Anyone Can Dream. Caroline Anderson

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Anyone Can Dream - Caroline  Anderson

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me?’

      She was over-reacting, of course. She knew that, but some sorts of conditioning went so deep they were difficult to set aside. Still, try as she might the smile refused to come.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘My social skills are a little rusty.’

      His face was still smiling, but his eyes were searching, piercing, analysing.

      She felt naked inside, and she looked away awkwardly. ‘Which patients are you seeing this morning?’ she tried again.

      ‘Ah. Well, let’s see all of them, shall we? Have you had time to skim through the notes?’

      ‘Only briefly. I wouldn’t like to have to make any decisions or judgements based on what I’ve had time to read,’ she said hastily.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to in your first few days. This morning is all obstetrics—a couple of postnatal checks after the weekend, three mums going home who need an OK for discharge, and an antenatal—a woman we’re inducing. I want to see how she’s getting on. Then at ten we’ve got a short theatre list—two elective Caesarian sections and a cervical suture to remove. Then lunch, a quick flit round the gynae ward and a clinic this afternoon, then back to the ward to check the section mums and have a cuddle with the babies.’

      She glanced up at him in surprise. ‘A cuddle?’

      His grin was slow and lazy. ‘Oh, I always try and find time for a cuddle.’

      Her pulse unaccountably thumped, and her eyes were drawn to the strong, long-fingered hands that lay linked in his lap. What would it feel like to be cradled by those hands?

      Safe.

      Her eyes pricked with tears, and she turned away, dropping the notes back into the trolley.

      ‘Sounds like a busy day. Perhaps we’d better get started.’

      It was busy—hectic, even. Her knowledge of obstetrics was scant and almost all theoretical. When William told her to reach into the opened uterus at the second Caesarian section and lift out the tiny, slippery infant, she thought for sure she would drop it.

      The midwife standing by quickly took over, lifting the baby over the drapes and showing him to his delighted mother and father before cleaning him up and clamping the cord after William had removed the placenta. His father then held the baby while William checked the uterus for any fragments and closed up, swiftly and efficiently.

      Through it all Charlotte stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the wall opposite, and when they wheeled the woman out and went to change she walked into the staff lounge in the theatre suite and dropped into a chair, still stunned.

      That baby had felt so—oh, dear God, so tiny, so fragile, so precious in her hands——

      ‘You’ll learn more, faster, if you watch me instead of the clock,’ a dry voice said from just above her.

      She glanced up. He looked serious, angry even, for some reason. She looked away.

      The clock?’ she said blankly.

      ‘Yes—the clock. You were watching it as if you expected it to explode or drop off the wall or something.’

      ‘I didn’t even see a clock,’ she told him. ‘It was just …’

      She felt his anger recede, and he dropped to his haunches in front of her. ‘Was it the operation itself? Did you feel queasy?’

      She shook her head. ‘No, it was …’ She struggled to explain her confused feelings. ‘I’ve never taken part in a delivery before. It’s the first time in my life that my hands have been the first to touch another human being. It just—hit me.’

      She looked up, meeting those shatteringly blue eyes, and was relieved to see his expression gentle as understanding dawned. His hand covered hers, hard and strong and warm—safe, as she had expected. His voice softened.

      ‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Your first baby—rather like your first kiss, or the first time you fall in love. No other delivery will be quite so special—the first time you do a straightforward vaginal delivery on your own without me around to take over and interfere will be pretty special, too.’

      ‘But that very first touch will never happen again,’ she said softly, and his fingers tightened, squeezing her hand in recognition of her tumbled emotions.

      ‘No. No delivery will ever be quite so significant again.’ He stood up. ‘OK, we’ve got a suture to remove now—a woman with an incompetent cervix who habitually aborts at four months. We’ve managed to keep her going this time, and she’s really excited.’

      ‘When will she go into labour?’

      He laughed. ‘Probably before she leaves the theatre. She’s had the odd twinge in the last few days, so although she’s still not due for a fortnight we thought we’d take it out. It’s not her first full-term delivery—they’ve got a boy of seven—so her pelvic floor won’t hold her up for long, I don’t suppose!’

      They scrubbed again, gowned up and went back into the operating-room. The lady was just being wheeled through the doors, her face slightly apprehensive. She smiled when she saw William, and he walked over to her and stood beside her head.

      ‘OK, Penny?’

      ‘Bit nervous.’

      ‘Don’t be. It may be a little uncomfortable—just do your breathing exercises and think of the baby.’

      ‘Oh, don’t,’ she said with a shaky laugh. ‘I hardly dare.’

      ‘What? Silly girl, you’ll be fine, and so will the babe.’

      ‘I wonder what it is?’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve tried so hard not to think about it, just in case …’

      ‘Well, let’s get the suture out and you’ll soon know the answer, won’t you?’

      The nursing staff positioned the woman in the lithotomy stirrups, and then William sat himself down between her legs and held out his hand.

      The scrub nurse passed him a speculum liberally smeared with gynacological jelly.

      ‘This might be a bit chilly,’ he warned the patient, and then deftly inserted it and opened the jaws.

      ‘Here, Charlotte, can you see the end of the suture?’

      She could, just about, by bending down and putting her head right beside his. She felt the slight scrape of his stubble against her cheek, and forced herself to concentrate. At the top of the vagina, right up where the cervix passed through the vaginal wall, she could just make out a little tail of thick silk.

      ‘It looks fairly inaccessible.’

      ‘Long instruments,’ he told her, then added with a chuckle, ‘Getting it out’s the easy bit. Getting them in there is much more of a challenge!’

      The scrub nurse handed him a pair of forceps. He located them on

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