Christmas at Jimmie's Children's Unit: Bachelor of the Baby Ward / Fairytale on the Children's Ward. Meredith Webber
hid a sigh. She was right to ask, and had every right to know the truth, but this was one of the reasons he hated getting too involved with parents, having to tell them that the future could hold more operations, having to tell them that, although their child could lead a normal life, there was no guarantee of a permanent fix. Every conversation led to more emotional involvement—and often more pain for the parents.
‘There’s a chance the baby will need another operation when he’s older.’ He spoke calmly and dispassionately—straight medical information. ‘The valves on the pulmonary artery are smaller than the aorta’s valves and as these valves are left in place they might sometimes need to be expanded.’
‘Leave the diagram,’ Mrs Stamford said. Ordered? ‘I’ll speak to my husband and then talk to you again.’
She was dismissing them, and Kate waited while Angus pulled the page from his notebook, then they both left the room.
‘Is there a legal precedent in some places to go ahead without permission?’ Kate asked him.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he replied, ‘but the woman was getting hysterical and I thought, as she’s a barrister, legal talk might calm her down.’
‘I think she’s entitled to a little hysteria,’ Kate muttered, wondering if Angus could really be as detached as he appeared.
She shrugged her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had coiled in her body.
‘It must be terrible for the parents,’ she reminded him, ‘to learn that there’s something wrong with their child.’
Worse than losing an unborn child?
She thrust the thought away and turned her attention to what Angus was saying.
‘Particularly parents who are barristers and run marathons?’ he queried, the dryness in his voice suggesting he hadn’t taken to Mrs Stamford, not one little bit. ‘I wonder who she thinks do have children with heart defects? Common people like doctors and teachers? People who don’t run marathons? I’m glad the baby is our patient, not the mother.’
‘That’s if the baby is our patient,’ Kate reminded him, although she was wondering why Angus had chosen this specialty if he didn’t like dealing with parents. Surely that was as important as successfully completing a delicate operation? Or nearly as important…
‘He will be,’ Angus assured her, moving to avoid a passer-by and accidentally bumping against her shoulder. ‘I doubt any mother would deny her child a chance at life.’
‘I hope you’re right!’ Kate murmured, though fear for the tiny scrap of humanity fighting for his life right now made her feel cold and shivery.
Except for a patch of skin on her shoulder which was very, very hot!
‘Do you want to read his file? A paediatrician in the hospital where he was born gave him prostaglandin to keep the ductus arteriosus open and opened a hole between the atria to mix the oxygenated blood as much as possible but it won’t hold him for long.’
Kate sighed.
‘No, I’ll read the file later. Right now I should go back in and talk to her.’
‘Better you than me,’ Angus said, although even as he spoke he felt saddened by his reaction and wondered just when he’d lost the empathy he used to feel with parents.
Fool! No need to wonder when he knew the answer. It was back when Jenna died—
‘You make it sound as if I’m walking into an execution chamber,’ Kate teased, jerking him out of the past. He found himself wishing she wouldn’t do it—wouldn’t talk to him so casually, as if they were old friends, and smile at the same time. It was affecting him in a way he didn’t understand and certainly didn’t want to consider. He didn’t do emotion! Not any more…
‘I didn’t mean it that way,’ he told her.
‘No?’
Again the teasing smile, and again he felt a physical reaction to it, but before he could analyse it, Kate was speaking again.
‘I can understand her anguish. Not only fear for her little son, but that terrible “why me” feeling she must be experiencing.’
‘“Why me”?’ Angus repeated, then he shook his head as he admitted, ‘You’re right. There’s always a lot of “why me” isn’t there?’
He looked unhappy and Kate realised that’s exactly what he must have thought when his wife had died, as he tried to cope with his own grief and anguish, not to mention his son’s loss of a mother.
And she, Kate, foolish woman that she was, had caused him pain by bringing it up!
But the ‘why me’ feeling was familiar to her, and although she wouldn’t—couldn’t—think about the really bad times she’d felt that way, maybe a couple of her less traumatic ‘why me’s’ would cheer him up, chase the shadows from his eyes if only for a few minutes.
And lighten the atmosphere before she went back in to see Mrs Stamford!
‘For my part they’ve been totally minor.’ That was a lie but he’d never know. ‘Things like a date passing out in his soup in the most expensive restaurant in town—a diabetic coma not drunkenness—and as it was a first date, it wasn’t entirely surprising the relationship came to nothing. Then there was the one and only time I was persuaded to try skydiving. I got caught up in a tree and it took five hours to get me down, with full television coverage of a local drama. I know these are very trivial things compared to what Mrs Stamford is going through, but they do give me just some inkling of her “this can’t be happening to me” feelings.’
Angus smiled and Kate felt a little spurt of happiness that she’d been able to make him smile, but the happiness faded as she remembered the task she’d set herself. She returned to Mrs Stamford’s room.
‘I thought you might like someone to talk to,’ she said, giving the woman a quick professional once-over and not liking the pale, haggard face and red-rimmed eyes. ‘There are counsellors, of course, that we could bring to you, but they wouldn’t know the ins and outs of the op the baby needs. If you want to talk it out I’m willing to sit here and listen.’
‘You said you were a doctor,’ Mrs Stamford muttered in accusing tones. ‘Don’t you have other duties, people waiting for your services? We keep reading about the waiting lists for operations in hospitals, yet you’ve got time to sit and chat.’
Kate bit back a defensive retort. The woman was in terrible emotional pain; she was entitled to lash out.
‘My job this morning was to prepare your baby for surgery,’ Kate responded, speaking gently but firmly. ‘As the anaesthetist I’m in charge of everything that goes into his blood and lungs until he goes onto the bypass machine, then afterwards until he’s out of the post-op room. But I’m also a woman, and although I can’t imagine the depth of the pain you’re going through, I thought you might like a sounding board. Or to ask questions. Or just to have someone sitting with you for a while.’
Mrs Stamford’s stiff upper lip did a little wobble, as did her lower lip, then she sniffed deeply as if to control tears that longed to flow.
‘Will he die if he doesn’t have the operation?’ she asked, even paler now, if that was possible.
Kate hesitated.
‘We can keep him alive for a while, but because most of the oxygenated blood is circulating back through his lungs and not getting to his heart and brain, the answer’s yes. But we have kids that have had this op coming back to visit us years later, fine healthy young girls and boys.’
The only response was another sniff, although the way the woman was twisting her hands told of her terrible agitation.
Kate longed to help her but wasn’t sure how.
Maybe…