Wonder if Edward knows the superstition that red and white flowers mixed together presage a death?
It’s almost twelve o’clock. Two hours to get through.
2nd January: 1.30
I can hear Dr Austin’s voice in the corridor outside, and I can hear the sound of a bath-chair being brought for me. It’s rumbling along the bare floors. Ridiculous to think that it sounds like the beating of two hearts, twined inextricably around one another…
CHAPTER SIX
F OR SOME TIME the only sound in the small operating theatre was that of the measured bleep from the monitors. There was a scent of oranges, from the sweetened orange juice that Mr Brannan sometimes sipped when he was operating.
‘H’m,’ said Martin Brannan’s registrar. ‘As well the lady opted for a general anaesthetic, isn’t it?’
‘I didn’t give her any choice. Rosamund, if you’d tilt the light this way, so that I can see—’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Brannan,’ said the very new, very young, theatre nurse. ‘Is that better?’
‘It is. Wait now, here’s the amniotic fluid—More swabs, please—And suction—Yes, that’s more like it. All right, everyone? Here we go then. Incubator ready?’
‘Yes.’ This was the paediatrician.
‘Now then, gently as a velvet whisper at midnight—’ His hands moved delicately but surely.
‘Oh God,’ said the new young nurse, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.
‘Thoracopagus,’ said the registrar, half to himself.
‘Yes. But we knew that anyway.’ Martin held the two tiny creatures in his hands for a moment, and then handed them to the paediatrician who was waiting at his side. ‘And it’s not as bad as it might have been by a long way. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen an omphalocele baby, have you, Roz? If you had, you’d be thanking all the gods that these two have all the organs growing inside their bodies and not outside. I’m delivering the placenta now—’ He worked for a few minutes. ‘That’s fine now. We’re ready to close the uterus. How are the girls?’
‘Still a bit blue,’ said the paediatrician who was bending over the incubator. ‘The heartbeats are pretty good though, and the weight’s quite good as well. Eleven pounds six ounces together—not absolutely half-and-half, I don’t think; one of them’s just an ounce or two lighter. Difficult to be precise.’
‘Breathing unaided?’
‘The smaller one’s a touch tachycardic—she still needs a bit of help. The other one’s all right though. She’s starting to look a better colour as well. But as you said, Mr Brannan, all in all, they’re in far better shape than we’d dared hope.’
Martin straightened up, aware for the first time of his aching back and neck muscles, and gestured for the orange juice. His other hand was still on Mel’s anaesthetized body, half-possessive, half-protective.
An indignant wail broke through the ticking monitors, and the team relaxed and smiled. ‘Hear for yourself,’ said the paediatrician. ‘That was the stronger twin.’
‘She’s called Simone,’ said Martin. ‘And the other one is Sonia.’
The first thing that Mel saw as she came up out of the soft darkness of the anaesthetic was the slender-stemmed bud vase on the table at the side of her bed, with a single rose in it—creamy-pale and in the half-open stage. Lovely. Mel smiled hazily. Joe would always do the conventional thing, of course, but this was unusually sensitive of him. Perhaps I misjudged him. Perhaps there’s some romance in him after all. There was a card propped up against the vase. She turned her head to read it.
‘Sorry it can’t be the gin and tonic yet,’ said Martin Brannan’s slanting hand. ‘But we’ll drink a double together at Simone and Sonia’s eighteenth birthday party. In the meantime, enjoy this.’
Mel was lying back on the pillows, considering the implications that this seemed to suggest—all of them good—and wondering when she would be allowed to see her babies, when
It’s almost twelve o’clock. Two hours to get through.
2nd January: 1.30
I can hear Dr Austin’s voice in the corridor outside, and I can hear the sound of a bath-chair being brought for me. It’s rumbling along the bare floors. Ridiculous to think that it sounds like the beating of two hearts, twined inextricably around one another…
CHAPTER SIX
F OR SOME TIME the only sound in the small operating theatre was that of the measured bleep from the monitors. There was a scent of oranges, from the sweetened orange juice that Mr Brannan sometimes sipped when he was operating.
‘H’m,’ said Martin Brannan’s registrar. ‘As well the lady opted for a general anaesthetic, isn’t it?’
‘I didn’t give her any choice. Rosamund, if you’d tilt the light this way, so that I can see—’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Brannan,’ said the very new, very young, theatre nurse. ‘Is that better?’
‘It is. Wait now, here’s the amniotic fluid—More swabs, please—And suction—Yes, that’s more like it. All right, everyone? Here we go then. Incubator ready?’
‘Yes.’ This was the paediatrician.
‘Now then, gently as a velvet whisper at midnight—’ His hands moved delicately but surely.
‘Oh God,’ said the new young nurse, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.
‘Thoracopagus,’ said the registrar, half to himself.
‘Yes. But we knew that anyway.’ Martin held the two tiny creatures in his hands for a moment, and then handed them to the paediatrician who was waiting at his side. ‘And it’s not as bad as it might have been by a long way. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen an omphalocele baby, have you, Roz? If you had, you’d be thanking all the gods that these two have all the organs growing inside their bodies and not outside. I’m delivering the placenta now—’ He worked for a few minutes. ‘That’s fine now. We’re ready to close the uterus. How are the girls?’
‘Still a bit blue,’ said the paediatrician who was bending over the incubator. ‘The heartbeats are pretty good though, and the weight’s quite good as well. Eleven pounds six ounces together—not absolutely half-and-half, I don’t think; one of them’s just an ounce or two lighter. Difficult to be precise.’
‘Breathing unaided?’
‘The smaller one’s a touch tachycardic—she still needs a bit of help. The other one’s all right though. She’s starting to look a better colour as well. But as you said, Mr Brannan, all in all, they’re in far better shape than we’d dared hope.’
Martin straightened up, aware for the first time of his aching back and neck muscles, and gestured for the orange juice. His other hand was still on Mel’s anaesthetized body, half-possessive, half-protective.
An indignant wail broke through the ticking monitors, and the team relaxed and smiled. ‘Hear for yourself,’ said the paediatrician. ‘That was the stronger twin.’
‘She’s called Simone,’ said Martin. ‘And the other one is Sonia.’
The first thing that Mel saw as she came up out of the soft darkness of the anaesthetic was the slender-stemmed bud vase on the table at the side of her bed, with a single rose in it—creamy-pale and in the half-open stage. Lovely. Mel smiled hazily. Joe would always do the conventional thing, of course, but this was unusually sensitive of him. Perhaps I misjudged him. Perhaps there’s some romance in him after all. There was a card propped up against the vase. She turned her head to read it.
‘Sorry it can’t be the gin and tonic yet,’ said Martin Brannan’s slanting hand. ‘But we’ll drink a double together at Simone and Sonia’s eighteenth birthday party. In the meantime, enjoy this.’
Mel was lying back on the pillows, considering the implications that this seemed to suggest—all of them good—and wondering when she would be allowed to see her babies, when
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