home who need an OK for discharge, and an antenatal—a woman we’re inducing. I want to see how she’s getting on. Then at ten we’ve got a short theatre list—two elective Caesarian sections and a cervical suture to remove. Then lunch, a quick flit round the gynae ward and a clinic this afternoon, then back to the ward to check the section mums and have a cuddle with the babies.’
She glanced up at him in surprise. ‘A cuddle?’
His grin was slow and lazy. ‘Oh, I always try and find time for a cuddle.’
Her pulse unaccountably thumped, and her eyes were drawn to the strong, long-fingered hands that lay linked in his lap. What would it feel like to be cradled by those hands?
Safe.
Her eyes pricked with tears, and she turned away, dropping the notes back into the trolley.
‘Sounds like a busy day. Perhaps we’d better get started.’
It was busy—hectic, even. Her knowledge of obstetrics was scant and almost all theoretical. When William told her to reach into the opened uterus at the second Caesarian section and lift out the tiny, slippery infant, she thought for sure she would drop it.
The midwife standing by quickly took over, lifting the baby over the drapes and showing him to his delighted mother and father before cleaning him up and clamping the cord after William had removed the placenta. His father then held the baby while William checked the uterus for any fragments and closed up, swiftly and efficiently.
Through it all Charlotte stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the wall opposite, and when they wheeled the woman out and went to change she walked into the staff lounge in the theatre suite and dropped into a chair, still stunned.
That baby had felt so—oh, dear God, so tiny, so fragile, so precious in her hands——
‘You’ll learn more, faster, if you watch me instead of the clock,’ a dry voice said from just above her.
She glanced up. He looked serious, angry even, for some reason. She looked away.
The clock?’ she said blankly.
‘Yes—the clock. You were watching it as if you expected it to explode or drop off the wall or something.’
‘I didn’t even see a clock,’ she told him. ‘It was just …’
She felt his anger recede, and he dropped to his haunches in front of her. ‘Was it the operation itself? Did you feel queasy?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it was …’ She struggled to explain her confused feelings. ‘I’ve never taken part in a delivery before. It’s the first time in my life that my hands have been the first to touch another human being. It just—hit me.’
She looked up, meeting those shatteringly blue eyes, and was relieved to see his expression gentle as understanding dawned. His hand covered hers, hard and strong and warm—safe, as she had expected. His voice softened.
‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Your first baby—rather like your first kiss, or the first time you fall in love. No other delivery will be quite so special—the first time you do a straightforward vaginal delivery on your own without me around to take over and interfere will be pretty special, too.’
‘But that very first touch will never happen again,’ she said softly, and his fingers tightened, squeezing her hand in recognition of her tumbled emotions.
‘No. No delivery will ever be quite so significant again.’ He stood up. ‘OK, we’ve got a suture to remove now—a woman with an incompetent cervix who habitually aborts at four months. We’ve managed to keep her going this time, and she’s really excited.’
‘When will she go into labour?’
He laughed. ‘Probably before she leaves the theatre. She’s had the odd twinge in the last few days, so although she’s still not due for a fortnight we thought we’d take it out. It’s not her first full-term delivery—they’ve got a boy of seven—so her pelvic floor won’t hold her up for long, I don’t suppose!’
They scrubbed again, gowned up and went back into the operating-room. The lady was just being wheeled through the doors, her face slightly apprehensive. She smiled when she saw William, and he walked over to her and stood beside her head.
‘OK, Penny?’
‘Bit nervous.’
‘Don’t be. It may be a little uncomfortable—just do your breathing exercises and think of the baby.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ she said with a shaky laugh. ‘I hardly dare.’
‘What? Silly girl, you’ll be fine, and so will the babe.’
‘I wonder what it is?’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve tried so hard not to think about it, just in case …’
‘Well, let’s get the suture out and you’ll soon know the answer, won’t you?’
The nursing staff positioned the woman in the lithotomy stirrups, and then William sat himself down between her legs and held out his hand.
The scrub nurse passed him a speculum liberally smeared with gynacological jelly.
‘This might be a bit chilly,’ he warned the patient, and then deftly inserted it and opened the jaws.
‘Here, Charlotte, can you see the end of the suture?’
She could, just about, by bending down and putting her head right beside his. She felt the slight scrape of his stubble against her cheek, and forced herself to concentrate. At the top of the vagina, right up where the cervix passed through the vaginal wall, she could just make out a little tail of thick silk.
‘It looks fairly inaccessible.’
‘Long instruments,’ he told her, then added with a chuckle, ‘Getting it out’s the easy bit. Getting them in there is much more of a challenge!’
The scrub nurse handed him a pair of forceps. He located them on the free end of the suture and tugged, then, using a pair of special scissors, he wriggled one blade under the knot.
‘Ooo, that hurts,’ the patient said tentatively.
‘Sorry. Just try and relax, Penny, we’re nearly there.’ He closed the handles of the scissors, and Charlotte saw the cervix slowly blossom as he drew out the thick piece of silk. ‘That’s it, all done.’ He checked the cervix again, then withrew the speculum and stood up. ‘OK?’
She smiled shakily. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yup. You can go and have your baby now, but give us time for a quick cup of coffee, eh?’
She didn’t. From the moment the suture was released her cervix was dilating rapidly, and when Charlotte and William went back down to the ward twenty minutes later they heard the squalling cry of a new baby coming from the delivery-room.
‘She can’t have done it that quickly,’ Charlotte said in amazement.
‘Unless we’ve had another admission during the time we were in theatre, she has,’ William said, and stuck his head round the delivery-room door.
‘Penny?’
‘Oh, Mr Parry—she’s a girl. Come and see!’
Charlotte followed him in, to see a tiny, delicate little baby cradled against the woman’s bare breast. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and her husband beside her was fighting with his emotions.
Charlotte didn’t bother.
‘She’s gorgeous,’ she said, her voice choked. ‘Well done.’
William looked startled for a second, then grinned.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said softly, and Charlotte felt like kicking him. Why shouldn’t she share their happiness?
She