An Unusual Midwife

Book 5: Medical Romances

by Gill Sanderson

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Medical Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

Being a male midwife is an unusual career choice for an Ex-army officer. But Chris McAlpine has chosen it - and he is good at it. At first his new boss, Joy Taylor, is suspicious of  Chris. But in time she recognises his dedication to the job and admires his organisational skills as well. In spite of herself, she finds that she is in love with the man. Chris feels the same way. But he knows he has to tell Joy - because of a wound while on active service, he can never father children. And Joy wants children. But they decide to stay together and see how things work out. Then the unimaginable happen and suddenly Joy hates Chris. It takes all his military skills - and some help from his father - for Chris to put things right.

Release date: June 12, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 143

Sample

Chapter One

CHRIS MCALPINE stood– a tall, white-clad figure in the door of number three low-dependency room, his face expressionless. In the room he could see Henry Trust, the obstetrics and gynaecology senior house officer, looking down at the panting woman on the delivery bed.

‘Everything seems to be all right so far, Mrs Price,’ Henry said indifferently. ‘There’ll be another midwife along in a minute. Sorry, but this one’s a man.’

‘You’re a man, aren’t you?’ Mrs Price gasped. ‘I don’t mind what he is so long as he can help me.’

‘Well, of course, but I am a doctor,’ said Henry. ‘There is a difference.’

Chris coughed and entered the room. He didn’t want Henry to think he’d overheard. What Henry Trust thought or said no longer bothered him—the man was a mediocre doctor and a poor handler of people. But Chris had to work with him, so it was in the interests of their patients that he kept communications open.

Henry looked startled as Chris came in. He mumbled something about perhaps seeing him later and left promptly. Chris wasn’t interested; he had a patient to see to.

‘Hi, Mrs.Price, I’m Chris McAlpine. Call me Chris. D’you mind if I call you Emma?’ He beamed down at the straining figure below him.

‘Call me what you like,’ she said, ‘just so long as we can get on with this.’

‘Be right with you, Emma.’

He turned to the male figure standing uncertainly by the wall, offered his hand to shake. ‘Joe Price, isn’t it? I know this is a tough time for the husband as well as the wife, but I’m here to help you both through this. And everything seems to be going well, Joe.’

Chris always made a point of knowing the first names of his patient and her partner before he entered the delivery room.

‘It’s taking a long time,’ said Joe. ‘I didn’t think it would be … like this.’

Chris knew this was Emma and Joe’s first baby. Even after films, discussions, all the attendance at the antenatal clinic, the actual physical details sometimes came as a shock.

‘It’ll soon be over,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Now, I’ll just check Emma and then we can have a chat if you like.’

He turned to Emma, snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. At handover he had received the early labour record and had been told that Emma Price was having regular contractions and was already on the monitor. He still checked everything himself, then glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Half ten at night, Emma. D’you think you’ll have this baby today or tomorrow?’

‘Today would be best. I’m getting tired… ooh! That one hurt.’

Chris passed Emma the mouthpiece of the Entonox, the gas and air pain relieving mixture. ‘Take a breath of this. It’ll make things easier.’

Emma did as she was told, and her tense body relaxed. ‘Should we have the doctor back?’ an anxious voice said from behind him. ‘I don’t want her suffering more than is necessary. What about one of those… epidurals, are they called?’

‘I don’t think it’s necessary quite yet, Joe,’ he said. ‘But if it is, don’t worry, I’ll call.’

Then something about Joe’s voice made him turn. The man’s face was pale and showed the sheen of sweat. ‘It’s very warm in here,’ Chris said. ‘Why don’t you go for a walk down the corridor, perhaps get a breath of fresh air? Nothing’s going to happen for a while and you’ll feel better.’

‘Yes, you go for a walk, Joe,’ came Emma’s voice, ‘then you can come back and hold my hand.’ Joe thought a minute and then nodded and left.

‘He’s always been a bit queasy,’ Emma whispered to Chris. ‘But really he’s excited and he’s looking forward to the baby as much as I am.’ She thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Well, not quite as much. Ooh!’

‘You’re both doing fine,’ said Chris.

Things progressed, though perhaps not quite as quickly as Emma wanted. Joe came back looking distinctly better and held her hand. He seemed calmer now.

Chris knew that some couples needed to be constantly reminded of the midwife’s presence, they felt lost without him. But now that Emma and Joe seemed quite self- contained, Chris would keep in the background for a while.

It was well past midnight and for a while Emma seemed to be tiring. Chris glanced quickly at the monitor. The baby was still doing well. Then suddenly Emma rallied. ‘I’ve just got to push,’ she said. ‘I can’t help it.’

Chris made a quick examination of the cervix. ‘You’re nearly fully dilated,’ he said. ‘Not long now, but pant instead of pushing.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘You can do it.’ Then he rang for assistance. There were always at least two present for delivery.

Tricia Patton, a trainee midwife, answered his call. Chris hadn’t worked with her before but knew she had been with the unit for a month now—longer than he had. She was a tall, pleasant girl, at twenty-five or -six perhaps a bit older than many of the other assistants. Chris was pleased to see how she came and introduced herself to the parents-to-be—he knew it calmed people.

Now it was time for Emma to push. Chris could tell that the effort was tiring her but, red-faced and desperate, she did just what he told her. ‘You’re doing fine, Emma,’ he said. ‘Come on, not long now, you’re going to have a baby!’ His enthusiasm was contagious. He caught Tricia smiling at him, and managed to wink at her.

But this baby just wouldn’t be born. And it was so close. Chris decided to perform an episiotomy. He motioned Tricia to go to Emma’s head, to talk to her loudly as he administered a local anaesthetic and made a short cut in the perineum. He knew Emma shouldn’t feel any pain, but quite often the sound of the scissors’ snip upset the patient. Then, at Chris’s suggestion, Tricia got a mirror and showed the tired mum the baby’s head emerging.

‘Joe, our baby! I can see its head!’ Emma’s cry was one of half pain, half excitement. Then baby Price was born. First the head crowned. Quickly, Chris checked that the cord wasn’t around the neck. Then, as Emma panted, one shoulder and then the rest of the tiny body slithered out. Chris let Tricia take the baby, quickly wrap her and place her for a moment between her mother’s breasts. Then he and Tricia stood back and waved Joe over so he, too, could see his new child.

Chris noticed the silver of tears in the corners of the new father’s eyes. It wasn’t an unusual reaction in the fathers of first-born babies—or, indeed, of others.

‘I love this bit,’ Chris said. ‘It feels like a job well done.’ He and Tricia let mother, child, and father have a couple of minutes together, then they asked Joe to stand back so they could finish the rest of the processes to ensure that all was and would be well. The baby had to be assessed on the Apgar scale—given an assessment of heart rate, breathing, skin colour, muscle tone and reflex response. Three bands naming and identifying her were snapped onto her tiny limbs. This also was the time to stitch the perineum.

Just at this moment Henry Trust decided to drop in. ‘Everything all right, Midwife?’ he asked Chris.

‘Chris here has been marvellous,’ Emma snapped. ‘He’s made it all so easy for me. This hospital is lucky to have him.’

This didn’t seem to be the news that Henry wanted to hear. ‘Well, call me if necessary,’ he said, and walked out again.

‘He didn’t even ask to look at the baby,’ Joe said, amazed at the fact that anyone could not want to see his new child.

‘Well, he’s a very busy man,’ Chris lied. ‘Now, you’re all finished here, Emma. I’ll arrange for you to be taken to the postnatal ward. They’ve been expecting you and baby for a while. Isn’t she gorgeous?’

‘I’ve worked with other midwives, but they don’t seem to feel it as much as you,’ Tricia said. ‘You were really, well, enjoying yourself there weren’t you? It meant a lot to you.’

‘Not as much as it meant to Emma and Joe,’ Chris said. ‘But I think being a midwife is more than a job. It’s a privilege.’

Tricia thought for a minute. ‘I suppose it is,’ she said, ‘but you’re the first person who has said that to me.’

‘How d’you know when to perform an episiotomy and when not to?’ Tricia asked Chris as they walked down the corridor towards the midwives’ station.’

He thought carefully before answering. He regarded it as part of his job to pass on what knowledge he could. While he’d been training there had been too many midwives who’d thought that students learned just by observing. They had seemed to be unwilling to share their hard-earned knowledge. Chris believed this was wrong.

‘You perform an episiotomy to avoid a tear in the perineum,’ he said. ‘I know you know that. A clean cut is easier to suture than a tear. If you see the skin thinning so much when the baby’s head is pushing against it that you think it might tear, then you must cut. You saw that Emma’s skin was stretched, white, there was no elasticity left in it. And the baby had been waiting to be born a little too long—a few more minutes and she might have been in distress. The next birth you help with, ask if you can look at the perineum and try to contrast the skin there with what you’ve just seen. I’m afraid experience is the only way of learning.’

‘I see,’ said Tricia.

They reached the midwives’ station and both glanced at the whiteboard that held details of who was working where. Chris marked up the fact that Emma Price and her baby had been sent to the postnatal ward, and were no longer their responsibility.

‘So you’re enjoying working as a midwife?’ Chris asked. ‘It’s just that some people are fine when they do the theory at college—but when they see the real thing, they aren’t so sure.’

Tricia smiled. ‘I’ve enjoyed every minute here,’ she said. ‘This is what I want to do. Before this I worked in a shop and it was terrible. Now, can I fetch you a coffee while you’re writing up your notes?’

‘Please. Strong, black, no sugar.’

He knew that note keeping was a pain but had to be done at once, so he finished his report and then sipped the coffee Tricia had brought. It was just as he liked it.

At present neither of them were needed—babies came into the world unpredictably, but there were none on the way right now. So they had time to chat. On the other side of the room a midwife curled up in her chair and dozed, trying to catch a couple of minutes rest.

‘Someone said ‘you’ve not been here very long,’ Tricia said cautiously. ‘Just a couple of weeks or so.’

‘That’s right. I trained and worked in London before.’

‘Are you—have you a wife up here?’ With a rush Tricia went on, ‘I asked because you’re not wearing a ring, but if you have a wife, then perhaps both of you would like to come to the hospital barbecue. It’s a week next Saturday, in Dennis Park.’

‘I’m not married, Tricia, never have been, and at the moment have no prospect of being. I saw a poster about the barbecue, it looked interesting.’

Trying to be nonchalant, Tricia went on, ‘Well, there’s a group going from the unit here. Perhaps you’d like to go with me, then? We could meet up with them.’            

‘Sounds like a good idea. But I gather Dennis Park is on the outskirts of town, and I won’t want to drink much, so why don’t you find another three or four pals and I’ll drive all of you? I’ve got a biggish four- wheeler.’ 

Tricia was disappointed, but tried to hide it. ‘That’ll be great,’ she said. ‘I’ll ask around.’

Chris finished his coffee and his notes, stood, and stretched. ‘Think I’ll go for a stroll,’ he said. ‘I need to stretch a bit.’

‘D’you find that working nights gets you down after a while?’ Tricia asked.’

‘Not really, you get used to it.’

But his face darkened ‘as he thought about it. In his past he had often had to work nights. It wasn’t something he liked to think about now. Still … midwifery was different.

The O and G unit was part of the hospital but self-contained. Chris walked along the corridor and passed the other sections, the other wards. He moved silently but quickly. A careful observer might have noticed that he seemed to favour his right leg—there was a very slight limp. But it was almost imperceptible.

After the delivery suite there were the high- and low- dependency postnatal wards. He glanced through the doors, heard the sounds that now meant so much to him—the whispered conversations, the tiny cries of new-born babies. He smiled to himself. He was happy here.

He let himself out of the locked doors of the maternity unit and breathed the fresh air deeply. This was better than London! There was a warm wind from the Yorkshire moors behind him, but he fancied he could also smell the tang of salt from the sea. Yes, he was definitely happy here.

There was a little group of nurses and technicians clustered by a seat on the other side of the path, the glow of cigarette ends telling him what they were doing. No smoking anywhere inside Ransome General Hospital. You had to go out into the grounds. Chris smiled to himself and raised a friendly hand to a couple he recognised. He was glad he didn’t smoke.

For perhaps ten minutes he walked hard across the lawn, passing the car parks and crossing the front of the A and E Department. Then he turned and walked equally quickly back. He would be bleeped if he was needed urgently, but he still didn’t like being away too long from his post. He tapped in the code on the locked door and let himself back in. ‘Anything doing?’ he asked the two dozing staff in the midwives’ station.

Nothing was doing. He went to his locker, took out a textbook to read.

The rest of the shift was quiet. He was called at half past two to help with a birth, just as Tricia had helped him earlier. Then, at five a.m., a taxi arrived, carrying a calm Melanie Coutts and her husband. Melanie had three children already, and knew the drill. ‘Contractions just over fifteen minutes apart,’ she reported to Chris laconically. ‘I knew I wouldn’t get a full night’s sleep tonight.’

Tricia helped Melanie get undressed and into bed, and then Chris came and booked her in. Her heart and blood pressure were recorded, the electronic monitor se. . .