One Tiny Miracle... (3 page)

Celeste was busy opening packs for the intubation, her heart hammering in her chest, stunned at how quickly Matthew had deteriorated.

Though Meg had also come to assist, she didn’t take over, just guided and advised Celeste, who was setting up for the intubation. Raji, the anaesthetist, arrived just as Matthew started seizing, his body jerking violently. The whole thing was horrible. In a matter of moments
Matthew’s condition had become critical—his family would have barely made it to the car park.

Raji was shooting drugs into the patient as Ben gave him the lowdown and thankfully the jerking stopped. Matthew was taking long, laboured breaths, but at least he wasn’t seizing or fighting any more, though Celeste could feel her blood pounding, surely up near Matthew’s as she wrestled to remove the bedhead to give Raji more access to the patient’s airway.

‘Here.’ Ben must have seen her struggle and removed the bedhead easily for her. Raji was a pleasure to work with, a laid-back guy who really just got on with things, checking all the drugs she had prepared and pulling up for himself the others he required. Matthew was on a cardiac monitor, the seizing had stopped, but he was gravely ill and as Celeste watched Raji intubate the patient, Meg liaised with the porters and Imaging.

‘Should we let his family know?’ Celeste asked. ‘They only just left.’

‘Let’s just worry about the patient for now,’ Belinda snapped, and Celeste felt herself redden.

‘I’ll call them as soon as I can,’ Ben said. ‘He’ll probably go straight up to Theatre from Imaging.’

It took ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the most before Matthew was paralysed and intubated and on a trolley, being wheeled up to Imaging and probably then on to Theatre. All that was left from his time in the obs ward was a mountain of paperwork and a lot of chaos. The suction equipment was still on and gurgling, and would need cleaning, the oxygen tubing and masks would need replacing; the bedhead was abandoned on the other side
of the room, there were packs open everywhere. The crash cart was in chaos and there were syringes and vials on its surface. Everything would need to be tidied and checked and replaced and then checked again.

‘So much for giving you a quiet afternoon!’ Meg gave her a sympathetic smile, but her pager went off, and there really was no chance of her staying to help.

Letting out a long breath, forcing herself to just get on with it, Celeste turned around and saw Fleur’s worried face.

‘Will he be okay?’ she asked worriedly.

‘I think so,’ Celeste said, and came over, her heart sinking as the proud, dignified lady burst into tears and said sorry over and over.

‘I’ve wet my pants!’

‘I’m so sorry!’ It was Celeste saying it to Fleur now. ‘It was my fault for not taking you.’

Ben was at the desk ringing the unfortunate family to tell them what had happened to Matthew, and Celeste and Fleur were in the bathroom. Fleur’s wet clothes were off and her hand was wrapped in plastic and elevated on an IV pole, with the old lady sitting in a little shower chair.

‘Let’s both stop saying sorry, shall we?’ A lot older and a lot wiser, Fleur caught Celeste’s eyes and smiled. ‘You could hardly leave the young man, could you?’

‘I know.’

‘I just don’t want my daughter to know that I’ve had an accident—she’ll be in soon, and she’ll think I’m losing my faculties.’

‘Of course you’re not!’ Celeste exclaimed. Still, she’d have been embarrassed too, so she came up with a plan. ‘Why don’t I rinse out your clothes?’ Celeste suggested. ‘They’re covered in blood anyway. I’ll tell your daughter that’s why I washed them.’

‘What about my knickers?’

‘I’ll wash them and hang them by the vent.’ A little bit ditzy at times, Celeste could also be very practical. ‘They’ll be dry by the end of my shift—no one will ever know.’

‘You’re very kind.’

Not really, Celeste thought. Anyone should do it. She still winced when nurses stuffed filthy clothes into bags for relatives, wondering how they’d like it. Still, she couldn’t change the world, only her own actions. So she filled a sink with water…

‘Cold water for blood,’ Fleur prompted, and Celeste did as she was told then set about showering her patient. Firm friends now, Celeste smiled when Fleur asked what was surely a rare favour. ‘Would you mind giving my back an good wash?’ she asked. ‘I can never reach it.’

‘Of course.’ Fleur’s back was indeed grubby from, most likely, years of neglect, as her arthritis simply wouldn’t allow her arms to reach it.

‘I bought a brush from the chemist,’ Fleur said as Celeste gave it a good scrub. ‘You know, on a long stick, but I still can’t get there.’ So Celeste took her time to wash it as thoroughly as she could, wondering how best to approach this proud lady.

‘You’ll be needing some help with your hand out of action…’

‘I will not!’ Fleur said, as Celeste wrapped her in towels. ‘I’ll manage fine with one hand.’

‘You probably will,’ Celeste said, ‘but there are so many aids, like hand-held showers, and there are brushes for your back but with curved sticks. I’m not sure of all the things that could help, but maybe we could get you assessed.’

‘I like my independence.’

‘Well, this will help you keep your independence.’ Celeste shrugged. ‘You may as well while you’re here…Have a think about it.’

Fleur was right, Ben thought. Sitting at the desk for a moment, having made a very difficult call to Matthew’s mother and not ready to head back out there, he’d overheard the conversation between the two women. Celeste
was
kind, very kind indeed.

It was so easy to become hard working in Emergency—he’d seen it happen to so many colleagues. It was necessary almost if you wanted to survive in this area. He had become hardened too—switched off on certain occasions, because at times it was easier to deal with a patient than a person, kinder to yourself not to think about a family and friends and futures that were being obliterated, to just get on with the job in hand, rather than look at the bigger picture. But watching Celeste wheel out a smiling Fleur, all powdered and warm and well looked after, Ben was a mite conflicted.

Because pregnancy was his
thing
. One of his many
things
if he actually stopped and thought about it, which he tried very hard not to do.

Most people had one—Belinda had just told him on
the walk back from Imaging how her younger brother had almost died from a head injury. The staff hadn’t noticed his deterioration and it had been Belinda herself who had recognised the signs when she had come to visit. Yes, they all had their
things
. And pregnancy was Ben’s—the one thing where he just had to detach and deal with a foetus rather than a baby, look at a set of numbers instead of the person.

He didn’t want to be hard, didn’t want to be bitter—except he was.

Yet watching Celeste rub her back after helping Fleur into bed, reluctantly watching the shape of her pregnant belly, he resisted the urge to just walk away, to shrug his shoulders and let her get on with it. She wasn’t a nurse, or a set of numbers, or a pregnant woman, she was Celeste, who was kind and tired and had had a difficult start to her shift and a lot of mess to clean up.

‘I’ve spoken to Matthew’s family…’ As he chatted to her, he lifted the metal bedhead from the floor and replaced it, then easily dragged the portable oxygen cylinder back to its spot—just doing a couple of little things that he didn’t need to, in the same way Celeste had done for Fleur, only she could never know the effort behind his easy gestures, because being around her was becoming unbearable for Ben. ‘They’re on their way back. I’ve told them to come to the front desk, but if they arrive here, just give me a buzz.’

‘I will.’ She pulled over a linen skip and stripped the bed. ‘Do you think he’ll be okay?’

‘He’ll be in Theatre by now,’ Ben said, ‘so, hopefully, yes. I’ll let you know when I hear.’

Her quiet shift was anything but. By the time it came to a close the crash cart was checked and put away, the eight beds had been filled with patients, Fleur had agreed to a visit from Occupational Therapy and now that visiting time was over, the ward was actually neat and in order—at least the night nurse should have a quiet shift!

‘Thank you, Celeste.’ Fleur smiled as Celeste helped her into clean, dry undies before she headed off home. ‘For all your care and for washing out my clothes—my daughter never suspected a thing.’

‘That’s good. Theatre just called and it shouldn’t be too much longer till they’re ready for you.’

‘And I’ll just stay in for one night?’

‘If all goes smoothly, which I’m sure it will. I’ll see you in the morning.’ Celeste smiled. ‘I’m back on at seven.’

‘You work too hard,’ Fleur fussed. ‘I know it’s what you girls do now. Still, I hope your young man’s at home with dinner waiting so you can put your feet up.’

‘I shall!’ Celeste smiled and then blushed as she realised that Ben had come in. ‘’Night, Fleur.’ She walked over to Ben. ‘I don’t want her worrying.’

‘Sorry?’

Celeste hurried to explain. ‘Well, it’s just easier to sometimes let people think that there is a Mr Mitchell at home…’ Her blush darkened as it was only then she realised Ben would have neither known nor cared that she had just been caught fibbing to Fleur. ‘Have you heard anything about Matthew?’

‘That’s what I was coming to tell you about. I’m heading home, so I just rang ICU. I didn’t get a chance till now. Apparently his pupil blew in Imaging. They got him straight up to theatre and evacuated a massive subdural haematoma—so I came to say well done. It was a good pick-up—a lot of people might have hesitated seeing as his symptoms were so fleeting.’

‘How is he now?’ Celeste asked, warming at his praise. Matthew’s brain had been bleeding, the pressure building inside his skull, causing his symptoms. It was the scary thing about seemingly benign head injuries—and the reason patients were often admitted for observation afterwards. She had read about it, studied it, learnt about it, but now she had witnessed it for herself. The
chore
of regular neuro obs would never be considered a chore again.

‘On ICU. It will be a good forty-eight hours before we know anything, but there is hope…’

Which was always nice.

She handed over her patients and headed for home in a car that was making more new and rather worrying noises. She slowed down at the gates and indicated left for the block of units. She climbed out of the car, leaving it idling, too worried to turn off the engine, because one day it surely wouldn’t start again! Absolutely bone weary, she opened the gates and then realised someone had pulled up behind her.

‘I’ll close them,’ Ben called out, which he did, and she drove another hundred yards and then pulled on her handbrake and climbed out of her idling car again to open the garage, because the landlord was too mean to put in automatic doors.

‘I’ll get that.’ He walked over from the gates and made light work of the garage door, and even waited till she had driven inside and closed it for her as she walked out.

Which didn’t sound like much, but every stretch was one less stretch that she had to do and she was so tired that all she was was grateful.

‘Thanks for that.’ Celeste was too weary to even summon a smile.

‘No problem,’ Ben called, heading back to his own car to repeat the ritual for his own garage. And still he didn’t deliver a lecture. Still didn’t check that she was okay, or ask if she was sure she should be working.

Had he asked, Celeste thought, as she let herself into her little unit, she might just have burst into tears.

She had to eat, but she was too tired to cook, so she had a bowl of cereal instead.

Then a very quick shower. Knowing she’d regret it if she didn’t, she put out a fresh uniform for the morning, checked her alarm and slipped into bed, too tired to worry, too worn out for tears or even to think really.

She had to be back there tomorrow at ten to seven!

B
EN
didn’t worry.

He was concerned for his patients at times, but he didn’t do worrying.

The worst day of his life had happened a long time ago and he knew things could never be that bad again, so consequently he just got on with things, didn’t fret or dwell—or, well, worry!

He hadn’t in years.

Yet there was this niggle now and, no matter how he tried to ignore it, still it persisted.

His second day at Bay View Hospital and the floodgates had opened.

One drowning had been brought in as well as victims of a multiple pile-up on the beach road. It was over forty degrees and people were collapsing everywhere. It was just one of those days where everyone ran to keep up and everyone worked up to and beyond their limits.

Including Celeste.

He could see her ankles swelling as the shift progressed, see her blow out of her mouth and onto her red face as she stripped yet another trolley and prepared it
for the endless list of recipients, could see the
effort
in her movements, and then finally the sheer relief on her face at 3:30 p.m. when her shift ended. As he watched her waddle out, like it or not, Ben
was
worried.

‘What are you doing tonight?’ Belinda was tapping away on the computer. In her late thirties, and absolutely stunning, she was also witty. With a tumble of black hair, she had almond-shaped brown eyes, full red lips, and dressed like she’d stepped out of a magazine. Thankfully,
very
thankfully, Ben didn’t fancy her a jot, which meant there was no trouble sharing a tiny office and they could chat easily about things—which they did as Ben wound up his day and packed up his briefcase. It was only his second day and already paperwork was starting to pile up.

‘I’m stopping in at the real-estate agent’s, then the deli to buy salad and chicken instead of a burger and then…’ Ben thought about it ‘…I will
make
myself go for a jog this evening. What about you?’

‘I’ll show you…’ She gave a wicked smile. ‘Come here.’

Curious, Ben walked over and looked at the screen and stared at the image of a rather ordinary-looking guy.

‘A GP, late thirties, has children but doesn’t want to involve them yet…’

‘Sorry?’ Ben had no idea what she was going on about.

‘That’s good,’ Belinda said. ‘The last one I saw brought his children along on the second date! We’ve chatted on the phone,’ Belinda explained to a bemused Ben, ‘and he seems great—we’re meeting for coffee tonight.’

‘You’re going on a
date
with him?’

‘Coffee.’ Belinda laughed. ‘You should try it—you’d be a hit!’

Ben shook his head. ‘Internet dating isn’t for me.’

‘Don’t knock it till you try it.’

‘Be careful.’ Ben frowned. ‘Shouldn’t you go with someone when you meet him? He could be anyone!’

‘He’s who he says is.’ Belinda winked. ‘I’ve checked his registration.’

‘Well, good luck.’

The real-estate agent was being nice to him again—there had been a little bit of initial sulking when Ben hadn’t bought the apartment, but he’d obviously got over it and he was Ben’s new best friend again now that he had a genuine prospective client for the house.

‘Can I have a look around?’ Ben asked.

‘Not till the “open for inspection” at the weekend,’ the agent said. ‘After that, I can arrange a private inspection for you.’

‘I’m actually working this weekend,’ Ben said, ‘so don’t worry about it.’

‘You will come and have a look, though?’ the agent said anxiously.

‘Like I said…’ Ben shrugged ‘…I’m working—but it’s really no problem. I’m actually going to look at another house tonight.’

That soon got him on the phone! A private inspection was arranged within the hour and Ben wandered through the house he was seriously thinking of calling home. It did need a lot of work—the kitchen was a bomb and the downstairs bathroom would need to be ripped out, but the master bedroom had already been
renovated, with floor-to-ceiling windows that took in the bay view and a fantastic en suite that did the same.

Yes, it was way too big for one, but it just felt right.

He could renovate it, Ben thought, take his time, pull out the kitchen, do up the back garden…Standing in the master bedroom, staring out at the bay, Ben felt the first breeze of contentment he had in years, the first, the very first glimmer of how finally coming home should feel.

Despite his nonchalance with the agent, despite the shake of his head when he found out the reserve price and that the vendor wanted a quick settlement, he was just playing the necessary game. For Ben, the auction couldn’t come soon enough.

A wall of heat hit him as Ben opened the door to his unit. He opened the windows, turned on a fan and put his dinner in the fridge then peeled off his clothes and hoped that the shower ran cold this evening—which thankfully it did.

After showering, he pulled on some shorts and nothing else, then headed for the kitchen. Suddenly, out of the blue, there was this sort of long groan as everything ground to a halt.

It had been happening all over Melbourne—the power outages every evening as the lucky people who had air-conditioning selfishly cranked it up to full. Ben just had a fan—which now, of course, wasn’t working.

He went outside to check the power box, just in case it was only him, and glancing down the row of units he saw Celeste checking her power box too.

She was in lilac shorts this time, and a black singlet. Her hair was wet and she looked thoroughly fed up.

‘Again!’ She rolled her eyes, gave him a brief wave and headed back into what would surely soon be a furnace—unlike his unit, Celeste’s got the full questionable glory of the afternoon sun.

And that was when that niggle hit him again—an unfamiliar, long-forgotten feeling that gnawed at his stomach as he pulled open the dark fridge and pulled out the plastic containers he had got from the deli—a strange niggle of worry for someone else.

Ben didn’t want neighbours who dropped in on him and he had certainly never thought he’d be a neighbour who did just that—but there he was on her doorstep. She had come to the door holding a bowl of cereal and was clearly irritated at the intrusion but trying to be polite.

‘The electricity should come back on in a couple of hours—it’s been happening a lot lately,’ Celeste said, and went to close the door. She wasn’t actually irritated with him and didn’t mean to be rude, she was just trying not to notice he was wearing only shorts. Which was normal, of course, in the middle of a heat wave. Had he knocked just two minutes later, she’d have had to put her top back on herself before answering the door!

The sight of all his exposed skin made her own turn pink, though, and she didn’t want him to notice!

‘Have you had dinner?’ he said to the closing door, and she paused, glancing guiltily down at the bowl of cereal—which was probably not the best dinner for a heavily pregnant woman and she was instantly on the defensive. ‘I can hardly cook with no electricity.’

‘No need to—I’ve got plenty.’ He held up the dishes to tempt her. ‘Let’s go and eat on the beach—it will be cooler there.’

It was. There was a lovely southerly breeze sweeping in and Celeste walked in the shallows. Ben could practically hear the sizzle as her hot, swollen, red ankles hit the water.

‘I should have come down earlier.’ Celeste sighed in relief. ‘I keep meaning to, I mean, I’m so glad I did when I get here…’

‘I’m the same.’ Ben smiled, and it was so nice after such a busy day to just walk and say not much, to watch the dogs and the boats and the couples—to just
be
.

And then to sit.

Chicken in tarragon and mayonnaise, with a crisp Greek salad, was certainly nicer than cereal, and washed down with fresh fruit salad, it was bordering on the healthiest dinner of her pregnancy. The baby gave an appreciative kick as she sank down onto her back.

‘That was yum—thank you!’

‘You’re welcome.’ Ben gave a small uncomfortable swallow. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I dismissed you a bit at work.’

‘You didn’t.’ Celeste frowned.

‘I did,’ Ben said, ‘or rather I didn’t let on that we’d already met.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘I just like to keep work separate…’

‘That’s fine,’ Celeste said. ‘This evening never happened.’ She turned and smiled at him where he still sat. ‘How are you enjoying your new job?’

‘It’s good.’ Ben nodded.

‘You were in Sydney before?’ Celeste checked because she’d heard Meg say so.

‘Yes.’ Ben didn’t elaborate. ‘How long have you worked there?’

She didn’t reply for a moment as she was busy settling herself back on the sand, closing her eyes in sheer pleasure. ‘Nearly three months.’ One eye peeked open. ‘I don’t think they were particularly thrilled when I turned up for my first shift.’

Thankfully he wasn’t so politically correct that he pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. Instead, he just grinned and Celeste closed that eye and finally, finally, finally she relaxed.

‘God, this feels nice,’ she sighed after five minutes of lovely comfortable silence.

And it also looked nice, Ben thought, it looked very nice indeed. Her lashes were fanning her cheeks, her knees were up, and her stomach was sort of wriggling of its own accord—like Jennifer’s had, Ben thought, and then abruptly stopped that thought process.

‘So there is no Mr Mitchell?’ he asked.

‘Nope.’ Her eyes were still closed.

‘Do you see him at all, the father of your baby?’

‘Nope.’

‘Does he know?’ Ben asked, even though it was none of his business. ‘I mean, is he helping you out?’

‘He thought he was,’ Celeste said. ‘He gave me money to have an abortion.’

‘Oh.’ Ben stared down at her.

‘I was on my maternity rotation at the time I found
out I was pregnant, babies everywhere—not that it made me want one, it terrified me actually, but…’

‘You don’t have to say anything else if you don’t want to.’

But she did want to—lying there with her eyes closed, lost and lonely and really, really confused. Maybe, as everyone said it would, talking might help clear her head. It was worth a try, anyway, because yoga certainly hadn’t worked!

‘He’s married.’ She opened her eyes then and closed them—and even in that teeny space of time she saw
it
pass over his features. That moment where you were judged, where opinions were cast, where assumptions were made. ‘I didn’t know that he was, not that that changes anything.’

‘Did you go out for long?’ he wanted to know.

‘Three months.’ Celeste sniffed. ‘He was my first real…I just believed him. I mean, I knew why we didn’t go out much, and why we couldn’t go to each other’s homes…’

‘Sorry?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered.

‘So where did you go out?’

‘For drives, for dinner, to a hotel sometimes…’ She gazed up into his clear green eyes. ‘He’s a bit older than me, quite a bit older actually,’ Celeste said, and then she was silent for a while.

Rightly or wrongly, he did judge—he tried not to, but he did.

Why didn’t people think? Why were people so careless?

And now there was this baby…

He closed his eyes and thought of Jennifer—of the plans they had put in place, how much they had wanted a baby, and though he didn’t say a word, she could feel his disapproval.

‘So you’ve never made a mistake?’ she said defensively.

‘I’ve made plenty,’ he admitted.

‘But no affairs, nothing you regret.’

‘Oh, there’s a lot that I regret,’ Ben said.

‘You’re single, divorced…?’ It sounded like the questionnaire on Belinda’s dating site, and he winced inwardly.

‘Widowed,’ he said, and it was her turn to judge, Ben knew—he had been through it many times before.

‘Do you miss her a lot?’ she asked gently.

‘Yep,’ Ben admitted, and that was enough. He ran some sand through his hands, concentrated on the little grains instead of himself then glanced at his watch. ‘The power must be back on by now.’

‘So what if it is?’ Celeste smiled. ‘I’m enjoying talking—you were saying how much you miss her?’

God, she was persistent. Really, he should stand up and leave, but she’d said so much about herself and, picking up another handful of sand, he let it run through his closed fist, and admitted some of his truth. ‘I miss it for Jennifer too.’ Her silence was patient. ‘She loved living.’ He looked out to the water and could almost see her, blonde ponytail flying as she jogged. ‘She’d be out there running or swimming now—cramming some exercise in after work.’

‘Was she fit?’

‘Very.’ Ben nodded, but there was this savage rip of
thought there because, despite doing everything right, despite her healthy lifestyle, it hadn’t counted for anything in the end.

‘What did she do?’

‘She was a doctor as well—in Emergency.’

‘What happened?’ Celeste asked, but Ben shook his head, not willing to go there. ‘Come on.’ It really was time to go now, and not just because he didn’t want to talk about it. He was doing her a favour. A woman in Celeste’s condition really didn’t need to hear about how Jen had died. So he held her hands and heaved her up and they walked back slowly, idly chatting about not very much at all, till Celeste wormed her way back in again.

‘Have you dated again—I mean since…?’

‘She died three, nearly four years ago,’ Ben said, answering the unspoken question.

‘Oh.’

‘A bit.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Though it was probably too soon.’

‘Are you still comparing them to her?’ Celeste asked, boldly striding in where no one else really dared to go, but Ben just ignored her question and, glad of the diversion, opened the gates to the units, but Celeste stood patiently waiting.

‘Are you?’ she asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Comparing them?’

She was a persistent little thing, like a little woodpecker, peck, peck pecking away—

‘I used to,’ Ben admitted. ‘But not now—that’s not fair on anyone.’

‘Especially as she sounds like Superwoman,’ Celeste grumbled, and her response was so refreshing Ben actually smiled. ‘So,’ she pushed, ‘are you ready now?’