The Heart Surgeon's Proposal Page 9

  Phil the teacher telling Scott what to watch for! He did it well, Maggie realised, and more consistently than Alex did, though both of them, when concentrating on the intricacy of the surgery they performed, would sometimes forget to explain.

  ‘Pump back on,’ Phil said to Kurt, when they were satisfied the tiny heart was airtight.

  The noise of the pump, this time pumping warmed blood into Cain’s body, thumped through the room, a background noise to Phil’s quiet voice, telling Scott where he wanted drains and wires and catheters placed.

  ‘OK!’ One word, but it signalled it was time to breathe easily again. Maggie saw Phil step back so Scott could close.

  Now Maggie, monitoring the atmosphere, could sense a general relaxation in the room.

  ‘He’s all yours, Maggie,’ Scott said at last, and the surgical staff drifted from the room, leaving the theatre orderly and a junior theatre nurse to clean up the mess they’d left behind.

  Rather than shift infants from Theatre to a recovery room then into the ICU, Maggie kept them in Theatre until she felt it was safe to move them. With little Cain she wanted to wait until she was sure even something as unthreatening as changing his ventilation from the theatre lines to bagging him on the short journey wouldn’t compromise his condition.

  Twenty minutes later, she was sure he could make the trip safely and called up an ICU nurse and orderly to move him with her. And though the nurse would usually handle the bagging, squeezing air into his ventilator tube using a rubber device they called a bag, Maggie did it herself.

  For some reason—and she suspected it had more to do with Phil than being pregnant—she wanted everything to go just right for Cain.

  Once in his room she hooked him up to the ventilator again, while the nurse made sure the monitor leads weren’t tangled and connected the monitor to the central nursing station.

  His parents came in, peering anxiously at the still unconscious baby, and while Maria took the chair beside his bed Al paced.

  ‘The doctor said it went well. He said there could be complications but so far everything’s looking good. Is that right?’

  Maggie knew she needed confirmation of what Phil had already told her, so she repeated the reassurances, but explained they still had a way to go.

  ‘We’ll keep him in here while he’s on the ventilator,’ she explained, ‘but once he comes off that and is breathing on his own, he’ll go into the infants’ ward where nursing staff especially trained to deal with postoperative cardiac patients will look after him.’

  Maria smiled at her.

  ‘Every stage is a little step towards his being better, isn’t it?’ she said, and Maggie had to agree with her.

  Very small steps babies made at times, but each one significant in its own way. It was good for a parent to understand this and take joy in each stage of the recovery.

  Maggie left the room, though she knew she’d be back before she left the hospital, checking on how the baby was doing on the ventilator and if there was any sign of distress showing up. But right now the parents needed to be alone with their child and she needed a coffee.

  Back in their rooms, the coffee-machine was on but the place was deserted.

  ‘Just how badly are you going to be affected by caffeine?’ she asked the embryo developing inside her, then she sighed and drank some water, just in case the word she hadn’t heard had been ‘badly’!

  ‘Look, decaffeinated coffee-grounds.’

  Phil swept into the rooms, waving the packet in the air.

  ‘I knew the canteen served it, so I went down and begged to be allowed to buy some.’

  Maggie hid the start of joy his sudden appearance had caused. Hid it with cross words!

  ‘You put that stuff into the machine and you’ll be lynched,’ she told him.

  ‘No one will know!’ he said, still beaming with his cleverness. ‘We tip it into the other packet and how would anyone tell? We all drink far too much coffee and we know caffeine’s no good for us, so we’re really doing the whole team a favour.’

  Maggie looked at him, propped herself against a desk and shook her head.

  ‘Phil, you can’t do this! Of course people will know. Have you ever drunk decaffeinated coffee? It tastes like—well, it tastes terrible. And people will say so and Becky will get the blame for buying cheap grounds and they’ll throw out that lot and buy new, and you can’t keep replacing it with decaff!’

  He was still holding the packet, but now looked so downcast she had to laugh.

  ‘It’s OK—we’ll take it home and I’ll drink it there.’

  ‘And say what when the others ask what’s happened to your eight cups a day coffee habit?’

  ‘I’ll tell them I’ve given up for Lent—no, it’s too late for Lent. I’ll say I’m doing it for a bet. You bet me I couldn’t. They know we’re living together, so they’ll think it’s something that’s arisen from that.’

  ‘Living together!’ Phil echoed, then he added in a very quiet voice, ‘It has other connotations, doesn’t it, Mags?’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAGGIE got up from the desk and poured herself another glass of cold water from the jug in the small fridge.

  ‘Of course it does,’ she said, hoping the word ‘bracing’ might describe her tone but doubting it. Phil’s question had gone directly to her heart, piercing the feeble defences she’d been building up around it. ‘That’s happened with so many words these days. Take “partner”, for example. My sister is married, and she’s also a partner in a decorating firm, but when I talk about her partner, people assume I mean the man she’s living with, who is, in fact, her husband—’

  ‘We weren’t talking about words,’ Phil interrupted, crossing to where Maggie stood by the fridge, sipping at the cold water, which was having no effect whatsoever on either her nerves or her caffeine craving.

  He took the water glass out of her hand and set it down on a table.

  ‘We’re talking about living together.’

  He put his hands on her shoulders, resting them there, not holding her, but she knew if she moved the pressure might increase.

  ‘Is the father of this baby someone who’s important in your life, Maggie? Is he still around? Will he take on the responsibility of a child? Does he want to marry you? Do you want to marry him?’

  Yes, yes, I don’t know, I don’t know and…

  If he’d stopped after any of the earlier questions, Maggie wouldn’t have known what to answer, because she hadn’t yet thought through all the consequences of telling Phil the baby was his. But the last question was easy to answer.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to marry him.’

  No need to explain she couldn’t bear the thought of forcing him into marriage—all she had to do was answer the question.

  ‘You could marry me,’ Phil said, and Maggie felt her knees give way, and was sure she would have dropped to the floor if Phil hadn’t grabbed her.

  ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘You haven’t eaten and I’m keeping you here, talking.’

  He sat her down and rummaged in the cupboard, coming back with a packet of biscuits.

  ‘Eat a few of these then I’ll take you down to the canteen for dinner. You’ve got to start thinking about regular meals, Mags,’ he said, opening the fridge and taking out the milk.

  He sniffed at it and shook his head, then, still holding the milk carton, he fixed his blue eyes on her and added, ‘And I meant what I said about marrying you. Think about it. We’re already living together, so the logistics would be simple. We work together, so we understand the stresses of each other’s job—none better. The baby will have a hands-on father, and we were great together in bed.’

  Maggie felt the air around her grow suddenly colder, then heard Phil repeat the words in a slow, hoarse voice.

  ‘We were great together in bed!’

  He stared at Maggie, disbelief and anger vying for control of his features.

  Anger won.

  ‘
Is it my baby, Maggie?’ he asked, his voice soft but no less furious for its softness. ‘It is, isn’t it? And just when were you going to share this little gem of knowledge with me? Just how long did you intend letting me believe it was someone else’s?’

  Maggie felt the icy wind of his fury and though she wasn’t nearly ready for him to have found out, she found some relief in his anger because it fired hers up as well.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Phil, I’ve only just found out myself. I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that a one-night stand with a colleague has ended in a pregnancy! How do you think I feel? And what would you suggest I do? Front up one day in the PICU and say, “Oh, by the way, I’m pregnant and it’s yours!” Hell, Phil, I know the kind of childhood you had, I know you have your own dreams of the way a marriage should work, and I also know that with the stupid male chivalry you carry around, the first thing you’d do when I told you would be to ask me to marry you.’

  Maggie gave a mirthless laugh then added, ‘You did that anyway—even thinking it was someone else’s baby—so I was spot on, wasn’t I?’

  ‘This isn’t about my offer of marriage—it’s about you not telling me the baby is mine. It’s about being a biological cipher all over again—an accident of paternity. Well, that’s not going to happen.’

  Maggie could feel his anger vibrating around the room, but she couldn’t find words to deflect or defuse it, so she sat and let it wash around her.

  ‘My child is going to know his father and know his father’s love.’

  It’s about the baby, Maggie thought sadly. Only about the baby!

  Phil finished speaking then heard the silence echoing back to him and realised he’d been shouting.

  He glanced at Maggie, saw the way her hand curved protectively across her stomach and felt a momentary pang of compunction.

  But she was wrong, not telling him.

  She was also awfully pale and he remembered how she’d come close to fainting earlier.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, taking her by the arm and hauling her out of the chair. ‘You need to eat and this is hardly the time or place to be discussing the matter.’

  He knew he’d spoken brusquely, but her pale face and the lines of strain at the corners of her mouth had made him feel angry again—and protective—and…

  Husbandly?

  He had no idea how that would feel, but as he hustled Maggie towards the lift, he decided he’d better find out—and soon. There was no way a child of his would be born out of wedlock.

  Was that a hopelessly old-fashioned attitude?

  A relic of his upbringing?

  Best not to say it to Maggie!

  But there was no reason why he and Maggie couldn’t make a go of marriage.

  He must have spoken this thought out loud, because Maggie’s ‘Oh, please, Phil!’ had to be in response to it.

  Though when she added, ‘I need food but not so badly I have to run all the way to the canteen,’ he wondered if he had said it. Maybe she’d been protesting the pace.

  Which meant he’d have to say it again!

  He slowed down but kept his grip on her arm, telling himself it was a supporting grip not a proprietorial one, though something very like a proprietorial feeling, where Maggie was concerned, was creeping over him.

  Would it take over from the ‘race her off to bed’ feeling he usually had to deal with whenever he was around her?

  They had just reached the canteen when both their pagers went off.

  ‘You stay here and eat,’ Phil ordered, directing Maggie towards the food counter in the nearly deserted canteen. ‘I’ll check out what’s wrong.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s the PICU so it’s sure to be Cain. I’m going straight up there.’

  Don’t let him die! Maggie found herself praying as they both hurried back to the lift, then felt a moment of shame because she was wishing this for Phil’s sake, not the baby’s.

  But it wasn’t Cain who was the problem, but little Amy Carter, who’d received the new heart two months earlier.

  ‘High temp, evidence of infection. I didn’t know if you’d have to take her into Theatre so I called both of you,’ the sister in charge of the PICU told them. ‘I’ve paged the rest of the team and will ask them to be on standby just in case, but I knew you two would still be in the hospital.’

  The little girl had been hooked up to the ventilator and monitors by the intensivist who’d admitted her to the unit. She was obviously very ill, and her mother was shaking with anxiety.

  Phil spoke gently to the little girl as he examined her, while Maggie led Mrs Carter to a chair and sat her down.

  ‘She’s been through so much,’ Mrs Carter cried. ‘First, being so sick, she needed the operation and then after it—you remember how everything went wrong for her. Then just as she’s getting better, this!’

  ‘Has she been with any other children who might have been in contact with chickenpox?’ Phil asked, and Maggie wondered if he’d gone mad. What did chickenpox have to do with anything? The little girl was a heart transplant patient!

  ‘Her cousins have all got it, but I keep Amy away from other children—I mean, she’s not long out of hospital and Dr Attwood warned me about infection. I keep her in her own room whenever anyone is visiting.’

  But family members would want to see her, Maggie thought, especially inquisitive children.

  ‘She’s got chickenpox?’ she asked aloud, and Phil nodded.

  ‘I think so. Poor pet! With the scar on her chest still healing, it’s hard to tell if the small marks there are the beginning of chickenpox lesions, but I’d say they are. The blood tests should be back soon.’

  ‘Chickenpox! It’s only chickenpox!’ Mrs Carter said, her voice so full of relief and joy Maggie didn’t want to tell her the bad news.

  But Phil would have to!

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not all that much of a relief,’ he said gently, coming to rest against the bed in front of the sitting woman. ‘Because Amy is on so many antirejection drugs, and these drugs are designed to damp down the body’s immune system, a virus like this can take a terrible hold. I’d be lying to you if I didn’t tell you we’re in for a bad few days. But I’ll be here with her all the time, and the staff are trained to be vigilant and know how to keep her as comfortable as possible.’

  He took Mrs Carter’s hands and continued, ‘We haven’t got her all this way just to lose her now, so hang in there. It’ll be a fight, but it’s a fight we can win, so don’t give up hope.’

  Maggie heard the commitment and determination in his voice and knew what he was thinking—he didn’t want Amy Carter crying in his head in the years to come. Her heart ached for him, knowing just how hard he’d take it if he couldn’t save Amy, and suddenly she wondered if marrying Phil might not be a good idea. He was deserving of so much love, and she could give it to him. Even if he didn’t love her, wouldn’t her love help him in some way?

  But would he let her love him?

  Let her fill some of the empty places in his heart?

  She watched him sitting there, talking with Mrs Carter, giving of himself without asking anything in return, then he stood up and left the room, turning back to say to Maggie, ‘You should be masked. I’m going to instigate total barrier nursing here, so the infection can’t be carried by staff from one room to the next.’

  Maggie stayed a little longer then, rather than risk carrying infection into Cain’s room, she checked him on the monitors, satisfied herself he was doing well. With exhaustion from the long, long day washing over her, she left the unit and headed home. Forget food, all she wanted was to fall into bed and sleep for ever.

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so pleased to see anyone in my entire life,’ she said to Annie and Alex when they, with Annie’s dog Henry, appeared at the house late on Saturday afternoon.

  Minnie, banned from visiting Henry while he recovered from a series of operations, had gone berserk on seeing her friend, so the two dogs had been b
anished to the back yard.

  Maggie gave both her human visitors a hug and invited them to come through to the kitchen.

  ‘Inviting you into your own house, Alex. That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s your home now—of course you do the inviting. Phil not here?’

  ‘He’s at the hospital.’

  ‘Amy Carter?’

  Maggie felt instant relief.

  ‘Then he did contact you about her,’ she said. ‘He’s so stubborn, I wondered if he would. He kept saying there wasn’t anything you could do and you both needed a break and shouldn’t be bothered.’

  Alex smiled at her while Annie chuckled, and Maggie sensed the love the pair shared and felt a sharp twinge of envy.

  ‘He didn’t contact me but I kept in touch with him, not all the time, because the last thing I wanted was for him to think I was checking on him, but just occasionally. Hard to just cut off, you know, and after making excuses to go for a short walk so I could use my mobile, I found Annie had been doing the same, phoning Becky at the unit the moment I went out, just to see how things were going.’

  The pair smiled at each other again, their love fairly buzzing in the air around them.

  ‘So you heard about Dr Ellis and his stories.’

  As soon as she’d said it she realised they hadn’t, for both of them looked puzzled.

  ‘Ellis the cardiologist?’ Annie said. ‘He doesn’t do much work at Jimmie’s.’

  ‘Is he the one who wanted Phil to operate on the neonate?’ Alex asked, and Maggie nodded, then knew she had to explain. She didn’t want either of them walking into what could prove to be a battle, unprepared.

  ‘He’s been spreading stories about Phil’s refusal to do the op—making out it was incompetence on his part. I know Amy’s been terribly sick, and it’s been a struggle to get her through this setback, but in some ways it’s been good because between her and the scheduled procedures, Phil’s been too busy to be worrying about any extraneous matters.’

  ‘Are they affecting the unit?’ Annie asked, and Maggie smiled to herself. Just like that, Annie had slipped back into work mode.