Читать книгу The Nurse's Special Delivery - Louisa George - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTen and a half months later...
‘ER... I THINK we’re having an alien.’
‘Or a windmill. Look at those arms and legs moving.’
Trying to make out the shapes on the black and white screen was getting easier the further the pregnancy progressed. Today, they could see the baby in its entirety, filling the screen, all the features as clear as day. A stubby nose. Like Michael’s? The bow lips. Mine? The rapid-fire heartbeat filled the room. Wow.
With a mix of sadness and epic excitement Abbie blinked back tears and squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘Oops, it’s pass-the-tissues time. I’m being such a wuss, but I just can’t believe it’s real.’
‘You’ve said that at every scan and every appointment. And a million times every day since the positive test. Not believing it’s real hasn’t stopped you shopping up a storm, though.’ Laughing, Emma patted her swollen belly. ‘Should we find out the gender?’
The sonographer looked up from the scanner screen. ‘You want to know?’
‘No. No.’ It didn’t feel right for some reason. Abbie stared at the screen and convinced herself the images weren’t that clear really. She wasn’t ready to hear she was having a mini-Michael. When she thought about him she wished he were here with her, getting all gooey about their child. He should have been here, holding her hand. Hell, she should have been the pregnant one, not Emma. But life hadn’t granted her all the wishes she’d had and everything was happening out of sync. Suddenly, she felt a little deflated. ‘Let’s leave it as a surprise. Is that okay, Em?’
‘Hey...it’s your baby, after all.’ Emma grinned and Abbie just knew her friend was watching to see the sonographer’s reaction. The story of their baby was pretty unusual; surrogacy wasn’t something they came across every day in little old Queenstown. ‘Anyway, I think I know what sex it is and I bet I’m right. I’m one of those people who knows they’re pregnant before the test shows up positive, and I’m convinced I know the gender because I’m carrying in a particular way. But my lips are sealed.’
‘The main thing,’ Abbie ventured, because this was a question continually on her lips, in her thoughts—and after everything that had happened, who could blame her for having just the odd nugget of panic? ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Absolutely fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Here’s a picture for you both so you can see just how perfect baby is.’ The sonographer smiled. ‘I’ll sort you out a DVD too. Yes, Abbie, baby is doing just fine for thirty-four weeks. And Mum...er...sorry, Emma is doing great too.’
Awkward. But it wasn’t the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
Emma wiped the jelly off her belly and sat up. ‘I feel great. And don’t worry, we get that a lot. Okay, missy, you’d better get back to work, right? Busy day?’
Emma was always so chirpy at these appointments—and every day in between—laughing and joking, but she’d been here before when she was pregnant with Rosie. How was she really feeling, though? Did she feel like the mum this time too? Would she be bereft at handing the baby over? Would she want to keep the baby herself?
‘Abbie?’
‘Oh. Sorry.’ Abbie glanced at the wall clock and pushed back the little, silly anxieties she had—of course Emma was going to hand this baby over. ‘Oh, yes. My lunch break has finished. Gotta dash. See you later. Enjoy the rest of your day off.’
‘I have a few hours before I pick Rosie up from school. Do you want me to get any shopping in for you?’
Abbie gave her friend a hug. ‘No. I’m good, thanks—do you want me to sort dinner out? No—let’s have a quick coffee before we pick her up. Meet in the staff canteen? We can talk shopping and dinner then. Listen to us, we’re like an old couple.’
‘No man’s got a chance.’ Emma laughed again, but there was more than a kernel of truth in her words. ‘No complications. Just how I like it.’
Just how they both liked it, really. Between them they’d had a rough ride where relationships were concerned. One husband dead, the other might as well have been, for all the good he was. After all the heartbreak they’d had, who needed another man?
As Abbie walked down the corridor towards the emergency department and the rest of her shift, she thought about how things had changed. Eight years with one man who’d been her life completely, then three years in the wilderness. But she was fine about it. No man would come close to Michael. She would bring this baby up on her own, in his memory... Or as much on her own as her next-door-neighbour-best-friend-for-life would allow.
As she turned the corner into the department she heard voices.
‘Imagine if someone you loved couldn’t have a baby, and you knew you could. Would you do it? For a friend? A sister? Would you have a baby for someone else? It’s a long nine months, though, isn’t it? What if something went wrong? What if they decided they didn’t want it, what then?’
Another voice in a stage whisper that echoed around the quieter than usual emergency department replied, ‘Honestly, I don’t know how a mother could give her baby away. All those months inside her, kicking, hiccups, little feet under your ribs...you have a bond, y’know? You’re not telling me that you don’t develop a bond. It’s living inside you.’ There was a pause where Abbie imagined the gossipers all shaking their heads. Then... ‘Oh. Er... Hello, Abbie. We...er...hello.’
‘Hi.’ She was standing where she’d frozen to the spot the second she’d heard the subject of their conversation, probably looking like a complete idiot with her mouth open and bright red cheeks. Her hand was still clutching the scan picture. Her heart was raging. Raging with all the things she wanted to tell them, but it was none of their business.
How she’d wanted to feel the kicks and the hiccups, but no pregnancy had ever progressed past fifteen weeks. How many times she’d had IVF. How many times she’d failed. Until she hadn’t had the energy to do it any more and keep on failing.
It’s my baby. Not Emma’s.
Made with my eggs and Michael’s frozen sperm. It’s our baby. Just a different incubator.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been over and over and over these thoughts every day since the minute a grinning, glowing Emma had shown her the pregnancy stick with the positive blue line. She’d loved her friend in that moment more than she’d loved anyone else ever—possibly even more than Michael—for doing something so precious. And she would love this baby as fiercely, no matter what. Finally, she’d have a family—a family of two. Other single parents managed, Emma did, so she would too. Just the two of them in a tight little unit.
And she’d always known she’d be the subject of gossip. How could she not be? Surrogacy wasn’t common and people needed educating, otherwise the stigma would be with her baby for life. She gave them all a smile. ‘If I could do it for someone else, I honestly would. I just can’t even do it for me, which is why Emma’s helping me out. She says to think of her as being the oven, but the bun is made from my ingredients. Does that make sense?’
There was a moment where they all gaped back at her, as open-mouthed as she’d been, and she hoped her message was getting through.
‘Of course, Abbie, it makes perfect sense. Now, back to work everyone.’ Stephanie, Head Nurse of Queenstown ED, and very well respected for her no-nonsense approach, turned to the group, thankfully distracting Abbie from the conversation topic and the need to defend herself. No one could possibly understand what she and Emma were going through—and that was fine.
With a few words from their boss, the subject of Abbie’s baby’s parentage and unconventional conception was closed. For now.
Thank you.
‘Wait, Abbie. There’s a Code Two call, and I want you to go with the helo. Tramper took a bad fall on Ben Lomond.’
‘A medivac? On the helicopter?’ Excitement bubbled in her stomach and she pushed all her baggage to the back of her mind. Four months in and she still couldn’t get over the adrenalin rush of working at the coalface that was emergency medicine. Every day, every second, was different from the last, with no idea of what she might have to deal with next.
‘We’ve got enough staff to cover, so yes. This is your chance to watch and learn what it’s like out in the field.’
‘Sure thing.’ Abbie controlled the fluttering in her chest. ‘Thanks, Steph.’
‘No problem.’ Her boss smiled and said in a voice that everyone would hear, ‘For the record, how you choose to have your child is no one’s business but yours and I think it’s wonderful. Put me down for babysitting duties. Now, out you go.’
It was the beginning of spring, so theoretically Queenstown should have been warming up from the previous long cold months, but there was still a good dusting of snow on the tops of the mountains and a cruel wind whipped across the helipad, liberating Abbie’s unruly mane from the clips and elastic that were supposed to hold it all in place. Really, longer length was theoretically easier to look after but would she get a mum’s bob when the baby came? Her heart thrilled a little at the thought, and she laughed at the image in her head of her being all mumsy with a short, neat, practical bob, at the thought of being a mumsy mummy after so long trying.
She was trying to fix the wayward hair neatly back under control when a chopper’s chugging split the air. No time for vanity.
What am I supposed to do?
She ran through the protocols in her head and hoped she’d remember them under stress. But the Intensive Care Paramedics and crew knew what they were doing; she’d learnt that much over the last few months. She’d met them all and been impressed with every one so far.
Soon enough the chopper door slid open and a man dressed in bright red paramedic dungarees jumped down. Shane, the town’s senior paramedic and old family friend, wrapped her in a hug, said something she couldn’t hear over the chopper blades and bundled her towards the helicopter.
Through the open door she could see more crew. Oh. A new one. He had a shock of dark hair. Celtic colouring, like her late grandad. Irish heritage, maybe? Perfect skin. Blue eyes. Nice mouth. A smattering of stubble, which made him look rugged and a little dangerous.
Back to his eyes—because she wanted to take a second look—they really were quite the brightest of blues, like the Queenstown sky on a crisp winter morning.
Where the hell had that thought come from?
Mr Nice Eyes raised his eyebrows as he met her gaze. Out of nowhere she felt a strange fluttery feeling in her stomach.
A medivac! Exciting! She was moving up in the world!
Shane coughed, nudging her forward, and she drew her eyes away from the new guy. Now...what the hell was she supposed to do?
* * *
With the touchdown being as choppy as a protein shake in a blender, Intensive Care Paramedic Callum Baird’s stomach had been left somewhere ten metres above Queenstown hospital. He breathed in the rush of cold air blasting through the open door.
November. New Zealand spring, apparently, and it was still freezing; as cold as a Scottish winter and windier than the top of Ben Nevis.
A diminutive girl had appeared in the doorway. Her face was almost covered by earmuffs and a bright red woolly hat with huge pompom, plus a matching scarf pulled up over her mouth. All Cal could see was her eyes. A dark penetrating brown that showed her to be at once apprehensive and excited. A common rookie air ambulance reaction. She pulled down her scarf and grinned. ‘Hi, I’m Abbie. Staff nurse in ED. I was told to hitch a ride, see what you do out in the wild.’
‘Er...hello.’ Cal shifted over in the tiny space, glancing over at his companion, Shane, who was leading this shift.
Shane nodded back and smiled at the girl; clearly he knew her and liked her.
‘Where should I sit?’ Her eyes danced around the cabin, her hands moving as she spoke, a vibrancy he hadn’t seen before in anyone.
Shane lumbered up into the chopper, wheezing as he sat down. Poor bugger was just at the back end of the flu and letting everyone know about it. ‘Shift over, Callum, make some room for our guest.’
It was none of Cal’s business, but there was barely enough room in here as it was. Plus they’d have to fit the patient on the gurney and work on him if necessary. ‘Going to be cosy.’
‘It won’t be for long. We can see Ben Lomond from here.’ Abbie shuffled in next to him and buckled her belt. ‘So, be gentle with me, eh?’
He looked at those dancing eyes and couldn’t help smiling at her. ‘First time?’
‘First medivac. Not first time in a chopper. Don’t you know, it’s the only way to travel in Queenstown?’ She bit her lip and explained, ‘There’s a lot of heli-sport here; heli-skiing, heli-hiking, that kind of thing.’
With a lurch they ascended. Helicopters didn’t usually lurch. ‘It’s blowy, that’s for sure.’
‘Coming off the Remarkables. Along with snow, I reckon. There’s a southern blast coming up from Antarctica.’ She nodded and looked away, gripping her hands together. From this angle he could see the fine shape of her jawline and some tiny wrinkles by her eyes. Not as young as he’d first thought, then. Hair sticking out at all angles from under her hat. Long eyelashes. Geez, it was real cosy in here if he was paying attention to her eyelashes.
Kind of cute, too.
He gave himself a mental telling-off. He had no business thinking any woman was cute. Not when he had responsibilities elsewhere.
Still, a bit of window-shopping never harmed anyone...
‘Great view, isn’t it? I wouldn’t live anywhere else on earth.’ Having raised her voice a notch above the chopper blades’ racket, Abbie pointed to the town below them. The deep blue lake stretched out as far as he could see, fringed on one side by the bustling centre of Queenstown. A string of gondolas swung directly beneath them, slowly scaling one of the mountains that framed the town. A zigzag luge was hundreds of feet below, where kids and adults alike risked life and limb—and had a lot of fun in the process—racing on go-karts down curved tracks to the valley. The girl grinned. ‘You’re not from here, right? Have you been on the luge yet?’
‘Nah. But I’ve scooped a kid up from it and taken him to ED. Nasty grazes and a fractured elbow.’
‘Makes you wary, then, does it? The adrenalin capital of the world?’ Her eyes danced again.
If only she knew. Adrenalin was his best friend, and his worst enemy. Before he could answer, the earth started to come up to meet them and the pilot was saying something about a body at two o’clock. Cal scanned the snow, the steep ridge, the jutting rocks and thought he saw something that looked out of place. A flash of blue. Then, yes... ‘He’s over there. I can see him.’
‘Yes. Yes. Watch out, it’s going to be slippery,’ the pilot shouted back, his words barely audible under the chug, chug, chug of the helicopter rotor blades. He’d made a spectacular landing on the only flat bit of mountainside—it took some skill to do that. ‘Got your crampons?’
‘Och, yes. I’ll be fine, no worries.’ If there was one thing Callum Baird knew it was snow. Every kind. The wet, seeping-through-your-clothes kind. The fluffy make-a-decent-snowball kind. And this, the melted and frozen again ice that meant getting a foot grip was challenging. Especially in the sixty-knot winds and poor visibility at the top of Ben Lomond. That last kind of snow was why he was here in the first place. To learn how to make amends, to try to fix things that probably couldn’t be fixed, but to make things better, at least.
He hoped.
Funny, how he’d travelled halfway around the world and found himself on the top of a mountain bearing the same damned name as the place he’d left. Almost as beautiful, too. If the clouds disappeared, and with a bit of spring sunshine it’d be stunning...but he wasn’t here to admire the view.
Bracing against the wind, he jumped from the helicopter then turned and grabbed his paramedic backpack. The crampons slipped on as easily as the memories. He shook the latter off. He was used to doing that. Some days they did as they were told and slunk away, and he managed to get through twenty-four hours before he was drawn back to that fateful night of cold and wet and ice. Other days they hung around him, a sopping, freezing bone-deep helplessness he couldn’t shake. ‘From what I could see, our guy’s up there, to the right—it’s fairly rocky, so we’ll have to do a bit of scrambling. He told Dispatch he’d heard a snap, so we’d best take the scoop with us, too. Hope you enjoy a bit of ice-skating?’
‘Preferably on the flat.’ Abbie assessed the terrain, shook her head, then passed the scoop down. ‘I’m not sure I’d manage a triple Salchow on this hill.’
‘I’m not sure I’d manage a triple Salchow, full stop.’ So, she had a sense of humour. That worked. Especially in conditions like this.
Due to the deteriorating weather, it had been touch and go whether to bring the chopper up here at all, but a man’s life hung, literally, on the edge, so they’d made a call. A good one, as it turned out. The ride had been bumpy, but the wind seemed to be dying down, for now. Which meant hypothermia would be less of an issue for all of them. Two months living in New Zealand and the only thing he could predict about the weather was that it was unpredictable.
‘You got crampons?’
‘Doesn’t every woman carry a pair in her handbag?’ He watched as she delved into her backpack and pulled out a pair of ice shoes, which she fastened like a pro. ‘Ready.’
Although giving him a reassuring smile, she looked frozen through. A tiny waif, with huge eyes and that mess of dark hair that was tumbling from clips in every direction. The huge hi-vis jacket swamped her, and she looked out of her depth on every level.
But determination shone in her eyes.
‘Right. Let’s get to it.’ It was hard going—one step forward, steadying your grip. Another step. The snow had frozen to sheer ice in some places. In others, tufts of grass poked through. The wind pressed them back, the ice halted their steps, so they made it to their patient as quickly as humanly possible.
He was a crumpled heap in bright blue and black walking gear. Alone. Like many walkers here. Starting out on a pleasant day trip, but at least he seemed suitably dressed for the occasion, unlike some Cal came across. Still, even full walking gear didn’t always prevent disaster from striking. You could be perfectly prepared for a night stranded on the mountain, but not for unexpected and complicated fractures, blizzards, nowhere to hide from the biting wind. Frostbite.
A brother lifeless in your arms and there is nothing, nothing you can do but pray. As they neared, Cal did a primary survey. Breathing. Bleeding from his forehead. Bluish lips. Thank God for cell-phone reception, or who knew when he’d have been found. Phoning for help had saved his life.
That was, if they could get him down quickly enough.
The wind might have died a little, but it was still fresh as all hell up here and their guy was shaking. Cold and shock, or worse. Cal remembered to keep his words slow. Enough people had told him they didn’t understand his Scottish accent already. ‘Hello, there. I’m Cal, your knight in shining hi-vis.’
Abbie rolled her eyes. ‘And I’m Abbie. That guy down there is Shane, and we’re going to help get you off the mountain. Now, can you tell us what happened?’
So, she was all about the process. Okay.
‘I’m... Marty... I think I’ve...’ Dazed and shivering, the patient tried to sit up.
‘Whoa. Hold still, mate. Tell me what happened.’ Secondary survey was underway. There was blood on the ground. Which meant consideration had to be made for internal bleeding too. Blood on the floor and five more. Consider thoracic, intra-abdominal, retroperineal, pelvic, long bones.
‘Slipped. Fell down from the ridge. Hit my head, I think, on a rock. Chest... Leg snapped...’ He reached a hand to his right fibula and grimaced. Long bones.
Plus, a head injury—couldn’t rule out neck damage too. ‘So, first things first, we need to put a neck brace on to protect that neck. Steady as you go. Hold still. Stay still, mate.’ Cal slipped the neck brace into place, watching as Marty clenched his fists to counter the pain. Then bent his undamaged knee. At least he could move all his limbs. Good sign.
Cal had a closer look at the forehead wound. ‘Looks pretty deep, needs a few stitches. Luckily, they’re very good at sewing down at Queenstown General.’ He taped a dressing over the wound, noting other minor cuts and grazes that would need attention, when they had more time, and in the warmth of a hospital ward.
Cal felt Marty’s radial pulse. Nothing. Carotid showed a rapid, thready heartbeat. ‘Guessing the systolic pressure is lower than ninety. No radial pulse. I’ll do a quick check. Needs some fluids.’ Needed surgery, actually. Fluids and stabilisation were the best they could do, especially up here on the steep arc of a mountainside with thick black clouds coming in from the west. Cal’s heart rate sped up a little.
Great. A suspected life-threatening injury and the mother of all storms.
Luckily, fighting the odds was what he was good at.
Shane finally made it up the mountain. Breathless and wheezing, he probably shouldn’t have been up here at all. He should have said his chest wasn’t up to it. But Cal kept that thought to himself.
The two-way radio crackled. It was Brian, the pilot. ‘Weather coming in fast. We need to get off this mountain and quick. Over.’
‘Things turn to custard pretty quick round here.’ One minute it was sunny, the next it was a white-out. But they had to make Marty safe before they left. ‘Okay. Let’s have a look at your leg. I’m going to have to cut your salopettes. Okay? Damned shame, because it’s good kit.’
Keeping the patient talking and conscious gave them a better chance, so Cal went with his usual patter. He nodded at Shane, who was assessing the obviously broken leg. The bone had cut through the skin. Needed a splint at least to stabilise it. Needed surgery.
Needed to get off the mountain, and fast.
Again, Marty pushed to sit up. ‘I can’t breathe... I can’t...’
Cal shot a look at Abbie, who’d turned her attention to Marty’s chest. Could be one of a dozen things. He prayed there wasn’t any surgical emphysema. Dodgy lungs in thin air at the top of a mountain were a nasty prospect. ‘I’m going to put a line in your left arm, mate. Give you some fluids to keep you hydrated and something to make you more comfortable.’
‘Left lung clear, but can’t hear much in the right base. You want to check?’
‘Yep. Let me have a go. To check.’ Not wanting to disbelieve her or undermine her, he listened as carefully as he could to the beat-up chest. Suspected right pneumothorax. Great. The odds were starting to turn against them. It was freezing up here; his hands were starting to ache with the cold.
‘Oxygen in situ. Pain relief administered.’
‘Leg splint inflated and in situ.’ The distant clouds had become very real, thick and dark and heavy. Flakes started to spot their coats, Marty’s hair.
‘Pass me a survival blanket, will you? Right. Thanks. Now, we’ve got to get you onto this scoop.’
The radio crackled. ‘Cal, come in. You have two minutes. Over.’
‘Just getting Marty on the scoop. Over.’
Cal positioned the scoop alongside their patient and somehow they managed to shift him over, keeping his neck as still as possible.
‘Let’s go. You all okay?’ Shane took the lead, carrying the scoop at the feet end. Cal was at the head and Abbie walked at the side, carrying equipment and making sure Marty was stable and as comfortable as possible. It was like a game of slip ’n’ slide getting them all down the hill.
‘You fancy some tobogganing, Marty?’ It was only half a joke. Apart from a few rocks it was a vertical skating rink.
They started to inch gingerly down. The sun had slid behind a cloud and the wind whipped round them, biting through their clothes. They made it a few metres then suddenly the scoop lurched sideways and forwards. Next thing Cal knew, Shane was yelling and tumbling head first over rocks and ice.
Down. Down. Down.
