The Midwife's Miracle Baby

by Amy Andrews

  ‘This is fine,’ Shirley agreed.

  ‘If your husband …?’

  ‘Graham,’ Claire supplied.

  ‘Graham could support under your arms and you lean back into him … That’s great,’ he complimented them as Graham supported his wife perfectly.

  Campbell pushed the wheelchair out of the way and got down on his hands and knees on the towels. Claire followed suit.

  Shirley was absolutely right. The baby was coming. In fact, as Claire removed Shirley’s underthings it was evident that it was already there. Adrenaline accelerated her heartbeat as they looked at the baby’s bottom and scrotum bulging from the birth canal.

  ‘Delivered any breeches before?’ Campbell asked quietly.

  ‘A few, when I worked out west. You?’

  ‘I studied for six months under a French obstetrician who specialised in breech deliveries. I delivered plenty while I was there. So we can do this, OK? Remember the cardinal rule? Hands off the breech.’

  ‘Let’s do it.’ She smiled and he squeezed her hand.

  His confidence buoyed her. The potential for complications increased with a breech presentation. It was good to have an experienced obstetrician by her side.

  Claire got up and pulled a trolley close. Campbell grabbed some gloves and pulled them on.

  ‘OK, Shirley, your little boy is going to be here soon.’

  ‘B-boy?’

  ‘Yes, the evidence is hanging free for all to see. I’m just going to have a feel and see where the legs are, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ she panted.

  Campbell inserted two fingers and shut his eyes, concentration puckering his brow. ‘It’s a frank,’ he said, removing his hand. A breech in a frank position meant that the legs were jackknifed onto the abdomen—the commonest form of breech.

  ‘You’re doing so well, Shirley. At the next contraction, feel free to push with it, OK? We’ll see if the legs will come out without any help.’

  ‘Oh, boy, another one—now,’ she said, starting to breathe heavily.

  ‘Go with it, Shirley. Big push for me.’

  Shirley bellowed loudly as she bore down. The legs slipped out in textbook style and the baby was now visible up to his belly button.

  ‘This baby sure wants out, Shirley,’ Campbell joked. ‘He’s doing all the right things. He’s practically delivering himself.’

  Campbell pulled a loop of umbilical cord down to give them some slack for when the rest of the body made its appearance. The baby started cycling his legs, slowly inching himself out, obviously determined to be born. The arms and shoulders came out next. The baby was almost completely out now. Only the head remained.

  ‘Wonderful, Shirley,’ Claire soothed. ‘You’re doing really well. The head will be out soon.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ A flushed and sweaty-faced Shirley attempted humour.

  Campbell was supporting the baby’s weight, cupping his bottom. His other hand spanned the tiny chest to slow the delivery while they waited for the next contraction to deliver the head.

  Both Claire and Campbell knew that delivering the head was the crucial time and the one most fraught with potential complications. With a normal delivery the head was the first part out, having fully dilated the cervix and vaginal opening to accommodate it. With a breech, the head was the last part to come out, so if full dilatation hadn’t occurred, and particularly if the head was large, the baby could get stuck.

  Shirley moaned as another pain contracted her uterus. Graham comforted and encouraged her as he took her weight. Campbell continued to support the baby as the back of the head cleared the birth canal. They could see the nape of the neck now. Shirley cried out as her birth outlet slowly stretched to allow the passage of her baby’s head.

  Campbell supported the baby as it slipped out. He stood and placed the newborn in his mother’s arms. Jubilation reigned supreme as the baby wailed lustily. Claire felt hot tears prick her eyes. She let them shine, not caring whether Campbell saw them or not. What a rush! The birth centre’s first birth, and a breech! Shirley and Graham stood in the middle of the room, hugging and laughing and crying.

  Putting her excitement aside, Claire covered the wet newborn in a warmed blanket and helped Shirley to the bed. The job wasn’t finished yet. The cord had stopped pulsing so she clamped it and showed Graham how to cut it. She administered an intramuscular injection of a drug that stimulated uterine contraction, and then she delivered the placenta.

  Frivolity, excitement and laughter ebbed and flowed around her as Claire completed her responsibilities. Campbell sat on the bed with the new parents, admiring the latest addition to their family. Claire watched him surreptitiously. It was good to see the grin couldn’t be wiped from his face either. It made her own smile even bigger.

  A quiet knock at the door interrupted the celebrations. It was Valerie Baines. She was one of the centre’s midwives who’d come in especially today to attend a training course. She’d been out to lunch.

  ‘Oh! I leave you alone for an hour and you deliver our very first baby!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘A breech, too,’ said Claire.

  ‘Such clever people,’ she teased, and joined in the excited gathering, cooing at the baby and congratulating everyone.

  ‘This requires a celebration,’ Valerie declared half an hour later after the paperwork had been completed and the room put to rights. ‘Let’s crack open that bottle of champagne we’ve been keeping for this occasion.’ She ran off to get it.

  She returned with the chilled bottle and five glasses. They clinked them together and toasted the baby—David John Miller. The newborn slept peacefully in his father’s arms. He’d had a tough day, too. They also toasted Claire and Campbell and the birth centre.

  ‘To you.’ Campbell raised his glass to Claire as Valerie helped Shirley to the shower, husband in tow.

  Claire stroked her finger down the soft red cheek of baby David. ‘Ditto.’ She smiled and they grinned at each other like idiots. Claire felt the attraction between them treble. She was in real trouble! ‘You know Martin is going to have a fit over this, don’t you?’

  ‘Let him,’ he said and laughed. They toasted that as well.

  Claire had to admit that working beside Campbell had been exhilarating. She’d seen another side to the man who had pursued her so persistently. The dedicated doctor. Cool and calm in a situation that would have tested most doctors’ mettle. And he wasn’t afraid to get on his haunches to deliver a baby. She felt her admiration for him rise and mix with her burgeoning attraction. The champagne must have gone to her head.

  Campbell stared at the very different Claire in front of him. Her cheeks glowed and her brown eyes were as tempting as the expensive chocolates he’d been sending her. For once he could read everything in their sweet depths. She wanted him. It was there, as plain as day. He should have plied her with champagne a month ago.

  ‘Have dinner with me tonight.’ He held his breath.

  ‘OK.’ She grinned. Yup. It had definitely gone to her head.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CLAIRE sat beside the bed, holding her mother’s bony, frail hand. Her thumb stroked rhythmically over the papery skin. Right here in front of her lay the reason that a relationship with any man was impossible.

  The clock in the lounge room chimed seven, breaking into her reverie. Time to go. She leaned forward and gently kissed her mother’s cheek. Mary didn’t stir.

  ‘I’d better go, Dad,’ she said, locating her father in his bedroom, watching the evening news.

  ‘Goodnight, darling.’ He smiled his gentle smile. ‘Claire …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t mean to interfere … but … you know you don’t have to come home tonight. I can manage just fine.’

  ‘Dad,’ she joked in mock horror. ‘You’re not suggesting I spend the night with this man on the first date?’

  He smiled, a rare occasion of late. ‘Seriously, darling, it’s been years since you’ve been on
a date. I want you to enjoy yourself for a change.’

  ‘I have to be here in the morning, Dad. She expects me.’

  ‘She’s not your responsibility, Claire.’

  ‘Dad … she’s my mother.’

  ‘You’re young, you’re supposed to be selfish and irresponsible. I can manage.’

  ‘I know but … she’ll fret if I’m not here.’

  ‘Darling, she probably won’t even be aware.’ His voice cracked and Claire had to swallow hard.

  ‘She’ll know,’ Claire insisted. She walked into the room and kissed him on the head. ‘I’ve got my mobile. Call me if you need to. I mean it, Dad. Anything. See you in the morning.’

  Claire pulled out of her driveway, her mind preoccupied with her mother’s illness and her father’s devotion. He deserves a medal, she thought as she pulled up at the lights. She chewed absently at the inside of her lip, worrying about the future.

  She gave herself a mental shake as the car behind her hooted to let her know that the light had turned green. Her thoughts should be on the evening ahead and Campbell. If she was going to worry about anything tonight, it should be him.

  He’d wanted to come and pick her up but she had insisted on going to the restaurant independently.

  ‘Is that so you can make a fast getaway?’ he had asked.

  ‘Huh! My plan is foiled,’ she had quipped, and he had laughed and left it alone.

  Not for the first time, she admonished herself for her rash acceptance of his invitation. Once the euphoria from little David’s birth had ebbed, her doubts had resurfaced. She’d even attempted to page him and cancel, but he must have already left for the day.

  If she had known his home phone number she would have tried him there. But she didn’t, so here she was, feeling rather like she was driving to her doom instead of a pleasant evening with a nice man.

  Her gaze fell on her mobile phone and she pushed aside the temptation to ring the restaurant and cancel through a third party, like a coward. She also quelled the urge to just drive around for a few hours and then go home.

  Stand him up? After he’d hunkered down on his hands and knees in a pool of amniotic fluid and helped her deliver a baby? And not just any baby, but one that a lot of obstetricians would have baulked at delivering. That seemed pretty churlish.

  So. She’d go. As a thank you and nothing else. She’d be polite and companionable and beat a hasty retreat as soon as was possible. Easy. Simple.

  And if her thoughts turned fanciful, all she need do was picture her mother. Remember her just as she had left her this evening, lying in bed, ravaged by a cruel disease, waiting to die. That should do it.

  Claire arrived at the restaurant only a little late. She hadn’t really known what to expect. She’d assumed it would be something posh and a la carte. So to find a small Italian joint off the beaten track was a pleasant surprise.

  Claire had been unsure what to wear so had decided on a very plain sleeveless linen shift dress with a modest neckline and an even more modest hemline, falling below the knee. She had chosen it because of its simplicity. She hadn’t wanted to wear anything too provocative and give Campbell the wrong idea.

  If she’d known that the moment she’d slipped it over her head the dress went from simple to sexy, she’d never have worn it. It was the colour. A bright fire-engine red, which complemented her olive skin and accentuated the richness of her black hair. The colour naturally drew attention but, once gained, the vision of her in it was one not easy to forget.

  * * *

  Well, she sure knew how to make an entrance, Campbell thought as two waiters nearly collided in their haste to seat her. She did look ravishing, and Campbell understood the effect she was having on them. But the most important thing was that she was here with him, finally. The wait had been worth it.

  A young Latin-looking waiter, the apparent victor between the two, ushered her to the table where Campbell waited. He half rose politely as the waiter pulled her chair out and then spread a starched linen napkin on her lap, lingering a little longer than Campbell felt was appropriate. Victor or not, Campbell was going to break his fingers if he touched Claire again. Anywhere. At all.

  Claire could feel Campbell’s scrutiny as the waiter fussed and took her drink order. She was pleased to be sitting because Campbell in casual mode was a sight to behold. Having seen him in nothing but suits and ties, it was an unexpected pleasure to find him in faded denim jeans and an open-necked polo shirt, which clung to the firm muscles of his arms and chest.

  They regarded each other steadily over a wax-encrusted Chianti bottle complete with flickering candle. Damn! The lingering memory of his devastating kiss swamped her traitorously. Claire could feel her resolve weakening and the internal struggle she had fought with herself from the minute she’d met him seemed less important by candlelight.

  ‘I thought you were going to stand me up,’ he said, the candlelight accentuating the blond highlights in his hair.

  ‘So did I.’ She smiled and he laughed.

  ‘I’m pleased you didn’t.’ He raised his water glass. She raised hers and they clinked them together.

  ‘This place is nice. Kind of quaint. Authentic.’

  ‘It’s my favourite place to eat out. You can keep all those fancy places with their nouvelle cuisine. Me, I like good hearty food and lots of it. Places that serve you up a teaspoon of food in the middle of a huge plate just don’t do it for me. I hope you’re not disappointed.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ She shrugged her slim shoulders, her bob brushing against them. ‘I agree. I can’t bear the pretentiousness of those places.’

  ‘So you’re not one of these women who just nibble when they go on dates?’

  ‘Absolutely not. If you think I’m going to sit here and pick at a garden salad all night, think again. I’m in the mood for lasagne.’

  ‘Your choice in cuisine is matched only by your choice in clothes,’ he complimented her. ‘You look amazing tonight. That dress and the candlelight … wow!’

  Claire blushed and laughed. Their gazes held and locked. The heat between them could have lit a thousand candles.

  The waiter arrived to take their order and Claire released her breath. Campbell ordered lasagne for her and marinara for himself. He also ordered a bottle of red wine, which arrived promptly.

  ‘To the birth centre.’ He raised his glass.

  ‘To breech births,’ she countered.

  ‘To little Davy,’ he agreed, and clinked his glass against hers.

  ‘Thank you for today, Campbell. Your ability and professionalism impressed me. You said you studied in France for a while?’

  ‘Yes. There’s an obstetrician there, Henri Busson, he’s quite well known.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve read some of his papers.’

  ‘He has his own private clinic. Women come from all over Europe to give birth there. He really is the leading expert in alternative birthing practices.’

  ‘Alternative birth?’ Claire shook her head. ‘Is it just me, Campbell, or has the whole world gone completely crazy? Surely things like inductions and Caesareans should be alternative birthing practices? What they call alternative these days is really just natural childbirth. When did it all get so screwed around?’

  ‘I guess when doctors decided to interfere.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ She smiled and swallowed some of the rich, full-bodied wine.

  ‘You’d get along so well with all my sisters.’ His voice was laced with humour.

  ‘All? How many do you have?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Wow.’ Claire whistled. ‘Let me guess. You’re the youngest.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘You’ve obviously been spoilt and indulged. You certainly don’t know how to take no for an answer.’

  ‘Huh,’ he snorted. ‘You couldn’t be further from the truth. More like harangued and henpecked.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Claire didn’t believe a word of it.
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  ‘Well, maybe a little indulged. But mostly the h-words,’ he answered sheepishly.

  ‘Tell me about your family,’ Claire said as the waiter placed their meals in front of them.

  ‘Well …’ He picked up his fork. ‘My sisters, except for one, are nurses, two of them midwives. The other one’s a GP. My mother is also a retired midwife. She’s English and was a community midwife over there for many years. I think that’s where I get my more modern approach from.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  ‘He died a few years ago. Heart attack.’

  ‘Oh, Campbell.’ Claire reached across and touched his hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Campbell reeled from the look of compassion in her cinnamon eyes. She might be guarded most of the time but, hell, she could certainly be expressive. Something told him she knew a lot about grief. Would she open up to him? Was it worth the risk of seeing the shutters come down when her compassion gave her a whole new appeal?

  ‘What about your family?’

  Campbell felt the cool air against his hand as she abruptly removed hers, like a slap in the face. She returned her concentration to her meal and Campbell regretted having opened his mouth.

  ‘Nothing to tell really. Nowhere near as colourful as your lot. Just Mum and Dad and me. Dad took early retirement a couple of years ago … for medical reasons.’

  Campbell didn’t dare ask about that. From the rigidness of her back he doubted she’d tell him anyway. They ate in silence for a little while, Campbell groping for a way to continue the conversation without her completely freezing him out.

  ‘Have you always lived with them?’

  ‘No. I moved back in a few years ago.’ She placed her knife and fork down on her empty plate. ‘Mmm, that was delicious.’

  Campbell knew when to take a hint. ‘Pleased you liked it. We’ll have to come here again. Do you like sorbet? It’s divine here. Better than anything you’ll get in Italy.’

  ‘Sorbet sounds perfect,’ she agreed, and watched as he leaned back to beckon the waiter. His shirt pulled slightly out of his waistband. Claire tried really hard not to ogle but the tantalising glimpse of tanned skin gliding over muscle proved too much temptation. It certainly distracted her from the awkwardness she’d felt when he’d been quizzing her about her family and from his comment about them coming back here together.