Recluse Island

Chapter 26

November 2013

Rebecca O'Sullivan was twenty-eight when her son Ewan was born. She was the same age when he died. Dr. MacMahon had assured Rebecca she had done nothing wrong, that in rare instances these things happened. The diagnosis she was given was SIDS or sudden infant death syndrome. Suddenly certainly summed it up.

It was late February 2008, as usual Rebecca had woken early. She needed to feed and change Ewan and liked to spend some time with him before having to drop him off at Dot's Darlings before work. He was four months old.

When she had walked over to his crib to pick him up, she knew instantly something was wrong. He was cold to the touch and was lying still as a statue. When she lifted him in her arms his body was limp. She pressed her ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat but heard only silence, she placed two fingers beneath his nose to check for the presence of breaths and again felt nothing.

At that point Rebecca flew into a full-blown panic screaming for her husband Robin to wake up and dashing out of their quarters not caring she didn't have a pass to explain her presence in the compound after hours. She ran through the narrow halls turning left then right then left again until she reached the Trinity Clinic. The whole way her mind was racing, willing her feet to go faster praying her baby would be okay, wondering why this had happened? She didn't pass anyone on her way which after the fact she would recall being odd as Ra Ra Guards always patrolled the compound during the night. It had taken her at least ten minutes to get there without the trams running.

She rushed in continuing her tirade, Maureen Townsend, then in her mid-thirties with much longer hair pulled back in a plait and resting over her right shoulder had been on duty that night. She quickly rose from behind the triage station and took Ewan from Rebecca's arms and into the private examination room. Dr. MacMahon arrived shortly thereafter, having heard Rebecca's screams. It was when he entered the room, and Rebecca saw the look that came over his face when he spotted Ewan that she knew there would be no chance he could be saved.

Maureen had sat Rebecca on a wooden chair in the corner. She was shaking so Maureen wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and told her she was going to make her some tea.

Dr. MacMahon knelt before Rebecca and took one of her hands in both of his as he calmly explained what had happened to Ewan. Even though Rebecca knew it wasn't her fault, that there was nothing she could do her heart wouldn't accept this. Even months after that dreadful day, years after she continued to replay the events in her head like a wild roller coaster she couldn't seem to get off.

What if she had woken in the middle of the night? Would she have been able to save him then? What if the trams had been running? If she got him to the clinic faster, could they have restarted his heart? What if the crib had been positioned closer to their bed? Would she have heard the moment he stopped breathing? Rebecca had shared all these musings with Dr. MacMahon, and he continued to assure her that the result would be the same. Rebecca didn't want to believe this. How could she accept the death of her son had no explanation? That he just "suddenly" died, and it was no one's fault. Someone was at fault. And Rebecca had decided that someone was Ralph Rafanoli.

It made perfect sense to her. If not for Rafanoli she wouldn't be living underground in a place with poorly circulated air and cramped quarters. They lacked up to date medical technology and resources because it was not necessary to provide the people of the compound with good healthcare. They were supposed to be grateful there was a clinic at all. And without Rafanoli she would not have been so exhausted from working such long hours and as a result wouldn't have slept so deeply, allowing her son to die as she peacefully dreamed.