Читать книгу Delivering Love - Fiona McArthur - Страница 8

POPPY felt unsettled all the way home. OK, so Jake was gorgeous. It might be amusing to bait him but it could be dangerous. Stop thinking with your hormones and think of the unit, she urged herself. She’d been crazy to risk alienating him by pushing home birth at him straight off, and then she’d laughed at him. He hadn’t liked that. She giggled and bit her lip. It wasn’t funny. But he was such a stuffed shirt.

It was a shame that what he stuffed in his shirt seemed to start a slow burn in her. Just when she’d thought her libido had been terminally extinguished. And doctors were definitely off the menu.

* * *

The next afternoon, Poppy arrived on the ward to start her shift. She barely had time to put her bag down before being hailed from the birthing room to assist.

Jake was the first person she saw as she entered the room and she instinctively bit back her smile. Strange how there still seemed to be time to notice how broad his shoulders looked in an open-necked white shirt that seemed to go on for ever across his chest. It wasn’t fair that he affected her like this. Her life was fine without a man to complicate it. She frowned and pushed the thoughts away. She’d been through this last night and had decided not to be attracted to him.

Her glance flicked away to rest on the young girl in the final stages of labour. All seemed to be well in hand but she ensured that Dr Gates and the two morning midwives had everything needed before she moved over to the infant resuscitation trolley and Jake.

The paediatrician’s presence meant that something wasn’t right.

She raised her eyebrows in a silent question and he leaned over to speak softly in her ear.

‘Lana is a sixteen-year-old first-time mum, due in ten weeks. She only came in half an hour ago and there was no time to send her off to the base hospital. She had a small antepartum haemorrhage at home and sudden onset of labour. No foetal heart rate found since admission.’

Poppy felt her stomach plummet. ‘It still could have a chance.’ Every midwife’s worst nightmare was a mother left without a baby to take home.

‘I haven’t given up.’ Jake’s quiet words reinforced her sense of denial. She never gave up until the end. They had that much in common. When he continued with, ‘NETS is on standby if the baby looks like it’s going to make it.’ He proved he was prepared to give the baby every chance.

The neonatal evacuation team from Newcastle Hospital flew to country areas with their own portable intensive-care unit, complete with highly trained nursing staff, all equipment and a neonatologist on board to stabilise the baby before transfer.

‘I’ll check the nursery crib.’ She slipped out of the room to turn on the oxygen in the nursery humidicrib, then rolled two hot bunny rugs to lay over the trolley just prior to the baby being born.

When she returned to the unit she could see the tip of the baby’s head as it descended down the birth canal. She arranged the blankets and Jake moved over to stand beside Dr Gates.

‘If we can get a decent heart rate and keep the baby well oxygenated without doing any damage, it has a chance.’

More of the baby’s head showed with each contraction until the tiny flaccid body eased gently into Dr Gates’s large palm.

Poppy winced at the obvious signs of prematurity. Wrinkled, almost transparent skin covered in downy hair. Vernix, the white creamy substance that acted as a barrier cream in the womb, covered her body and the head seemed much larger than the body.

Quickly, Dr Gates clamped and cut the cord to enable Jake to whisk the baby over to the resuscitation trolley.

The ease and speed with which Jake assessed, suctioned, intubated and initiated CPR on the infant was something Poppy had to admire. As she watched those large hands giving cardiac massage to the tiny chest to encourage the little heart to beat, she found herself willing the baby to live. Her mouth was dry as she concentrated on being able to anticipate Jake’s requests.

Barely a word passed between them in that fraught ten minutes. Her throat tightened as she saw the tiny hand clench and unclench as the baby’s heart rate settled into a stable rhythm.

‘Get NETS on the phone and on their way.’ Jake’s quiet voice carried clearly to everyone in the room and Poppy blinked the mist from her eyes. She bit her lip and motioned to one of the morning mid-wives to do as he’d bidden.

‘OK, Poppy, let’s get her in the crib and I’ll bag her until we can get her hooked up to the ventilator.’ He looked up and gave the exhausted mum a quick grin. ‘Congratulations, Lana, she’s a beautiful girl. Bag for a second, please, Poppy.’

He swiftly swapped places with Poppy and she rhythmically squeezed the oxygen into the tiny lungs. Jake steered the awkward trolley against the bed and lifted Lana’s hand to touch it to her baby’s cheek. He raised his own to rest it reassuringly on the mother’s head and said softly but firmly, ‘Baby’s going to have the best care we can give her, and she’s a fighter.’

To take the time to reassure the child’s mother made Jake a special man. Poppy had to admit it. A lot of doctors, including her ex-husband, were so one-tracked they didn’t realise how much of a difference that one touch could make—to give a frightened parent that tiny second of hand contact with their child and create bonds and memories that couldn’t be replaced with a Polaroid picture.

Only then did he allow them to wheel the trolley with its precious burden into the nursery. Away from her mother.

‘The next hour will be a battle while we try to maintain the baby in as stable a condition as we can while we wait for the NETS team to arrive.’

They’d connected the baby to the electric ventilator, and the sound of the rhythmic breathing of the machine seemed to dominate the room. Jake’s voice was low as he found a tiny vein into which to insert the even smaller cannula. Poppy could hardly see the blueness under the skin that showed him where to aim, but he slid it in with ease as she held baby’s arm still.

‘That’s impressive. I have trouble finding a vein in mothers sometimes. Remind me not to complain again when I have those big veins to work with.’

He looked at her under his brows and half smiled. ‘I’ve had lots of practice.’

By the time they had a drip running and the baby fully monitored, they could hear the thump of the helicopter.

Even though she’d seen it all before, it always amazed Poppy how much equipment a helicopter could disgorge when it arrived.

The specialist seemed to be surprised and pleased to see Jake, and even the flight sister was on a firstname basis with him.

Poppy turned away and pulled a face at herself for feeling superfluous. Surprised, she realised she felt vaguely annoyed with Jake and his easy camaraderie with the flight crew. She retreated to the birthing unit to take over from the morning midwife. Lana was tidying herself, preparing to go in the helicopter with her baby.

Soon the thump of the helicopter rotor faded into the distance and Poppy finished restocking the emergency trolley in case it was needed for the next delivery. She slowed her hands as she went over her feelings. All her nerve endings seemed to stand up and wave around whenever Jake was near her. She didn’t even know the guy. Get a grip, girl, she told herself firmly.

Poppy heard Jake being paged for the children’s ward, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then, just when she thought she was safe, he poked his head into the room.

‘Poppy.’

His sudden voice made her jump and she spun around. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and the room seemed suddenly airless. It was just that he’d startled her.

‘Yes, Doctor?’ Her voice sounded remarkably cool and she managed to meet his eyes. The more she saw of him the more jangled she became. It was really starting to be a pain.

‘I’ll drop back later—there’s something I want to discuss with you.’ His head disappeared around the door again.

Poppy leaned shakily back against the bench and let out a ragged breath. What was it with this man? She hugged her stomach. How could he reduce her to this?

She’d make herself a remedy when she finished tonight. An essential oil bath perhaps, with a calming and stabilising blend for her nerves out of Mum’s aromatherapy book.

It should help.

As usual, thinking of her radical, lovable mother lifted her spirits. Although it had only been two years since she’d died, Poppy had taken to heart her mother’s conviction that in spirit she would always be with her, and the ache of loss was bearable.

Maybe Poppy had compensated by immersing herself in her mother’s interests, like aromatherapy and reflexology, and her home was certainly filled with her mother’s beads, plants and chimes. But they fitted so beautifully into midwifery, and just maybe, she admitted wryly, anything that attracted her ex-husband’s contempt had become doubly attractive to Poppy. The guy was a weasel and hated anything unconventional.

She wondered if Jake did, then shook her head. It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t going to get close enough to find out.

Sandy should be around here somewhere, she thought, and found her friend helping the new mums to master the art of breastfeeding. She was in Sheila’s room. Sheila’s eyes showed their delight when she saw Poppy.

‘How are you today, Sheila? Not too tired, I hope?’ Poppy noted the rings around the girl’s eyes but her contentment with her new son was plain to see. ‘Not quite the natural birth you and Luke were planning, was it? Though, I must admit, you do make beautiful babies.’

Sheila smiled dreamily at her son. ‘I’m feeling much better this afternoon, but thanks, Poppy, for looking after us yesterday. You were wonderful. I was so scared of coming into the hospital and how I’d be treated—let alone having a Caesarean. Luke was here when Dr Sheppard came in to see me this morning, and he’s very impressed with him.’ She winked. ‘Dr Sheppard’s quite a hunk.’

‘Yes, he is.’ Poppy felt her face stiffen at the mention of Jake and changed the subject. ‘You and Cade look very contented there. I’ll come back later to see you. Sandy and I are going to have a much-needed cuppa. If you want us, just push the buzzer.’

The two women moved towards the tea room and Poppy grimaced as she saw Sandy watching her. For the last two years her friend had been trying to encourage her to date. Without much success.

‘So, do you think the “hunky” Dr Sheppard is going to fit in here, Poppy? You’re the one who’s had the most to do with him. Day staff said he calls you by your first name already.’ Sandy’s eyes glinted mischievously.

Poppy avoided her eyes. ‘He’s certainly good-looking, but I learnt long ago what that means. At least he’s good at his job.’

‘Good-looking? The guy is devastating. I fancy him myself and I’m ten years too old for him and happily married. You haven’t even hit thirty. Come on, Poppy, when are you going to give another man a chance?’

‘That’s just it, Sandy. Why should I? I dumped my inferiority complexes with my married name. My life is great. Why would I risk that again?’

Maybe she shouldn’t visit the sins of her ex-husband on Jake. Maybe he was trustworthy.

Ha! That small voice inside her went into hysterics. You’ve met him twice! The guy’s charming, but can he be trusted?

‘When Mum died, another “hunk” walked out on me, right when I needed him. Maybe I’d feel more inclined to trust him if he wasn’t so perfect.’

Sandy raised her eyebrows. ‘Yeah, right. So we need him to put a paper bag over his head and get him to chant, “Trust me, trust me.”’ Poppy stifled a giggle at her friend’s imagination.

As if conjured up by their conversation, the sound of slightly off-key whistling preceded Jake’s head as he appeared around the door. Poppy watched his eyes brighten at seeing them and his long lean body followed to prop up the door frame. His dark hair was tousled as if he’d been caught in a wild breeze and the front of his shirt was damp and sticking to him in a fist-sized spot under his collarbone.

Jake looked a different man from the one in the nursery today. Ten years seemed to have dropped off his age. ‘I love kids, even if they are messy. I like the way they run Children’s Ward here—for the kids and not despite them.’ He grinned at them.

Poppy could see he meant what he said. She felt the same about her own ward.

‘Coffee smells good.’ Jake’s voice slid through her defences and Poppy stiffened her shoulders. Sandy could be mother.

‘How do you like it, Dr Sheppard?’ Sandy switched on the jug.

‘Jake, please. I’d settle for any way, except down the front of my shirt like my last drink was given to me. I can see by your badge that you’re Sandy. Is it Sandra or Cassandra?’

‘Cassandra, actually.’ Sandy blushed and Poppy hid her smile as the mature mother of three groped for composure like a sixteen-year-old.

‘White, no sugar, thanks.’

Cynically, Poppy marvelled at the way Jake put Sandy at her ease, drawing the older woman out about her children, obviously interested in all she said. Handsome men usually could. She could remember her ex-husband and all the young mothers sighing over him. Her nose twitched in disgust.

‘I’m going to check the ward.’ Poppy stood abruptly and left the room as if she had something important to do. She didn’t. She heard his voice thanking Sandy for the coffee as she walked away and she knew he’d follow her. She sighed.

The corridor was deserted and as Poppy passed one of the empty rooms she felt his presence as he came up behind her and steered her into it with a hand on her shoulder. He gently shut the door behind them.

Poppy could hear the now familiar thumping in her ears and she tried to slow the rapid rise and fall of her breathing as she turned to face him. She tried for lightness. ‘Did you want to see me, Doctor?’

Jake’s face was calm and Poppy marvelled how difficult she found it to read his mood. He was different again from the man of ten minutes ago. He didn’t look like he was going to chastise her for some fault in her work or even discuss a patient—so why was he here?

‘I want to apologise—for last night. There are reasons, which have nothing to do with you, that may have made me seem unfriendly.’

‘Apology accepted, Dr Sheppard.’ She looked up at him with mischief in her eyes. ‘Be polite next time.’

‘My mother would like you, Poppy. She’s very proper, too.’ He grinned and held out his hand for her to shake.

‘Proper’ was such an old-fashioned word. Poppy hiccuped on a giggle as she thought of herself as being labelled proper. But she supposed he’d only seen her as a neonatal nurse.

Actually, there had been times she’d been labelled a hippie, and a harpy—‘like your mother’. Her husband’s cold contempt still stung after all this time.

She was sure conservative Mrs Sheppard wouldn’t appreciate Poppy’s views or her mother’s past. Poppy couldn’t exactly tell Jake that.

‘Thank you,’ she said politely.

‘To friendship, as long as you don’t try to convince me that having a home birth is a responsible choice for a parent.’

He smiled at her but she could see he really meant what he’d said. She wondered what he’d think about her complementary therapies in the birthing unit. She shrugged. He’d find out.

He added, ‘I have asked you to call me Jake, please.’

‘To friendship, then, Jake.’ She reached out and placed her hand in his, and the difference in hand size made her feel suddenly very feminine. ‘But don’t expect me not to try and change your mind.’ Sensation tingled up her arm. She bit her lip. Friendship with this man would be...difficult!

* * *

By nine o’clock that night everything was quiet on the ward. Poppy was sitting with Sandy, writing patient reports, when the internal paging system suddenly erupted with noise. The medical emergency buzzer. This drew at least one staff member from each ward to assist in the area illuminated on the board.

‘I’ll go, Sandy.’ Poppy jogged quickly down the corridor and her stomach tightened as she saw the initials of the ward involved. Children’s Ward. Maternity was the closest unit and Poppy skidded around the corner and through the door. Like Maternity, Children’s Ward was staffed by only two nurses a shift. They’d need help. She scanned the indicators for the room with the light on and drew a quick breath as she entered.

She could see the child’s eyes were huge and terrified in her pale face. The sister in charge of the ward was supporting the girl and speaking gently, trying to reassure her. The hiss of the oxygen blowing the Ventolin mist into the girl’s lungs dominated the room as the child tried to force her narrowed bronchial tubes to open enough to let the air in.

‘Poppy! Thank God.’ The sister in charge looked up briefly. ‘Amelia was admitted this evening with her asthma, and she’s not responding to the Ventolin this time.’

The junior nurse wheeled the emergency trolley into the room and looked as frightened as the patient.

‘Have you rung Dr Sheppard?’ Poppy could see the little girl becoming more and more sleepy as she tried to lean forward droopily on her thin arms. She felt her nerves tighten as she remembered the words of her intensive care tutor. A sleepy asthmatic is an asthmatic in trouble.

‘Haven’t had time, but Nurse can ring now that you’re here to stay with me.’ The junior hurried to the door. ‘Tell him urgently, please.’

‘I’ll do the trolley part. She knows you. You keep her as calm as possible. Where are her parents?’

‘Her father’s gone home to feed the animals. You’ve got her mother over in Maternity.’ Poppy checked the girl’s armband and realised that this was Sheila’s older child. Heck!

‘She hasn’t an intravenous line in situ?’

‘It leaked into the tissues an hour ago and I paged the resident to resite it, but he’s stuck in Casualty with a chest-pain case. Dr Sheppard’s going to kill me because I didn’t ring him to come back.’

Poppy winced. He probably would, but that was the least of their problems at the moment. ‘I’ll have to cannulate if Jake doesn’t get here soon. How old is she? I need to work out the dosage for the drug.’ She hoped she wouldn’t mess up any veins but it was no use worrying—she had to do it. They’d need adrenalin if the child became much worse. Amelia started to cough, with the bronchospasm in her air passages making the air entry even more difficult.

‘She’s six.’

Poppy drew up the adrenalin and taped the ampoule to the syringe. It was situations like these that the wrong drugs could be accidentally given if they weren’t easily identified. She laid it in an injection tray and assembled the equipment to set up the IV.

Come on, Jake. She knew she was being unreasonable to expect him to appear as soon as he was called. It had probably been only a couple of minutes since the buzzer had gone off. Staff from other wards were arriving and the room seemed crowded with people. Unfortunately, most of them didn’t know what to do.

Poppy could see that the little girl was getting very little air in now and her chest was barely moving. A moment of panic welled up at the thought of her dying, but Poppy squashed it down.

‘She needs IPPV with the mask.’

‘I’ve got it here.’ One of the sisters from Intensive Care arrived and moved to commence intermittent positive pressure to force the lungs to open for the Ventolin and oxygen.

‘Someone grab the automatic blood-pressure machine and we need to know her oxygen saturation, too. Someone else get a clipboard and write down the times and any drugs given.’ Poppy’s voice was controlled and quiet but the response was immediate.

She placed a tourniquet on the child’s arm. She couldn’t even see any veins to aim for as the lack of oxygen had shut down the peripheral circulation to keep as much blood flow to the brain as possible. If she gave the injection into the muscle it could take several vital minutes for it to be picked up and dispersed by the blood to take effect and allow the bronchioles to dilate.

It would have to be intravenous! The thought of Jake’s ability to find the baby’s vein earlier that day strengthened her, and she slid the needle into the largest vein in the bend of Amelia’s arm. The immediate back-flow of blood made her heave a quick sigh of relief as she taped it into position.

‘Not the best place for one but good in an emergency.’ Jake’s voice behind her left shoulder made Poppy sigh in relief. ‘What happened to the other one?’

‘It tissued!’ Poppy turned and moved aside for Jake to get to the little girl.

Jake’s voice was quietly reassuring. ‘Amelia, it’s Dr Sheppard. You’ll be OK. Sweetheart, just try and relax.’ He held his hand out behind him and Poppy placed the tray in his hand. ‘Adrenalin?’ He checked the ampoule and fitted the syringe onto the intravenous port then slowly squeezed in the drug. ‘How much would you have given, Poppy?’

‘Age times two plus eight. About two mils over three minutes, but I haven’t checked it with anyone yet.’

Jake glanced up at her briefly and nodded. ‘Pretty good for a woman who deals with babies.’

He turned back to the little girl. ‘This should ease your breathing in a minute or so, Amelia. Hang in there.’

The girl was barely conscious and the sound of the rhythmic squeezing of air into Amelia’s lungs punctuated the rapid beeping of the monitors connected to the child. She looked worse, if anything, and Poppy was starting to feel cold with dread.

Jake’s face was stone-like, as if he was willing the child to improve, but they both knew that children responded better than adults did to the treatment—if it was received in time.

The next minute dragged. Jake said, ‘Come on, Amelia. Try and cough, sweetheart.’ The girl’s eyelids fluttered and then opened wide in fear. She gave a tiny huff of expelled air and then started to cough. Over the next few minutes her colour improved as she rid herself of some of the extra secretions blocking her lungs.

Poppy sagged against the wall. The crisis was over. Amelia was still a sick little girl and would be transferred to the intensive care unit for careful monitoring, but the immediate danger was over. Poppy met the eyes of the children’s ward sister in relief.

The other woman mouthed her thanks as Poppy hand-signalled that she was leaving. Suddenly she had to get out of there. Poppy knew it was just a delayed reaction to the stress, but the full horror of how close Amelia had come to dying crashed in on her. Jake would go and see Sheila as soon as he could safely leave her daughter’s side. It had been a big day all round and she decided she needed some space to pull her thoughts together.

Sandy was waiting for her when she came back. ‘Poppy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened?’

‘I’m OK. Everything will be all right now. There was a six-year-old with a severe asthma attack. Sheila’s daughter.’

Sandy drew her breath in sharply.

Poppy looked up at her friend. ‘Yeah, it was touch and go for a while there before Jake arrived. I had to cannulate.’ She looked at her hands, saw they were shaking and tucked them behind her back. ‘I’d rather have a problem in labour any day.’

Sandy reached into her pocket. ‘Time out, friend. Have a butterscotch.’ Poppy gave her a watery grin and took the sweet.

‘Thanks. I need a cup of tea, too. How’s the ward?’

By the time they were ready to go home, Poppy had stopped running the scene over in her mind to see if she should have done something differently. As she walked towards her bike she could see a figure that was becoming familiar standing outside the entrance to Casualty. She veered towards him.

‘Jake?’ What are you doing out here?’

He looked up, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Getting some air before I go over and see Amelia’s mother.’

Poppy felt the fear in her throat and forced the words out. ‘Amelia’s all right, isn’t she?’

‘She will be. Rest and Ventolin for the next couple of days should improve her.’ His gaze held hers. ‘You did a terrific job, Poppy. If I’d had to wait another few minutes, putting in the cannula, we may not have been so lucky.’ He hit one fist into his other hand. ‘People don’t realise how dangerous asthma is!’

His tone was forceful with disgust and Poppy couldn’t help thinking of the poor sister who hadn’t told him about resiting the cannula. She had a feeling the sister had copped it. But everyone was human and Poppy felt sorry for her. She sighed.

‘I’m tired. See you, Jake.’ She turned to go and she caught his movement as he pushed himself off the wall to follow her.

‘I’ll walk you to your bike.’

Poppy slanted a look up at him. ‘This is getting to be a habit.’

‘I’ve never liked a woman walking alone at night. It’s not safe. She should have a man to protect her.’

Poppy couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that slipped out. ‘Oh, spare me. I live on my own and walk myself to my bike every time I’m working late. Nothing’s ever happened to me and never will.’

A car passed and she saw the lift of one eyebrow at her comment. ‘My hero,’ she murmured facetiously under her breath, and smiled in the dark as she stopped beside her bike.

‘I heard that.’ He put his hand on her arm and pulled her to face him. ‘I could kiss you if I wanted to and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.’

She looked up at him and gave another gurgle of laughter. ‘Or I could kiss you and you wouldn’t know what hit you.’ She tilted her head and smiled at him. He was so old-fashioned. ‘Goodnight, Jake.’

* * *

Poppy parked her scooter under the carport and sat for a moment with her helmet off. She could feel her smile. Poppy knew she was playing with fire but it had been so long since she’d felt that sort of reaction to a man. It must be too long because she couldn’t remember it. Even with Tyson. She shook her head to get rid of the thought.

Men could turn their emotion on and off like a tap. Why couldn’t women? There’d been undercurrents there she couldn’t help noticing. Her heart felt like a burst water main.

She wasn’t going to become involved with a doctor. Especially not with another one who felt threatened by the true meaning of midwifery. Once had been enough. It had been the topic of the day when Dr Tyson Harvey had left his wife to run off with a consultant’s daughter.

Her first husband had been a smooth talker and too handsome. Just like this guy. When Tyson had wanted something, he’d gazed into her eyes and switched on his charm until she’d bent to his will. She’d tried to transform herself into the type of wife he’d wanted, but she’d always seemed to fail him. She hadn’t even realised she’d failed herself—until he’d left.

Poppy cringed. She wouldn’t set herself up like that again. Ever.