whom she had been introduced to last week. ‘It seems mean, waking him so early,’ Bridgette said.
‘Well, you start work early.’ Mary had the same lovely Irish brogue as Bridgette’s granny had had and was very motherly and practical. ‘Is his mum picking him up?’
‘No, it’s just me for the next few days,’ Bridgette explained. ‘She’s got laryngitis, so I’m looking after Harry for a while.’
‘Now, I know you’ll want to see him during your breaks and things, but I really would suggest that for the first week or two, you don’t pop down. He will think you’re there to take him home and will just get upset.’ She gave Bridgette a nice smile. ‘Which will upset you and you’ll not get your work done for worrying. Maybe ring down if you want to know how he is, and of course if there are any problems and we need you, I’ll be the first to let you know.’ Holding Harry, Mary walked Bridgette to the door and gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder. ‘You’re doing grand.’
Oh, she wanted Mary to take her back to some mystical kitchen to sit at the table and drink tea for hours, for Mary to feed her advice about toddlers and tell her that everything was okay, was going to be okay, that Harry was fine.
Would be fine.
It felt strange to be back in her regular uniform, walking towards Maternity. Strange, but nice. It had been a busy month. She was so glad for that photo—their one night together had caused something of an awakening for Bridgette, had shown her just how much she was missing and had been the motivation to really sort her life out as best she could. She had been to the social-work department at the hospital she had once worked in and taken some much-needed advice. They suggested daycare and allocated Harry a place. At first Courtney had resisted. After all, she had said, she didn’t work, but Bridgette stood firm—relieved that there would be more people looking out for Harry. She was especially glad that she had held her ground when the day before she started her new job, Courtney had come down with a severe throat infection and asked if Bridgette could step in for a few days.
Bridgette’s interview with Rita had been long and rather difficult. Rita wasn’t at all keen to make exceptions. She would do her best to give Bridgette early shifts but, no, she couldn’t guarantee that was all she would get, and certainly, Rita said, she wanted all her staff to do regular stints on nights.
It all seemed a little impossible, but somehow Bridgette knew she had to make it work and get through things one day at a time—and today would be a good day, Bridgette decided as she entered the familiar unit, the smell and sound of babies in the air. This was where she belonged. She made herself a coffee to take into the long handover. Bridgette was hoping to be put into Labour and Delivery—she really wanted to immerse herself in a birth on her first day back.
‘You’re nice and early.’ Rita was sitting at the computer, all busy and efficient and preparing for the day. ‘Actually, that helps. It’s been a very busy night, a busy weekend apparently. I’ve got a nurse who has to leave at seven. She’s looking after a rather difficult case—would you mind taking handover from her and getting started?’
‘Of course.’ Bridgette was delighted. It often happened this way, and it would be lovely to get stuck into a labour on her first day back. She took a gulp of her coffee and tipped the rest down the sink, rinsed her cup and then headed off towards Labour and Delivery.
‘No, it’s room three where I want you to take over—twenty-four weeks with pre-eclampsia. They’re having trouble getting her blood pressure back down.’
Okay, so she wasn’t going to witness a birth this morning, but still, it was nice to be back using her midwifery brain. ‘Hi, there, Heather.’ She smiled at the familiar face. The room was quite crowded. Dr Hudson, the obstetrician, was there with the anaesthetist, and the anxious father was holding his wife’s hand. The woman’s face was flushed and she looked very drowsy. Thankfully, she was probably oblivious to all the activity going on.
‘It’s so good to see you.’ Heather motioned to head to the door and they stepped just a little outside. ‘I’ve got to get away at seven.’
‘Is that why it’s good to see me?’ Bridgette smiled.
‘No, it’s just good to see you back, good to have someone on the ball taking over as well. I’m worried about this one. Her name is Carla. She came up from Emergency yesterday evening.’ Heather gave Bridgette a detailed rundown, showing her all the drugs that had been used overnight in an attempt to bring Carla’s blood pressure down. ‘We thought we had it under control at four a.m., but at six it spiked again.’ Bridgette grimaced when she saw the figures. ‘Obviously, they were hoping for a few more days at the very least. She’s supposed to be having a more detailed scan this morning. They were estimating twenty-four weeks and three days.’ That was very early. Every day spent in the womb at this stage was precious and vital and would increase the baby’s chance of survival.
The parents wanted active treatment and the mother had been given steroids yesterday to mature the baby’s lungs in case of premature delivery, but even so, to deliver at this stage would be dire indeed. ‘She’s just been given an epidural,’ Heather explained, ‘and they’re fiddling with her medications through that as well. They’re doing everything they can to get her blood pressure down.’ It just didn’t seem to be working, though. The only true cure for pre-eclampsia was delivery. Carla’s vital signs meant that her life was in danger. She was at risk of a stroke or seizures and a whole host of complications if she didn’t stabilise soon—even death. ‘They were just talking about transferring her over to Intensive Care, but I think Dr Hudson now wants to go ahead and deliver. The paediatrician was just in…he’s warned them what to expect, but at that stage we were still hoping for a couple more days, even to get her to twenty-five weeks.’
It wasn’t going to happen.
‘I hate leaving her…’
‘I know,’ Bridgette said.
‘Dillan starts at a new school today.’ Bridgette knew Heather’s son had had trouble with bullying and it sounded as if today was a whole new start for him too. ‘Or I wouldn’t dash off.’
‘You need to get home.’
The monitors were beeping and Heather and Bridgette walked back in.
‘Carla…’ Heather roused the dozing woman. ‘This is Bridgette. She’s going to be taking care of you today, and I’ll be back to take care of you tonight.’
The alarms were really going off now. The appalling numbers that the monitors were showing meant the difficult decision would have to be made. Bridgette knew that Heather was torn. She’d been with Carla all night and at any moment now Carla was going to be rushed over to Theatre for an emergency Caesarean. ‘Go,’ Bridgette mouthed, because if Heather didn’t leave soon, she would surely end up staying, and Dillan needed his mum today.
‘Let Theatre know we’re coming over,’ Dr Hudson said to Bridgette, ‘and we need the crash team from NICU. I’ll tell the parents.’
Bridgette dashed out and informed Rita, the smooth wheels of the emergency routine snapping into place. Five minutes to seven on a Monday was not the best time. Staff were leaving, staff were starting, the weekend team was exhausted, the corridors busy as they moved the bed over to the maternity theatres.
‘Okay.’ Bridgette smiled at the terrified father, whom Dr Hudson had agreed could be present for the birth. ‘Here’s where you get changed.’ She gave him some scrubs, a hat and some covers
