She’d felt married from this day last Christmas when Marc had proposed.
Her Marc.
Home.
‘That’s the end of them.’ The last present distributed, Marc headed back to his seat beside her and kissed her. ‘All done. No more presents until next year.’
‘There’s just one more,’ she said serenely.
‘Yeah?’ They’d exchanged gifts this morning, small, funny things because so much had been given to them this year they could hardly think of anything more they could want.
‘I have one more gift for you,’ she told him and she took his hand. In private, underneath the loaded table, her hand pressed his downward onto the flat of her belly. Or not quite flat.
His gaze flew to hers, questioning, but as his hand felt what she wanted him to feel she saw his eyes widen with shock.
And then blaze with joy.
‘Elsa! Oh, love...’
‘Happy Christmas,’ she breathed, and it was too much. Surrounded by a sea of islanders and medics, by a Christmas celebration to end all Christmas celebrations, this took it to a new level.
He stood and swept her up into his arms, whirling her around in joy. His was a shout of gladness, of wonder, of the promise of things to come.
And then, as he lowered her so he could kiss her, as he gathered her into his arms, as he held the woman he loved with all his heart, the hall erupted into cheers around them.
They weren’t too sure what was happening, but they knew one thing.
Their island doctors were where they belonged.
With each other.
They were home.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Marion Lennox
Pregnant Midwife on His Doorstep
Rescued by the Single Dad Doc
Second Chance with Her Island Doc
The Baby They Longed For
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Forever Family for the Midwife by Kate Hardy.
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Life and love in the world of modern medicine.
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Forever Family for the Midwife
by Kate Hardy
CHAPTER ONE
‘I’M NOT HAVING you touching my wife.’
The words were audible right across the ward.
The raised voices weren’t just going to upset the poor mum-to-be in that room, they were going to upset all the other mums-to-be within earshot. And none of them needed the extra stress during labour. Rebecca knew that the head of midwifery was in a meeting with the consultants, so she was probably the most senior person on the ward at that moment—meaning that she was the one who needed to deal with this. She walked swiftly over to the room, preparing to calm everything down.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked sweetly, knowing perfectly well that it wasn’t, but also knowing that going in and shouting just as loudly wasn’t going to help anyone.
‘No, it isn’t.’ A stocky man stood in front of the bed with his fists clenched. ‘I’m not having him touching my wife.’
‘Him’ being the midwife. Rebecca hadn’t met Nathaniel Jones yet, as she’d been on leave for the last two weeks since he’d joined the maternity team at Muswell Hill Memorial Hospital, but she knew he was one of the very few male midwives in the country. And this situation needed to be de-escalated as fast as possible.
‘Let me introduce myself,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’m Dr Hart, obstetric registrar. Why don’t you come over to my office, where it’s a bit more private, and we can discuss it?’
‘What, and leave him here with my wife?’ the man demanded.
‘Mr—’ This couple hadn’t been to any of her clinics, and one of her colleagues had done the ward round this morning, so she didn’t know their names. She glanced at the whiteboard above the bed, where the words ‘Ruth Brown’ had been written, and hoped that her assumption wouldn’t make things worse. ‘Mr Brown. Your wife’s on our ward right now, and our priority is to keep her comfortable and the baby safe,’ she said calmly.
‘I’m fully qualified,’ Nathaniel said gently, ‘and Dr Hart is right—your wife and baby are our priorities. Just to reassure you, I had to deliver forty babies before I could qualify, and I’ve delivered a few more since then. Your wife is very safe with me—my job is to listen to her and help.’
‘It’s not that. I’m not having a man looking at her...’ Mr Brown gave a jerk of his head. ‘Down there.’
Oh, for pity’s sake. This was a maternity unit! But she bit back her impatience; telling the man he was being an idiot would only put his back up even more and make things worse. ‘While you and I have a chat, are you OK for Mr Jones to take your wife’s temperature, blood pressure and pulse rate, and keep a check on the baby’s movements?’
‘I suppose so,’ Mr Brown admitted grudgingly.
‘Good. Let’s go to my office,’ she said, giving Nathaniel a reassuring smile. ‘We’ll be back in a minute, Mrs Brown.’ She led Mr Brown to her office and closed the door to give them privacy.
* * *
Clearly she’d meant well, but Nathaniel was a little bit irritated that Rebecca Hart had swept in to deal with a situation he was perfectly capable of handling himself. He really hoped she wasn’t the sort of doctor who felt the need to pull rank on a midwife; he’d worked with that sort before and in his view the mum’s needs should come before everything else. Or was she like one of his tutors, feeling that men had no place as a midwife?
He took a deep breath to stem his irritation and turned to Ruth Brown. ‘Mrs Brown, I’m sorry about that,’ he said.
She grimaced. ‘I should be the one apologising. Mike was so rude to you.’
‘Hey. That’s not important. You are,’ he said. ‘And I’m guessing your blood pressure isn’t going to be great, so either I can regale you with some terrible jokes or you can do some breathing exercises to help you relax a bit before I put the cuff on your arm.’
As he’d hoped, she laughed and looked less awkward. ‘I’ll do the breathing. Mike doesn’t mean to be rude. We had a scare a couple of weeks back, when I couldn’t feel the baby moving. And he’s a typical bloke—can’t say what he feels, so he gets cross instead. Oh, present company excepted,’ she added.
Nathaniel laughed. ‘Fair point, and I don’t think I’m an exception. I don’t know many men who are good at talking about their feelings. Right. Let’s try that blood pressure...’
* * *
‘I’ve never heard of a bloke being a midwife,’ Mr Brown said, his mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘What’s he doing it for—so he can look at women down there?’
‘No. There are several hundred male midwives across the country, and they do it for exactly the same reason our female midwives do their job—the same reason that I, as a senior doctor, do my job. To deliver babies safely,’ Rebecca said, keeping her voice cool and even.
‘It’s not right, a bloke being a midwife,’ Mr Brown continued, his face flushed with anger.
‘Nathaniel is qualified and he’s experienced,’ Rebecca said. ‘If I was in labour, I’d want someone like him to look after me. A trained midwife, who’d be able to spot the signs of any problem right in the early stages and could sort it out before it became an emergency.’
‘I suppose,’ Mr Brown acknowledged. ‘But I still don’t want him looking after my wife.’
‘Would you have a problem with your wife being seen by a male doctor?’ she asked.
He looked surprised. ‘Well, no.’
‘It’s the same thing,’ she pointed out gently. ‘Just a different title.’
He shook his head. ‘Midwives
aren’t doctors.’
Midwives were just as important as doctors, but this wasn’t the right time to have that argument. She needed to deal with the immediate situation first. ‘I can talk to the midwifery team to see if anyone else is available to look after your wife,’ she said. ‘But I can’t guarantee there will be.’ She could see fear in Mr Brown’s face. Was it fear that was driving all this? ‘Is this your first baby?’ she asked gently.
He nodded.
‘It’s exciting, because you can’t wait to meet your baby, the one you’ve felt kick and seen on a scan; but it’s also really scary, because you see all these awful things on the internet. All the horror stories of things going wrong.’ She’d just bet Mr Brown was familiar with ‘Dr Search Engine’—and she really hoped that he hadn’t seen fit to share his findings with his wife.
‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘Ruth couldn’t feel the baby moving, a couple of weeks back. I drove her here so fast I got stopped by the police. But when I told them why, they escorted us in with their blue lights going.’
‘And everything was all right?’ Well, obviously, or she wouldn’t be in labour. But he was talking now and Rebecca wanted to keep that going.
‘We had a scan and the baby was kicking.’ A muscle tensed in his jaw. ‘But the doctors said the baby’s a bit small for dates. That’s why they wanted Ruth to come in today and be induced.’
‘So you came in first thing this morning?’
He nodded. ‘We had a different midwife when we came in. She said she was going to do this membrane sweep thing.’
‘That’s an internal exam, which separates the membranes of the fluid-filled sac around the baby from the cervix, releasing the hormones that kick-start labour,’ Rebecca said, sure that the midwife had already explained the process but wanting to make completely certain that Mr Brown understood what was happening. ‘I assume her labour hasn’t started yet?’
‘No. And he said he’d insert a pessary. In her...’ He paused, looking embarrassed and cross.
‘Your first midwife probably—’ definitely ‘—told you that might need to happen if Ruth’s contractions hadn’t started within six hours,’ she said gently.
‘I didn’t really take it all in,’ Mr Brown admitted. ‘I was just worried about Ruthie and the baby.’
‘OK. When we induce labour, if the membrane sweep doesn’t work then we’ll insert a tablet of the prostaglandin hormones into the vagina.’ Rebecca chose her words carefully, keeping everything as impersonal and cool as possible. ‘Sometimes it takes a second tablet before labour actually starts. Right now, I think you need someone experienced looking after your wife. Someone who understands about the scare you had during pregnancy, and how worrying it is to have your labour started for you instead of it all happening naturally. You need someone who’s going to keep a really good eye on your wife and the baby. Someone who sees her as a mum-to-be and understands her worries—and yours, too. If anything, I reckon Mr Jones is going to be able to help you a bit more than a female midwife could because he’ll have a better idea of what goes through a bloke’s head.’
Mr Brown shuffled in his chair.
Clearly he was still focusing on the idea of another man looking at and touching his wife’s vagina. So she was going to have to embarrass him slightly. ‘I can assure you, Mr Jones won’t be looking at your wife in the same way you do,’ she said, as kindly as she could. ‘Just as if, say, you had a lump in your testicles and I was your GP and needed to examine you.’
This time, his face went a very deep shade of crimson.
‘I’d examine you, because that’s my job,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t be looking at your body in the same way that your wife does. I’d see you as my patient—someone who’s worried, who has a symptom on a part of his body and who needs my help. There wouldn’t be anything at all sexual in the way I looked at you, just as there’s nothing sexual in the way Mr Jones looks at your wife. He’ll simply be following the procedures, just as a female midwife would.’
‘I guess,’ Mr Brown said.
‘If a female midwife isn’t available and you’re really concerned about the propriety of having a male midwife, we can arrange for a chaperone,’ she said. He’d said earlier that he wouldn’t object to a male doctor, so maybe this was the best way to make the point. ‘And if any of our male doctors need to see her, we can also arrange for a chaperone for them if that would make you feel more comfortable.’
She waited for him to think about it.
Eventually he looked at her. ‘I’m making a fuss over nothing, aren’t I?’ he asked.
‘You’re worried about your wife and the baby,’ she said. ‘But you’re also worrying about something that isn’t an issue, so that’s one burden you can choose to take off your shoulders and make your life a bit easier.’
He took a deep breath. ‘All right. He can do it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And we don’t need a chaperone.’
Relief flooded through her. She smiled. ‘Rest assured, all the staff here will treat your wife—and you—with the utmost dignity and respect. But I’d also like to remind you, Mr Brown, that the hospital has a zero-tolerance policy. Our staff have the right to care for our mums-to-be without being attacked or abused, physically or verbally.’
He shuffled in the chair again. ‘I owe that bloke an apology, don’t I?’
Yes, he did. ‘That’s your call,’ she said, still keeping things calm.
‘I’m sorry. I just—I panic, sometimes. I’m used to...’ His voice tailed off.
Used to blustering and shouting at his juniors at work if things didn’t go quite according to plan? She knew the type. But this wasn’t a battle worth fighting. She’d dealt with the important bit so Mrs Brown would get the care she needed. ‘OK. Shall we go back and see how your wife’s doing?’
He looked shamefaced. ‘Ruth’s going to kill me.’
‘As she’s being induced, I think she might have something else distracting her,’ Rebecca said with a smile. Mr Brown needed distracting, too, given an important job to stop him overthinking things and getting upset and shouty again. ‘And I’m pretty sure she’d like you to do some hand-holding. To chat to her and keep her mind off the wait, because this bit of an induced birth can really get boring. She’ll need you to rub her back when she’s having a contraction, or get her some really cold water, or fetch her a sandwich when she’s getting hungry—that sort of thing.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘Shall we go back?’
He nodded.
She escorted him back to the ward where Mrs Brown was waiting on the bed with Nathaniel sitting on the chair next to her, the curtains drawn round them. She was chatting to Nathaniel, clearly completely at ease with him.
Mr Brown walked over to the bed. ‘Sorry, mate. I was in the wrong,’ he muttered, holding his hand out to shake Nathaniel’s.
‘You’re all right,’ Nathaniel said, shaking his hand. ‘First babies can do that to you, especially when you’ve already had a scare and your wife’s being induced, and you feel a bit helpless because she’s the one going through it and you’re not really sure what you can do to make things better.’
Clearly Mrs Brown had filled him in on the situation, Rebecca thought. And Nathaniel was handling this brilliantly, empathising with a scared dad-to-be.
‘Yeah,’ Mr Brown said.
‘You’re such an idiot, Mike. Nathaniel’s been really good,’ Mrs Brown said. ‘So are you going to stop making a fuss now and let us get on with having this baby?’
Mr Brown nodded, looking hangdog.
‘You could go and get your wife a cup of tea while I sort out the prostaglandin,’ Nathaniel suggested, clearly sensitive to what one of the big problems had been.
‘I will,’ Mr Brown said. ‘Can I get anything for you?’
Nathaniel smil
ed. ‘I’m fine, but thanks for asking.’
‘I’d like a chicken salad sandwich on wholemeal with that cup of tea, please, love. I’m starving,’ Mrs Brown added.
When Mr Brown had left, Mrs Brown said, ‘Mike doesn’t mean to be an idiot. He’s just...’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘A bit old-school, I suppose.’
‘I’ve reassured him,’ Rebecca said. ‘I think he realises now that medics don’t see their patients in a sexual way, so he won’t worry any more.’
Mrs Brown rolled her eyes. ‘Open up, ground, and swallow me now,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. A lot of dads-to-be feel like that, at first. It’s all fine. Let’s concentrate on you and the baby,’ Nathaniel said. ‘Now, let’s get you comfortable and see if we can get this labour up and running.’
‘I’m going to back to my paperwork before my clinic. Call me if you need anything,’ Rebecca said.
‘Thank you,’ he said, though there was something in his eyes that said he had no intention of calling her. She suppressed a sigh; the last thing she needed was a team member with a chip on his shoulder. There wasn’t room for egos in this job. Their mums-to-be and babies always came first.
The afternoon ward rounds and clinic took up most of the rest of her day. She was just finishing some paperwork when there was a knock on her open door. She looked up to see Nathaniel standing there.
‘Dr Hart.’
Normally she would’ve suggested first-name terms and asked how he was settling in to the team, but his attitude earlier had irritated her. ‘Yes, Mr Jones?’
‘I thought you’d like to know that the Browns had a healthy little girl, two point six kilos.’
‘That’s great news,’ she said, pleased. ‘Thanks for telling me.’
Mistletoe Kiss with the Heart Doctor Page 18
