Midwives On-Call. Alison Roberts

‘Your daughter is tilted at a better angle.’

      ‘Oh …’ Ruby’s eyes weren’t leaving the screen.

      They could definitely see the baby now, and they could see how the baby was slightly tilted to the side. Carefully, carefully Oliver manoeuvred him within the uterus, making no sudden movements, making sure the move was no more dramatic than if the baby himself had wriggled.

      And now they could see the spine exposed. The telltale bulge …

      ‘Is that the problem? The same as mine?’ Ruby whispered, and Oliver nodded.

      ‘Rufus’s problem was slightly lower, but it’s very similar.’

      Silence again. They were totally focused, all of them. Oliver must have seen this many times before, Em thought—and he’d been there in person—but he was still watching it as if it was a miracle.

      It was a miracle.

      ‘This is where I step back and let the neurosurgeon take over,’ Oliver said. ‘My job is to take care of the whole package, you and your baby, but Dr Zigler will be doing this bit. He’s the best, Ruby. You’re in the best of hands.’

      They watched on. The surgery was painstaking. It was like microsurgery, Em thought, where fingers were reattached, where surgeons fought hard to save nerves. And in a way it was. They were carefully working around and then through the bulge. There’d be so many things to work around. The spinal cord was so fragile, so tiny. The task was to repair the damage already done, as far as possible, and then close, protecting the cord and peripheral nerves from the amniotic fluid until the baby was born.

      ‘Is … is it hurting?’ Ruby breathed, as the first incision was made into the tiny back.

      ‘Is he hurting? No. Rufus is anaesthetised, as well as his mum. Did you see the anaesthetist working as soon as we had exposure? The jury’s out on whether unborn babies can feel pain. There are those who say they’re in a state similar to an induced coma, but they certainly react to a painful touch. It makes the procedure a little more risky—balancing anaesthetic with what he’s receiving via his mum’s blood supply—but the last thing we want is to stress him. Luckily the Victoria has some of the best anaesthetists in the world. Vera Harty will be doing your anaesthetic and your daughter’s. I’d trust her with a baby of my own.’

      Ruby was satisfied. She went back to watching the screen.

      Em watched, too, but Oliver’s last statement kept reverberating.

       I’d trust her with a baby of my own.

      The sadness was flooding back. Oliver had been unable to have a baby of his own—because of her. She had fertility problems, not Oliver.

      He’d left her years ago. He could have found someone by now.

      Maybe he had. Maybe he just wasn’t saying.

      But he hadn’t. She knew him well, this man.

      There’d been an undercurrent of longing in the statement.

      They’d both wanted children. She’d released him so he could have them. Why hadn’t he moved on?

      Watch the screen, she told herself. Some things were none of her business. Oliver was none of her business—except he was the obstetrician treating her patient.

      She went back to being professional—sort of. She went back to watching Rufus, as Oliver and Ruby were doing.

      The procedure was delicate and it took time but it seemed Oliver was in no hurry to finish watching, and neither was Ruby. Em couldn’t be, either. Her job was to keep Ruby calm for tomorrow’s operation, and that’s what was happening now. The more familiar the girl was about what lay ahead, the more relaxed she’d be.

      And not for the first time, Em blessed this place, this job. The Victoria considered its midwives some of the most important members of its staff. The mothers’ needs came first and if a mum needed her midwife then Isla would somehow juggle the rest of her staff to cover.

      Unless there was major drama Em wouldn’t be interrupted now, she thought, and she wasn’t. They made an intimate trio, midwife and doctor, with Ruby sandwiched between. Protected? That’s what it felt like to Em, and she suspected that’s how Ruby felt. Had Oliver set this up with just this goal? She glanced at him and knew her suspicion was right.

      The first time she’d met him she’d been awed by his medical skills. Right now, watching him operate on screen, feeling Ruby’s trust growing by the second, that awe was escalating into the stratosphere.

      He might not make it as a husband, but he surely made it as a surgeon.

      Back on screen, the neurosurgeon was suturing, using careful, painstakingly applied, tiny stitches, while Oliver was carefully monitoring the levels of amniotic fluid. This baby would be born already scarred, Em thought. He’d have a scar running down his lower back—but with luck that was all he’d have. Please …

      ‘It worked a treat,’ Oliver said, sounding as pleased as if the operation had happened yesterday, and on screen the neurosurgeon stood back and Oliver took over. The final stitches went in, closing the mum’s uterus, making the incision across the mum’s tummy as neat as the baby’s. ‘Rufus was born by Caesarean section at thirty-three weeks,’ Oliver told them. ‘He spent four weeks in hospital as a prem baby but would you like to see him now?’

      ‘I … Yes.’ Ruby sounded as if she could scarcely breathe.

      ‘We have his parents’ permission to show him to other parents facing the same procedure,’ Oliver told her. ‘Here goes.’

      He fiddled with the computer and suddenly they were transported to a suburban backyard, to a rug thrown on a lawn, to a baby, about six months old, lying on his back in the sun, kicking his legs, admiring his toes.

      There was a dog at the edge of the frame, a dopey-looking cocker spaniel. As they watched, the dog edged forward and licked the baby’s toes. Rufus crowed with laughter and his toes went wild.

      ‘He doesn’t … he doesn’t look like there’s anything wrong with him,’ Ruby breathed.

      ‘He still has some issues he needs help with.’ Oliver was matter-of-fact now, surgeon telling it like it was. ‘He’ll need physiotherapy to help him walk, and he might need professional help to learn how to control his bladder and bowels, but the early signs are that he’ll be able to lead a perfectly normal life.’

      ‘He looks … perfect already.’ Ruby was riveted and so was Em. She was watching Ruby’s face. She was watching Ruby’s hand, cradling her bump. ‘My little one … my little girl … she could be perfect, too?’

      ‘I think she already is.’ Oliver was smiling down at her. ‘She has a great mum who’s taking the best care of her. And you have the best midwife …’

      Em flashed him a look of surprise. There was no need to make this personal.

      But for Ruby, this was nothing but personal. ‘Em says she’ll stay with me,’ Ruby told him. ‘At the operation and again when my baby’s born. There’s a chance that she can’t—she says no one’s ever totally sure because babies are unpredictable—but she’s promised to try. I hope she can, but if she’s not then she’s introduced me to Sophia, or Isla will take over. But you’ll look after …’ Her hand cradled the bump again as she looked anxiously at Oliver. ‘You’ll look after us both?’

      ‘I will.’ And it was a vow.

      ‘Tell me again why I need a Caesarean later—when my baby’s born properly?’

      He nodded, closed his laptop and sat back in a visitor’s chair, to all appearances prepared to chat for as long as Ruby wanted. He was busy, Em knew. As well as the promises he’d made her to childmind on Saturday, she knew he already had a full caseload of patients. But right now Ruby was being given the impression that he had all the time in the world, and that time