

The woman shrugged and offered a patient smile. It’s one of those things, sir. They want to get a good picture—a good look. I’m sure she’ll be out soon. She nodded pointedly at the chair he had just vacated and Phillip seated himself again and grabbed a year-old Reader’s Digest.

Marian returned to her article. After a while she glanced at the clock. Then, for the fourth time, she read the same sentence over—something about a new development in repairing sun-damaged skin. And turned to the clock again. She was unable to force her mind to move beyond the ticking hands. By the time another hour came and went, the knot in her heart had moved to her throat and she could feel the sweat beginning to bead down her back. Slapping the magazine closed, she tossed it onto the stack and leaned forward to rise. Nurse or no nurse, she was going to find her daughter and get her home where they all belonged.

Before she had a chance to get to her feet, a tall African-Canadian man in a lab coat slipped through an office door, passed the receptionist’s station and approached her and Phillip. His lips were pressed together in a stiff smile that didn’t quite reach his deep brown eyes, and Marian wondered what their family physician was doing in the office of the hospital’s ultra-sound department.

Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Barrie. It’s good to see you again. I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.

Phillip stood and offered a firm hand shake, as though a strong grip would ensure good news.

Marian remained seated on the edge of the chair. What’s going on, Dr. Le Duke? What’s taking so long? Is Daphne OK? She could hear the first edges of panic in her own voice and cleared her throat to push them aside.

The doctor’s tone was low and he frequently glanced away. I’d like it if you would both follow me. I’m sure this isn’t something you want to discuss in such a public place. I’ll take you to an office where Daphne is waiting. The doctor looked around at the various assortments of tired and hassled outpatients waiting for their turn in the small windowless rooms beyond the nurse’s station, and then he gestured to the door. Marian stared hard at him and finally rose, squared her shoulders and followed him past the receptionist who was busy with the computer keyboard again.

Without a word, he stopped in front of a door, gripped the handle and pushed in on a brightly lit room that boasted a bookshelf chock-full of medical texts. A single watercolour print broke up the plainness of the walls and three chairs were parked in front of an examination table. The smell of antiseptic had returned. Daphne sat on the edge of one of the chairs. She stared at tightly laced hands. Tears dripped from her eyes and the curtain of hair was pushed back and tucked behind her ears.

Daphne? What is it, dear? Marian swiftly moved to the chair next to her daughter and her gut wrenched.

Please, would everyone have a seat? We have a lot of ground to cover and little…

I told you I didn’t do it. Daphne lifted accusing eyes to her mother. The rage there forced Marian back into her seat and for once in her life she didn’t feel so certain about anything. But you wouldn’t believe me. You didn’t trust me.

Daphne. Please… Dr. Le Duke flipped a switch on a wall mounted X-ray light. Until that moment, neither parent had noticed the bundle of X-rays that the doctor clutched in a steady hand. Wendy—the ultrasound technician—called my office as soon as she completed the first round of ultrasounds. She said it was urgent so I came over to see what she had. When I saw the ultrasound results, I had her take a set of X-rays as well. He clipped the pictures to the light board and pointed out the small mass that was Daphne’s reproductive organs. It doesn’t show as much as I’d like, but I’ve booked Daphne for a CAT scan for tomorrow morning. We’ll know a whole lot more after that.

Marian looked at him sharply, only too well-aware of the long waiting lists for patients who needed to have that procedure done. Is it that serious?

I’m afraid so. Taking the back of his pen, Dr. Le Duke drew an imaginary circle around the organ. You see this mass? It’s a tumour. Daphne has a tumour approximately the size of a baseball. From the looks of the ultrasound, she also has quite a large deposit of cysts. We’re going to need to remove one ovary and a large portion of her uterus. I’ve contacted a specialist and we have the surgery scheduled to take place immediately after the CAT scan. We don’t want to take the chance that the tumour might rupture. If it’s malignant—and we won’t know until a biopsy is done—well, let’s just say we don’t want that to happen. Daphne will stay here for the night so we can keep an eye on her. She’s a very lucky young lady. If it hadn’t been for the camp physical, this might not have been caught in time. She could have had some serious struggles ahead.

Dr. Le Duke wore an uncomfortable expression on his face and quickly dropped his stare to the files on his desk. Perhaps you’d like a few moments alone together. I’ll be just outside. He clipped his pen to the pocket of his lab coat and retreated through the door.

Marian stared at the tumour taunting her from its place on the wall. Her daughter hadn’t lied. Her daughter was sick. And she had failed her. Choking, she tore her eyes from the offensive mass. Oh Daphne! I’m so sor—

Don’t! Daphne closed her eyes and balled her hands into tight fists. Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I told you! She hissed the words. Marian reached a hand out to her and Daphne batted it away. Don’t touch me! She lowered her voice. Don’t ever touch me again.

Marian watched as her daughter rose stiffly and yanked the door wide open on the startled physician. Shoving past the man, Daphne stomped down the hall to the exit door, punched the crash bar and stepped into the stairwell.

I’ll go talk to her.

Phillip’s low, gentle tones broke into Marian’s shock and she began to shake. I failed her, Phil. I accused her and I failed her. She watched her husband pursue their daughter, knowing he hadn’t heard her whispered confession.

Chapter Three

he poor kid. So young. She has no idea how tough this is going to be on her."

The anesthesiologist muttered from under his mask as he watched the condensation collecting in the endotracheal tube in the mouth of the fifteen-year-old patient. The steady pulsations of the ventilator kept rhythm with his words.

Dr. Tracy Sutton, reproductive specialist and surgeon, looked up from her task and nodded. She had three children of her own. She knew the joys and struggles of carrying and bearing a child. But this girl would never have that pleasure. Masses of cysts and one very large tumour had seen to that. The biopsy results revealed that the tumour was benign, but even still, it was firmly entrenched against two-thirds of the girl’s uterus and cysts had filled a fallopian tube and gathered across the surface of one ovary.

For the sake of insurance, it all had to be removed except for the remaining one third of the uterus and one ovary. At least she would have that left. The uterus was made to expand. Perhaps she still might, with careful monitoring and a cesarean section, have a child. Maybe. Swallowing her feelings, she returned