by Fiona Lowe
Every emotion she’d experienced around her diagnosis of infertility three years ago had come roaring back like a wall of water blasting through a flooded canyon. Part of her had sometimes wondered if she might meet a man who didn’t want his own child. But the one man who was turning her world upside down loved kids, as she’d known he would. He’d chosen paediatrics as his specialisation. No one went into paediatrics if they didn’t want to have their own children.
So she’d created a few survival tactics to help her get through the three weeks with Will. The end of the first week was looming and so far, so good. He ran his clinics and she ran hers. They met for a working lunch, a case conference, discussing the patients they had seen and signing off on treatment plans. Then he headed off for his house calls and she did her health education sessions.
At night she had the safety valve of her mother, who always ate with them. On the couple of occasions Eleanor had tried to make herself scarce, Meg had insisted on her joining in a card game or watching a movie with them. She’d almost eliminated non-work time alone with Will.
But it was exhausting. He had such an effect on her that she knew exactly where he was in a room. She could feel his gaze on her almost all day. She found herself breathing more deeply when he stood next to her so she could enjoy the scent of his fruity aftershave, and she had to force herself not to openly stare at him. When he’d worn his reef-green striped oxford shirt, his eyes had become almost magnetic, the shirt’s colour deepening their intensity.
He wore clothes with the style of someone who knew quality and cut. But then again, he’d probably been dressed like that since birth. Although he enjoyed the finer things of life, she got the impression his wealth didn’t sit easily with him. He’d deliberately closed the conversation about his work and family the other day, piquing her curiosity.
Her mobile rang. Meg listened to Sally Boon’s worried voice. She tried to reassure her. ‘Bring Brodie in now and I’ll grab Dr Cameron so we’re both ready when you arrive.’ She punched the ‘off’ button and headed down the corridor to find Will, trying to stomp on the image of her hands grabbing Will’s shirt, his shoulders, his body…
She found him standing with his hands deep in the pockets of his khaki pants, staring out the window at the snowy peak of Mt Hume.
She rested her hand on the doorframe and took in his broad shoulders and straight back, smiling at the way his hair curled when it hit his collar. Admiring him from a distance when she so desperately wanted to admire him from up close. But there was no point thinking like that.
‘Will.’
He turned and smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled, his irises sparkled, his cheeks creased in familiar lines and laughter played around his mouth.
His smile melted everything inside her, and desire hummed along every nerve ending. She gripped the doorframe.
His gaze lazily traversed her body and then locked with her eyes. ‘The view’s amazing.’
Her mouth went dry. Her mind went blank. In a haze of lust her brain vaguely registered he wasn’t talking about the mountain. She struggled to focus. ‘We’ve got a patient.’
His stance changed immediately. The professional was back. ‘Who is it?’
‘Sally Boon, first-time mum and a crying baby.’
He tilted his head to the side. ‘I thought you’d be happy to handle that on your own.’
‘Usually I am, but there was something about Sally’s voice that’s got me worried.’
He walked toward her and grinned. ‘I always listen to nurses’ intuition—they’re rarely wrong. I’ll hang back and let you do your maternal and child health stuff but I’m here if you need me. We’re a team.’
A team. He considered her part of a team. A little thrill tripped through her as she relived his words. She wasn’t used to being part of a team. For a long time she’d battled pretty much solo to keep a form of health care going for Laurelton. Having Will there meant so much to the locals.
And so much to you. She refused to think about that.
She found her voice. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ The deepness of his voice vibrated around her.
Heat and longing pulsed through her and she forced herself to turn away from his gaze and walk down the corridor. You’re a nurse, he’s a doctor, this is work. She ran the words over and over in her head.
The front door swung open and a dishevelled young woman stumbled through. She carried a large nappy bag on one shoulder, clutched a baby in her other arm, and a bunny rug trailed along the ground.
‘Meg, he won’t stop crying.’ Exhaustion and despair wove though the woman’s voice.
Meg put her arms out to take the baby, who was currently quiet, his large dark eyes taking in his new surroundings. ‘So, what’s up, Brodie?’ She deftly lifted the baby high onto her shoulder, and nuzzled his head with her cheek.
Will made an odd sound, almost a moan, followed by a cough.
Surprise shot through Meg. Was he waiting for an introduction? Usually he introduced himself. Confused, she swung toward him. ‘Sally, I’d like you to meet Dr Will Cameron, who’s working in Laurelton for a few weeks.’
Will shook the woman’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Sally. Meg says your little fellow’s been crying a lot.’
Sally followed them down to the treatment room, talking all the time. ‘He’s not feeding very well either, and I have to wake him up. When he feeds he sicks up and he seems sort of floppy.’
Meg frowned. Floppy didn’t sound good. ‘Does he really vomit out a stream or is it more of a posset?’ She laid Brodie on the examination table and stripped him down to his nappy to examine him.
‘He doesn’t always sick up, but today he has been.’
Meg put her hand on his scalp, her fingers examining the fontanelle. Her fingers dipped. A concave fontanelle meant dehydration. ‘He feels a bit warm so let’s take his temperature.’ She kept her voice upbeat. No need to worry Sally just yet but she glanced over at Will, her eyes seeking his.
His direct look of support focused her. He was here to help if there was more to this than an unsettled newborn.
She felt his arm brush hers as he moved in next to her and a fire of sensation ran up her arm.
‘Here’s the ear thermometer.’ His deep voice made her heart skip.
‘Thanks.’ She forced a briskness into her voice that she didn’t feel.
The thermometer beeped. ‘Thirty-nine degrees Celsius.’ That was too hot. She peered in close and examined Brodie’s face. ‘Sally, what happened to his eye?’
‘I guess he must have scratched himself. I didn’t realise babies’ nails could be so sharp.’
It might be an abrasion but it worried her.
She took down his nappy and the baby started to cry. A high-pitched cry. A lusty cry was normal. A cry like this was rarely good news. Picking up the stethoscope, she stretched her hand out toward Will.
A wave of silent communication passed between them. His hazel eyes darkened with unease and he caught her concern as she tilted her head slightly toward Brodie’s chest.
Sternal retraction. The baby’s chest sank inward as he struggled to breathe.
She handed Will the stethoscope and turned to Sally.
‘Dr Cameron’s going to listen to Brodie’s chest.’
‘Just warm your hands up first, Doc.’ Sally managed to laugh, seeming to miss the implication of the transfer of care.
Will’s brows moved together in concentration as he listened to the baby’s air entry, moving the stethoscope carefully around the baby’s chest, front and back.
She waited for him to pull the stethoscope out of his ears. ‘Congestion?’ She spoke quietly.
He nodded. ‘Limited air entry. Could be pneumonia. I’ll examine him thoroughly.’
She watched his meticulous approach to the examination as he gently palpated Brodie’s abdomen. This was the trainee paediatrician in action. The doctor who should be doing this sort of work every d
ay instead of being a philanthropic businessman.
His large yet gentle hand dwarfed the baby’s tummy. A prickle of apprehension ran through her as she noticed him repeat his palpation of the liver.
Meg whispered the words that worried her. ‘Is his liver enlarged?’
‘Yes, it is.’ His voice equalled hers in softness.
‘Poor feeding, lung congestion, high fever, enlarged liver.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘Could be a lot of things. What about his eye? I’m worried about that.’
She ran her hand over Brodie’s head in a tender caress, but the ache she tried so hard to keep at bay when handling babies spasmed deep inside her.
Chlamydia meant she could never have a child of her own. She could only ever be a bystander. Graeme had stomped on her heart and trampled her dreams of a family of her own.
Will leaned in close, his thick chestnut hair gleaming under the examination light.
Brodie screamed, his little mouth opening wide.
A flash of dark red mucosal tissue caught Meg’s eye. She grabbed the penlight and shone it into his mouth. ‘Look, can you see that?’
Will waited for Brodie’s next cry and peered into his mouth. He turned back and sought her eyes.
She could see his brain calculating, adding up the symptoms, diagnosing.
‘You’re thinking HSV, aren’t you?’
She nodded. ‘It looks like a herpes zoster vesicle and his eye would line up with that.’ She pulled open a drawer and grabbed a small tongue depressor. She handed it to Will and held the light steady.
At the back of Brodie’s throat they could see a cluster of cold-sore-like eruptions.
‘What’s wrong with him? Is it serious?’ Sally’s voice suddenly sounded small and terrified.
Meg exchanged a knowing glance with Will. She had to be the one to talk to Sally because she knew her best, but this would be one difficult and horrible conversation.
‘Sally, we think Brodie has herpes.’ Meg kept her voice neutral.
‘Herpes?’ A shocked look crossed her face. ‘How would he have got herpes?’
‘This is what we need to find out. The abrasion around Brodie’s eye looks like a herpes blister caused by the herpes simplex virus.’
‘But how could he have that?’ Disbelief skated across her cheeks.
‘There are a few ways. Has anyone cuddled him who has a cold sore?’
‘No. No one.’
A wave of nausea at what she had to say next rolled through her. There was every chance this woman’s world as she knew it was about to be tilted on its axis. Just like hers had been two years ago. ‘Sally, have you ever had genital herpes?’
A look of pure disgust slashed the other woman’s face. ‘No. No way. I’ve been faithful to Mark and him to me. How could you suggest such a thing?’
‘Sally, I’m sorry to have to ask you and I’m not trying to imply anything, please, believe me. But I’m afraid to say that the most likely way a baby can get the condition is from its mother during delivery.’
‘But I told you, I don’t have it. I mean, you know when you have herpes, right? You have those blisters all over your…’ She paused, her gaze dropping away from Meg’s. ‘I really resent you not believing me.’
‘I believe that you believe you don’t have it, Sally. We’re just trying to work out a diagnosis for your very sick baby.’ She tried to smile, to reassure Sally, but ended up biting her lip. ‘Herpes doesn’t always present as blisters. It can be burning and itching of your labia and vagina, redness and soreness. Has that happened to you?’
Sally started to shake her head and then stopped. Colour drained from her face, her eyes widened and she sat down hard on a chair. Her voice, barely audible, choked on the words. ‘Mark went to the Philippines on an end-of-season footy trip. I was seven months pregnant and tired and…’ Her voice trailed away.
Anguish at the woman’s pain wound through Meg. She put her arm around Sally and looked over at Will, but he was busy with Brodie. What did you say to someone who’d just realised everything they’d believed in had just crumbled to dust?
Sally dropped her head into her hands and sobbed. After he came home I did have that burning and itching but I thought it was just pregnancy. Oh, God! How could he?’
A moment later her shoulders straightened and she stood, shrugging off Meg’s touch. She raced across to Will, gasping at the sight of an oxygen mask on her baby’s face. ‘Will Brodie be all right?’
‘He’s extremely sick. I’m going to put in an IV and he’ll need to be airlifted to the Royal Children’s Hospital. He’ll be nursed in Intensive Care and be given antiviral medication for three weeks.’
Sally gripped Will’s arm. ‘Will he be normal?’
Will’s mouth tightened for a moment. ‘At this point, I can’t say how the disease will play out. His eyesight could be affected.’ He put his hand over Sally’s. ‘All I can say is prepare yourself for a long struggle. Brodie is going to have to fight to beat this.’
Sally’s stifled scream tore at Meg as she dialled the number of the neonatal emergency transfer team. While she organised the evacuation, she kept her arm around Sally, who was pale and shaky. Shock had set in.
As she finished the phone call, she grabbed normal saline and the smallest IV cannula she had. ‘Sally, I have to help Dr Cameron put in the IV. You need to ring Mark and your mother because you’re going on the helicopter to Melbourne with Brodie.’
Sally stared at her blankly.
Meg turned her toward the phone. ‘Ring your mother, Sally. You need your mother.’ She would need all the love and support she could get.
Will swabbed Brodie’s tiny arm and with a touch of pure gentleness he slid the needle into the vein.
Meg placed a thin polyurethane dressing over the site then fashioned a small splint out of a tongue depressor to protect the area. The last thing they needed was the IV coming out.
She and Will worked wordlessly together and yet completely in unison, anticipating each other’s needs. Not unlike on the mountain. She’d never worked with a doctor in this way before. Feeling like she was an equal partner in the situation.
Finally, half an hour later, the noise of the helicopter sounded overhead as it prepared to land in the car park of the pub across the road from the clinic. With a great sense of relief they transferred Brodie and Sally to the care of the emergency team. Meg ran away from the circling blades with Will close by, and watched the helicopter rise, bank and head west.
Meg breathed out slowly, glad Brodie was on his way to Melbourne. Trying to match Will’s long stride, she joined him in the walk back to the clinic, snatching surreptitious glances at him.
His shirt, usually so crisp, was crumpled and had become untucked. His hair, which had been stylishly groomed earlier in the day, stood up in blond spikes where he’d tugged at it in an unconscious action of stress.
Her stomach flipped over. Stop this and get serious. Dragging in a breath, she nailed a reminder to her brain that Will had walked away from her the other day after kissing her senseless. She had to stomp on this attraction. It would just be a dead-end road of heartache. Like with Graeme. And there was no point thinking Graeme had been a one-off experience. Look at Sally. She’d married a man, trusted him completely and he’d put his son’s life at risk.
Punching the clinic door open, her brewing anger exploded into a storm. ‘What a jerk. How could he do that to her?’
Will followed. ‘I gather you’re talking about Sally’s husband?’ He opened the fridge in the clinic kitchen and poured them both a drink of water.
She accepted the proffered glass. ‘Of course I am.’
‘He was stupid. Selfish. But…’ he heaved out a resigned sigh ‘…people make mistakes. I doubt he meant to make his son dangerously ill.’
Disbelief rushed in. ‘Oh, so you’re defending him, are you? Men have the right to cheat on their wives and then infect them with a sexually transmitted disease?’
Will raised his brows and looked at her as if she was acting like a three-year-old. ‘No, I’m not defending him. I’m just saying that he made a foolish mistake and didn’t realise the consequences.’
She clenched her fist. ‘Well, I think he’s going to realise them now. He could lose his family.’ Her voice rose. ‘Men have to start thinking with their brains. Thoughtless actions like this scar, they damage, they ruin women’s lives and…’ She was horrified to find her throat had gone tight.
This wasn’t happening. She’d dealt with what Graeme had done to her. She’d moved on with her life. She was independent, in control. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not in front of Will.
But her chest wouldn’t move in or out, wouldn’t take in air. Her fingers tingled. Panic swamped her. Will’s face started to swim.
She forced out the words she didn’t want to say. ‘Help me.’
Will saw the panic and fear in Meg’s eyes. Damn it, she was hyperventilating and he had no idea why. He spun around. Where was a paper bag when you needed one? ‘Hey, hey, it’s OK.’ He came around behind her, gently cupping his hands over her mouth and nose. ‘Slow down, breathe in deeply.’ He kept his voice low, wanting to break through her panic.
Slowly, as she breathed in her own carbon dioxide, her frightened grip on his hands lessened and her breathing became deeper, more regular. Her shoulders dropped and she relaxed against him. Her heat seeped into him. He’d missed that.
Her hands rested on his and she gently pulled them away from her face and turned toward him. The desolation in her azure eyes pierced him. What had caused her this sort of panic?
In a reflex action he drew her to him, cradling her against his chest, hugging her close. Keen to comfort, desperate to soothe away that haunted look. Panic attacks were common after trauma but they were usually linked with the event. Had seeing the helicopter brought the plane crash flooding back?
Her hair brushed his cheek; her powder-fresh scent enveloped him. He longed to plunge his face into her curls, explore her neck with his lips and fingers. Imprint her scent and flavour to memory.