Part 27 (1/2)
Lizzie didn't look so sure of that. Her little body was tense, her dark eyes alarmed.
So Dana kept talking as she bathed her, which was likely why she didn't hear the car. When Hugh suddenly appeared at the bathroom door, she gave a start.
”You frightened me. I didn't expect you home. Aren't you supposed to be at your meeting?”
”I was.” Looking pleased, he joined her at the sink as she soaped the baby's hair. Lizzie scrunched up her face. ”What's wrong?” he asked.
”I think she doesn't like being bare,” Dana said.
”That's good. Think it'll last through her teenage years?”
”Not likely.” But she was encouraged by his mood. ”How did it go?”
”I said what I had to say.”
”Did it register?”
”It did. I gave him till Monday to get back to me. Your appointment's at nine, right?” When Dana nodded, he said, ”Mind if I come?”
”Of course not.” Any involvement on his part spoke of feeling for Lizzie. ”You've never met Dr. Woods.” Hugh had done all the research into pediatricians, comparing resumes, recommendations, and group setups, but an emergency had kept him at work on the day Dana interviewed Laura Woods, and when she had showed up at the hospital on the day of Lizzie's birth, Hugh wasn't there.
Dana used a cup to rinse Lizzie's hair. The baby began to cry. ”Shhhhh, sweetie, shhhh. Almost done.” She finished up as quickly as she could. Hugh had a towel open and wrapped the baby in it, talking softly as he carried her into the nursery.
In that instant, Dana felt completely happy. By the time she cleaned the bathroom and followed them to the baby's room, Hugh had Lizzie dressed. The outfit, another gift, was a little dress with flat pleats at the bodice and matching panties. It was white, with tiny pastel flowers.
”She...looks...beautiful,” Dana breathed.
She wasn't the only one who thought so. From the minute they arrived at the medical building, people remarked on Lizzie's looks. A nurse led them to an examining room and checked her height and weight, before Laura arrived, and examined her with the gentlest of hands, all the while asking routine questions. When she was done, she turned to Dana and Hugh. ”Have there been questions about her coloring?”
”Some,” Hugh said. ”We've been offered a wide range of possible explanations.”
”I'm sure,” Laura remarked. ”For now, Lizzie is oblivious to color, but she won't always be. At some point, you may want to talk with other parents of racially mixed children.”
”One half of a pair lives next door. He's been a help.”
The doctor had picked up Lizzie's folder and turned the page. ”This is from the neonatal tests they did when she was born. The results are all normal. Your daughter is fine for PKU, metabolism, hypothyroidism.” She looked up, from Dana to Hugh. ”She does test positive as a carrier of the sickle-cell trait.”
Dana's heart nearly stopped. ”What does that mean?”
”Sickle-cell disease is a red-blood-cell disorder in which normally round red blood cells are sickle-shaped. Because of this shape, the flow of blood in small blood vessels can be impeded. That can cause a low blood count and other problems.”
”Sickle-cell anemia,” Hugh said, his voice heavy.
”Yes. Most of the people affected are of African descent.”
”Lizzie can't be sick,” said Dana. ”She looks too...too robust.”
”Oh, she isn't sick,” the doctor a.s.sured her. ”Carrying the trait has nothing to do with having the disease. She should just know that she is a carrier, when she has children of her own. If the father of her child is also a carrier, their child could have the disease.”
”How did this happen?” Dana asked.
”It's an inherited trait. One in twelve African Americans carry it.”
”That doesn't make me feel better,” Hugh remarked. ”Could she develop the disease?”
”No, but when infants with the disease are identified early and put on antibiotics, they do better. That's why we do the test on newborns.”
Dana was only partly mollified. ”So she inherited this along with her brown skin?”
”It would seem so. One of you carries the trait.”
Dana swallowed hard. ”Without knowing?”
The doctor smiled. ”That's what I'm trying to tell you. Being a carrier of the sickle-cell trait has no impact whatsoever on the health of the carrier. It's simply a risk for the next generation.”
”So, if we a.s.sume I'm the carrier,” Dana went on, ”and if Hugh were of African descent, Lizzie could have had the actual disease.”
”Only if Hugh carried the trait.”
”Can Caucasians carry it?”
”Rarely. When we do see it in Caucasians, a closer look usually reveals a person of African descent in the family tree.”
”We're Anglo-Saxon,” Hugh said. ”Norse, on one side way back.”
Laura looked at Dana. ”You had told me you suspected Lizzie's features to have come through you. The trait goes along with that.”
”Then I do carry it.”
”Yes.”
”No chance it skipped a generation?”
”Not if your daughter has it.”
”Then one of my parents had it, too.”
”Yes.”
Dana glanced at Hugh. ”Think my father would take a test?”
”If he's serious about wanting a relations.h.i.+p,” Hugh said. He faced the doctor. ”What does the test entail?”
”It's a simple blood test. It can be done in any lab. There's one downstairs. a.n.a.lysis of the sample takes a few minutes.”
”I could do it now?” Dana asked, and looked at Hugh. ”How can I ask my father to do it if I don't do it myself first?” She turned to the doctor. ”I'd like to do it, please.” She wanted to know. It would be the very first concrete bit of proof-the first conclusive step in tracing her roots. ”Hugh can stay here with the baby.”