the baby’s name was pretty, that the baby was pretty—because the little creature had problems at the moment.
She’d needed intubation and she was on a respirator. It had taken Nell, Emma and Pete an hour to get her stabilised enough to move her to Special Care, and Nell, who’d actually thought that was ‘nice and fast’ under the circumstances, was still working over her with a severe frown on her face.
Pete had left to check on Patsy McNichol.
‘Oxygen saturation’s gone up,’ Nell said. ‘I like her heart rate. I like how quickly we got this done. I like most things.’
‘That’s good.’
‘For the moment. And I’m hoping we’ll get her off the respirator within the next couple of days.’
‘What’s worrying you, Nell?’ Emma said. She knew her friend well enough to realise there was something.
‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head, as if to clear swimming-pool water from her ears. ‘I think I’m hearing a murmur again.’
‘Lucy had one, too.’
‘I know. They’re so common in babies, especially early babies, and mostly they mean nothing. With Lucy, I wasn’t so concerned. Her dates were better, even though she was almost as small. A small baby delivered within a few weeks of term is almost always better off than a larger one delivered earlier.’
‘And this one wasn’t large, in any case.’
‘I know. Which worries me, too, because I don’t know why.’ Nell listened to the heartbeat again. ‘I don’t know whether to be concerned about this baby’s murmur either,’ she said. ‘Certainly want to get the rest of her stronger before we start worrying about her heart. Hey, Alethea? Do you support that plan, darling? You don’t want a whole lot more mucking around, do you?’
Her voice was soft and cooing as she addressed the motionless baby. Then she straightened and spoke to Emma again.
‘All indications are that the heart is working fine at the moment,’ she said. ‘If it wasn’t, her numbers wouldn’t look so good. If I keep hearing this, though, or if it changes, I’m going to do a couple of tests. Let me know if there are any indications that her heart isn’t doing its job.’
‘She’s premature…’ Emma said.
‘I’m guessing thirty-three or thirty-four weeks.’
‘So…Patent ductus arteriosus is a fairly common condition in premmies, isn’t it? Treatable, too.’
Emma knew that in a normal foetal heart, the ductus arteriosus was open. In a full-term baby, this vessel closed automatically at birth, as part of the heart’s almost miraculous shift from foetal circulation to the circulation pattern it sustains throughout its life. A premmie baby’s heart can’t always manage this shift on its own, however, and if the ductus remains open beyond early infancy, permanent heart damage could result. Fortunately, the condition could be monitored and treated if necessary.
‘If it’s that, and if the PDA doesn’t close on its own, there’s a drug we can use to encourage it,’ Nell agreed. ‘It doesn’t always work, and that’ll mean surgery.’
‘In Sydney.’
‘A few years ago, we’d have had no hope of handling a baby like this in Glenfallon at all, with or without the need for surgery. Even now, I wonder if we should be starting to look at arranging medivac transport.’
‘We’re a level two unit.’ Emma was a little defensive. ‘I’ve handled several thirty-four-weekers, and even a couple of younger ones whose mothers had their dates wrong, like this one did.’
‘Yes, I’m not kicking her out of here yet, am I, Alethea? There are no real danger signs, and it would be great if we could get her strong and well ourselves…but I still think Sydney’s on the cards.’
‘There’s no point in having the facilities to handle premmies here if we don’t use them to maximum potential,’ Emma said. ‘Thirty-four weeks is the cut-off, I know, but personally I’m trained to a higher level than that.’
‘True. And people get better at it if they practise. There are going to be a few of us practising on this baby.’
‘Don’t put it like that, Nell, as if she’s an anatomical model.’
‘Oh, I’m not. I’m not. You know I’m not. I’m just nervous. That thumb-pricking feeling that something’s not right, despite all the things that clearly are.’
‘The way you were worried about that little girl who was revived after she fell in her pool?’
‘She was Pete’s patient, too.’
‘This one was dropped into his lap,’ Emma pointed out, although why she felt this instinct to leap to Pete’s defence, she didn’t know. ‘He’d never seen her before.’
‘The man has trouble with the women in his life, doesn’t he?’ Nell commented lightly. ‘Whether they’re patients or family.’
Emma bit back a comment which she might regret. Was Nell implying Pete’s troubles were his fault? Again, she felt a need to protect him and to leap to his defence, which she didn’t understand. He was extremely competent and very intelligent. He worked hard, he cared and he had the right priorities. Just because he’d been living in her house, that didn’t mean he needed her nurturing. What was wrong with her today?
‘Let’s take this one across to the unit,’ Nell added.
It took them another hour to get the baby settled in Glenfallon’s tiny special care unit, which was simply a small, closed-off room with thick, almost soundproof windows opening onto the rest of the maternity unit. It was most often staffed by the midwives rostered for post-partum care.
Lucy was already there, in the care of Sue North now, but she’d probably go home with her mother in a few days’ time, if her condition continued to be this good and she began to feed properly. Alethea’s arrival would necessitate the juggling of staff so that Emma and a roster of two or three other experienced nurses could provide her with the acute care she’d need at first, round the clock.
In the meantime, Nell was staying.
‘I hope my department’s quiet,’ she said. ‘No doubt I’ll hear the yelling soon enough if it isn’t! We can let the dad come in and see Lucy now.’
Brian McNichol had been shepherded aside as soon as Patsy had been taken into the operating theatre. He’d probably been fed several gallons of tea by now. Emma had lost track of time. Where was Patsy? Still in Recovery? After her general anaesthesia and the extent of her bleeding, she’d probably be kept there for longer than usual. Had her husband been able to see her yet?
‘I’ll track him down,’ she said.
‘Rebecca Childer, too. She might need some encouragement. She seemed a little frightened about what to expect, and inclined to suggest it was all up to the nurses. Or her mother!’
‘We’ll work on that. I’ll hunt up some pamphlets on premmies, and talk to her and her
