her eyes. ‘I know she was a wonderful woman. God knows, everyone tells me, and I can see it for myself.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous of her. She’s dead, for God’s sake.’
‘I’m not jealous of her, Niall,’ Robina responded quietly, ‘I just can’t live up to her any longer. I will never be good at what she was. I can’t cook, I can’t sew, I’m not good at sports, all I am good at is my job. Please don’t take that away from me.’
But he refused to see what she was so desperately trying to tell him. That night they went to bed, but instead of reaching for each other, they lay stiffly side by side, neither prepared to give an inch. Two days later, she went into labour, losing their baby, a little boy, at 12 weeks. The memory of Robina’s face, tight with fear and pain, still tormented him. She had looked at him, needing him to do something, anything, to stop her losing the baby—but for the second time in his life, he had been powerless to help. The sadness in his wife’s eyes when she had known that there was nothing anyone could do had almost torn him apart. When he had tried to comfort her, she had turned away. Then, a few days later, she had been in ITU with an infection, fighting for her life, and he had been terrified he was about to lose her. Robina’s illness had brought back memories of Mairead and the gut-wrenching weeks and days leading up to his first wife’s death. He hadn’t been able to save Mairead and the thought he was going to lose Robina too had almost driven him mad with fear.
Not once had they spoken about their child or the fact that Robina was probably infertile. They had never shared their grief, or given or taken the slightest amount of comfort from one another, and one way or another their marriage had never recovered. When Robina had come home from hospital she had asked him to move into the spare room, saying that she wanted time and space on her own for a while. After a couple of weeks he had suggested he move back into their bed, but she had shaken her head and asked for more time. He didn’t ask her again and that was the way it had been ever since.
Niall dragged a hand through his hair. It was a mess. And for once in his life, he didn’t have a clue what to do.
Robina had been watching him in silence. He wondered what she was thinking.
‘Our baby would be due in a couple of weeks.’ Robina spoke softly, almost to herself. ‘Just about the anniversary of the day we met. Seeing baby Matthew just now…’ Her voice shook ‘…was so hard.’
The familiar mask he had become too used to seeing slipped for a moment. Right now she looked so vulnerable, so sad, so different from the public persona which was all he ever saw these days. For the first time in months he glimpsed the Robina he had met and fallen in love with. He wanted to gather her into his arms but he was afraid to break the spell. It was the first time she had mentioned the baby and Niall felt a surge of hope. Perhaps this documentary wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Not if it meant they would start talking. He sat in silence, waiting for her to continue, but just then there was a knock and Sally burst into the room.
‘Dr Ferguson, I need you to come and see one of our ladies. I think she might have OHSS.’
Niall was torn. He wanted to comfort his wife, seize the moment when she had opened up to him, but if Sally was right and the patient did have ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome, he needed to see her straight away. Although in the early stages the condition was fairly benign, it was still a potentially life-threatening illness.
Robina also jumped to her feet, the professional mask back on her face.
‘I think you should stay here,’ Niall said firmly. ‘I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I can.’
When Sally and Niall left the room, Robina slumped back down in her chair. Just for a moment there she had been ready to talk to Niall, and it looked as if he had been ready to listen. But the moment had passed, and Robina wondered whether she would find the strength to raise the subject again.
After a working lunch, where Robina and John had a look over the clips they had filmed, Robina went in search of Niall.
‘I have decided to admit our lady with the suspected OHSS,’ Niall told her.
‘Would you mind explaining the condition for our viewers?’ Robina asked. When Niall nodded, Robina signalled to John to start filming.
‘Infertility treatment, although fairly benign,’ Niall said thoughtfully, ‘is not without its risks. We do our best to minimise these, which is why we take blood and scan our patients every couple of days and readjust their treatment protocol as appropriate.’ Although his expression was serious, he looked calm and relaxed. This was his field and he knew it well. ‘Sometimes the hormones we prescribe over-stimulate the ovaries and it can lead to very real complications, which if not treated can lead to the kidneys failing, and even death. It is rare, but something we take very seriously. Thankfully, we have never had a full-blown case, but on average one woman dies every year in the UK from this condition.’
‘I wonder how many women know and understand the risk,’ Robina said quietly.
‘We do tell them—we make a point of it. If we didn’t we’d be negligent,’ Niall replied.
‘Does it ever put anyone off?’
Niall smiled wryly. ‘I think you know the answer to that. And anyway, as long as patients are monitored closely, as most are, the chance of it happening is greatly reduced.’
‘But you had a potential case today,’ Robina persisted. ‘So it does happen.’
Niall narrowed his eyes at her. ‘As I said, it is a risk and one that we manage. I admitted the patient who presented with symptoms of OHSS to the ward this morning, but more because she was anxious. I fully expect her to be discharged tomorrow.’
Robina opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Niall held up a hand.
‘Whatever anyone might think, we always have the health of the mother foremost in our minds. But any pregnancy, whether through IVF or through normal intercourse, carries a risk, however careful the expectant mother or however vigilant those looking after her are. We can’t always guarantee a positive outcome.’
This time he looked directly into her eyes and she knew that he meant his words for her. He lowered his voice. ‘No matter how much we wish we could.’ He leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers, and Robina caught her breath at the intensity in his eyes. For a few moments there was silence, then Niall stood.
‘I will be doing the Strains’ embryo transfer this afternoon,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I understand they are one of the couples who wish to appear on your documentary.’
Hiding the fact that her emotions were all over the place, Robina rifled through her papers and found their name. In total ten couples had agreed to be part of her programme. Most of them already knew her work from television and were keen to do anything to help other couples. One or two of them had even read her Guide to Infertility, the book that had started her new career.
‘Trevor and Christine. They are a lovely couple, I interviewed them yesterday to get their back story. I understand this is their first attempt?’
‘Yes, and I’m optimistic. This time the problem, if you can call it that, lies with Christine’s partner. He has a very low sperm count, so we did a procedure called ICSI. It is where we searched for and selected motile—that is swimming—sperm from Trevor’s semen sample and injected one directly into each of the eggs we retrieved from Christine. She responded well to the drug protocol we prescribed for her, and we managed to remove a good number of eggs. And because we injected the sperm directly into the egg, we managed to fertilise several embryos. You can go into the lab some time if you like to see how it’s done. It involves a high level of expertise and a very steady hand—so no drinking for our embryologists the night before.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, they’ll be here about three for the transfer of their embryo back into the uterus. But I want to make it clear that if they change their mind about you being there, you must respect that. Even if they have given permission before.’
‘Of