Fiona McArthur - The Pregnant Midwife

All treatment for the stabilisation of baby Isaac would be diligently recorded, as would any improvement or deterioration in his condition. Later in the week, at the team meetings, all cases would be reviewed and discussed to ensure any improvements in care would be noted and used in the next case.

Within a short while they had achieved the best oxygen saturation and cardiac output they could for Isaac, and all that was left was to fix the cables and tubes, clean up their mess and prepare for transfer.

For Hunter, working with Kirsten was as hard as he’d feared it would be, yet at the same time incredibly easy. The last few months he’d felt he had become adept at completing retrievals with Ellen and the other neonatal nurses, but with Kirsten the clinical component of patient care seemed so much more streamlined.

There was no need to ask for anything. She had either already done it or had what was required ready for him to complete the procedure, as it had always been in Dubai.

And, as it was then, all the time she smiled—at the baby, at the parents, at the referring hospital staff. And at him.

Hunter had forgotten how much joy she shared with those around her. Even in the midst of tension and fear, she was a reassuring light that parents and staff turned to when things seemed blackest, and suddenly there was hope or at least reason in the chaos.

He’d blocked out how many times he’d witnessed her like that in the past and he did not want to go there now, but it was hard not to remember. How ironic that she was happy and he was miserable.

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