White Christmas for the Single Mom
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Susanne Hampton
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18.6K
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14
Chapter One
IT WAS FOUR in the morning and snow was gently falling in the darkness like tiny stars floating to the ground when Charlie Warren awoke from a nightmare that was all too familiar. Beads of perspiration trailed over his half-naked body. The nights it happened were less in number than the year before but they still came with a regularity he found strangely comforting. Feeling the pain was better than feeling nothing. Or facing the fear of letting go completely. That was something he could still not bring himself to contemplate.
For the few hours that sleep claimed him during those nights, Charlie would relive the moments of impact. Sounds echoed in his mind, each as haunting as the one before. The buckling metal and splintering glass as his car skidded out of his control and slammed into the old oak tree. It was the crash that had claimed his wife and had come close to claiming Charlie’s sanity. He would wake and in the deafening silence lie motionless in his bed thinking over and over about the conversation they should have shared that fateful night. The one when he told his wife it was too dangerous to venture out. The one when he firmly and resolutely refused to take the risk on the treacherous road. The conversation he would regret for the rest of his life that they’d never had.
Some nights were worse than others and on the very worst the nightmares began the moment his head hit the pillow and ended as he sat bolt upright woken by either the ringing of the telephone or his alarm clock. Both signalling he should head in to the hospital, the only place that gave him purpose.
But this night he’d been woken from his tortured sleep by the sound of a falling branch outside his window. The weight of the snowfall had been too much for the narrow branch and it had snapped, crushing against the leadlight window. It had not broken the glass, merely scratched down the panes as it fell, making a noise not unlike a dying animal’s scream.
Still damp with sweat, Charlie rushed to the window believing an injured deer might have roamed into his property, but he quickly saw the silhouette of the damaged tree lit by the moon. There were no streetlights as Charlie’s home was on a large estate. The seven-bedroom, seventeenth-century, run-down and previously unloved manor home was undergoing much-needed renovations so he was sleeping downstairs on the leather chesterfield in the sitting room while work was being completed on the upstairs part of the house.
The stone slate roof had been in a state of disrepair for too long and the ceilings had been damaged in most of the upstairs rooms. The master bedroom was due to be finished within a few days. The rooms were all empty and waiting to be filled with new furniture although Charlie had no burning desire to see any of it, let alone choose it, so he had left those decisions up to the decorator. He wasn’t rushing to move back into the master bedroom. He had not shared it with anyone for two years and he had no plans of sharing it again. His wife, Alice, had begun the renovations and he was seeing them through to completion in her honour. After that he did not know what he would do with the home.
Or himself, for that matter. Other than work, he had no plans for the future.
As always, once Charlie had been woken he found it hard to fall back into a sound sleep again. He read for a while and then tried once again to sleep. But slumber evaded him so he slipped on his heavy winter dressing gown, tied it loosely around his hips, headed into his kitchen and made himself a coffee. While memories of the accident monopolised his dreams, it was the impending arrival of the Australian in-utero surgeon that dominated his waking thoughts, leaving him both anxious and irritated about her potential interference.
The hospital’s decision, or more precisely Assistant Head of Obstetrics, Oliver Darrington’s decision, to fly the specialist over to consult infuriated him. In Charlie’s opinion there was nothing to be gained and everything to lose. The quadruplets were only weeks away from being big enough to deliver and, as the attending OBGYN, Charlie thought any deviation from the treatment plan should be his decision. In-utero surgery carried risks that he did not consider warranted. And he wouldn’t readily agree with the procedure without proof it was the best way forward.
As he looked out over what many would call a joy of the Cotswolds at Christmas, the majestic sight of dawn breaking over the snow-capped hillside, Charlie barely noticed any of the landscape. With his blood pressure beginning to rise, he sat down at the large oak kitchen table, sipping the coffee that was warming his fingers.
Dr Charlie Warren was unable to appreciate anything because he was preparing himself for a professional battle.
This time his words of caution would be heard. And heard loudly.
* * *
‘What on earth do you mean, there’s no need for me to scrub in?’
Juliet Turner spun around with confusion dressing her brow and a surgical gown covering her petite frame. ‘My patient’s on the operating table, prepped for an open foetal repair of a neural tube defect. I have to scrub in. This can’t be postponed.’
‘It hasn’t been postponed, Dr Turner,’ the theatre nurse told her. ‘The surgery’s going ahead today. It’s just that you’re not the surgeon operating.’
Juliet’s nostrils flared behind the operating mask. ‘That’s even more ridiculous. There has to be a mistake.’
‘No mistake, Dr Turner. Another in-utero specialist has been brought in to take over,’ the nurse replied firmly. ‘He’s already arrived, and in gowning now. Orders came from further up the food chain than me, so don’t go shooting the messenger.’
‘He’s in gowning! I’m sorry, Angie, but this is absolute nonsense,’ Juliet said as she returned her focus to lathering her hands and forearms as a visible protest. She wasn’t backing down and had no intention of relinquishing her role. Kelly Lester would have her surgery and her baby would have the best chance of a normal life. And she was operating as scheduled.
Being a female in a male-dominated profession had taught her to stand up for herself very early on. She had known entering the profession that women were at least twice as likely to drop out of surgical training programmes as men, making her well aware that it would not be an easy path and a shrinking violet would not succeed. During her studies her father, also a surgeon in the same field, often told her that, while half of the medical students in Australia and New Zealand were female, women made up less than ten per cent of fully qualified surgeons. It was a harsh reminder that she would have to be strong, focused and have a voice to survive. And she was going to use her voice whenever needed. Loud and clear.
It appeared that day was going to be one of those occasions.
‘I will not allow another surgeon to just step in now without a damned good reason. I know this is not at the patient’s request. I spoke to her only an hour ago.’
‘No, it wasn’t the patient who has requested the change, Dr Turner, and I understand you’re taken aback but I’m just passing on the message, not making the decision. However, I’m telling you the decision’s final. You really do need to stop scrubbing. Having sterile hands won’t change the outcome.’
Not hiding her irritation, Juliet turned off the flow of water with the foot control. ‘Well, we’ll just see about that.’
‘On the bright side, your replacement will no doubt meet with your approval. You’ve worked together more than a few times.’
Juliet was doubly confused with the smirk on Angie’s face. None of it made any sense but if she was to believe the nurse, and she had no reason to doubt her, she was being replaced without notice or reason. ‘I don’t care who’s been brought in to take over, it’s still madness,’ Juliet replied as she pulled her surgical cap free and the mass of brown curls dropped around her face. At that moment, the replacement doctor entered the scrub room.
‘Really,’ she announced, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘This is becoming more and more ludicrous by the minute. They call you back here two days after you retire. What is this craziness? I’ve a patient about to be anaesthetised and I’m told I’m not operating. Will someone please explain the absurd rationale behind all of this? And who made the call to replace me as Kelly’s surgeon?’
‘The hospital director...but with good reason,’ he replied.
‘I can’t think of one.’
‘You have to prepare for your trip.’
Juliet paused for a moment with a perplexed stare. ‘For goodness’ sake has everyone gone completely mad? My trip’s not until the middle of next week. I’ve got five days to prepare for the lectures and board the plane, but Kelly’s baby needs this operation now if he’s to ever walk.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong...not about Kelly and her baby—you’re right on that one, I just finished reading the notes and the surgery’s urgent—but your trip’s not next week. It’s tomorrow. You’re leaving on an eight o’clock flight in the morning.’
‘Tomorrow? But why?’ Juliet dropped her head into her hands still damp from the antibacterial wash. ‘The lecture is not until next Thursday.’
‘You’re not delivering the lecture in Auckland...you’re off to the UK—’
‘The lecture’s been cancelled?’ she cut in.
‘No, the lecture is going ahead...’
‘But without me?’ she asked as she pulled free her surgical gown and dropped it unceremoniously in the bin alongside her discarded cap.
‘Yes.’
‘And the surgery’s proceeding too, just without me?’ They were framed as questions but Juliet’s tone made it obvious they were statements that she was none too happy about.
‘That’s right.’
‘And I’m off to the UK?’ she continued with the volume of her voice escalating and increasing in speed with each word. ‘Before I go completely loopy, just tell me why my schedule is changing before my eyes without my approval?’
‘The call came through from Cheltenham just now.’
‘Cheltenham? As in the Cotswolds?’
‘One and the same.’
‘And who over there’s making decisions without consulting with me?’
‘The decision was made by four babies.’
Juliet blinked and shook her head. ‘Four? You’re speaking in riddles and you know that frustrates me.’
‘Apparently the Assistant Head of Obstetrics at Teddy’s, which is the maternity wing of the Royal Cheltenham hospital, spoke with our Head of Obstetrics about the quads. Almost twenty-nine weeks’ gestation, suffering twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. Two sets of monozygotic twins. While the girls are fine at this stage, the boys have developed the TTTS. Oliver Darrington believes you’re the best chance that the quads have of all surviving should the parents agree to the in-utero laser surgery. And Professor Le Messurier just approved your secondment.’
‘That’s all very flattering but why am I being called in at the eleventh hour? If there was a risk, I should’ve been consulted upon the initial diagnosis. Surely being quads they would have been having weekly scans and intense monitoring and they’d know at Teddy’s that the earlier the intervention, the better the outcome.’
‘Apparently the quads were being closely monitored throughout the pregnancy, but the TTTS diagnosis has only just been made,’ her replacement continued as he began scrubbing in, and over the sound of the running water he continued his explanation. ‘The girls have separate placentas while the boys have one shared placenta so they were being scrutinised for any signs of transfusion. Up until now there was no indication of anything being amiss. It was picked up when the patient presented in what she thought was premature labour.’
‘Caused by the amniotic fluid imbalance affecting the recipient twin.’
‘Again, apparently but you’ll know more details when you get there.’
‘But the lecture in Auckland?’
‘Handled. I’m not sure who’s your proxy but your focus needs to be on the quadruplets. Darrington’s worried it could deteriorate quickly and there’s an increased risk they could lose at least one of them if you don’t get over to Teddy’s immediately, and of course we know the risks if one dies to the remaining foetuses. The parents have been briefed and want to be fully informed so they can consider all options, in particular the in-utero surgery.’
‘Anything else I need to know?’
‘Just one thing...the attending OBGYN, Dr Charlie Warren, is averse to fetoscopic laser surgery. Believes the risks are too great so no doubt he’ll be challenging you.’
Juliet took a deep breath. ‘Looks like I’ll be catching a plane tomorrow morning to meet Dr Warren’s challenge and convince him otherwise.’
‘I hope he knows what he’s up against.’
‘He soon will.’ With her head tilted just slightly, and the remnants of bewilderment still lingering, she looked at her replacement. ‘Okay, Dad, looks like Kelly and her baby are in your hands now.’
‘Don’t worry, honey. I’ll do you proud.’
