Tina Beckett - Cinderella And The Surgeon / Miracle Baby For The Midwife

There was a pause at the end of the line. ‘This is Harry Beaumont, the neonatal cardiac surgeon who carried out Billy’s surgery yesterday. Can you give me an update on how he’s doing, please?’

Oh. It seemed that two could play that game.

The smile stayed on her face. She gave Harry a quick rundown on all of Billy’s obs, new blood results, his colour and then…she did what she always did. She told him how she felt. There was something to be said about the instinct of a health professional. She always believed it should never be ignored. Sometimes, even though there was not a single piece of scientific fact, a health professional just seemed to know if a patient was going to go ‘off.’ So many times, their instincts had been correct. Studies had even been done on the phenomenon.

So she went with her gut. ‘Billy’s good. Everything is going well. I think he’s on the road to recovery.’

‘That’s your professional opinion?’ There was something in his tone. She wasn’t quite sure if he was mocking her, or if he actually got it.

‘I have a good feeling,’ she replied.

‘Okay.’ His voice was thoughtful. He paused for a few seconds. ‘Thanks for the update. I should be back by tomorrow. I’ll review him in person then. How’s his mum doing?’

Once again, Esther was a little surprised. The surgeons she’d worked with before generally didn’t take the time to consider the parents. ‘Sleeping,’ she said. ‘For the first time in days. She’s taken a shower and washed her hair too. When she wakes up, I’m going to send her down to the hospital canteen with one of my colleagues to make sure she eats.’

‘Does she really have no supports? Does no one else come to visit Billy?’

Esther’s curiosity was piqued. Not only was he interested, he actually sounded concerned. ‘Not the whole time I’ve been here,’ she said.

‘Hmm…’ She could tell he was thinking. Her brain was whirring. Maybe he wasn’t quite as bad as she’d first thought.

‘Esther, can I just check? Your temperature yesterday, it’s resolved?’

And there it was. Just when she’d finally had a reasonable thought about this man it was like he’d just pulled the rug from under her feet.

In a way she understood the question. His issue was protecting the baby he’d operated on. But the question was intensely personal. Just as well she didn’t have anything to hide.

‘My temperature is resolved.’

‘The reason?’

She bristled. It seemed to be her permanent state when she had any contact with this man. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this about anyone. He was checking up on her—again.

She decided to put all her cards on the table. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t have a respiratory infection.’ If she had, she knew she’d have to have bailed out of the NICU for a few days. There were strict rules adhered to by all the members of staff in the NICU. ‘I have a UTI,’ she added. ‘Long-term history, and I’ve got antibiotics.’

It was too much information. But she wanted this guy off her back. As a health care professional she wasn’t embarrassed to talk about medical conditions. She really didn’t think she had anything to hide.

There was a few moments’ silence at the end of the phone, then his voice sounded deep and husky. ‘I hope you feel better soon, Esther.’

She licked her lips as she put down the phone, a strange buzz going up her arm. She was feeling a little warm again. Maybe it was time for some more paracetamol?

HER PHONE BUZZED and she checked it as she walked into A&E. ‘Hi, Mum, everything okay?’

She listened for a few minutes as her mum filled her in on the last few days. Her heart always twisted in her chest when her mum’s name came up on her phone. It always made her wonder if it was going to be something she didn’t want to hear.

Her mum had fought cancer a few years ago, the worst part being she’d initially kept it a secret from Esther because she didn’t want to distract her from her studies. Esther had been absolutely devastated when she’d found out—particularly when she’d realised her mum had gone through the diagnosis and some of her treatment on her own. Guilt had overwhelmed her, that her mother had put her first in her own biggest time of need. They’d always been so close and the treatment had left her mother unable to work any more. Hence, why Esther worked every shift she could. She had to pay rent in London, which was always extortionate, plus the mortgage payment on her mum’s home in Edinburgh. But there was only two years left on the mortgage. She could do it. She just had to keep up with the extra shifts.

‘I’m glad you’re doing okay,’ said Esther, her shoulders going down a little in relief.

‘Please don’t work too hard, honey,’ came the reply. ‘I’m so sorry about all this.’ This conversation happened in every call. Her mum felt massively guilty that her daughter was helping support her now.

But what else could she do? Her dad had died a few years earlier. He’d been wonderful, if a little harum-scarum. He’d drifted from job to job. Her mother had always really been the breadwinner in the household. Her father’s jobs had always revolved around his passions. He’d been an extra for film companies, a body-double, had a go at training as a stunt man, then he’d taken jobs everywhere as a tour guide. He’d always seemed to like jumping from place to place, before coming home to his girls with a whole host of wonderful stories to tell.

Although they’d both loved and adored him, his attitude to work had put a strain on things for her mum, who’d counted every penny. It had ingrained in Esther the fact that security and a steady job were one of the most important things in life.

‘It’s fine, Mum, please don’t worry. You paid the first twenty-three years, let me pay off the rest.’ She spoke for another few minutes, then ended the call.

The board in A&E was full. It was going to be a busy night.

She walked down to where the shift handover normally happened. The first person she saw was Rob, the ANP. He groaned and grabbed her elbow. ‘I called yesterday—didn’t you get the message to call me back?’

She shook her head. He walked into one of the consulting rooms and took out a key to open a locked drawer. ‘The lab work showed that the antibiotic you’re on won’t work this time. You need something different.’

He handed over a prescription bottle with her name on it.

She nodded. ‘I wondered why I wasn’t feeling better so quickly. Okay, I’ll swap them over.’ She opened the bottle and swallowed the first tablet with some water. ‘All good.’ She smiled at him.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, now let’s get to the handover.’

Thursdays were a strange day in A&E. Everyone always expected weekends to be busy, but Thursdays liked to keep staff hanging, wondering if it was going to be a lull before the storm, or a full-on tornado.

Today, the waiting room was packed.

‘Where do you want me?’ asked Esther.

‘Can you cover cubicles?’ asked the charge nurse as he tried to assign everyone to their spot.

‘No trouble.’ She picked up the charts for the cubicles nearby and scanned them. Stitches. A fractured wrist. A patient waiting for a bed in Respiratory. Another patient needing a catheter inserted due to urinary strictures, and a confused elderly patient that had been found wandering near one of the parks and was bordering on hypothermic. More than enough to keep her busy.

Six hours later she still hadn’t had a break. Esther knew she really needed to grab some more paracetamol and another dose of her new antibiotics but she literally hadn’t had a minute.