by Lisa Worrall
"So, Harry Boyd?"
It was going to be a very long clinic.
Micah took the mug of tea thrust at him and automatically took his first sip of the heavily sweetened brew. He glanced up at the clock above the sink and his gaze widened as his brain registered what his eyes were having trouble comprehending—just after midnight. How could that be? He'd only looked at the clock ten minutes ago and it had been lunchtime—hadn't it?
Covering an exhausted yawn, Micah settled back into the staffroom sofa and mulled over the last few hours. He'd been inflating the blood pressure cuff on Angie Fitzgerald's arm, fielding questions about his love life and making a mental note to suggest having his mother and Doris Abernathay's lips sewn together at the next village meeting, when Myrna had rushed into the room and mumbled something about clean-up on aisle nine. Excusing himself to Angie, he'd followed a steely gazed Myrna out into the waiting room to find Hannah Morris standing in the middle of the room in a pool of amniotic fluid.
"My bloody water broke on the way to the car!"
Micah had immediately flipped into delivery mode. He hadn't been joking about the length of her last three labours, so he knew they didn't have much time. Myrna, god bless her, had reappeared with a wheelchair before he'd even asked for one and they'd helped Hannah sit down. He'd wheeled her quickly down to one of the free birthing suites, tossing instructions to Myrna over his shoulder to call one of the on-call midwives to take the clinic, to let Tom know he might be needed and make sure she called Kevin, Hannah's husband, and tell him to put his foot down if he didn't want to miss it.
He sighed as the hot sweet tea began to work its magic, calming him from the inside out. Grabbing a chocolate digestive from the plate on the coffee table, he dipped it into the hot liquid until the biscuit was on the verge of breaking and then stuffed it in his mouth, not really tasting it, but needing the sugar.
It turned out Kevin had had plenty of time after all. Hannah's labour was long, arduous and nothing like any of her former births. Her cervix was just not dilating and although she desperately hadn't wanted any drugs, Micah had finally convinced her that if he didn't hang a bag of Pitocin to help things along, she would be making the trip to Winbourne General for a section. The Pitocin had done the trick and Hannah had begun dilating nicely, going from four centimetres to ready to push in two hours. Which was when the shit had well and truly hit the fan.
Micah leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes, re-living every second in vibrant Technicolour. Each time Hannah had pushed, the baby's heart rate dropped alarmingly. He'd given her a quick internal, keeping his voice light and conversational until he'd felt the thick sponginess of the cord in front of the baby's head—fuck! The cord was prolapsed and with each push, the baby was pressing against it and shutting off its own oxygen supply.
"Hannah," Micah said firmly. "I need you to stop pushing, right now."
"What?" Her response was as incredulous as he'd expected, knowing how hard it was going to be for her to fight against her body's natural instincts. "Are you nuts?"
"Hannah, listen to me." He tried to keep his tone even in an attempt not to panic her, which he knew was unavoidable anyway. "I need you to get on all fours, Kevin and Tom will help you. Kevin, pop your head out of the door and shout for Tom, would you?"
"You really are fuckin' nuts."
"You rang?" Tom skidded into the room and gave Hannah a bright smile, although his eyes were questioning as he gazed at Micah.
"I need you to help Kevin get Hannah on all fours… slowly… while I keep my hand on the baby's head," Micah said matter-of-fact. "Hannah, the cord has dropped through the birth canal in front of the baby, and when you push the baby is compressing the cord which is making his heart rate drop. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now the boys are going to help you turn over and I want you to keep that gorgeous bum of yours up high and drop your head so it's nice and low. That should take some of the pressure off your cervix." Micah couldn't believe how calm he sounded. Inside his heart was beating so fast it was in danger of bursting out of his chest. "That's it, Hannah, let them take your weight, that's perfect. Looks like fun, maybe I'll have to get them to turn me over later." He smiled at the grunt from Hannah as they managed to get her onto her knees and elbows. "Drop your head onto the pillow, babe. That's it, well done, gang."
"What the fuck are you doing down there?" Hannah ground out.
"I'm just feeling for the top of baby's head again so I can hold it up and keep it away from the cord," Micah said reassuringly. He hissed out a triumphant yes when he slid the cord out of the way and repositioned his fingers beneath the baby's head.
"It feels like you're feeling for the top of my head! How far up there do you need to be?"
"I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but this is the only way of keeping junior's head off that cord, babe," Micah said, his smile apologetic. He noted that Tom had already rushed back out of the room and knew his fellow midwife was on the phone to the hospital and appraising them of the situation.
"How're we doing, Hannah? Another one coming?" Micah didn't really need to ask, he could feel the hardening of her womb from the inside. "Breathe through it, Han. That's it, that's it. Deep breath in and out, come on, in and out, blow it away, that's it. You're doing it, fantastic, exactly like that, keep it going 'til the contraction is over. Brilliant! You're a pro. You've done this before, haven't you?"
"So not… the… time for… your jokes." Micah had to agree with her.
Tom came back into the room and leaned down to whisper into the shell of Micah's ear. "They're about ten minutes out, there was a team on their way back from Albright Farm in Wooldridge so they're re-routing them here. Just keep the baby's head up, you're doing a great job, baby."
"Do you mind," Hannah huffed and puffed as another contraction began to build. "I'm still… here."
Micah shot a white-faced Kevin what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Typical, she's always got to be the centre of attention, right, Kev?"
"You have no idea."
"I gotta push," Hannah moaned and Micah felt the baby move against his hand.
"Hannah, breathe." Micah barked out the instruction. "The ambulance is on its way. I know you're tired, but you've got to breathe through it—do not push."
"It hurts…. I can't."
"Yes you can and you will." The time had come for telling it like it is. "Hannah, if you push, you won't be leaving here with number six." There was an almost eerie silence as Hannah finally realized the gravity of the situation and she began to breathe in great gulps of air and blow them out again. Micah swallowed hard, keeping his eye on the monitor. "Good girl, keep it going, contraction's peaking now, just a few more seconds, well done."
The door burst open and two female paramedics rushed in with a trolley. "How are we doing?"
"How does it look like we're doing?" Hannah snapped, her head on her forearms.
"Han—" Kevin began.
"Shut up! Until you're on your hands and knees with someone's hand up your arse, you don't get to speak."
Micah shot the paramedic a sympathetic smile and quickly rattled off the details that had brought them to this point. "Hannah Morris, baby number six. Labours are usually twenty minutes, half an hour, this has been going on for eight hours. Foetal heart rate kept dropping during each contraction. Internal exam showed prolapsed cord. Hannah's been breathing through the urge to push and she's doing a fabulous job. I have my fingers under the baby's head, holding it away from the cord. Heart rate is still in the low one-twenties." He'd not met the paramedic before, but he liked the way she nodded as she listened to his instructions and her gaze assessed the situation.
"Excellent." The paramedic moved around the bed and gently stroked the hair from Hannah's face, bending so she was on eye level with her. "Hi, Hannah. I'm Jo and so is my colleague, but I'm the good-looking one so you won't get us mixed up." Micah surmised that the grunt from Hannah in r
esponse was as good as she was going to get right now. "I know you're in a lot of pain, but we need to get you onto the trolley and into the ambulance. In order to do that, I'm afraid we're going to have to take Micah with us, because he needs to keep baby's head away from that cord. You need to listen to my voice and do everything I say then we can get you to the hospital and get this baby out safely—do you understand?" Another grunt was her only reward. Jo number one straightened and squared her shoulders. "Okay, gentlemen, let's do this."
Micah held his position, his legs shaking as he stood, so great was his concentration on keeping the head up. He watched in stunned amazement as the women worked with the speed of ninjas, barking out instructions to Kevin and Tom and getting Hannah onto the trolley within three minutes, still on all fours with Micah perched on the end of it, his hand still firmly in place. In an attempt to preserve at least some of Hannah's dignity, he told Tom to throw a sheet over her as they wheeled them out of the room, and received what sounded like a grateful moan from his patient.
At the ambulance, the two paramedics expertly slid the trolley on board and then Jo number two climbed into the driver's seat. "Okay, let’s go," Jo number one said firmly as she began to check Hannah’s obs. “As soon as we get to the hospital they’ll have a theatre waiting for us,” she said, as much to Micah as to Hannah. “They’ll throw some scrubs on you, Micah, and you’ll go into theatre with Hannah. Once you’re in there, the doctors will give you further instructions. It’ll basically involve you getting out and them starting the section.” She squeezed Hannah’s fingers. “Don’t you worry, Hannah. You’re in good hands.”
Micah swallowed hard and nodded, turning his attention to Hannah who was heroically breathing through another contraction even though she must be in agony. "You’re doing so good,” he said, keeping his voice low and even. “Think of the story we’ll both have to tell when you’re holding number six in your arms.” He wasn't even a hundred per cent sure Hannah could hear anything anyone was saying by this point, her concentration absolute, and her face contorted in a mask of pain.
“I feel like… one of George Maxwell’s… prize cows.”
Micah caught Jo number one’s gaze and his lips twitched along with hers. Hannah might be concentrating, but her acerbic wit was still going strong. He shifted his position slightly, feeling his calf muscle tighten. The last thing he needed was a cramp to make him lose his hold. Jo number two was on the radio as she drove, updating the maternity unit. Micah strained to hear what she was saying, and managed to glean that a theatre team were standing by and they were just under seven minutes out. He could feel the baby pushing against his fingers, almost as if it were angry at being halted on its journey into the world. I’m sorry, sweetie. Just a few more minutes, I promise.
When they arrived at the maternity unit, a team of midwives were already waiting for them. Jo and Jo pulled the trolley off the ambulance, with Hannah still on all fours and Micah half-lying, half-kneeling between Hannah’s legs. All Micah could do was follow instructions as they were barked at him. The trolley was wheeled at a run down the clinical halls towards the theatre where the gynaecologist waited to perform the section with his team.
They stopped outside the theatre door and one of the midwives literally threw some scrubs around Micah like a cloak in an attempt to keep him as sterile as possible. He could not remove his fingers from the baby’s head until the very last minute when the doctor was ready to pull him out, so he had to go into theatre with Hannah. They would give her a general anaesthetic as there was no time to administer an epidural or spinal block.
“Okay everybody,” the surgeon, Phil Mason, said as they entered the theatre. Micah knew him and smiled as he nodded at him. “Good to see you, Micah. Nice job. What I’m going to need is for you to move with Hannah as we get her on the table, keeping that cord free. As soon as she’s under, you can get off the bed and leave the theatre. I want to keep contamination at a minimum here.”
The next two minutes were a blur for Micah. As soon as Hannah was unconscious, he’d removed his fingers and had been ushered out of the theatre. His chest felt tight as the adrenalin he'd been running on dissipated and he clenched his hands into fists to try and stop them shaking as he stared at the closed theatre doors. He'd never lost a baby before, and he hoped to God that today wasn't going to be that day. Had he done everything right? Was there something else he could have done, something he should have seen earlier? Had he done enough? Would she ever be able to forgive him if—?
“Micah?”
Micah started when Jo number two put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head, blinking as he looked at her.
“Come on,” she said softly, a wealth of understanding in her gentle gaze. “We’ll give you a lift back to the centre.”
"Hey," Harry sat down beside Micah on the sofa. He’d been waiting at the centre when Micah returned, having been given an update by Myrna. Micah had been glad to see him and had allowed Harry to push him into the staff room and force him to sit. "How're you feeling?"
"Totally drained." Micah sighed heavily. "That was the complete opposite of what I expected. Her first labour was only an hour and a half and the others practically dropped out within twenty minutes." He paused and swallowed down another mouthful of the tea Harry had made him. "I've never lost—"
"You still haven't," Harry said, linking the fingers of their free hands and resting them on his knee.
"We don't know that yet." Micah knew Harry was trying to be supportive and as much as it was appreciated, he had to keep everything in perspective. The outcome of a prolapsed cord was never guaranteed. All they could do was wait for the phone call from the hospital. "I'm sorry about today. I'll call your mum tomorrow to apologise and rearrange."
"Don't be stupid," Harry said with an admonishing glare. "You don't need to apologise for doing your job. Mum's fine. Myrna explained what was going on when we arrived, and I asked her to call me when you were done. She called me when things started to happen and told me it was looking dicey. I got straight into the car and drove here as quick as I could. I wanted to be here if you needed me, so I just hung around in the waiting room, until you were wheeled out to the ambulance. I hope that was okay."
"Okay?" Micah stared at Harry incredulously. "Okay? Are you kidding me?" He leaned in and captured Harry's lips, kissing him soundly. "Thank you for being here. You have no idea how much it means to me that you're here for me."
"Where else would I be? I love you."
Micah smiled softly and murmured, "I know."
"Time to go home, Princess Leia."
"Princess Leia? I'm more your Han Solo."
"No way," Harry scoffed. "I'm Han, if you're not happy with Princess Leia, you can be Luke Skywalker or Chewbacca, but I am definitely Han."
"Please," Micah dragged out the word. He knew Harry was trying to distract him, and he was more than happy to play along. "Chewbacca? Come on, C3PO was way cooler."
"Well, you do have the legs for it." Harry stretched himself to his full height and attempted to take advantage of his extra few inches on Micah by looming over him. "Although from this angle you're more suited to R2."
"Take that ba—"
Micah stared at his ringing mobile on the coffee table, the vibrations making it dance across the wooden top. His mother's face lit up the screen and his gut churned. He shook his head at Harry. "I can't. I just… can't."
Wrapping his arms tightly around his chest, Micah watched Harry snatch up the phone and accept the call, following the line of his movement as he put the thin black sliver up to his ear. "Jenny, it's Harry." Micah was sure the lump in his throat was his heart as he listened to Harry's end of the conversation, worrying at his bottom lip. "Okay… right… yes, I'll tell him… yes, I will… thanks, Jenny… g'night." Harry ended the call and Micah swallowed hard, his mouth drier than the Sahara. He gripped tighter to his upper arms, his fingers biting into his flesh as he waited for Harry to turn around.
&nbs
p; "Hal?" Unable to wait another second, Micah said Harry's name and almost flinched at the wattage of the smile on Harry's face as he turned and lifted his head. "What? What?"
"They're fine. They're both fine." Micah stumbled into Harry's arms, his knees refusing to hold him up.
"Are you sure? Both of them?" Micah mumbled his relief into Harry's shirt, hanging on for dear life, trembling uncontrollably.
"Yes, I'm sure. Kevin rang Hannah's mum, who rang Jenny. It was touch and go for a minute or two, the baby wasn't breathing when they got him out, but they resuscitated him and he pinked up straight away. Both he and Hannah are doing great, babe, they're doing great." Harry cupped Micah's face in his hand and thumbed away the relief pouring down his cheeks. "The doctor said if you hadn't done such a fantastic job he wouldn't have had a chance. You gave him that chance, Micah—you."
"Thank, God." Micah couldn't believe it, the baby was alive—he was alive! "Oh shit!" A thought skittered across the surface of his mind and laughter bubbled in his chest.
"What?" Harry pulled back and gazed down at him.
"Poor Kevin. She told him if it was another boy they were going for number seven as soon as she was on her feet."
"Six boys?" Harry whistled through his teeth and wrapped his arm around Micah's shoulders, guiding him towards the door. "In that case, we'd better send flowers to Hannah and a gym membership to Kevin—he's going to need all the cardio he can get."
Chapter 8
The whisper of fingertips on his skin slowly broke through the cloud of sleep surrounding Micah. Their touch, as soft as the gentle waft of a warm breath, lifted the fine hairs on the nape of his neck and raised goose bumps across his flesh. No one else had ever been able to arouse him with a single caress—only this man—only Harry.
Micah parted his lips on a sigh, his shaft already hardening in anticipation, lengthening, thickening and beginning to pulse in time with the pounding of his own heart. The only sound in the bedroom was their quickening breaths and the whimper Micah couldn't contain when those searching fingertips played the length of his spine. “Harry.” The name fell from his lips on a gasp and Micah’s cock hardened even more when Harry’s response was a soft, “Ssh.” He closed his eyes and let Harry take complete control. The crinkle of a foil packet seemed overloud in the room and Micah pulled his lower lip between his teeth in anticipation.