Читать книгу The Surgeon's Marriage - Maggie Kingsley - Страница 8

‘ANYTHING happening yet?’ Helen murmured, hovering at the delivery room door while Liz checked Mary Alexander’s blood pressure, then the foetal monitor.

‘Nothing,’ Tom muttered back. ‘I’m afraid it looks like we’re going to have to go for the Caesarean after all.’

Helen nodded. Tom had ruptured Mary Alexander’s membrane earlier in the morning to release some of the amniotic fluid around the baby. In theory that should have induced her contractions, but when nothing had happened he’d ordered an IV line of oxytocin, and yet still there was no sign of her going into labour.

‘BP up, foetal heartbeat becoming a little unsteady,’ Liz said in an undertone.

‘Shouldn’t something be happening by now, Doctor?’ Mary asked, gazing uncertainly up at Tom. ‘I know I’m no expert, but—’

‘Occasionally we get a baby who’s reluctant to leave the nice warm shelter of his mummy’s tummy.’ He smiled, his face a picture of calm, controlled confidence. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’

But it’s taking too long, Helen thought, seeing the concern behind her husband’s bright façade. With so much of the amniotic fluid gone the baby was going to be in big trouble soon if they didn’t do something.

Tom met her eyes and he nodded. It was time to alert the theatre staff.

‘Do you want me to page Gideon, tell him what’s happening?’ she asked after she’d phoned the theatre and Tom had explained the situation to Mary and her husband.

‘Please. A Caesarean’s the one thing he was hoping to avoid after her deep-vein thrombosis, but…’ He sighed wryly as one of their porters wheeled a very frightened-looking Mary and her husband out of the delivery room. ‘Want to wish me luck?’

‘You won’t need it,’ she declared, and he smiled.

‘Female intuition?’

‘Professional opinion,’ she replied, and he shook his head and laughed as he hurried after Mary, but she meant it. He might not have Mark’s flamboyance when it came to operating, but he was good—very good.

And Annie looked decidedly harassed when Helen met her coming out of the ward.

‘Tell me that you speak Greek,’ the junior doctor exclaimed. ‘Please—please—tell me you speak Greek.’

‘Why in the world would—?’

‘It’s Mrs Dukakis. She came into A and E this morning complaining of severe stomach pains. They decided she was simply suffering from a bad case of indigestion, but when they tried to discharge her she became hysterical so they sent her up to us.’

‘But—’

‘She’s six months pregnant, and…’ Annie shook her head. ‘Look, come and see for yourself. Or, to be more strictly accurate, come and listen.’

Helen did.

‘Cripes,’ she murmured when Mrs Dukakis finally subsided into silence after a long and virtually incomprehensible account of what she thought was wrong with her.

‘Exactly.’ Annie nodded. ‘Now you see why I was hoping you might speak Greek.’

‘I don’t, and I’m afraid I can’t think of anybody on the staff who does,’ Helen replied, seeing Mrs Dukakis gaze uncomprehendingly from her to Annie.

‘I believe Mark does,’ Liz announced, overhearing them as she passed by with the drugs trolley.

Mark would, Helen thought sourly. Mark probably spoke ten languages, had an IQ of two million and did rocket science in his spare time.

No, that wasn’t fair, she told herself, but after spending the better part of the last ten days trying to avoid him, the last thing she wanted was to actively go looking for him.

‘Helen?’

Annie was staring at her curiously, and she forced a smile to her lips. ‘We’d better get Mark.’

Mrs Dukakis clearly agreed. In fact, her face lit up like a beacon when he spoke to her in her own language, but something was obviously very badly wrong judging by the number of times she burst into tears when he questioned, then examined her.

‘What is it—what’s wrong?’ Helen asked as Mark took her by the elbow and steered her to the bottom of the ward, leaving Annie to comfort the woman.

‘At the moment nothing more drastic than a very bad case of indigestion, but…’ He shook his head. ‘What do you know about thalassaemia major?’

‘That it’s a serious, inherited childhood anaemia, most commonly found in people of Mediterranean or Asian descent.’ Helen glanced over her shoulder at the sobbing woman. ‘Is that why Mrs Dukakis is so upset—is she a thalassaemia carrier?’

‘Mrs Dukakis hadn’t even heard of the condition until I asked her whether she had any other children,’ Mark said grimly. ‘She thought she was having a miscarriage.’

‘But—’

‘Helen, she only came to Glasgow four months ago. Before that she and her husband lived in a poor, very isolated part of Greece with limited medical facilities. All she knows is she’s given birth to two other children, and neither of them reached their second birthday. The wasting disease, the people in her village called it.’

What must it be like to lose two children? Helen wondered, staring at Nana Dukakis. To feel them grow inside you, feel them move, then give birth to them, only for them to die so quickly. It didn’t bear thinking of.

‘It’s too late to take a sample from the baby’s umbilical cord to find out if it has thalassaemia major, isn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘If she’d known she was a carrier when she first arrived in Glasgow we could have done the test, then offered her a termination, but at six months pregnant…’

‘It’s too late, but there’s still a lot we can do,’ Mark declared, his green eyes encouraging. ‘First we need to test her and her husband to find out if they’re both carriers. If her husband’s not, this baby might be all right, and even if it isn’t we can start giving it monthly blood transfusions as soon as it’s born, and regular injections of Desferal to ensure its liver and kidneys aren’t damaged.’

Regular blood transfusions and injections of Desferal. It sounded a wretched life for a little baby, and Mark must have read her thoughts because he smiled. A small, rueful smile.

‘It’s better than the alternative, Helen, and new treatments are being tried out all the time. We’re getting excellent results from bone-marrow transplants, and there’s also a lot of work being done with gene therapy.’

He was right, she knew he was, and it was stupid of her to be thinking so negatively. ‘What have you told her?’

‘The truth. There was no point in skirting round the subject, so I told her I thought her other children had died because they had thalassaemia major, but if we started treating her baby as soon as it was born there was a very good chance it could live to be as old as you or I.’

Helen nodded, then sighed as more immediate concerns suddenly occurred to her. ‘You know we can’t possibly keep her in—not for indigestion.’

‘I’m going to sweet-talk Admissions, ask if she can at least stay for the night. It will give her time to calm down, and me the chance to run some tests.’

‘It’s going to take some real sweet-talking,’ Helen commented. ‘We’re wall-to-wall patients at the moment.’

He grinned. ‘You don’t think I’m up to it?’

Oh, he was up to it all right, she thought. In fact, if he treated the women who worked in Admissions to one of his blinding smiles they’d probably agree to Mrs Dukakis staying in one of their private rooms for the duration of her pregnancy.

‘Actually, you might not have to talk to Admissions,’ Annie said, overhearing the last of their conversation as she joined them. ‘Mrs Foster went home this morning—’

‘Hallelujah!’

‘And Rhona Scott’s not due in for her cornual anastomosis until Monday—’

‘So unless an emergency comes in we’ve got a vacant bed for the next few days.’ Mark’s eyes lit up. ‘Liz could OK it for me, couldn’t she?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Oh, Liz, light of my life, joy of my heart,’ he exclaimed, heading off towards the sister before either of them could stop him. ‘Could I have a word?’

Annie shook her head as she watched him go. ‘He’s quite something, isn’t he? Handsome, charming and about as reliable as a fifty-pence watch.’

‘You reckon?’ Helen murmured, seeing Liz frown, then nod, then dissolve into helpless laughter when Mark kissed her soundly on the cheek.

‘Don’t you?’

There was a very decided edge to the junior doctor’s voice, and Helen glanced back at her thoughtfully. She’d never asked—had never thought it was her business to ask—why Annie hadn’t married her son’s father, but now she thought she knew.

‘Annie—’