A Very Special Midwife

by Gill Sanderson

  'I doubt your skull is fractured,' he said. 'But keep your head still till we can get a cervical collar on you.'

  Sometimes she just wanted to shut her eyes. Other times she opened them and stared at him. There was still that conflict of feelings on his face. He had to be the dispassionate doctor, doing what was best for an injured person. But he was also a lover, trying to grapple with the shock, the horror, the anxiety of seeing his loved one so suddenly thrown into danger.

  She was fully conscious now, feeling the full pain of her injuries. And now there was something so bad that she didn't want to mention it. Perhaps if she kept silent it would go away. But she had to tell Mike. He was a doctor.

  'Mike! What's wrong with my legs?'

  'I'm not sure,' Mike said. 'You might have... might have injured your spine.' She knew what that could mean. She couldn't help it. She jerked and her arm slid down her chest. Then there was pain such as she had never experienced before. Jenny fainted.

  There were voices, official sounding voices that seemed to carry authority. 'Please, stand back, everyone. We need to get the ambulance closer.'

  Mike looked up. There were two policemen—no, a policeman and a policewoman. And behind them the white of an ambulance with the two green-coated paramedics climbing out. He hadn't even heard the siren.

  It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, but he stood back. He might be a doctor but these men were paramedics, trained specifically to deal with this kind of incident. One of them knelt by Jenny, the other looked at him neutrally.

  'What can you tell us, sir?'

  What did they really need to know? Mike forced himself to concentrate. What would he want to know if she had just come into A and E?

  'The lady is aged thirty-two, in good health. No allergies. This morning she had a light breakfast. Her breathing appears to be patent, she doesn't appear to be concussed, she was speaking clearly a moment ago. I saw...' Mike swallowed. For a moment the words just wouldn't come. But they had to! 'I saw the accident. She was struck by a car at hip level and thrown several feet. She struck her head as she fell, the impact was not too great. There's a fractured arm... and... no feeling in her legs.'

  He saw the paramedic's raised eyebrows and said, 'I'm a doctor.'

  'Then you'll know what we have to do, Doctor. Do you know the lady?'

  'Yes,' said Mike. 'I'll come in the ambulance with her.'

  He stood back and watched carefully. Sterile dressings were applied to Jenny's head. A cervical collar was put on—always a good precaution. Then, with infinite care, she was lifted and placed onto a long spinal board. Her entire body was immobilised, the fractured arm strapped to her chest.

  Jenny moaned as they lifted her and her pain-filled eyes flicked open.

  'You'll be all right in a moment love,' one of the paramedics soothed. 'We've got gas and air in the ambulance, that'll take away the pain.'

  'I want Mike.'

  'The doctor? He'll come with us.'

  'Were you with the young lady, sir? We'd like to take a statement from you when it's convenient.'

  It was the policewoman. Mike realised that there were other things he had to see to. All he'd thought about so far had been Jenny.

  'I saw everything,' he said. 'I'll give a statement later.' And being a fair and honest man, he had to add, 'It wasn't the car driver's fault. There's a little boy—Sam there. I brought him out and—'

  'We'll take him home,' the policewoman said. 'And you'll wait for us at the hospital?'

  'I'll be there,' said Mike.

  It didn't seem right to go into her own hospital. But it was the nearest and it had an excellent A and E department—in fact, Sue worked there. Not today, though.

  The ambulance crew had radioed ahead and she was met by a medical team, crashed straight through for immediate attention in the resus room. Mike remained by her side as long as he could—eventually he was told that he was to leave the room while they conducted the preliminary examination.

  They put in an IV line as she'd lost some blood. There was the danger of internal bleeding from her fractured arm.

  Mike was with her when the portable X-ray machine was brought through. The technician seemed to be taking far more pictures than was necessary.

  'They want to check everything,' Mike told her. 'Just to make sure.'

  She was in no great pain, she had been given morphine. She drifted in and out of consciousness, not really bothered about what was happening to her. Always, she was aware that Mike was with her. And that meant that everything would be all right.

  'They've got you stabilised,' Mike said, in one of her periods of consciousness. 'For the moment you've just got to rest. But soon Mr Spenser is going to look at you. He'll put things right.'

  'I want you with me,' said Jenny.

  Everyone knew that Mr Spenser was an important man. Even Jenny, in her vague state, knew that he was very important. He was very tall, had a thin face and half-moon glasses. He was wearing a brilliant white shirt, a tightly knotted tie. Jenny had seen him, never spoken to him. He was one of the ablest neurosurgeons in the country. What no one had told her was that he was also a very kind man.

  He bent over her later that day and said, 'I know you're one of our own, Jenny. You're a tutor and a midwife. I've heard of you. I'm going to see to you personally, see that you get the best we can offer.'

  And she had burst into tears. Kindness was hard to take and she was terrified.

  He patted her on the shoulder and said, 'We're arranging for you to be admitted onto one of my wards. First, I'm going to give you an injection of methylprednisone. There's a lot of inflammation around your sacral vertebrae and I want to get it down. We have your X-rays, CT and MRI scans and in a few minutes we'll be off to the theatre to see if we can stick you together again. And when we've had a good look we'll know better what we have to deal with. Happy with that?'

  'Whatever you say, Mr Spenser. My legs are paralysed. How badly damaged is the spinal cord? Is it severed?'

  It was a question she knew he hadn't wanted. But he gave her an honest answer.

  'No, it isn't severed. There should be some possibility of movement—eventually. You're a young, healthy woman, and with care and luck we should be able to fit you together again. In a year or so, if all goes well, this all could be just an unhappy memory.'

  'A year or so. And that's if things go well. Could they... could they go badly?'

  'Nothing is certain in medicine, Jenny.'

  'And you'll tell me honestly what you find?'

  His eyes were full of pain. 'In these cases I'm always honest, Jenny, otherwise the torment is worse. Now, I understand you've been prepped. I'll see you in Theatre.' He left her little side room and she turned to Mike.

  All this time she had been aware of Mike in the background. He knew better than to interfere, to ask questions. But he was there and she was glad. Whenever there was a pause in the attention she was getting he came to her side and held her hand. He brushed aside her hair, kissed her forehead.

  'This is worse for you than it is for me,' she had whispered.

  'Hush, sweetheart. Just remember... I'm here for you.'

  This was a new Mike. So far in every situation they had met together he had been competent, in charge, knowing what to do for the best. Now this wasn't the case. Decisions were out of his hands, he could only watch and hope. And he was terrified by that.

  Jenny loved him more for it. He was human after all.

  It was evening, she'd been sedated and was drifting in and out of sleep.

  'What happened to Sam?' she asked drowsily.

  'He's fine. A nice policewoman took him home. Sue has been phoning me and leaving messages every half-hour, she's distraught about you.'

  'I'm going to be fine. Don't worry about me. Tell her not to worry.'

  But she could see his face and knew that wasn't possible. He would worry and so would Sue.

  A nurse came in, smiled at them both. 'The anaesthetist
will be here in a minute,' she said. 'But first there are some consent forms to sign for the operation, and I've got to explain them to you.'

  'I'm a nurse and a midwife here. I know what the forms mean. I've given them out myself. Just let me sign them.'

  The nurse sighed. 'It's protocol. You don't have to listen, but I've got to explain.'

  She turned to Mike and said with a kind smile, 'I know you're a doctor here but you're involved with the patient. It might be a good idea if you waited somewhere else until Mr Spenser's finished. You'll do no good to her or yourself just hanging round until then.' She paused a minute and then said, 'You know, in situations like this, often the best thing to do is work. If you can.'

  Mike hesitated, then nodded. 'All right. If I leave you my bleeper number will you call me the minute she comes out of Theatre?'

  'I'll do that. Now, off you go! You're interfering with patient care.'

  Mike came over, kissed Jenny's forehead. On her bruised cheek she felt the drop of a tear. Then he was gone. She heard him exchange a couple of words with someone just outside. A woman walked in wearing scrubs.

  'Hi, I'm Tina Land, your anaesthetist. A couple of words before we start...'

  In a hospital, word got around fast. Mike walked over to the obs and gynae wards—and the minute he entered there was a barrage of anxious enquiries. Doctors, nurses, students, midwives, technicians—all wanted to know how Jenny was. Mike hadn't quite realised just how popular she was. And that only made him feel worse.

  He went to the doctors' room, looked for the senior registrar who was on duty. It was Ellie Crane. She was in the antenatal ward, checking an unexplained rise in a mother-to-be's temperature. Mike waited till she had finished, answered all her questions about Jenny and then said, 'I'm waiting till Jenny comes out of surgery. Can you find me some work till then? I need to be occupied.'

  Ellie studied him for a moment and asked bluntly, 'Are you up to it? We don't want mistakes made.'

  'I'm up to it. I just want something simple—like an SHO's job. How about the one on the delivery suite?'

  'Fine. Go and tell him you'll do his job for a while. He can study, he needs to. But he stays in the building so he can take over when you leave.'

  'Thanks, Ellie.'

  There were three women in advanced labour when he arrived at the delivery suite. For the next three hours he did the simple but important tasks that the junior doctors handled. There were the observations, the help when requested by the midwives, the notes to write up and the mums to smile at. Usually these days he was only called to the delivery suite when there was an emergency. But he found the work that he was doing, coping with simple, straightforward births, was satisfying. It even took his mind off Jenny. A bit.

  After some time he was bleeped. Jenny had come out of Theatre.

  Mike briefed the SHO. Then officially he handed his work over and went back to the neurological theatre.

  Mr Spenser was sitting in his scrubs. He was drinking a cup of coffee and looked tired. 'You're not officially related to Miss Carson,' he told Mike, 'and to be perfectly proper, I shouldn't talk to you until I've spoken to her. But I will. Did you see the X-rays, the CT and the MRI scans?'

  'I saw them. The sacral vertebrae were in a mess.'

  Mr Spenser nodded. 'It was bad when we got inside. But the spinal cord isn't completely severed. We've done what we can, cleaned up the bone chips and seen to the inflammation. What I'm going to have to tell her is that... well, there's still hope. She'll be in a wheelchair for quite some time. We didn't try to see to her arm—that can wait a few days.'

  'What's the worst possible prognosis?' Mike asked.

  'Convalescence could take an awful long time. As I said, a long period in a wheelchair. And if things don't work the way we want them to... perhaps she'll never walk again.'

  'You're not going to tell her that tomorrow!'

  'No,' Mr Spenser said. 'That possibility is a bit of news that can wait. Now, do you want to see her?'

  Of course, he had seen people coming out of surgery before, knew that the drawn white face was just the result of anaesthesia. But she didn't look like the Jenny he knew so well.

  'She won't come really round now till morning,' the nurse there said. 'She may not even know you. Why not go home and get some rest? You look terrible yourself. You need to be strong for her tomorrow.'

  So he kissed Jenny’s white cheek and decided that was the best thing to do.

  Mike stood outside the hospital and stared at the dark sky. It was late. He didn't know what to do. For the past twelve hours he had thought solely of Jenny, had spent most of his time no more than a few feet from her. Now she was completely out of his care.

  This morning now seemed so far away. He had walked out with Sam and Jenny, and the weekend had stretched in front of them, a time of happiness. They had been planning a trip to Wales, this time taking Sue and Sam on a picnic. How things had changed.

  Where to go, what to do now? He may as well go home. There were always taxis outside the hospital.

  He didn't feel any better when he walked into the house. There was his sister sitting in the kitchen, clutching a sleeping Sam. Her cheeks were tear-streaked.

  'How is she? I've just phoned the hospital again. They say she's had an operation, is in no danger and she'll have a treatment assessment tomorrow.'

  'That's about right. They'll tell you nothing because there's nothing to tell.'

  'Right. How long since you had anything to eat?'

  He stared at his sister as if he didn't understand the question. Then he thought about it—nothing since breakfast.

  'I'm just not hungry,' he said.

  'You're going to eat anyway. You need to. If you want, you can take Sam to bed. He got up and I just wanted to hold him, couldn't bear to take him back. But I'm better now.'

  'Is Sam OK?'

  Sue gave him a wan smile. 'He's fine. He enjoyed his trip in the police car with the policewoman. She was good, by the way, very reassuring.'

  So Mike took his nephew in his arms and carried him up to bed. As he laid the little body in his bed, Sam stirred a little but he didn't wake. Mike looked down and relived the horror of the moment when he'd realised that Sam was out of reach, that the car was going to hit him and there was nothing whatsoever that he could do. Then he went down to the kitchen.

  He tried to talk but Sue told him to keep quiet, to eat first. She had cooked him a lasagne. So he did as he was told and found that he was ravenous. Sue sat at the kitchen fable, looking at him.

  When he had finished she fetched the brandy bottle and a glass, poured him a large drink. He sipped the fiery liquid. He didn't exactly feel better but the numbness and the feeling of inadequacy left him. Now he could cope.

  'Right,' Sue said. 'I want you to tell me what happened. I've had a cautious version from the policewoman and a semi-coherent one from you over the phone. Now, you tell me properly.'

  So he told her. And finished by saying that if he had held on to Sam, everything would have been all right.

  Sue shook her head. 'No. He's Slippery Sam. It could have happened to anyone. Keep that in mind.'

  She poured herself a glass of brandy and gave him a refill. 'After this we both go to bed,' she said.

  He had a shower, went to his bedroom. Under the pillow on one side was Jenny's nightdress, she had spent last night with him. He took the nightdress, buried his head in it. It smelt of her, of the warmth of her body. He climbed into bed, still clutching the scrap of white silk.

  He could have taken a sleeping pill; he had some locked up in his doctor's case. But he didn't. He knew he had to subdue his whirling thoughts himself, not with chemical assistance.

  Had it been his fault? Was there any point in thinking about fault? Whatever, Jenny was in hospital. He kept on telling himself that it was foolish to anticipate what might not be, to suffer unnecessarily. But he was a doctor—he knew. He had seen the X-rays, the scans. She might be paralysed for life. No,
he mustn't dwell on that. He must wait and see.

  Then he thought of the woman who loved dancing, who loved walking. Again he made himself think of something else. Hope for the best.

  He remembered the first time he had seen her, remembered the stolen kiss. He remembered their meetings since, wondered at how rapidly they had come to know each other.

  Not just to know each other! To love each other! He had been foolish in saying they would take time to get to know each other. He had been content to live in the present, not realising that the future could never be foretold. He should have told her he loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  He thought that she loved him. Well, that was more than a start. Now he could go to sleep.

  Mike was there when she woke next morning. Jenny saw him sitting by her bed, looking down at her.

  It was hard, waking up. First there was the vague feeling that something was not quite right. Then there was the pain. She felt battered. Then there was the memory of yesterday, the sickening realisation that she was... well, she was in hospital. She couldn't help it, she moaned. And then he was taking her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss.

  'It's all right, sweetheart. Everything will be all right. Just lie there, don't try to move. I'm with you.'

  Then she didn't need to talk. She lay there perfectly still, her hand in his. Mostly she kept her eyes shut, but when she opened them there he was, still looking down at her. She took strength from his very presence.

  There seemed to be more confidence in his smile, he was not the horrified man she had seen yesterday. And this too, gave her strength. If Mike was there, things couldn't be too bad.

  A little later a nurse came in, said that in five minutes she was going to turn Mike out while she helped Jenny wash.

  'You've got a job to go to,' Jenny told him. 'You'll be needed on the wards.'

  'They know I'm likely to be late. John Bennet told me to take as much time off as I needed. He'll be in to see you later. And there's been all sorts of messages from the rest of the staff. You're popular. Everyone wants to come and visit.'