She sits on the hospital bed, legs drawn up, and repeats irritably, I dont need him. Im refusing him. All I want is Andrew, and he told me he doesnt want a child. So I dont need this one either. Do whatever you like with him I dont care.
Sweetheart, abandoning your own child is barbaric. Even animals wouldnt do that, says the matron of the ward.
Who cares what animals do? Discharge me now, or Ill make a scene youll never forget, the new mother yells, her voice shaking with fury.
You fool, dear, have mercy on yourself, the matron sighs, shaking her head. Her experience tells her that medicine cant help here.
A week ago they transferred her from the maternity unit to the childrens ward. She is a flamboyant, quarrelsome young woman who flatly refuses to breastfeed her baby, no matter how often shes urged. She agrees only to pump milk, but even that she cant manage because theres nowhere for her to go.
The babys attending doctor, a junior nurse named Megan, fights a losing battle with the mother. The girl throws endless tantrums. Megan tries to explain how dangerous this is for the infant, and the mother threatens to run away. A flustered Megan summons the matron, who spends a long, heated hour trying to reason with the irrational mother. The woman insists she must be with her boyfriend, claiming he will leave her if she doesnt.
The matron refuses to give up. After years of work she has seen many mothers like this. She can keep the girl in the ward for another three days, hoping she will calm down and think. The moment the threeday limit is mentioned, the mother erupts.
Are you mad? Andrew is already angry with me because of this damned baby, and youre tossing another stone at me. If I dont go south with him, hell take Katya, she sobs, accusing everyone of being stupid and saying Katya only wants to take her boyfriend away. She needed the baby solely because she hoped it would force a marriage.
The matron sighs again, orders a dose of valerian, and heads for the door. The resident doctor, who has kept quiet all this time, follows.
In the corridor she pauses and asks softly, Do you really think a child will be alright with a mother like that?
Darling, the matron replies, what can we do? Otherwise theyll send him to a baby home and then an orphanage. At least both families have decent backgrounds. Maybe we should talk to the grandparents? Its their first grandchild after all, and the boys a handsome lad. Find out their addresses; I need to speak with them.
The mother bolts out the same day. The matron phones the grandparents. The young mans family refuses any conversation.
Two days later the girls fathera grim, unapproachable manarrives to collect his daughters belongings. The matron tries to negotiate, offering to let him see the baby. He replies that he isnt interested, says his daughter will sign a refusal form and send it through his driver. The matron tells him that wont do; the daughter must sign herself, otherwise the rules are broken and trouble will follow. The man stiffens, his bureaucratic fear surfacing, and retreats, promising to send his wife to handle everything.
The next day a petite, pallid woman arrives. She perches on the edge of a chair and bursts into tears, muttering about a tragedy. She explains that the boys parents have whisked him abroad; they are wealthy and have big plans, and now this awful mess has occurred. Her own daughter cries constantly, shouting that she hates the baby and intends to travel abroad to get him. She screams that she will be with Andrew, even if the whole world burns.
The matron sighs, suggests the woman look at the baby hoping some grandmotherly affection awakens. A flicker of feeling appears, but only makes things worse. The woman clutches a fresh handkerchief and weeps louder.
The matron merely mutters, Oh dear, and orders a nurse to give the woman more valerian, complaining that such melodrama will soon drain the wards supply of calming medication.
She rushes to the chief consultant, explains everything, and states she intends to keep the infant in the ward for now. The chief, once a respected paediatrician, smiles at the chubby baby and asks what the boy is being fed. A little bundle of joy, he jokes, coining the nickname Donut for the plump infant.
Donuts stay stretches over several months. The staff keep urging the mother to visit. She comes occasionally, even playing with him, claiming shes saving money for a ticket once she pins down where her boyfriend is. With nothing else to do, she keeps returning, seemingly getting used to the baby.
He responds to her affection, growing familiar with her. Her mother also visits, doting on the child but always leaving in tears, apologising for her daughters obsession with her boyfriend, calling it madness rather than love. The matron remarks that its not love, but lust.
Despite the visits, no one signs any paperwork to take the baby home. The matron decides to have a serious talk, warning that the child is ill and in critical condition. Everyone worries; Megan, whenever she can, rushes to his bedside. Donut lies sweaty, his damp hair clinging to his forehead.
He loses weight and grows frail, and Megan carries him constantly, muttering that hes no longer a donut but a pancake. Yet after a few days he regains weight, returning to his plump, beloved self the wards favourite. He especially delights Megan, who wears bright coral beads; he reaches for them, bites them, and bursts into delighted giggles. Both are happy with the game.
One day the mother discovers that her boyfriend has married someone else. She erupts, shouting that the whole world is conspiring to keep them apart, that she hates everyone, especially the baby. If he didnt exist, Id be with Andrew now and wed be happy. I dont want to see this child any longer. She files a refusal form, hands it to the chief, and walks away without a word.
The chief summons the matron. The matron returns, stern and angry, announcing, Its done. Shes signed the refusal. The chief orders us to process the paperwork for a baby home. What else can we do? Well finish it.
Megan breaks down in tears. The matron sits at her desk, removes her glasses and rubs them repeatedly, muttering to herself. Everyone knows that when the matron rubs her glasses, shes nervous. At times, when emotions overwhelm her, she even rubs her white coat, trying to hide her tears a rare sight for a woman usually so stern.
In the meantime Donut plays happily in his cot. A nurse pops in, and he squeals with joy whenever anyone enters. Suddenly he freezes, as if listening intently, then goes silent.
The nurse, who has been with him all day, checks on him. He looks at her, his tiny eyes reflecting something unspoken. She cant explain what she sees, but a lump forms in her throat and tears roll down her cheeks.
She later learns that his mother signed the refusal at that exact moment. She tells the matron, who snaps, Stop making up stories. Everyone gets carried away, then they start a mess.
These are just silly tales; babies know nothing of superstition. Abandoned children sense that theyve been rejected, whether by angels whispering sorrow or by their own feeling. They try to become invisible, not to trouble anyone. Its as if they know the world will soon try to hide them away in grey, dull institutions. They become quiet and unnoticed youre not needed by anyone, the world seems to say.
It doesnt matter whether youre hungry or your forehead is hot. No one will read you a bedtime story or tuck a blanket over you. The world ignores you. Wise abandoned children understand this, their puppylike gaze full of hopelessness. A merciless world bestows gifts on some and strips everything from others. The poor child spends years trying to understand why they were rejected, what they did wrong, what they could have changed.
There are no answers. An indifferent world turned its back on you without thought. Thats how it is. Youre not to blame. But you havent realised this yet, so youll suffer, my innocent child, suffering for others cruelty and mistakes, paying for the indifference and selfishness of others.
Yet there is hope. Hope that luck will smile, that a miracle will draw the worlds attention to you. In this cold world there is still some good, though scarce. Believe, child, and wait.
Since that day the boy lies quietly in his cot, no longer playing, his smile gone, his eyes fixed solemnly on anyone who looks his way. Megan tries in vain to cheer him up:
Donut, do you want to be held? Come on, lets play with my beads, okay? She reaches out, smiling encouragingly, hoping hell take her hand. He watches her from a distance, unmoving. She steps back, tears welling.
One afternoon she snaps, Were betraying him, you know that, right? First those bastards, now us! He didnt ask to be born into this mess! I hate it! She slumps on the sofa, head resting on her knees, whining softly.
The matron rises from her desk, sits beside her, and gently rubs her shoulders. Dear, I dont know what to do. I feel sorry for Don Donutyou cant imagine how sorry I am. Goodness, what a job this is, she sighs. I wont just sit here and wait, Ill act.
Then stop sitting, the matron snaps. Youre just shouting, soaking my coat. Acting means acting. Dont tell me you plan to adopt himyou wont get him. You live in a flat, no husband, thats two reasons enough. This is just an emotional outburst. Do you know how many Donuts Ive handled in my career? Too many to count, God help me. Lets make a deal: we give you time, and you find a family for him.
Megan throws herself into finding the perfect parents for Donut, pouring genuine passion into the task. Her dedication moves even the senior nurses on the ward. Miraculously, an angel seemed to smile on Donut that day, and the little boy helps in his own way.
He catches a cold, but the matron refuses to discharge him. For once in my life Im almost glad a child gets sick. God forgive me! she jokes.
At last she finds a couple: Laura and Leo, both in their midthirties, childless after years of trying. They have long dreamed of becoming parents, so they decide its time to adopt. Laura is a gentle, elegant woman with a soft smile and a melodious voice. Leo is a solid, fit man, his bearing almost military. Their home is bright and welcoming. Megan sighs with relief; they must like the baby, and they agree to visit the hospital.
The matron also impresses them. She whistles when she sees Leo, then quickly composes herself: Excuse me, that was admiration. You dont see a big lad like that every day, she says, then blurts, What was his birth weight, dear?
Sorry, Leo stammers, I didnt catch that Do you need his birth weight for the adoption? Laura laughs, Hell keep mum with his mother forever with those questions.
Its not needed for the adoption, the matron clarifies. You just look a lot like Donut.
Laura opens the door, strides in, and finds Donut asleep. He turns a rosy colour in his sleep, his tiny hands and feet splayed, a single tear glistening in the corner of his eye.
Suddenly he stirs, opens his eyes, and scans the room. He flips his gaze from one adult to another, then fixes on Laura. He frowns, then his eyes widen.
Laura watches him intently, studying every feature. Donut studies her, a hint of caution in his stare. She extends a hand; unexpectedly, he reaches out, clutching her thumb tightly. Everyone laughs, calling him a spry little fellow. Laura and the baby lock eyes, not breaking the connection.
A faint, uncertain smile spreads across Donuts face, then Laura returns the smile and nods gently. He lets out a tiny squeak. The room falls quiet, everyone sensing something tender and important. After a moment, the matron coughs lightly and says, Lets end todays meeting. Youll go home, think it over, decide
We dont need to think, Laura replies calmly, not turning to the matron. Weve already decided.
The matron raises an eyebrow, looks at Leo, who shrugs. Well, yes, I suppose, he says. Weve already agreed we want this child.
Laura beams at Donut and reaches for his hand. He tenses but does not release her thumb. She tries again; his tiny fingers grip even tighter. He keeps his gaze fixed on her, a tense silence filling the room.
Fine, fine, the matron mutters, pull harder if you must; their grasp reflex is strong at this age.
What does that have to do with anything? Laura asks, still not turning away.
Hes simply afraid Ill leave, the matron explains gently. Please let me go now; I have to leave, but Ill definitely return. You have to trust me.
Donut pauses, listening to her lilting voice, then loosens his grip. He breaks into a wide, toothless grin, a single milk tooth flashing, and lets out an excited squeal.
I told you its just a reflex, the matron says, pulling off her glasses and rubbing her coat furiously, muttering under her breath.
