Marriage and Maternity

Book 12: Medical Romances

by Gill Sanderson

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Medical Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

Sister Angel Thwaite's neo-natal unit saves the life of an orphaned baby . To her horror she discovers that the baby's only relation is the baby's uncle, Dr Mike Gilmour has just started work in her hospital's cardiac unit. Mike is the surgeon who has to treat Angel's mother for a cardiac problem and eventually operate on her. He is also her ex-husband. Seven years ago they parted on bad terms.

Release date: July 18, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 147

Sample

Chapter One

THE night shift hadn't started well for Sister Angel Thwaite.

There were five babies in the neonatal unit, enough to keep her reasonably busy. Then came a desperate phone message. ‘Come along to Theatre, meet your consultant there. We've got an urgent Caesarean section. Baby an estimated thirty-four weeks.’ Angel winced. This was going to be hard.

The full horror of the situation only revealed itself as she talked to Linda Patterson, the paediatric consultant.

‘We've no idea who the mother is. She was in a car crash, brought into A and E. Someone noticed the contractions, put her on a monitor. Her waters broke, heart rate and oxygen saturation levels crashed and she turned blue. We think she might have had an amniotic embolism.’

Angel nodded. Amniotic embolisms were very rare, but when they happened they were nearly always fatal. Amniotic fluid was forced into the mother's bloodstream. The mother would die shortly afterwards, and usually the baby, too.

‘How is the baby?’

‘Well, she's still alive.’

They were in a recess to the side of the main operating theatre. Angel had checked the Resuscitaire, the machine they would use to do what they could for the baby once it was born. Until then all they could do was wait and watch the team round the main operating table.

There was something about the green-clad team's demeanour that told her that the news wasn't good.

Suddenly they were in business. A bloody, sticky child was brought over to them.

‘Mother didn't make it,’ a voice said. All attention was now on the baby. It might make it – if they were lucky.

The baby was almost motionless. Angel did an instant Apgar test, assessing colour, heart rate, muscle tone, breathing, and stimulus response. The baby scored four out of ten, not good. She was floppy, blue, there was little respiratory effort. She had suffered severe birth asphyxia. Her dying mother had not been able to give her the oxygen she needed.

Quickly she was sucked out then intubated and ventilated, oxygen being pumped into her system. After a while there seemed to be a positive response. She was less blue.

‘Let's get her back to the unit,’ Linda said.

Once in the unit the baby was quickly weighed – all decisions about feeding, drugs, and oxygen depended on her weight. Then she was put in an incubator, ventilated again, and connected to the full monitoring system.

Angel didn't exactly enjoy the work. This little girl was fighting for her life, you couldn't enjoy that. But technology and scientific knowledge were helping the fight and Angel felt proud that she was helping too.

Now heartbeat, blood pressure, temperature, respiration levels, and oxygen saturation were all being monitored. Linda slid in an UAC line – an umbilical access catheter – through the umbilicus and then the baby was X-rayed to ensure that the tube to her lungs and the line were in place. She was written up for antibiotics and morphine.

‘We really ought to have a signature for permission to give vitamin K,’ Linda said. ‘I need a parent.’

‘The mother's dead and no one knows who or where the father is.’

So Linda gave the vitamin anyway. She couldn't let her charge have a smaller chance because of an administrative problem.

The little girl stabilised. ‘I think she's going to make it,’ Linda said. ‘I didn't have high hopes but now she's got a fighting chance. I know you'll do one-hour observations and with any luck all should be well. I'm going off to bed. You know when and if to ring me?’

‘I know, Linda. I don't think it will be necessary.’

The nurse and the paediatric consultant beamed at each other. It might be late at night but they were happy with what they had done. A good evening's work.

Three hours later Angel was hard at work. There was no end to the paperwork. But no sooner had she started than there was a tap on her door and June Wright, her assistant nurse, peered round. ‘There's a man come to see that new baby — you know, the one whose mother was killed. He says he's a doctor but not for this section.’

The door to the neonatal unit was, of course, locked. No one was allowed in unless they had the code to the door or a good reason for visiting.

‘It's four o'clock in the morning. That baby has seen all the doctors she needs to see. Tell this one to come back later in the day.’

June disappeared, and then reappeared two minutes later. ‘That man's getting very angry, Angel. He says the dead woman was his sister, he's her only relation. He's just joined the hospital — he's the new surgeon in the cardiac unit. If we want to check on him that's fine, but do it quickly. His name's Michael Gilmour.’

‘What was that name?’

June looked surprised at Angel's horrified tone. ‘He says he's Michael Gilmour. Angel, are you all right? You've gone very pale.’

Angel gripped the edge of her desk, looking downwards so that the junior nurse could not see the riot of emotions that must be so clear on her face. ‘I'm a bit tired,’ she gasped after a while. ‘Working nights is never much fun, is it?’

This was an excuse. So far she had been fine. ‘Let's go and see this man, shall we?’ She forced herself to stand and smile at June. Michael Gilmour wasn't such an uncommon name. How she hoped this man would be a stranger!

Rapidly she walked down the corridor, June having difficulty in keeping up with her. This was a nightmare she needed to wake from. If she could. At the ward entrance she peered into the little CCTV screen. The man was there, smiling unpleasantly up at the camera.

He knew he was being watched. And Angel's nightmare was going to continue.

‘Wait till I get to my room,’ she told June, ‘then let him in. Show him the baby; tell him anything he needs to know. Tell him he can't see me — that is, he can't see the sister. It's not … it's not convenient.’

‘Right,’ said June, obviously thinking that something wasn't right.

Angel half ran back to her room. There was no way she could get out of the ward. Perhaps he might see the baby then leave. She was hyperventilating, her chest heaving with the unaccustomed stress. She needed to calm down. He might just go.

After ten minutes she allowed her hope to rise.  Perhaps he had seen the baby and left. Then there was a bang on her door and it flew open, with the man stood outlined there. He was tall, casually dressed in jeans and sweater, with longish dark hair that needed brushing.

For a moment there was silence. Then he said, ‘It's no good hiding. You knew I'd get to talk to you, didn't you?’

She was all right now. The fear had gone, there was only a cold anger. ‘Yes, I guessed you might. And you know the reception you're going to get.’

‘When I asked who was in charge your nurse said it was Angel — the sister. I couldn't believe it so I asked her to describe you.’

‘That nurse could have answered all your questions. Please, sit down. Now you're here there's some paperwork we have to —’

‘Paperwork! I didn't come here to …’

‘I said sit down! I'm in charge of this ward now and doctor or not, if you cause me any trouble I shall have absolutely no hesitation in sending for Security and having you thrown out. You know that, don't you?’

She could tell what an effort it cost him to contain his anger. But somehow he did it, sat in the chair she pointed to. ‘Yes, I'm only too well aware of what you can do. Angel, I —’

‘Angel is the name for my friends. In here I am Sister Thwaite. "Sister" will do if you have to call me anything.’

‘Sister it shall be.’ He appeared to have regained control of his temper. She knew this was when he was most dangerous.

‘Mr Gilmour, first of all may I say how sorry we all are about the death of your sister. I didn't know that …’

She caught herself, she should stick to being professional. ‘I'm sure everything possible was done for her at A and E. If you wish, you could talk to Dr Croll. I gather he was her doctor when she was brought in.’

‘I've already spoken to Dr Croll.’ He pressed his hands to his face, as if he were trying to rub the tiredness away. ‘My sister and I were estranged for all of our lives. Now there's no chance for us ever … I'm sorry, I mustn't burden you with my problems. Tell me about the little girl.’

Angel felt a fleeting touch of pity for him, knew she had to fight it down.

‘Of course. The baby was born by Caesarean section. She's premature, about thirty-four weeks, and presented us with considerable problems as I'm sure you gathered from seeing her. But for the moment the paediatric consultant thinks she's holding her own. Do you know what the baby was to be called?’

‘I've no idea. I haven't seen my sister for fifteen years.’

‘I see. Then you have no idea about her present address, where we might find her husband or partner? Are there any other relatives?’

‘My sister was what they call "of no fixed abode" and there are no other relatives but me. I gather her partner disappeared the moment she told him she was pregnant. If you do find him, tell me. I'd like to come down and break his neck.’

‘I'm sure you would. So you are the baby's only relation to come forward — her guardian. Do you want to come with me to see her?’

‘I have seen her and I'm lost. I'm a cardiac specialist; all babies look the same to me.’

‘She's tiny but she's perfect, a lovely baby,’ Angel said. ‘She is a person Mr Gilmour, she needs love from the minute she's born.’

‘Don't we all?’ he growled.

He looked at her. She reddened under his gaze then fought back. ‘Yes, we all need love. And consideration.’ The anger seethed between them.

Perhaps it was a good thing when June looked in and said, ‘Shall I get coffee?’

‘No,’ said Angel.

‘Yes, please,’ said Mr Gilmour.

They spoke at exactly the same time.

‘Fetch two,’ Angel said reluctantly. ‘Mr Gilmour is helping me with some background queries.’

After a moment's silence, he said, ‘It was a shock finding you here. You were the last person I expected to meet. The last I heard, you were running a nursing station in the mountains of South America.’

‘I was there for four years. Then I came home for good. My father is dead, my mother needs me, and I love this place. This is where my roots are.’ She caught herself. ‘Not that it is any of your business.’

June came back with the coffee, and Angel reached for the forms she knew had to be handed in. ‘You're a surgeon — you know that we have to fill in all these forms. I'll take what details you can give me, and forward them to anyone else who is concerned. We don't want to cause you too much pain. You understand that the police will want to speak to you? This was originally a traffic accident.’

‘I've already made a short statement to them.’

‘Good. The baby is quite premature, and prems always give cause for alarm. She will need to stay here in Intensive Care for a while, and then I suspect a week or two in the postnatal ward. Are you married, Mr Gilmour?’

‘No, I am not married — not now.’ The words were spoken with emphasis.

‘Then I expect that all the arrangements for her post-hospital care will have to be left to you, though we will have to inform Social Services. She will probably need reasonably competent nursing for a few months after she's discharged. As I said, you are her guardian.’

It appeared that this was a new idea to him. ‘Of course,’ he muttered. ‘I'm her only relation. I’m all she's got now. But I don't know how to look after a baby! I'm only here for six months then I'm taking up a post in central London. I hadn't heard from my sister for years when she phoned me last week. I didn't even know she was pregnant. I only knew that she had come to visit me when they rang through a couple of hours ago from A and E. They'd found my name and address in her purse.’

Angel hadn't realised that, and for a moment he had her sympathy. ‘Oh, Mike, that must have been a shock! You never mentioned you had a sister!’ She reached over, touched his arm.

‘We were brought up separately. When I was younger I tried to get to know her, wrote to her, but it never worked.’

Then he looked down at her hand. ‘Sympathy?’ He asked.

‘For anyone who's had a loss.’

‘What about sympathy for anyone who suddenly acquires an unexpected child?’

Before she could answer, June appeared. ‘Sorry, Angel, but if you've a minute I'd like you to look at the monitor for baby George. BP seems just a bit low and –’

‘I'll come at once, June. Will you take Mr Gilmour to see the new admittance again? Then see him out and report back to me. Mr Gilmour, I'll forward your name to all the other concerned parties. I'm afraid there'll be rather a lot of sorting out to do. And could you give us a name for the baby?’

‘A name? I'm to choose a name?’

‘Who else? Apparently you're her only relative. The staff here like babies to have names. It makes their charges more real, like proper human beings.’

‘A name. What should I call it? Perhaps …’

‘She's not an it, Mr Gilmour. She's a she.’

'Of course. My mistake. Very well, you may call her Suzanne.'

‘Suzanne?’ Angel paled, as if she had been struck. Suzanne was her own middle name. He was playing mind games with her.

‘Suzanne sounds a very good name to me. It's honest and reliable and it will go well with Gilmour. Suzanne Gilmour. It's got a ring.’

 He stood to follow June down the corridor. At the door he turned and said, ‘You don't need to worry about the … about Suzanne, Sister. It's come as a shock but she's my responsibility now and I'll do all I can for her.’

Then he was gone.

Angel went to look at baby George, decided that nothing much was wrong but that she would change him. There was comfort in handling the tiny body, following the well-known procedures. This was a part of the job she loved.

But her emotions were in turmoil. Still she could take it, she was tough. Life in South America had taught her that. And other things had made her tough, a small voice reminded her.

  When she had finished she saw June outside the room and beckoned her in. ‘Has Mr Gilmour gone?’ she asked.

‘Not yet. He's standing by the incubator, staring down as if he doesn't know quite what to . . .