Читать книгу Christmas at Jimmie's Children's Unit - Meredith Webber - Страница 9

KATE left early for the hospital, telling herself it had nothing to do with not wanting to accidentally run into her neighbour and so having to walk with him. But maybe he’d had the same idea of avoiding her, or he always arrived at work an hour early, for he was the first person she saw as she entered the unit.

‘The baby being transferred has arrived,’ he said, a slight frown furrowing his brow.

‘Bigger problem than you thought?’ she asked, sticking to professionalism mainly because the toast she’d had that morning hadn’t been made from mouldy bread but her stomach was still unsettled.

‘No, the scans show really good coronaries, as far as you can ever tell from scans, but he hasn’t got a name.’

Now Kate found herself frowning also.

‘Hasn’t got a name?’ she repeated. ‘But that’s ridiculous. Of course he must have a name.’

‘Baby Stamford,’ Angus replied, his frown deepening.

‘Oh, dear,’ Kate muttered, hoping the first thing that had entered her head was the wrong one. ‘But sometimes parents wait until their baby’s born to name him or her, thinking they’ll know a name that suits once they’ve seen the baby.’

Now Angus smiled, but it was a poor effort, telling Kate he knew as well as she did that sometimes the shock of having a baby with a problem affected the parents so badly they didn’t want to give the child a name—didn’t want to personalise the infant—in case he or she didn’t survive.

Her heart ached for them, but aching hearts didn’t fix babies.

‘You’re operating this morning?’ she asked Angus.

He nodded.

‘Good! That gives me an excuse to speak to the parents, to explain what my part will be, before, during and after.’

She looked up at him.

‘Shall we go together? A double act?’

Angus studied her for a moment, almost as if he was trying to place her in his life, then he nodded.

‘The mother came by air ambulance with the baby, and the husband is driving down. Somewhere called Port something, I think they come from.’

‘Port Macquarie,’ Kate told him, ‘and as far as I’m concerned, that’s in our favour, the mother being here on her own. We might find out more from her than we would from the two together.’

‘I prefer to speak to both parents,’ Angus said in the kind of voice that suggested he was coolly professional in his approach to his job, not someone who got involved with the parents of the infants on whom he operated.

Which was fine, Kate admitted to herself as they walked down the corridor towards the parents’ waiting room. A lot of paediatric surgeons were that way, finding a certain detachment necessary in a job that carried huge emotional burdens.

Although he was a single father himself—wouldn’t that make him more empathetic?

And why, pray tell, was she even thinking about his approach to his job when it was none of her business? All she needed to know was that he was a top surgeon!

The waiting room was empty.

‘The baby was born by Caesarean, so the mother is still a patient,’ Becky, the unit secretary, told them. ‘She’s one floor up, C Ward, room fifteen.’

‘Let’s take the stairs,’ Kate suggested, and when Angus grimaced she added, ‘Not keen on incidental exercise? Don’t you know that even the smallest amount of exercise every day can help keep you healthy?’

Far better to be talking exercise than thinking about empathy…

‘I lived in America for five years, where everyone drives, and already today I’ve walked to work—incidental exercise, but mainly because I don’t have a car.’

‘You lived there for five years?’ Kate queried, taking the second flight two steps at a time, only partly for the exercise. ‘Yet Hamish has a broad Scots accent?’

Angus caught up with her as she opened the door.

‘When my wife died, my mother came out to mind the baby, then my father took early retirement, so he and my mother were Hamish’s prime carers when he learned to talk. They stayed until Hamish was three, then found Juanita for me before they returned to Scotland, where my father’s old firm was only too happy to have him return to work.’

When his wife died?

There were plenty of single parents around, but most of them didn’t have partners who had died!

No wonder he had shadows in his eyes…

Kate tried to make sense of this—and make sense of why a casual answer to her question was having such an impact on her—as she led the way to C Ward, but once inside room fifteen, Angus’s marital state was the last thing on her mind.

‘I really don’t care what you do,’ the woman in the bed in room fifteen announced when they’d introduced themselves and explained the reason for their visit. ‘This is just not the kind of thing that happens to people like us. I mean, my husband has his own business and I’m a barrister—we’re both healthy, and we run in marathons. I keep telling people that the babies must have been mixed up. I held my baby when he was born and there was nothing wrong with him, and then suddenly people are saying his heart’s not right and flying me off to Sydney, even refusing to take my husband in the plane.’

The tirade left Kate so saddened she was speechless, but thankfully Angus was there. He sat down carefully by the side of the bed, and spoke quietly but firmly.

‘Mrs Stamford, I realise this is a terrible shock to you, but with this defect babies always seem perfectly healthy at first. It’s only when a little duct between the two arteries starts to close and oxygenated blood keeps circulating through the lungs rather than around the body that a blueness is noticed, usually in the nail beds and lips of the infant.’

Kate saw the woman’s fury mount, and expected further claims of baby-swapping, but to Kate’s surprise, Mrs Stamford’s anger was directed at Angus’s choice of words.

‘Defect? You’re saying my baby has a defect?’

Time to step in before she became hysterical, Kate decided.

‘It’s fixable, the problem he has,’ she said gently. ‘That’s why we’re here. We need to explain the operation to you and get your permission to perform it.’

‘And if I refuse?’

Oh, hell! Kate tried to think, but once again Angus took over.

‘There could well be legal precedents that would allow us to operate anyway,’ he said. ‘I’m new to Australia but in many of the states in the U.S.—’

‘Well, I very much doubt that,’ Mrs Stamford interrupted him, although she seemed to have calmed down somewhat. Kate sought to reassure the woman.

‘It’s an operation that’s frequently performed, and with excellent results,’ she told her, ‘and we’re lucky to have Dr McDowell here as he specialises in it.’

She looked at Angus, expecting him to begin his explanation, but he hesitated for a moment before taking a small notebook and pen out of his shirt pocket.

‘This might explain it best,’ he said to Mrs Stamford.

Kate wondered about the hesitation—was it to do with the detachment she’d sensed earlier?—although now he was drawing a small heart on a clean page of the notebook, carefully inking in the coronary arteries which clasped the heart like protective fingers, then showing the two major arteries coming out the top of the organ.

‘These coronary arteries which feed oxygenated blood to the heart muscle to keep it beating come off the aorta, the bigger of the two arteries coming out of the heart. The aorta is supposed to come out of the left ventricle while the pulmonary artery that divides in two and goes into the lungs comes out of the right. On rare occasions these two arteries are transposed and the aorta comes out of the right ventricle, with the pulmonary artery coming out of the left.’

Mrs Stamford was at least interested enough to look at Angus’s drawing, and as she was quiet, he continued.

‘What we have to do is first move the two coronary arteries, then we swap the major arteries, cutting the aorta and fixing it to the pulmonary artery where it comes out of the heart, and stitching the pulmonary artery to the aorta so the two arteries are now doing the jobs they’re supposed to be doing.’

‘For ever?’ Mrs Stamford demanded.

Angus hid a sigh. She was right to ask, and had every right to know the truth, but this was one of the reasons he hated getting too involved with parents, having to tell them that the future could hold more operations, having to tell them that, although their child could lead a normal life, there was no guarantee of a permanent fix. Every conversation led to more emotional involvement—and often more pain for the parents.

‘There’s a chance the baby will need another operation when he’s older.’ He spoke calmly and dispassionately—straight medical information. ‘The valves on the pulmonary artery are smaller than the aorta’s valves and as these valves are left in place they might sometimes need to be expanded.’

‘Leave the diagram,’ Mrs Stamford said. Ordered? ‘I’ll speak to my husband and then talk to you again.’

She was dismissing them, and Kate waited while Angus pulled the page from his notebook, then they both left the room.

‘Is there a legal precedent in some places to go ahead without permission?’ Kate asked him.

‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied, ‘but the woman was getting hysterical and I thought, as she’s a barrister, legal talk might calm her down.’

‘I think she’s entitled to a little hysteria,’ Kate muttered, wondering if Angus could really be as detached as he appeared.

She shrugged her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had coiled in her body.

‘It must be terrible for the parents,’ she reminded him, ‘to learn that there’s something wrong with their child.’

Worse than losing an unborn child?

She thrust the thought away and turned her attention to what Angus was saying.

‘Particularly parents who are barristers and run marathons?’ he queried, the dryness in his voice suggesting he hadn’t taken to Mrs Stamford, not one little bit. ‘I wonder who she thinks do have children with heart defects? Common people like doctors and teachers? People who don’t run marathons? I’m glad the baby is our patient, not the mother.’

‘That’s if the baby is our patient,’ Kate reminded him, although she was wondering why Angus had chosen this specialty if he didn’t like dealing with parents. Surely that was as important as successfully completing a delicate operation? Or nearly as important…

‘He will be,’ Angus assured her, moving to avoid a passer-by and accidentally bumping against her shoulder. ‘I doubt any mother would deny her child a chance at life.’

‘I hope you’re right!’ Kate murmured, though fear for the tiny scrap of humanity fighting for his life right now made her feel cold and shivery.

Except for a patch of skin on her shoulder which was very, very hot!

‘Do you want to read his file? A paediatrician in the hospital where he was born gave him prostaglandin to keep the ductus arteriosus open and opened a hole between the atria to mix the oxygenated blood as much as possible but it won’t hold him for long.’

Kate sighed.

‘No, I’ll read the file later. Right now I should go back in and talk to her.’

‘Better you than me,’ Angus said, although even as he spoke he felt saddened by his reaction and wondered just when he’d lost the empathy he used to feel with parents.

Fool! No need to wonder when he knew the answer. It was back when Jenna died—

‘You make it sound as if I’m walking into an execution chamber,’ Kate teased, jerking him out of the past. He found himself wishing she wouldn’t do it—wouldn’t talk to him so casually, as if they were old friends, and smile at the same time. It was affecting him in a way he didn’t understand and certainly didn’t want to consider. He didn’t do emotion! Not any more…

‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ he told her.

‘No?’

Again the teasing smile, and again he felt a physical reaction to it, but before he could analyse it, Kate was speaking again.

‘I can understand her anguish. Not only fear for her little son, but that terrible “why me” feeling she must be experiencing.’

‘“Why me”?’ Angus repeated, then he shook his head as he admitted, ‘You’re right. There’s always a lot of “why me” isn’t there?’

He looked unhappy and Kate realised that’s exactly what he must have thought when his wife had died, as he tried to cope with his own grief and anguish, not to mention his son’s loss of a mother.

And she, Kate, foolish woman that she was, had caused him pain by bringing it up!

But the ‘why me’ feeling was familiar to her, and although she wouldn’t—couldn’t—think about the really bad times she’d felt that way, maybe a couple of her less traumatic ‘why me’s’ would cheer him up, chase the shadows from his eyes if only for a few minutes.

And lighten the atmosphere before she went back in to see Mrs Stamford!

‘For my part they’ve been totally minor.’ That was a lie but he’d never know. ‘Things like a date passing out in his soup in the most expensive restaurant in town—a diabetic coma not drunkenness—and as it was a first date, it wasn’t entirely surprising the relationship came to nothing. Then there was the one and only time I was persuaded to try skydiving. I got caught up in a tree and it took five hours to get me down, with full television coverage of a local drama. I know these are very trivial things compared to what Mrs Stamford is going through, but they do give me just some inkling of her “this can’t be happening to me” feelings.’

Angus smiled and Kate felt a little spurt of happiness that she’d been able to make him smile, but the happiness faded as she remembered the task she’d set herself. She returned to Mrs Stamford’s room.

‘I thought you might like someone to talk to,’ she said, giving the woman a quick professional once-over and not liking the pale, haggard face and red-rimmed eyes. ‘There are counsellors, of course, that we could bring to you, but they wouldn’t know the ins and outs of the op the baby needs. If you want to talk it out I’m willing to sit here and listen.’

‘You said you were a doctor,’ Mrs Stamford muttered in accusing tones. ‘Don’t you have other duties, people waiting for your services? We keep reading about the waiting lists for operations in hospitals, yet you’ve got time to sit and chat.’

Kate bit back a defensive retort. The woman was in terrible emotional pain; she was entitled to lash out.

‘My job this morning was to prepare your baby for surgery,’ Kate responded, speaking gently but firmly. ‘As the anaesthetist I’m in charge of everything that goes into his blood and lungs until he goes onto the bypass machine, then afterwards until he’s out of the post-op room. But I’m also a woman, and although I can’t imagine the depth of the pain you’re going through, I thought you might like a sounding board. Or to ask questions. Or just to have someone sitting with you for a while.’

Mrs Stamford’s stiff upper lip did a little wobble, as did her lower lip, then she sniffed deeply as if to control tears that longed to flow.

‘Will he die if he doesn’t have the operation?’ she asked, even paler now, if that was possible.

Kate hesitated.

‘We can keep him alive for a while, but because most of the oxygenated blood is circulating back through his lungs and not getting to his heart and brain, the answer’s yes. But we have kids that have had this op coming back to visit us years later, fine healthy young girls and boys.’

The only response was another sniff, although the way the woman was twisting her hands told of her terrible agitation.

Kate longed to help her but wasn’t sure how.

Maybe…

‘Have you thought what you’d have done if you’d known the baby had a problem early on in your pregnancy. Would you have had a termination?’

Now colour rose in Mrs Stamford’s cheeks.

‘You mean, an abortion? No, I’d never have done that. A life’s a life—my husband and I both agree on that.’

But now the baby’s here you’d let him die? Kate thought, but she couldn’t say it. Nor could she understand Mrs Stamford’s thinking now, until the woman sighed and said, ‘You’re right. Of course I can’t let him die. It was the shock! Give me whatever I have to sign, then go ahead and operate.’

Kate had won, so why did she feel as if she’d lost?

Because things were never that easy!

‘He could still die,’ she said, even more gently than she’d spoken earlier. ‘These operations are performed quite often and with great success, but with any operation at any age there’s a risk. You understand that.’

‘Scared you’ll be sued if you don’t dot all the i’s and cross all the t‘s?’ Mrs Stamford snapped, but Kate heard the pain in her voice and knew the woman was close to breaking.

‘I’m more afraid that having given permission if something does happen you’ll blame yourself,’ she said. ‘You’re already doing that, aren’t you? Somehow you’ve convinced yourself this is all your fault, but congenital abnormalities can happen anywhere, any time.’

She stood up and moved closer to Mrs Stamford, putting her arms around her and holding her as the woman wept and wept.

‘This is the damn problem with only having units like this in the capital cities,’ Kate ranted to Angus a little later, the signed permission form in her hand. ‘The patient, and usually the mother, are whisked away and end up miles from family support. She’s got no-one, that woman, until her husband gets here. I know we can’t have units like this in every hospital in Australia, but there should be a better way of doing things.’

Angus gave her shoulder a comforting pat, the physical effect of which jolted her out of her worry over Mrs Stamford’s isolation, especially as she’d written her colleague down as a man who remained detached—too detached, she’d thought, for comforting pats!

‘She’s got the baby,’ he reminded her, and Kate looked up at him.

‘You mean…?’

‘You’ve already achieved one miracle this morning,’ Angus told her, ‘so why not go for two. Go back in there and ask her if she’d like to go with him as he’s wheeled to Theatre. We can get a wheelchair and she could touch him, hold his hand. Although if she doesn’t want to bond with him in case he doesn’t live—’

‘She thinks she doesn’t want to bond with him.’ Kate interrupted his objection, excited now by the idea. ‘But maybe she’s changed her mind about that, as well.’

She’d sounded positive about it, but deep inside she had her doubts, even wondered if it was wise to push Mrs Stamford this little bit more. But Angus seemed to think it was a good idea and he was looking far happier now than he had been earlier, so the least Kate could do was try.

She returned to the room where Mrs Stamford was lying back against the pillows, her eyes closed and only a little more colour in her face than when Kate had first seen her.

‘We’ll be taking him to Theatre very soon, and I wondered if we arranged a wheelchair for you and a wardsman to push it, you’d like to come up to the PICU and go as far as the theatre with him.’

Mrs Stamford’s eyelids lifted and dark brown eyes stared fiercely at Kate.

‘What are you? Some kind of avenging angel, determined to push me further and further?’

‘I just wondered,’ Kate said lamely, ‘seeing as you’re here on your own until your husband arrives and he, the baby, is on his own, as well. Maybe you could support each other.’

Oh, boy! Wrong thing to say! Mrs Stamford was in tears again, flooding tears and great gulping sobs.

Kate held her again, and it was only because she was holding her, she heard the whispered instructions.

‘Get the bloody wheelchair, but I want a nurse not a wardsman wheeling me. Men don’t understand.’

Uh-oh! Was it Mr Stamford, not Mrs Stamford, who’d found it hard to accept a less-than-perfect child? Had she consulted him—phoned him—before she signed the permission-to-operate paper?

And while Kate could have argued that some men were far more understanding and supportive than some women, she held her tongue. She gave Mrs Stamford a final hug and darted off, not wanting to give the woman time to change her mind. She arranged the transportation, then raced back up to the floor above, knowing she had to be there to intubate Baby Stamford and prepare him for his lifesaving op.

‘So tiny, the veins.’

She didn’t have to glance up to know it was Angus hovering beside her in the treatment room as she put a peripheral line into the baby’s foot, already having secured one in his jugular and administered the first mild sedative.

‘So tiny we need to work out better ways of doing this—smaller, more flexible catheters. You’d think it would be easy but I’ve been working with technicians from one of the manufacturing companies for over a year now, and we’re no further advanced. Too fine and they block, or twist or kink—it’s so frustrating!’

Angus studied the back of her head—a coloured scarf now hiding the bright hair—as she concentrated fully on her task.

She’d been working with techies to improve catheters? Kate Armstrong was full of surprises, not least of which had been the way she’d talked Mrs Stamford out of her indignation and allowed the woman’s natural maternal instincts to come out.

The redhead’s body brushed against his as she straightened up and his body went into immediate response mode. Not good where Kate Armstrong was concerned. She wanted kids—well, grandkids, which meant, as she’d pointed out, having kids first.

She was not for him!

Even though the ‘grandmother’ thing intrigued him! Not to mention whatever lay behind it…

Was it because of the familiar noises in the operating theatre, the sizzle of the bovie as it cut and cauterised tiny vessels, the bleeps of the monitors as they kept Kate up-to-date on Baby Stamford’s condition, the subdued chatter of the staff, the music playing in the background, that Angus felt so at home? Although this was not only his first operation at Jimmie’s but the first time he’d worked with any of the team.

Oliver Rankin was assisting. He was quiet, neat and efficient, although Angus rather thought he was casting glances in Kate’s direction a little too often. Clare Jackson was operating the bypass machine, waiting for the order to use it to take over the work of Baby Stamford’s tiny heart. Clare Jackson might not want children, Angus thought, standing back so Oliver could lift the pericardium away from Baby Stamford’s heart.

The thought startled him, and he shut it down immediately, dismayed to find himself, for the first time in years, thinking of something other than the operation while in Theatre. He prided himself on his total concentration on the job, and although he often joined in the general chat and jokes, his mind never strayed far from the tiny patient on the table.

She was far better looking, beautiful, in fact—Clare Jackson—so why was he, too, glancing up at Kate from time to time.

Because she’s the anaesthetist, of course, and she’s the one who knows how the baby’s doing, down there, all but hidden with the cage to protect his head and wrappings covering all his little body except his chest.

‘Blood gases fine,’ the woman he was trying to block from his mind said. ‘Heartbeats 130 a minute.’

With the little heart fully exposed, Angus inserted cannulas into the aorta and an atrial vein; Oliver attached the tubes that would put Baby Stamford on bypass—the tubes connecting to the machine which would oxygenate his blood and pump it through his body.

‘Pressure’s up,’ Kate said, reassuring everyone, although Clare was now controlling what happened to the baby’s blood pressure.

‘Check blood gases and start cooling him.’ Angus gave the order, one hundred percent of his attention back on his patient, the information coming in from Kate and Clare clicking computerlike into his brain, his mind whirling as he worked, total concentration on what he was doing but thinking ahead, always anticipating any problem, at the same time.

‘Why do we cool them?’ the circulating nurse asked, her voice suggesting she’d often wondered but for some reason had never wanted to ask.

‘It cuts down the risk of organ damage when the flow of blood to the brain and other major organs stops—when we stop the heart to do the repair.’

Oliver explained, while Angus inserted a tiny tube into the aorta, where it was rising out of the heart. Through this he’d put the poison that would stop the heart beating and, once that went in, it was a matter of timing every second of the operation.

Kate watched him at work, waiting patiently until all the blood drained from Baby Stamford’s heart, then switching the coronary arteries so neatly and quickly she didn’t realise they were done until he stood and stretched.

Once straightened, he looked across at her, and she nodded and held up a thumb, but there’d been something in his dark eyes that had suggested he was looking at her, not at the anaesthetist. Ridiculous, of course, but she shivered in spite of herself, then turned all of her attention back to the patient on the table and the machines that told her what was happening.

Less than an hour later the baby’s heart was beating on its own, the little hole in his heart repaired, the arteries switched so they would now do the jobs they were intended to do. And though Angus had left a pacemaker in Baby Stamford’s chest to keep his heart rate stable, and various drainage tubes and measuring devices were still attached to him, he was doing well.

Kate had to smile as she accompanied her tiny comatose patient to the intensive-care room. He would be her responsibility until he regained consciousness, although Clare was in charge of the machine that was keeping him breathing.

‘Getting him off the ventilator is the next hurdle,’ Clare, who was walking beside Kate, said.

‘Only if he needs it for a long time, but he’s come through very well—all his blood values were good,’ Kate replied, and Clare smiled.

‘You’re a glass-half-full person, right?’ she said.

Was she?

‘I’ve never thought about it,’ Kate admitted honestly.

‘Never thought about what?’ a deep voice asked, and she turned to see Angus had joined them in the small room.

‘Whether I’m a pessimist or an optimist,’ she said, thinking of the times when sadness and loss had threatened to overwhelm her and whether that was pessimism.

‘Oh, definitely an optimist, I’d say,’ Angus told her, almost smiling, almost teasing. ‘What else would you call a woman who organised childcare for children she doesn’t yet have?’

‘You what?’ Clare demanded, but Kate silenced Angus with a ‘don’t you dare’ look.

Bad enough she’d admitted her grandmother obsession to one person without the entire hospital knowing it.

‘What about you, Angus,’ she asked to divert the conversation. ‘Are you a glass-half-full or a glass-halfempty person?’

He studied her for a moment.

‘You know, I’ve never thought about it. Definitely half full as far as patients are concerned. I could never do an operation if I doubted I’d be improving a child’s quality of life.’

‘You’ve children yourself?’ Clare asked, and Kate felt a surge of something that couldn’t possibly be jealousy flood through her veins at the other woman’s interest.

‘One, Hamish—he’s four,’ Angus answered, while Kate wondered why Alex couldn’t have found a less beautiful perfusionist.

‘Probably ready for a little sister or brother,’ Clare suggested, and though Kate knew this was just idle talk as they all watched the monitors that told them Baby Stamford was doing well, she resented the other woman’s interest. Although Clare probably didn’t know Angus was a widower.

‘Not for Hamish, I’m afraid,’ Angus replied. ‘He’s going to be an only child for life.’

Poor kid, Kate thought, but before she could point out the disadvantages—the haunting loneliness she’d felt as an only child—Clare was talking again, talking and smiling.

Flirting?

‘Good for you!’ she said. ‘I’m one of four and the number of times I’ve wished I was an only child! You’ve no idea. Having to share toys, wearing hand-me-downs—not that we lived on bread and jam or the hand-me-downs were rags, but I think I was born to be an only child.’

Selfish! Kate muttered to herself, but there was something so open and honest about Clare that she found herself looking past the beauty to the woman within.

And liking her!

Damn!

Double damn if Angus were to fall for her, and why wouldn’t he?

Not that it was any of Kate’s business who he fell for, so why was she still thinking about Clare, thinking perhaps she was attached—surely she was attached; how could someone so beautiful be unattached?

‘Look, there’s no point in all three of us being here. Why don’t you two grab a coffee break—in fact, it’s past lunchtime. The canteen is good, and cheaper than the coffee shop on the ground floor. You know where to go?’

Was she pushing them together? Angus wondered. Then knew it was only because, for some indefinable reason, he was attracted to Kate Armstrong that he’d even consider she might be doing such a thing. This was work—two colleagues sharing lunch. He had to get his mind off Kate Armstrong and, having decided that, lunch with the beautiful Clare might be just what he needed.

Kate watched them depart, telling herself it was for the best, particularly now she’d heard Angus being so adamant about not producing siblings for Hamish. Given that fact, Angus McDowell was definitely not the man for her.

Not that he’d shown the slightest sign of wanting to be, so why she’d been idly fantasising about him she had no idea!

No idea apart from the attraction that had startled her body into life when she’d first met him. Her body, that was usually biddable and dependable and had rarely felt anything more than a lukewarm interest in any man since Brian and even he hadn’t provoked much physical reaction.

Enough of attraction; she’d think about something else. Like why was Angus so definite about not wanting more children? Perhaps it was another way of saying he’d never marry again?

Get your mind back on work!

She checked Baby Stamford, wishing he had a name, then was surprised to hear the whirr of a wheelchair coming towards her. Mrs Stamford, pushed by a man who definitely wasn’t a wardsman.

‘They said he’d come through very well.’ Mrs Stamford’s voice was back in accusatory mode, daring Kate to argue this piece of good news.

‘He’s a little champion,’ she assured the still-pale woman, then she held out her hand to the man. ‘I’m Kate Armstrong, the anaesthetist. I’ll be keeping an eye on him for the next few hours.’

‘Pete Stamford,’ the man responded, shaking Kate’s hand, although all his attention was on his baby son who was so dwarfed by wires and tubes it was hard to see much of him. ‘You keep a personal eye on him? Not just watch monitors?’

‘I like to be here most of the time,’ Kate told him, and was surprised when the man’s face darkened.

‘Then it’s obvious to me he’s not out of the woods yet,’ he said, his muted voice still managing to convey anger.

‘He’s been through a huge ordeal for such a tiny baby,’ Kate said gently. ‘Being on bypass takes a lot out of them, and we stop his heart while the switch happens, poor wee mite, but there’s no cause for anxiety. I stay because I like to watch until I’m certain he’s over the effect of the anaesthetic and sleeping naturally. I can’t always do it, because I’ve usually other ops scheduled, so today it’s a bit of a treat for me.’

Pete Stamford eyed her with great suspicion and Kate was glad he hadn’t come when all three of the specialists had been in the room. Then he would have been truly alarmed.

And she was even gladder—or should that be more glad, she wondered—when she realised that Mrs Stamford had wheeled herself closer to the cot, put her hand through the vent and was softly stroking her baby’s arm, talking quietly to him at the same time.

Kate felt her heart turn over at the sight, then realised Baby Stamford’s father was also looking at his wife, while tears streamed down his cheeks.

Unable to resist offering comfort, Kate put her arm around his shoulders and he turned to her and sobbed, his chin resting on her head.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, more or less to both of them. ‘You’ve been through such an ordeal and it isn’t over yet, but the worst part is behind him, so maybe, little champ that he is, he deserves a name.’

To Kate’s surprise, Pete straightened. He stepped towards his wife, taking her hand as they both chorused, ‘Bob.’

Bob?

They were going to call the baby Bob?

What about Jack and Tom and Sam, simple syllable names that were in vogue right now? What kind of a name for a baby was Bob?

It was Mrs Stamford who eventually explained.

‘We had a dog once, a border collie, who was the most faithful animal God ever put on earth. Even when he was dying of some terrible liver disease, he would drag himself to the doorway to greet Pete every night, and every morning he’d bring in the paper and drop it at my feet, right up to the day he died. He had more strength and courage than any human we’ve ever known, so it seems right to name this little fellow after him.’

Now Mrs Stamford was crying, too, and Kate quietly backed out of the room, wanting to leave the pair of them to comfort each other—and to get to know their little son.

Bob!

Angus returned as she was standing by the main monitors in the PICU. He peered into the room where the couple were, then turned to Kate, his eyebrows raised.

‘They’re okay,’ she told him. ‘They’ve called him Bob.’

‘Bob?’ Angus repeated. ‘Ah, after a grandfather no doubt.’

‘After their old dog,’ Kate corrected, then she laughed at the expression on Angus’s face. ‘Thinking how it would be to have a child called McTavish?’ she teased, and although he smiled, once again the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

‘I meant it when I said earlier there’d be no more children in my family,’ he said, and Kate sensed he was telling her something else.

Telling her he, too, felt an attraction between them but it couldn’t be?

She was not sure, but her body seemed to take it that way, disappointment forming a heavy lump in her chest.