its gestational age and decide if it’s viable if we need to do an emergency section for any reason. I don’t suppose you can hazard a guess as to what’s wrong with her?’
‘No. Not diabetes, we’ve checked that, and her heart seems fine. Pupils are a bit iffy, so it could be drugs or a bang on the head. Could it be anything obstetric?’
Sam frowned and shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. It’s hard to tell without more information. I want that scan, fast. If she’s twenty-eight weeks or more and remains stable and unconscious, we can remove the baby to give her more chance, if necessary, but the baby’s chances will decrease with every week less than that. And, of course, there are other complications. She’s a smoker, for a start, so it might be small for dates, and starting from a disadvantage. Still, there’s no point in speculating till we get the scan and know if she is pregnant and the baby’s still alive. If she is pregnant, we’ll take her down to the big scanner and have a better look if you think she’s stable enough.’
The young nurse beside him frowned in puzzlement. ‘How do you know she’s a smoker?’
He shrugged. ‘She smells of smoke—and her teeth are stained.’
His eyes met Matt’s. ‘She’s a heavy smoker, I’d say, so watch her lungs, too, with the added stress of pregnancy. She might have breathing difficulties—and if she shows signs of respiratory distress or hypovolaemia, call me. She might get an amniotic fluid embolus or an antepartum haemorrhage as a result of the impact.’
‘We’ll watch for that. She’s got a wedge under her left hip to take the pressure off her aorta and vena cava. Anything else specific we should be doing?’
He shook his head. ‘Not really. Some answers would be good. Bleep me again if you need me, and when you get the results of the ultrasound. I’ll be in my office.’
Sam walked back up there, unable to do any more without further information, and at the moment at least she seemed stable. He’d worry about her once he knew a little more but, in the meantime, other thoughts were clamouring for his attention.
With each step, the young woman faded further from his mind, crowded out by an image of Molly that blanked his thoughts to anything else.
She hadn’t changed at all—well, not enough to notice. She’d got her pre-pregnancy figure back, of course, but apart from that she seemed no different. Her eyes were still that same warm, gentle shade of brown, her hair a few tones darker and shot through with gold, and her smile…
He felt choked, just thinking about her smile. She smiled with her whole face, not just that gorgeous, mobile mouth that was so amazingly expressive.
He growled under his breath. So she was an attractive woman. So what? So were lots of women. Hell, he worked with young, attractive women all day, both staff and patients, and he managed to cope. So why had he picked on Molly, of all people, to be so acutely aware of? She was the last woman in the world he could entertain those sorts of thoughts about.
His relationship with her was hugely complex because of Jack, and absolutely the last thing it needed was any further layers added to it!
‘Keep breathing, nice light breaths—that’s it, that’s lovely. You’re doing really well.’
Liz, her young patient, sobbed and shook her head. ‘I can’t do this…’
‘Yes, you can,’ Molly told her calmly, recognising her panic for what it was, a sign that she was moving into the transitional phase between the first and second stages of labour. ‘You’ll be fine.’
‘I bet you’ve never had any babies, midwives never have,’ she said with no real venom.
Molly gave a soft laugh. ‘Sorry—I’ve had three.’
‘You’re mad. I’m never having another,’ the girl moaned, leaning against her partner and biting her lip. ‘God, I hate you! How could you do this to me, you bastard? I never want to speak to you again.’
He met Molly’s eyes over her shoulder, panic flaring in them, and she squeezed his hand as it lay on the girl’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly at him.
‘She’s getting closer. Tempers often fray and it’s usually the father who gets it. She’ll be fine.’
‘Going to be sick,’ Liz said, and promptly was, all down his front.
To his credit he didn’t even wince, just led her back to the bed and wiped her mouth, then looked at Molly. ‘I could do with cleaning up,’ he said softly, and she nodded.
‘We’ll get you some theatre pyjamas to wear. Just sit with her for a second.’
She slipped out, grabbed the scrubs from the linen store and was about to mop up when Liz’s waters broke.
‘OK, let’s get you back on the bed and check you. I reckon it’ll soon be over now,’ she said encouragingly. When she examined her patient, though, she found that the cord had prolapsed down beside the baby’s head, and when she checked the foetal heart rate, it was dipping alarmingly.
It would be over soon, but not for the reason she’d thought!
‘Liz, I want you to turn on your side for me,’ she said, pressing the crash button by the head of the bed and dropping the backrest simultaneously. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem with the baby’s cord, and I want to get your head down and hips up a bit, to take the pressure off. It’s nothing to worry about, but we need to move fast, and I’m going to get some help.’
‘Need a hand here?’
Sam’s deep, reassuring voice was the most wonderful sound in Molly’s world at that moment.
‘Prolapsed cord,’ she said quietly. ‘Her waters went a moment ago, and she had quite a lot of fluid. Watch where you walk, by the way. Liz, this is Mr Gregory.’
‘Hello, Liz,’ he said, moving in beside her and throwing her a quick, reassuring smile before he lifted her hips effortlessly and slid a pillow under them. He met Molly’s eyes. ‘What’s the previous history?’
She shook her head. ‘None. First baby, full term—’
‘And the last,’ Liz groaned. ‘What’s happening?’
‘The cord’s got squashed between your cervix and the baby’s head,’ Sam told her calmly. ‘We’ve got a choice under these conditions. We can deliver the baby as quickly as possible the normal way, with the help of forceps, or give you a Caesarian section. I just need to take a quick look at you to help me decide which is the best option, OK? Gloves, Molly.’
She handed him the box, and he snapped them on and quickly checked the baby’s presentation and the extent of the prolapse of the cord. As he straightened, he met Molly’s eyes again, his own unreadable. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Want to try?’
She shrugged, not wanting to argue with him on their first shared case, but deeply concerned because it was a first baby and it was still a little high for comfort. If she had problems…
‘We can try, I suppose, if you want to—but we haven’t got long.’
He nodded agreement, and
