11
Alex was called to carry out an emergency caesarean section that afternoon, and as he went through the surgery he was acutely conscious of the responsibility he carried.
The lives of a mother and a baby were in his hands, and he had to stay focused in the moment, noticing every single detail, in order to give them both the best chance of thriving.
As ever, the fastest part would be getting the baby out.
Deftly, he incised the skin, a thin layer of fat, and the fascia, before manually separating the abdominal muscles to expose the abdominal cavity.
After carefully cutting through the peritoneum – the membrane lining the cavity – he could see the womb, which had grown massively during the past nine months.
He already knew that the baby was transverse – lying crossways – and it had been impossible for the woman to birth the child in the usual way.
Feeling his way carefully, he made the incision across the lower part of the womb, keeping to the recommended location about two inches above the pubic bone.
The trick here was to use enough force to get through the uterine tissue without nicking the baby.
Watching carefully as the tissue separated, he stopped at exactly the right moment, barely noticing how the theatre sister was anticipating his every need as well as suctioning the surgical field to keep it visually clear.
In the background he was aware that his anaesthetic colleague was monitoring the lady’s vital signs – ensuring she remained unconscious and pain-free while still maintaining a good heart rate, oxygenation, and blood pressure.
And there was the baby, still encased in its amniotic sac, lying comfortably crosswise and entirely unaware of the trouble it had caused its mother. Piercing the sac, he reached in with both gloved hands to gently but firmly release the child – head first – and bring it out into the world.
A wee girl! He passed her immediately to Sister Marshall, relieved to see the child looked pink and vigorous, then began the laborious process of stitching the woman back together again, layer by layer.
It was always nice to see that baby was out and doing well so early in the process.
Cutting was quick; stitching took forever.
He was vaguely aware that Sister had called in a midwife – one he only vaguely knew – who was now tending to the baby in the corner of the room.
The baby girl had cried straight away, which was always reassuring.
Maintaining his focus and concentration he carefully sutured the woman’s womb, with the double layer closure technique he had been taught in Edinburgh.
He then worked his way outwards, layer by layer, until, finally, he placed the last stitch in the woman’s skin, tied it off, and cut the excess catgut. Done!
He straightened, moving his shoulders to release the tension, then stepped away, allowing Sister to apply a clean dressing and the anaesthetist to begin the process of carefully bringing the lady back to consciousness.
Stripping off his gloves and cotton gown, he placed them into the appropriate bins while simultaneously hearing from the midwife (Midwife McCrea if he was not mistaken) that baby was doing very well indeed.
‘Glad to hear it!’ Relief coursed through him as he left the theatre, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same room used for Mrs Lennon’s procedure earlier in the day. Memories struck him like a punch in the gut. Fenton. Mr Lennon’s bewilderment. Mrs Lennon’s distress . . .
And Maisie. His heart seemed to turn over in his chest as he recalled how she had accepted his comfort, told him her concerns, trusted him. It had been him that she had run to in a last-minute attempt to avoid disaster. Him, and no one else.
And I failed her. He had been unable to avert the tragedy. Mrs Lennon’s baby was gone, and her entire family – her husband, her other children – would feel the effects of it for years to come. Perhaps forever. And Alex could do nothing about any of it.
His theatre shift done, he made a quick visit to the bathroom, then found his feet taking him to A Ward once again. After knocking on the door to the side room, he waited for almost a minute before Sister Campbell came out. ‘How is she?’
‘Awful. Been crying non-stop for hours.’ Her face twisted. ‘Doctor Fenton called.’
‘And?
‘He’s prescribed a sedative.’
‘A sedative? A feckin’sedative?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I know.’
Jesus Christ, the man had some nerve. He wasn’t even going to ask Sister if Fenton had shown any remorse whatsoever, for he knew what the answer would be.
‘Can I do anything?’
Sister shook her head. ‘Her husband is away on home. Apparently Teresa’s sister Carmel is looking after the other children, but she has wee ones of her own to see to. She lives nearby though, so at least that.’
‘Thanks, Sister. I suppose there’s not much any of us can do.’
‘Actually, there is one thing. Can you check on Midwife Canavan? I sent her back to the clinic a wee while ago as she’s been with Mrs Lennon most of the day. I think she’s taking it really hard.’
‘Aye, I will.’ He straightened. ‘I just have to check in with a couple of my patients here first.’
‘Mrs Watson is still struggling with the feeding. Bit worried that her wee one might not be getting enough.’
‘Right-oh,’ he declared, bracing himself to be cheerful. ‘And Sister . . .’
‘Yes?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Thank you.’
* * *
This had to have been one of the longest days she had ever spent. As Maisie threw her used apron into the laundry basket in the nurses’ changing room and reached for her coat and bag, she felt as though she had been here for a week. Thank God it’s home time!
‘Maisie!’ It was Alex, still in his white coat. ‘I wanted to talk to you. I’m only finished. Will you wait for me?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll go to the canteen.’
‘Great.’ He exhaled in what looked like relief, then hurried towards the stairs. Maisie watched him go, grateful to have had his support today. She had friends here already. This was the sort of place where people bonded quickly. You had to.
Arriving in the canteen, Maisie ordered two teas, and bought a couple of slices of wheaten bread at the same time. Alex hadn’t had any lunch either. He must be famished.
She added milk to her tea but left Alex’s untouched, as she hadn’t yet worked out how he liked it.
It was one of the key missions of working in a hospital – finding out and remembering how everyone liked their tea.
Arranging the cups and plates, she added wheaten and a knife to the empty space opposite, checking that she had all she needed at the edge of the table – butter, jam, sugar.
Apparently there were worries that certain foods would have to be rationed – even here in Belfast, so far from the fighting.
Hopefully if that were to happen, it would be short-lived.
The canteen was quiet, with most of the day crew heading for home and the night shift not yet hungry enough for dinner.
If this place was anything like King’s College Hospital in London it would be absolutely packed between six and seven, the current lull a breathing space for the hard-working canteen staff.
There he is! She couldn’t stop her heart from leaping on seeing Alex Lowe, any more than she could stop the sun from rising. Both were entirely out of her control.
And yet somehow she had to guard her heart against him. Because of Gerald being Gerald. Her heart was not whole, and she shouldn’t be taking up with any fella right now.
However, she reminded herself, today was unusual, and so she gave him a small smile as he thanked her for the tea. Sure there was no harm in being friendly.
‘I got us wheaten as well,’ she added. ‘I dunno about you, but I’m starving!’
‘Life saver!’ he declared, already starting to butter his bread.
‘I’ll get you back, I promise.’ The next few minutes were spent on ‘Pass the jam, please’ and ‘Could I have the milk?’, and there was a harmony to it all that Maisie found strangely soothing.
Then Alex took a long sip of tea (milk, no sugar, Maisie noted) and sighed.
‘That was some day!’
‘Aye. How was your afternoon?’
‘Busy. I meant to get down to see you but was flat out. I did call in to the clinic about half an hour ago but couldn’t see you.
’ He picked up his wheaten, now liberally slathered with pale butter and blackberry jam.
She couldn’t help but watch his mouth as he took a bite, his attention entirely on the wheaten, then shook herself out of her momentary stupor.
‘Half an hour ago? Oh, Sister Hanna let me run up to see Mrs Lennon again. Sister seemed to realise I was upset – talked to me about how the job can be hard sometimes but we all look out for each other – that sort of thing. She was really nice.’
‘So no trouble from Fenton then?’
‘Not so far. And maybe it would be all right even if he did say something.’
‘I’m relieved to hear that.’ He sent her a keen glance. ‘How was Mrs Lennon?’
‘Not good. Still very tearful. Blaming herself.’
‘I was up earlier and Sister told me the same. Poor woman.’
‘Aye, God love her.’
His grey eyes were on hers now, and once more Maisie felt that strange sensation she’d felt a couple of times before – a kind of deep connection.
It was nothing like her adoration of Gerald, nor was it admiration in the usual sense, such as she’d felt for clever or skilled men and women she’d encountered through work.
This was the oddest thing – a sort of knowing.
She felt that she knew Alex already – even though she had met him for the first time so recently.
‘How are you?’