stroller by the front and have the baby on my hip, the cane announcing my impairment so I don’t have to.
“Just have a seat.” She closes the heavy wooden door, and I bypass what I know to be the crinkly paper to have a seat in the chair against the wall. “So what brings you here today?”
Just get through it. “I just moved here from Chicago. I had my baby at Prentice and the nurse used the CertaScan … except something happened with the technology and I don’t think it was saved properly.”
“Can you give me your baby’s date of birth?” The click of the computer buttons fills the silence. “All of these are saved in a database…” she says. “Yep, here he is. Jackson Gray?”
“Yes.” I continue. “The thing is, I was told that something happened with his scan and that it wasn’t accurate? Would you mind scanning him again … just for peace of mind?” I add quickly. “Seeing as I can’t verify the information myself.” I give her my very best I’m-blind-and-everyone-is-out-to-get-me look.
“Give me a minute.”
When the door shuts, I shift the baby, who has gone miraculously silent. I hold him a little tighter until he lets out an uncomfortable cry. “Sorry, little man,” I whisper.
The nurse knocks and then enters. She wheels a cart into the room and clicks more buttons. “Alright. Let me just…” Her voice fades and then she asks for the baby’s right foot. I pull off his small sock. She flattens something against his sole and presses a button. “Okay, it’s just scanning. It should bring up your son’s former footprint. Hmm.”
A rush of blood roars through my ears. “What?”
She clicks a few more buttons. I wonder if he’s already in the system, if the child’s name is going to pop up so I’ll know who he is and part of the mystery can be over. “Hold on a minute.” She removes the paddle from his foot and presses it back. “Would you excuse me for a second?”
“Sure.” My entire world shrinks until I feel I might disappear. My voice is a forced whisper. I don’t want to wait even one more second.
The door clicks shut, and I exhale. Validation is coming. I’m certain of it. Once I have the scan, I can prove to Jake, Jess, and the whole world that this child is not my son. I bounce the baby on my knees and calculate what my next move will be once I have proof.
The door opens again, and a new voice speaks. “Hi. I’m Dr. Chen. I hear we might have an issue with our machine?” She taps a few buttons and speaks in a low voice to the nurse.
The machine?
“You see that? There.” She clicks a few buttons. “Same issue.” The doctor stops speaking to the nurse and directs her attention toward me. “I’m so sorry, but we’re having some technical issues,” she explains.
“Do you have another one you could try?” My son’s life depends on it, I want to scream.
“There’s been a recall on this model. Same issue at Prentice. The good news is”—she groans as she leans down to pick something up—“this technology is really only needed for a missing child. But we’ll have the front desk call you as soon as it’s fixed, okay? Or you can try Prentice if they get theirs back sooner.”
Panic slices through my abdomen, a steady, sharp blade. “Do you know of other hospitals in the area who might use the same technology?”
“Just us and Prentice. We’re beta testing, helping them work out the kinks. Sorry we couldn’t be more help.”
“Thanks.” My voice is hollow. The entire exchange takes less than twenty minutes before I am on my way. I locate the elevator and stab the cold, round button. When I step on, I ask if someone could press the lobby. I don’t have proof. Without proof, I don’t have anything.
I call Jess as soon as my feet hit the pavement.
“Where are you? My search was a bust. Every single mother has her baby with her … I just don’t know what to tell you, Bec.”
“The machine is broken.”
She’s silent on the other end of the line. “What do you mean?”
“They tried to scan him, but it didn’t work. Apparently, there’s a recall or something.” Hysteria creeps into my voice, but I tamp it down.
Jess takes a breath. “Okay, don’t panic. Do you want me to drive you to Prentice?”