Hot Single Docs: The Playboy's Redemption. Carol Marinelli

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СКАЧАТЬ Izzy’s baby really will do better by being born.’

      ‘She’s been eating well, taking care of herself.’

      ‘She suffered trauma both physically and emotionally early on in the pregnancy,’ Gus said. ‘Let’s just get her through tonight, but guilt isn’t going to help anyone.’

      Diego knew that. He’d had the same conversation with more parents than he could remember—the endless search for answers, for reasons, when sometimes Mother Nature worked to her own agenda.

      ‘Does she want to see me?’

      Gus nodded. ‘She doesn’t want to call her family just yet.’

      When he saw her, Diego remembered the day he had first met her when she had come to the neonatal ward. Wary, guarded, she sat on the bed, looking almost angry, but he knew she was just scared.

      ‘It’s going to be okay,’ Diego said, and took her hand, but she pulled it away.

      ‘You don’t know that.’

      She sat there and she had all her make-up on, her hair immaculate, except she was in a hospital gown with a drip and a monitor strapped to her stomach, and Diego wondered if she did actually want him there at all.

      She did.

      But how could she ask him to be there for her?

      She was scared for her baby, yet she resented it almost.

      Nine weeks.

      They’d had nine weeks left of being just a couple, which was not long by anyone’s standards. Nine weeks to get to know each other properly, to enjoy each other, and now even that nine weeks was being denied to them.

      How could she admit how much she wanted him to stay—yet how could she land all this on him?

      ‘I think you should go.’

      ‘Izzy.’ Diego kept his voice steady. ‘Whatever helps you now is fine by me. I can call your family. I can stay with you, or I can wait outside, or if you would prefer that I leave...’

      He wanted to leave, Izzy decided, or he wouldn’t have said it. The medication they had given her to slow down the labour made her brain work slower, made her thought process muddy.

      ‘I don’t know...’ Her teeth were chattering, her admission honest. Gus was back, talking to a midwife and Richard Brooke, the paediatric consultant, who had just entered the room. They were all looking at the printout from the monitor and Izzy wanted five minutes alone with Diego, five minutes to try and work out whether or not he wanted to be there, but she wasn’t going to get five minutes with her thoughts for a long while.

      ‘Izzy.’ She knew that voice and so did Diego, knew that brusque, professional note so well, because they had both used it themselves when they bore bad tidings. ‘The baby is struggling; its heartbeat is irregular...’

      ‘It needs time to let the medication take effect.’ Izzy’s fuzzy logic didn’t work on Gus. He just stood over her, next to Diego, both in suits and looking sombre, and she felt as if she were lying in a coffin. ‘We want to do a Caesarean, your baby needs to be born.’

      Already the room was filling with more staff. She felt the jerk as the brakes were kicked off the bed, the clang as portable oxygen was lifted onto the bed and even in her drugged state she knew this wasn’t your standard Caesarean section, this was an emergency Caesarean.

      ‘Is there time...?’ She didn’t even bother to finish her sentence. Izzy could hear the deceleration in her baby’s heartbeat, and knew there wouldn’t be time for an epidural, that she would require a general anaesthetic, and it was the scariest, out-of-control feeling. ‘Can you be there, Diego?’ Her eyes swung from Diego to Gus. ‘Can Diego be in there?’

      For a general anaesthetic, partners or relatives weren’t allowed to come into the theatre, but the NICU team were regularly in Theatre and after just the briefest pause Richard agreed, but with clarification. ‘Just for Izzy.’

      ‘Sure,’ Diego agreed, and at that moment he’d have agreed to anything, because the thought of being sent to another waiting room, knowing all that could go wrong, was unbearable, but as he helped speed the bed the short distance to Theatre, Diego also knew that if there was a problem with the babe, he wanted to be the one dealing with it. This was no time for arrogance neither was it time for feigned modesty—quite simply Diego knew he was the best.

      The theatre sister gave Diego a slightly wide-eyed look as she registered he was holding hands with her emergency admission, whom she recognised too.

      ‘Diego’s here with Izzy,’ the midwife explained. ‘Richard has okayed him to go in.’

      ‘Then you’ll need to go and get changed,’ came the practical response. ‘You can say goodbye to her here.’

      And that was it.

      Diego knew when he saw her again, she would be under anaesthetic.

      Izzy knew it too.

      ‘I’m glad you’re here...’ She was trying not to cry and her face was smothered with the oxygen mask. ‘You’ll make sure...’

      ‘Everything is going to be fine.’ His voice came out gruffer than he was used to hearing it. He was trying to reassure her, but Diego felt it sounded as if he was telling her off. ‘Better than fine,’ he said again. His voice still didn’t soften, but there wasn’t time to correct it. ‘Thirty-one-weekers do well.’

      ‘Thirty-two’s better.’

      ‘I’ll be there,’ Diego said. ‘And it is going to be okay.’

      He couldn’t give her a kiss, because they were already moving her away.

      He turned to Gus, who as her GP would also have to wait outside the operating theatre, and exchanged a look with the worried man. ‘Go and get changed, Diego,’ Gus said, and his words shocked Diego into action. He changed his clothes in a moment, then put on a hat and made his way through to Theatre.

      ‘Diego!’ Hugh, the paediatric anaesthetist greeted him from behind a yellow mask. ‘Extremely bradycardic, ready for full resus.’

      ‘Diego’s here with the mother.’ Brianna was there too, ready to receive the baby, and her unusually pointed tone was clearly telling her colleague to shut the hell up.

      The surgeon on duty that night had already started the incision, and Diego knew the man in question was brilliant at getting a baby out urgently when required, but for Diego the world was in slow motion, the theatre clock hand surely sticking as it moved past each second marker.

      ‘Breech.’ The surgeon was calling for more traction. Diego could see the two spindly legs the surgeon held in one hand and for the first time in Theatre he felt nausea, understood now why relatives were kept out and almost wished he had been, because suddenly he appreciated how fathers-to-be must feel.

      Except he wasn’t the father, Diego told himself as the baby’s limp body was manoeuvred out and the head delivered.

      This baby wasn’t his to love, Diego reminded himself as an extremely СКАЧАТЬ