*
Erin lay on the operating table, gripping her husband’s hand. She blinked up at me tearily. “What’s happening?”
I peeked over the curtain. Sean’s forehead was gently pinched in concentration. Beside him, Marion, a gossipy middle-aged nurse who for some reason I’d taken an instant disliking to upon meeting, stood, suction at the ready. Patrick was in the corner, whispering to Leila, a pediatric nurse, who was chuckling. Everyone was going about their business, and the atmosphere told me everything was well. Still, I knew the patients liked to hear it from the doctor’s mouth.
“How’s it going, Dr. Cleary?” I asked Sean.
“We’ll have this little one out in a minute,” he said. “The heart rate has stabilized.”
I squeezed Erin’s hand and smiled at her husband, Angus. “Did you hear that? You’re in good hands.”
“Very good hands,” Marion echoed. “Dr. Cleary is one of the best doctors in the country.”
Marion smiled preemptively at Sean. But when he kept his head down, her smile thinned. Marion made it her business to stay on the right side of doctors, if only to give the impression that she had more clout around the hospital than she actually did. It drove her crazy that Sean didn’t buy into it, particularly as he wasn’t opposed to a bit of hero worship. What she didn’t know was that he was a private person and his disdain for gossip took priority over his need to have his ego stroked. It was one of many things I liked about him.
On the operating table, Erin started to well up. “I just wanted so much to do this myself.”
I squatted down beside her. Erin’s two older sisters had delivered their children at the birthing center. Of all my clients, this family had perhaps been the most moved by the experience. Both sisters had raved about the transformative quality of natural birth, and about how afterwards, they’d felt superhuman. I knew Erin had hoped that she would experience this superhuman feeling today. And I was going to make sure that she did.
“I know. But Dr. Cleary said everything looks good. We’re lucky that we have access to expert medical attention when complications arise. The most important thing is that your baby is safe.”
A tear dripped onto the table. “But why did complications arise? What did I do?”
I felt a stab of resentment toward my mother and her bitter diatribe about doctors and hospitals. While I was a huge fan of a natural birth where it was possible, I was a huger fan of doing what was safest for mothers and babies. Some women chose to have a C-section, some needed one for their own, or their baby’s, health. Scaremongering and quoting intervention statistics did a lot more harm than good, in my opinion.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, okay?” I lowered my voice. “That superhuman feeling people describe? It has nothing to do with the way the baby comes out. It’s about what happens to the mother. You become superhuman. You’ll grow extra hands and legs to look after your baby. You’ll definitely grow an extra heart for all the love you’ll feel.” Erin was watching me intently. “The second you see this baby, you won’t care if it came out your stomach or your nose.” About this, I was certain. “You’ll feel it, I promise you. Just wait and see.”
“A nasal delivery?” Sean’s voice was loud and contemplative through the screen. “Is that what you midwives get up to in your birthing center? I always thought you lot were a little unorthodox.”
Erin’s lips curved up slightly. That was another thing I liked about Sean. He knew when and how to lighten a mood.
“Here we go,” he said, and a tiny cry came through the thin sheet. Erin sucked in a breath as a little face appeared over the top of the curtain. “No! Already?”
“It’s a boy!” Sean said with delight that was hard to feign. “Just a bit of cord around his middle. He’s fine.”
“A boy!” Erin cried. “Did you hear that, Angus? It’s a boy.”
I stood and peeked over the screen. Sean handed Patrick the baby and he carried him over to the baby warmer. “He’s a good size,” I said. “Looks perfectly healthy. The pediatrician and nurses are checking him out, but I’ll go hurry them along. We want him in your arms as soon as possible.”
“Oliver,” Erin said. “His name is Oliver.”
I nodded. “I’ll bring Oliver back as soon as I can.”
Leila, the pediatric nurse, was rubbing Oliver with a warm towel while Patrick did the suction. He was pinking up beautifully. “Looks good,” I said.
“Yes,” Patrick said. “Very good.”
“Making you broody, Dr. Johnson?” Marion said. “My daughter Josie is about your age, you know.”
My gaze bounced to Patrick’s, but I quickly looked away. What was I doing, getting territorial over Patrick? Just because he slept on my couch occasionally didn’t mean he was in my jurisdiction.
“If she’s a daughter of yours, Maz,” Patrick said, “she’s too good for a scoundrel like me.”
“Far too good,” Sean echoed.
“She could do worse, of course,” Patrick said. “Then again, Sean isn’t single.”
Both men had smiles in their voices, but there was truth in their words. How two people could be such good friends but be so competitive at the same time was beyond me.
“Now,” Patrick said to the baby, “let’s see how you are doing, little fella.”
As with Sean, Patrick’s delight in his job was obvious. As he checked Oliver over—testing reflexes, rotating his hips—he chatted continuously, telling the baby what he was going to do before he did it. He spoke in a natural voice, the kind he would use over a beer with an old friend. Leila stared unashamedly. Even I could admit, there was something sexy about a man who was comfortable with a baby.
“So, I hear congratulations are in order, Neva?” I lifted my head before I realized what Marion was saying, giving her a ringside seat to my horrified expression. “About the pregnancy, I mean.”
I busied myself checking the baby’s fontanels. “Oh. Thank you.”
“And due quite soon, I hear,” she continued. “You must be excited.”
Casually, I scanned the room, assessing the fallout. Patrick winced. Leila’s mouth hung open. Sean had frozen, his hands still half-buried in Erin’s abdomen. He scanned what he could see of my stomach. “Neva, you’re expecting?”
“Yes.” I didn’t look at him. I held my hands out to Patrick. “Baby, please.”
I must have sounded authoritative because, rather than joke with me over one last check as he usually did, Patrick wrapped the baby and handed him over. I crossed the room, back to Erin.
“I hope I haven’t put my foot in my mouth,” Marion said. Her tone made it clear that she hoped she’d done exactly that. “Eloise mentioned it this morning. It wasn’t meant to be a secret, was it? Because I’d hate to think—”
“I’d hate to think you weren’t paying attention, Marion.” Sean’s voice was quiet but sharp, and it silenced the room. Marion’s cheeks colored. “Because as you can see, I’m still stitching the patient. And I need a lap sponge.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Marion fumbled for the sponge, and I could tell she was not happy. I almost felt sorry for Sean. Ignoring her attempts to ingratiate herself was one thing, but a public reprimand was quite another. She’d make him pay for that.
I tried my best to focus on the task at hand, pressing the baby’s face against his mother’s cheek, letting him see her, smell her breath, feel her touch. With any luck, we could start him breast-feeding as soon as we made it into recovery. I needed to concentrate on that.
“When are you due, Neva?” Sean asked me after a minute or two of silence. His voice had lost its sharp edge; in fact, it was a little quieter than normal.
I met his eye over the curtain. “December thirty-first.”
“A New Year baby,” he said. He frowned, then his gaze returned to Erin’s stomach. “What a miracle.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It really is.”