A Family Worth Waiting For: The Midwife's Miracle Baby

Campbell stopped pacing and pushed his hands through his hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said placatingly, rubbing his eyes. ‘That was unforgivable. Claire … I just want to be with you. Let me be with you.’

‘I don’t want to be with you,’ she said, turning away from him so he couldn’t see the lie reflected in her expression.

‘You’re a liar.’ His voice was calm. Emotionless.

‘Just go, Campbell,’ she said quietly.

‘This isn’t over, Claire,’ he warned. ‘Every time your head hits your pillow, you’re going to be thinking about me. About me inside you. I hope it drives you mad. As mad as it’s going drive me.’

Claire heard his footsteps retreat and it took all her willpower to stand her ground. Her arms shook with the effort of keeping them firmly planted on the window-sill. She would not call him back. It was better this way.

* * *

Later that day, Claire found herself back at the birth centre with another of her clients in labour.

The birth stretched into the night and she paged Barbara Willis, the night-shift midwife, to tell her not to bother coming in as she would stay until her patient had delivered.

Finally around three a.m. the tiny baby boy made its entry into the world, much to Claire’s delight and the mother’s relief. Baby Jonathon slept on obliviously as Claire fussed around, settling him into the mobile crib.

The first embers of dawn were glowing in the heavens when Claire finally left St Jude’s. She yawned as she pushed open the front door. Two nights with little sleep had really taken their toll. But her work wasn’t over yet.

Claire poked her head into her mother’s room. She was awake, as Claire knew she would be. ‘Hello, Mum,’ Claire said softly. She opened the curtains to admit the early morning sunshine. ‘How about I read you the paper and then I wash your hair?’

The pump that delivered hourly metered doses of a special nutritional formula into her mother’s feeding tube beeped that it was empty, and Claire switched it off. She opened the newspaper that had been on the front lawn and thumbed through it with one hand and stroked her mother’s hand with the other. Claire picked out stories she felt would interest her mother … had once interested her anyway.

She looked into her mother’s vacant, staring eyes. Who knew what went on inside her head any more? Speech had been difficult for a few years and non-existent for a year now. Did she understand? Claire wanted to believe that she did.

One thing was for sure, seeing her mother like this reinforced her reasons for rejecting Campbell. She’d definitely done the right thing.

Campbell … Would he be awake yet? Would he still be mad with her? Spending time with her mother like this always left her feeling flat. It was like looking into a mirror. She was scared for her mother and anxious of what would become of her father after …

It would have been so nice to go to Campbell, crawl into bed beside him and have him hold her until all her fears went away. To confide in him.

She shook herself. What was wrong with her? Surely years of denial had annihilated such temptations? Had sleeping with Campbell triggered these feelings? She should have known it’d be more complicated than just two people having sex. Intimacy was never that straightforward—that’s why she had avoided it!

She pushed these confusing thoughts aside as she lifted Mary onto the mobile shower chair with ease. Years of nursing had taught her to lift properly and, despite the nightly supplements, her mother had wasted away to practically nothing in the last year.

The en suite bathroom had been modified as her mother had become more dependent, so there was ample room for Claire to shower her mother and wash her hair. She chatted as she saw to her hygiene needs, prattling on about baby Jonathon and baby David.

Claire yearned to tell her about Campbell. Confide in her mother as daughters the world over usually did. But something held her back. Telling her mother made it seem like they were involved. And they weren’t.

All these thoughts whirred around in Claire’s head as she finally collapsed into bed a couple of hours later. Fortunately they weren’t enough to halt the pressing need for sleep. She closed her eyes and for the first time in a long time it was not her mother she dreamed about as sleep claimed her. It was Campbell.

CHAPTER SIX

CAMPBELL had no sooner sat down at his desk on Monday morning than the phone rang. It was Martin with a command, poorly disguised as a request, to see him immediately in his office.

Replacing the phone, Campbell decided that Martin could wait until he was good and ready. He’d head up there in a few minutes. He was in no mood to be ordered around, particularly by a pompous fool like Martin.

He drummed his fingers on the desk and then stood abruptly, stalking to the window. He stared with unseeing eyes at the phenomenal view.

Snatches of the incredible experience with Claire on Friday night chased snippets of their argument on Saturday morning around and around his head. So much for the three Ps. If she refused to see him again, his plan would be down the gurgler.

He’d wanted to shake her on Saturday. Grab hold of her arms and shake her until she understood that he loved her and they were wasting precious time, arguing. Time that they could spend loving each other.

Not for the first time, Campbell wished he knew what was eating her. Why did she persist with her no-relationship mantra? Why couldn’t she open up to him? Had Shane hurt her that badly? No. She seemed to be way over that—there had to be something more.

He reluctantly made his way up to the executive offices, still deep in thought. The lift opened just as Campbell was coming to an important decision. Whatever her reasons, they were irrelevant. His objective was still the same—to make Claire West his. If one night of passion wasn’t enough to sway her, then he’d have to go back to basics again.

He heard the raised voices coming from Martin’s office from out in the hallway. He quickened his pace as he realised that one of them belonged to Claire.

Campbell burst through the door just as Martin was saying, ‘If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to see that centre shut down.’

‘Morning, all,’ he said cheerfully, entering the fray.

Martin shot him an irritated look. Claire had murder in her eyes. Her look of relief as she realised it was him was heart-warming. Campbell cautioned himself not to get too caught up by it. She was probably only grateful that his arrival had stopped her from strangling Martin with his own necktie and spending the rest of her life in prison. The cleaner would probably have been given the same treatment.

Hell, she looks tired, he thought. He knew he shouldn’t be, but he was secretly pleased that sleep hadn’t come easily to her either. Good. He’d hate to think he was the only one suddenly afflicted with insomnia.

‘So pleased you could join us.’ Martin’s sarcastic comment intruded on Campbell’s thoughts.

Deciding to let that one slip by, Campbell guessed that calm and reason was definitely lacking in their conversation. Luckily, he was very good at calm and reason.

‘Is there a problem here?’

‘You could say that,’ snorted Martin. ‘Were you aware that Sister West delivered a breech baby at the centre on Friday afternoon?’

‘Yes.’

‘Were you aware that this contravenes the birth centre protocol? A protocol that Sister West herself implemented?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is exactly what I feared would happen. Give them some autonomy and she takes it upon herself to risk the life of a mother and her baby, all in the name of natural birth.’

‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair, Martin.’ Calm and reason.

‘Fair! Fair? How fair would it have been if complications had developed and the baby had died? They would have sued us from here to breakfast-time, and quite rightly, too.’

‘The baby didn’t die.’ Claire tried to keep the exasperation from her voice.

‘Lucky.’

‘No, not lucky. Educated.’

‘Oh … you think you know more than me, Sister West? I’ve been delivering babies for nearly forty years. Your experience is nothing next to mine.’

‘Now, wait a minute—’ Campbell interjected.

‘Campbell, I don’t need you to defend me,’ she snapped. ‘If Martin could just listen for a minute instead of ranting and raving—’

‘I have not ranted or raved,’ he blustered.

‘Martin, I haven’t been able to get a word in edgewise since I got here.’

Martin glared at her and sat down huffily.

‘Firstly, I made every attempt to get Shirley to Labour Ward but that baby wanted out. Would you rather she gave birth in the lift or a corridor?’

‘I think anything is preferable to delivering it yourself.’

‘I am perfectly capable of delivering a breech baby. I’ve delivered more than my fair share. I assessed the patient and I assessed the risks. I’m a good midwife, Martin. You may have more years than me but it doesn’t negate my experience. Quite frankly, I’m insulted that you would think so.’

Campbell sat back and watched Martin squirm. She was doing it again. Making a speech. Just like the first day he had met her. And his body was as predictable as ever. Man, how did she do this to him?

She was standing her ground, stabbing the air with her finger to emphasise her points. Her brown eyes boiled like hot mud pools and her chest rose and fell quickly, sucking in much-needed oxygen for her brain to formulate her next words.

His brain, on the other hand, was suffering from the usual reduction of oxygen as all the blood rushed to another part of his anatomy. Stop this! Rhetoric shouldn’t be sexy. Heaven help him.

‘Secondly, a complete novice could have delivered that baby. We really did nothing. He all but delivered himself.’

‘We?’ Martin queried, sitting forward.

‘Yes, we. Campbell was at the centre when Shirley arrived.’

‘You were there?’ Martin demanded.

‘I’ve been trying to tell you that from the minute you hauled me in here,’ Claire snapped.

‘And is that your assessment?’ Martin asked Campbell. ‘There was no time to get the patient to Labour Ward?’

Campbell noticed Claire bristling, drawing herself up to launch another verbal attack. ‘I absolutely agree with Claire. Little Davy’s bottom was well and truly out.’

‘Well, if you feel it was an unavoidable situation, I shall just have to trust your judgement.’

‘It’d be nice just once to enjoy the same trust.’ Claire’s icy voice conveyed her displeasure. Campbell caught the irritated look she shot him. Even that wasn’t enough to dampen his raging response.

Martin chose to ignore her. ‘I want written incident reports on my desk about this by the end of the week from both of you. And I still intend to make a full report to the board.’

‘Well, you do what you have to do, Dr Shaw,’ Claire said wearily. ‘I’ve got a centre to run.’

Claire was too exhausted to even slam the door after her. Too tired to acknowledge how wonderful it had been to have Campbell on her side. She’d expected to feel awkwardness after their argument on Saturday, but she was honestly too tired to care.

She couldn’t remember ever having felt so tired. The adrenaline that had been pumping around her system during their heated discussion had left her feeling even more depleted. All she wanted was to get out of there. She could almost feel her mattress beneath her.

If only it wasn’t this morning she so desperately needed sleep. Mary went to respite care until mid-afternoon and her father hosted a regular poker game at his house with some old friends.

Claire knew they wouldn’t disturb her. Nothing short of a nuclear explosion would wake her today, but she also knew her father would insist on cancelling. He had so few fun times lately she didn’t want him to sacrifice the one thing he looked forward to all week. He’d already sacrificed so much of his life.

She pushed the lift button, trying to work out a solution with a brain shrouded in the heavy fog of fatigue.

‘Claire! Hang on.’

The lift pinged and Claire got in, holding the doors open for Campbell.

‘Are you OK? You look done in.’

‘Too many sleepless nights.’ She shrugged dismissively and then blushed when she realised she’d drawn attention to their night together.

‘Me, too,’ he agreed quietly.

Despite her tiredness, warmth suffused her body. He was so close! If she just shut her eyes and leaned a little, she could rest her head against his chest. His magnificent chest.

‘Every time I close my eyes, I think of you and me and Friday night, and then I can’t sleep.’ His voice was soft and she yearned to fall into it.

Silence filled the space between them. Claire felt herself sway towards him. She despaired at how her body still responded to the pull of his, despite overwhelming exhaustion. So much for awkwardness!

The lift arrived at their floor and the doors opened. Saved by the bell! Wake up, Claire! Damn, this conversation was too hard to have when her energy reserves were at zero. It needed to take a different direction.

‘Well, lucky you,’ she quipped, striding from the lift. ‘At least you’ve had a chance to get to bed. I’ve had about two hours’ sleep in total. I was at the centre all weekend, delivering babies. I’d just done all the paperwork on my six a.m. delivery and was almost out the door when I was summoned.’

‘No wonder you’re almost out on your feet!’

‘Three days off now. I’m going to sleep like the dead.’ She half smiled and stumbled. He caught her arm and steadied her before she fell on her backside.

Campbell resisted the urge to pull her close. She smelt fantastic and the feel of her skin beneath his hands was glorious. They stood stock still while the hubbub of hospital life went on around them. She looked at him through sleep-hazed eyes, her lips parted, strands of her dark hair stuck to her lipstick.

‘Can I do something for you?’ he asked quietly, brushing the stray hairs from her mouth with one finger.

Yes. Pick me up and carry me away from here to a big nice soft bed somewhere and lie with me. Claire didn’t know if lack of sleep was making her delirious, but suddenly a solution to her earlier problem was standing right in front of her.

‘Do you mean that?’ Some of the fog was clearing from her brain.

‘Sure.’

‘Are you? I know we didn’t exactly part under the best of circumstances the other day …’

‘I’m an adult, Claire. I can take it. What do you need?’

‘A favour would be great.’

‘Anything.’

‘No strings?’ This time she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

‘Of course!’ His insulted look was rather endearing. ‘Are you going to be at work all day?’

‘Until about five.’

‘Can I crash at your place?’

‘Uh … sure.’ Confusion furrowed his brow. ‘Why? I mean, what’s wrong with your place?’

‘My dad has a poker game at our house every Monday morning. If I’m home, sleeping, he’ll be stressing out about being quiet. I don’t want to spoil his fun.’

‘I knew I loved poker for a reason.’ He grinned and fished his keys out of his pocket.

‘It’s just for five or six hours. I’ll be gone by the time you get home.’ She was suddenly serious. ‘I will be gone, Campbell.’

‘I know. I know.’

* * *

Claire let herself into Campbell’s apartment and rang home straight away. She informed her father of her whereabouts and that she’d be home later in the afternoon. He seemed quite pleased by the arrangement. No doubt, all part of his push to have her get out more.

Zombie-like, Claire got in and out of the shower and quickly towelled herself dry on one of Campbell’s fluffy towels. It was kind of bizarre, being here again after all that had happened between them.

She could have picked up the phone and dialled a handful of friends who would have been only too happy to oblige and give her a bed for the day. Why ask Campbell? The one person she should be keeping her distance from?

Because he’d been right there when the idea had come to her. He had been the quickest, easiest and most convenient person to ask. No wasting time, ringing around. Just a quick request and a quick answer. Tired minds didn’t always come up with the wisest ideas!

Plus, geographically, his place was the closest. It hadn’t even taken her ten minutes to get here. When bone-deep tiredness had you in its grip, a long car trip could end in disaster.

Claire briefly debated where to sleep. Campbell had a guest bedroom, she should use that. But as she stood in his doorway, his king-sized bed beckoned. The bed where she had slept with him only a few nights before. It was unmade, the sheets twisted, the pillows skew. She could almost picture him in it. Maybe if she’d been less tired and had had greater capacity to think rationally, she’d have chosen the guest room, but his bed was just too tempting to ignore.

As her head hit his pillow, she wondered fleetingly at the wisdom of being naked in his bed. But she was going to be out of here before he got home. Besides, she was too tired to move now. And the pillow smelt so-o-o good. It smelt like man. It smelt like Campbell.

* * *

For a day that had started out as bleakly as Campbell’s, it had improved rapidly. Just the thought of Claire in his bed was enough to keep a smile permanently plastered on his face. Campbell’s behaviour was enough, without gossip from William Casey, to confirm to all and sundry at St Jude’s that he had indeed made progress with Sister West.

Campbell was sure he even saw money exchange hands on some of his rounds. It seemed his frivolity, along with the idiotic grin that he didn’t seem to be able to shift, was enough to declare him the winner. Given that the opposite was true, he knew Claire would be furious, but he was just too damned happy to care at the moment.

He tried really hard all day not to fantasise about her asleep in his bed. And not to speculate about what she was wearing, because that led to images of a naked Claire and he really couldn’t concentrate on his job. At all.

And he had to keep reminding himself that she had insisted she wasn’t going to be there when he got home. Still, at least he could lie down where she’d been and smell her scent once again. It had started to fade from his sheets.

Campbell had a morning theatre list, which he whistled his way through. It was amazing he didn’t accidentally incise something he wasn’t supposed to, given how shot his concentration was. Luckily, they were procedures he could perform with his eyes closed.

The last op was a Caesarean for transverse foetal position. This scenario was a no-brainer for Campbell. Babies lying sideways across the uterus couldn’t be born any other way. He tugged the wet and slippery baby from the safety of her mother’s womb and was pleased to hear the little girl wail heartily at the intrusion.

He held the baby up over the top of the drape so her parents could grab a quick look before a nurse whisked her off to check her over. She returned the precious package to the parents a few minutes later, wrapped up as snug as a bug in a rug. Baby Anne looked very content, Campbell thought as he prepared to close the surgical incision.

He tried to tackle some paperwork at lunchtime but instead daydreamed about Claire and subsequently got nothing much achieved.

His afternoon clinic commenced at two and was filled with the usual antenatal checks. Weight, urine, baby’s position, foetal growth and heartbeat.

He’d finished for the day and was signing his name to the last chart when Andrea popped her head in.

‘Sorry, Campbell, I’ve just had a call from Hillary Beetson.’

‘Do I know her?’ Campbell searched his memory bank unsuccessfully.

‘No. She’s one of Martin’s patients, but everyone has left for the day and you’re on call. She’s just rung to say she hasn’t felt the baby move all day. I told her to come straight up and you could squeeze her in.’ She ended with a sweet, pleading look, handing Hillary’s chart to him.

‘How many weeks?’

‘Thirty-six.’

Despite Campbell’s urge to make a quick getaway, he knew he had to see this client. ‘Let me know when she gets here,’ he sighed, thumbing through the chart.

The scenario was common enough. As the pregnancy reached its advanced stages and the foetus grew larger, there was less and less room for the baby to move. Decreased foetal movements were common in the last few weeks and usually meant nothing.

But Campbell also knew that it couldn’t be ignored. An intra-uterine death at this late stage was unlikely but it was one of the more sinister possibilities. He pushed fantasies of Claire at home in his bed to one side and focused.

Five minutes later Andrea informed him that his patient had arrived.

‘Afternoon, Hillary,’ he greeted her confidently, introducing himself.

‘Hi,’ she said. She looked anxious and Campbell pulled up a chair beside his patient, hoping to allay her fears.

‘Andrea tells me you haven’t felt the baby move today.’

‘That’s right, I only realised a little while ago I haven’t felt any movements since last night. It’s usually so active but I’ve been so busy today …’ she replied softly, obviously worried. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing usually,’ Campbell reassured her, ‘there’s not a whole lot of room for the baby to move around now, so it’s common enough to go for longer than usual without feeling the baby move.’

‘Oh. OK. That’s a relief,’ Hillary exhaled loudly.

‘We’ll just listen for the heartbeat first and then see if we can’t prod it into giving us a kick.’

Hillary got up on the examination bed and Campbell waited while Andrea had squirted some gel on Hillary’s bulging abdomen, running the Doppler through it to locate the heartbeat.

Campbell watched Andrea try several spots where the heartbeat was usually found. Nothing. Andrea stopped and palpated the abdomen, locating the baby’s head low down in the pelvis, satisfying herself that she was indeed looking in the right places. Silence still greeted her attempts to find the heartbeat.

She turned to Campbell and handed him the transducer. Her eyes said it all. She was worried. Campbell felt the first prickles of impending doom.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Hillary, the worried edge back in her voice. ‘Why can’t we hear it?’

‘They can be tricky to find sometimes,’ Campbell said, injecting into his voice a confidence he didn’t feel.

He got Andrea to try and stimulate the baby to move while he ran the transducer all over, listening for the whup, whup, whup that indicated life. She poked and prodded. Nothing.

Campbell was very concerned now. ‘Get someone from Ultrasound up here now,’ he told Andrea, his voice calm but his eyes conveying urgency. She left immediately.

‘What’s wrong?’ Hillary asked, raising herself on her elbows, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Why can’t you find it?’

‘Sometimes the baby’s position can make it really hard. Sometimes the mother’s heartbeat can confuse things. I want to get an ultrasound. We’ll know more after that. It’s probably just the baby playing hard to get.’ He smiled, trying to reassure her. ‘Why don’t we ring your partner to come and be with you?’

‘I rang Danny already. He should be here soon.’

Danny, Andrea and Darren from Ultrasound all arrived together a couple of minutes later. Campbell explained to Danny what was happening.

‘What’s the worst-case scenario, Doc?’ asked Danny, coming right to the point.

‘Let’s just get this picture first. I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves.’

Andrea switched out the lights and Darren applied more gel to Hillary’s tummy. Danny stood behind the bed, his hands on his wife’s shoulders.

The screen flickered and their baby came into view. Darren manipulated the transducer to get a look at the heart. Campbell’s worst fears were realised when no heart movement could be detected at all. He stared at the screen silently, willing the heart to move, to beat, but … nothing. The baby was dead.