Miracle Christmas: Dr Romano's Christmas Baby. Cara Colter

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СКАЧАТЬ Luca Romano was still a pleasure to watch.

      Rilla was pleased to note, though, that there was some evidence of ageing. It hadn’t just been her. At thirty-five his black hair had some grey streaks. It looked more severe too. The length had been tamed. It had once brushed his collar and flopped a little in his eyes. Now it was more closely cropped. But it only succeeded in drawing attention to his amazing fringe of thick sooty lashes.

      The few extra lines around his eyes and mouth in no way marred his handsome face. His jaw was just as square, his nose as patrician. He was still tall and lean and most definitely wearing his years well.

      Rilla could see the fact was not lost on some of the younger nurses and was surprised by the hot shaft of jealousy that sliced through her. It shouldn’t have. Luca had, after all, always aroused this kind of reaction in women. Once, secure in his love, she’d taken pride in it, knowing he had been hers. Now it was as irritating as hell.

      There were ten nursing staff on the morning shift and Julia introduced each one. Luca was his usual charming self. Not hurried. Taking the time to ask each one about themselves, putting everyone at ease, making them laugh. He was a hit.

      ‘Of course, you know Rilla,’ Julia said as she came to her second-in-charge.

      ‘Of course,’ Luca said, inclining his head.

      They locked gazes for a moment, his accent sliding over her skin, eight years of history thick between them. Rilla felt her cheeks grow warm as Luca’s gaze moved quickly on to the next person, excruciatingly aware of the curious stares of her in-the-know colleagues.

      She was pleased to escape ten minutes later after Luca’s brief new-broom speech finished with a my-door-is-always-open assurance. But his gaze was careful not to encompass her and she got the distinct impression she wasn’t included.

      By midmorning the lull was well and truly over. In fact, the department had descended into bedlam. Ambulances arrived with frightening regularity, unloading their cargo of car-accident victims, asthmatics and chest pain sufferers, filling the resus bays.

      The usual suspects swelled the waiting room out front with a mishmash of legitimate illnesses and minor time-consuming complaints—sore throats, vague pains, migraines, fevers, paper cuts.

      The combined noise could have given a crowded theatre before curtain-up a run for its money. Not that Rilla noticed, well used to the low-level chaos that the emergency department became most days. And today, after the unsettling brush with Luca, she was more than grateful for the background hum distracting her from buried memories, newly roused.

      Just before lunch the appropriately nicknamed Bat-phone rang. It was red and their direct link to the ambulance control centre. Rilla took the call about the imminent code-one arrival of a ten-day-old baby with apnoea. She replaced the receiver, a sudden chill up her spine as her thoughts instantly turned to her ten-day-old niece.

      How worried the parents must be that their baby was having episodes where it stopped breathing. She quickly sorted through the possible causes. A seizure? Maybe caused by a brain infection or cranial trauma from an accidental or non-accidental injury. A respiratory infection? A near cot death?

      ‘Apnoeic ten-day-old. ETA two minutes,’ Rilla told Henry Bosch, the junior resident, as she entered the resus cubicles to prepare the area.

      Henry gave her a startled look and Rilla could see the convulsive bob of his Adam’s apple.

      ‘Where’s Karen?’ he asked.

      Rilla wished the senior reg was there too as she recognised the wail of a distant siren. ‘She’s still up with Julie and the resus team, dealing with the arrest on ward eleven. I’ve paged her. You’re it until then.’ Rilla smiled and injected confidence into her voice.

       Please, let this kid be fine by the time it gets here.

      There was no more time for wishes as the siren blared louder, announcing its arrival outside. ‘Let’s hustle,’ she said to Henry.

      The ambulance doors opened and Rilla’s worst fears were confirmed when she saw the paramedic huddled over a small form, ambu-bag in place over the tiny face.

      ‘Ten-day-old baby, four weeks prem, three-day history of upper respiratory tract infection, Mum has a cold.’ The paramedic rattled off a brisk, succinct handover, eyes not leaving the baby as his partner slowly pulled the gurney from the car.

      Sounds like an RSV picture, Rilla thought. The respiratory virus could affect babies very seriously, making them desperately ill. Especially if there was a history of prematurity.

      ‘Lethargic and poor feeding today. Mum had babe at the GP when she had a prolonged apnoea, resolving with stimulation. GP called the ambulance. Three further episodes en route, requiring vigorous stimulation and oxygen therapy.’

      ‘Rilla!’

      Rilla turned, startled by the hysterical call, shocked to see Beth getting out of the passenger side of the ambulance.

      ‘Beth?’ Rilla gasped, looking at her sister’s tear- stained, frantic face. ‘What the …?’ She swivelled her head back to the tiny baby on the gurney, looking small and defenceless on the huge trolley. Bridie? Beth reached her and Rilla enfolded her distraught sister in her arms, her heart hammering madly as her sluggish brain connected the dots. This apnoeic, seriously ill baby was her niece?

      ‘It’s all my fault,’ Beth sobbed. ‘I gave her my cold. Her lungs are too premature to cope with it. Oh, my God, I don’t want her to die.’

      Rilla would have given anything at that moment to be in possession of a magic wand. Anything. Instead, she was it. The only senior nurse they had around until Julia got back from the arrest, and she had only a very junior doctor at her disposal.

      Her brain raced as she prioritised. ‘Bridie’s going to be fine, just fine,’ Rilla soothed as she hurried inside, dragging Beth with her, keeping up with the gurney. ‘You know she’s in the best hands here,’ she said, ‘the best.’

      Rilla prayed to every god she could think of plus the ones she couldn’t, that she was right. She froze out the sickening worry of an aunt and the more basic pull of sisterhood. She had to remove herself emotionally from her tiny niece, struggling to breathe, and her frantic sister.

      ‘You’re going to have to intubate,’ Rilla told Henry briskly as she hooked Bridie up to the monitors and another apnoea required Rilla to give a vigorous sternal rub before it resolved. This time Bridie’s heart rate slowed and her oxygen saturations dipped. The situation was worsening.

      ‘We need to secure her airway,’ Rilla said, ignoring the frantic beat of her heart as she handed the laryngoscope, endotracheal tube and other equipment to Henry. One of the junior nurses was drawing up some intubation drugs.

      ‘Brenda, go put out a code blue page,’ Rilla ordered as Henry prepared to intubate. His hand shook and Rilla had the awful feeling he was going to foul it up.

      Intubating a child or baby was always a little fraught, but in an emergency and for the first time? She knew Henry had to be feeling the pressure. Better to get as many medical people as possible down here so someone more experienced could take over. Hell, she’d ring the chief of staff, if she had to. Her father may not have had recent clinical experience but she’d bet her last cent he could intubate Bridie with his eyes closed.

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