The Doctor's Rebel Knight

Rufus darted out of her reach and, barking madly, raced off after a seagull.

‘I’ll get him,’ Jacob said and, putting two fingers to his mouth, gave a whistle that would have stopped a train. Rufus skidded to a halt and turned and ran back, his ears flopping and his tail wagging.

‘I’ll hold him while you clip on his lead,’ Jacob offered.

Fran couldn’t believe how uncooperative her fingers were in performing such a simple task but somehow Jacob Hawke’s fingers brushing against hers as he held Rufus in place sent jolts of electricity up and down her spine. Finally the dog was back on the lead and she straightened. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looping the lead twice around her wrist for insurance. ‘Enjoy your swim.’

She began to walk back the way she had come but Rufus proved reluctant to leave. He kept looking back at the tall figure behind, who when Fran took a covert glance was now carving his way through the surf in long easy strokes. His running shoes and socks were on the beach, along with his shorts. Fran didn’t want to think too much about what he was swimming in. Male underwear was very similar to male swimwear but she didn’t want to be around to make up her mind which he was wearing, if anything. She gave Rufus’s lead another firm tug and headed up the path to Caro’s house.

‘Fran, oh, thank God you’re back,’ Caro said as soon as she came in the door. ‘I think I need to go to hospital. I’m bleeding.’

Fran pushed aside her feelings of panic and did her best to get into doctor mode but she felt helplessly inadequate, more so because it was her sister and she couldn’t summon up even a millimetre of clinical distance. ‘How much blood?’ she asked. ‘Just a show or a steady stream?’

‘A show at first and then I got a few cramps and now it’s getting heavier,’ Caro said, swallowing in anguish. ‘I’ve called Nick. He’s on his way.’ There was the sound of a car pulling into the drive. ‘Oh, thank God, that’s him now.’

Fran called an ambulance first and then, after making her sister comfortable and doing her best to reassure her brother-in-law, she quickly packed a bag for Caro to take with her to hospital.

‘I won’t lose the babies, will I?’ Caro asked as she was loaded in the back of the ambulance a short time later, her face still white with distress.

‘No, of course not, Caro—the placenta may have lifted a little, that’s all. Just keep calm and relaxed and wait for a full obstetric assessment in hospital. The doctors will do everything possible to keep you all safe,’ Fran said. ‘Don’t worry about things here. I’ll look after Rufus and I’ll call Mum and Dad once I know how things are going with you.’

She turned to Nick, whose face looked the colour of ash.

‘Try not to panic, Nick. An early delivery is very common with twins. Caro will be much safer being monitored in hospital at this stage.’ Especially as I am practically useless at managing a sore throat, let alone something like this, Fran thought in distress.

‘Thanks, Fran,’ Nick said, his throat sounding tight. ‘We’ll call you once we know what the go is.’

It was only after the ambulance had gone that Fran found it hard to keep from spiralling into a full-blown panic attack. She tried to keep busy, but the house seemed so empty without her sister’s cheerful voice sounding out from whichever room she happened to be in.

Rufus looked downcast, his ears down, a low whining sound coming from his throat as he followed Fran about forlornly.

The telephone rang three hours later with Nick informing her he was the proud father of twin boys. Although in the neonatal unit, they were doing very well, all things considered, but would be in hospital for some weeks. There was some suggestion one of the babies might have to be transferred to one of the larger teaching hospitals in Sydney for further monitoring. Nick had decided he would stay in Wollongong in a serviced apartment and had already contacted the education department about finding a replacement teacher. He wanted to be with Caro and the boys until they could come home as a family.

‘How is Caro?’ Fran asked, trying not to cry.

‘She’s great,’ Nick said. ‘She wants to speak to you. I’ll hand her over.’

‘Fran, you won’t believe how tiny they are,’ Caro gushed with maternal pride. ‘I can’t wait until you see them. Nick’s going to send you some photos via his phone. We haven’t decided on names yet. We can’t quite make up our minds—silly, isn’t it? We’ve been arguing about it for the last ten minutes. We’ve called Mum and Dad, they’re in Italy right now, Florence, I think, or maybe it was Venice. Oh, Frannie, I’m so happy.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ Fran said, trying to ignore the tiny pang of envy that trickled through her. Caro was only two years older than her and here she was happily married with two gorgeous babies while she had nothing but a career she was too frightened to return to and no man in her life to love her the way she longed to be loved. She chided herself for being so bitter. Stuff happened in life, and it wasn’t always the white picket fence and roses spilling over stuff. It was hard stuff, challenging stuff, stuff that changed everything in the rapid rise and fall of an eyelid.

When the photos of the babies came through a few minutes later, Fran allowed herself a few self-indulgent tears. She had so rarely given in to tears. Her training had toughened her up, perhaps too much, or so her mother thought, and her gruff show-no-emotion father, too, when it came to that. But now alone in a big seaside house with just a ragamuffin dog for company, Fran sobbed for her lost life, for the carefree girl she had once been and might never be again.

She didn’t hear the doorbell at first, but then Rufus began to bark and scratch at the door. The doorbell was ringing continuously, as if someone was repeatedly stabbing at the button. Then someone was thumping on the door. Annoyed at the intrusion, Fran blew her nose, stuffed the tissue into her bra, and cautiously opened the heavy front door.

One of Caro and Nick’s neighbours from two doors away practically fell into the hallway, his face marble white, his body shaking. ‘Dr Nin? Caro told me you’re a doctor. Quickly—come on, you’ve got to save her. My daughter…‘ He started to cry, great heaving sobs, each one sounding as if it was shredding his chest. ‘My d-daughter, Ella, my baby fell into the pool. She’s not breathing.’

Fran pushed Rufus back indoors, stepped onto the verandah and shut the door. ‘Who is with your daughter now?’ she asked, her heart thudding as adrenalin kicked in.

‘My wife,’ he said, choking back another sob. ‘She’s done first aid but nothing’s working. You’ve got to help us. Please, quickly. Come on.’

‘Have you called an ambulance?’ she asked as she hurried after the distressed man into the neighbouring property, her stomach knotting with dread at what she might find.

‘Yes, yes, yes, but they won’t get here till it’s too late. They’re way out of town, on some other call. Jane thought of you. You’ve got to help us, please, please, come on!’

‘It’s all right…Joe, isn’t it?’ Fran said, recalling his name. Caro had said what a lovely family the Pelleris were, new to the town but fitting in well with everyone. Joe was a mechanic at the local service station, Jane a stay-at-home mum with three children—a toddler and two boys.

It was only a hundred metres to the Pelleris’ house but Fran felt her heart rate escalating with sickening speed. A brain without oxygen couldn’t survive for long. Children might last a bit longer, but even if revived, it might only be the heart and lungs that functioned. The brain could be damaged or even worse—the child might be dead. The child some parents brought into the hospital was not always the child they took home.

Every second was vital.

Every second counted.

Every second hammered at Fran’s chest as she pushed through the garden gate towards the house.

Jane Pelleri was trying her best to do CPR on the baby in the family room just off the pool area, with the two little boys distressed and crying in the background.

‘Jane, I’ll take over now,’ Fran said in a calm, doctor-in-control tone, even though her stomach was roiling with doubts and fears that she wouldn’t be up to the task. This was no well-equipped A and E department. This was a family’s home with baby and toddler photographs on the walls, not lifesaving resuscitation gear. Fear gripped at Fran’s heart with cruel claws. What if she couldn’t do this? What if she failed? Her stomach churned with nausea, her skin broke out in a sheen of perspiration and her hands shook almost uncontrollably as she tried to assess the situation.

The child was on the very springy sofa, which had made the mother’s efforts at cardiac compression largely ineffective. Fran placed the infant, who looked about eighteen months old, onto her back on the carpeted floor, and tilted her head slightly back to open the airway. There seemed to be the remains of a biscuit in the child’s mouth, which Fran swept out with her finger. The child was clearly not breathing and appeared cyanosed. Supporting Ella’s head, Fran covered the nose and mouth with her mouth and gave five puffs, then felt for a pulse over the inner arm, then the neck.

Either there was none, or her lack of recent clinical experience was letting her down and she just wasn’t sensitive enough to feel it, she thought as another pang of doubt stung her. She had to assume the child’s heart had stopped. Using two fingers, Fran gently compressed the child’s chest over the lower sternum, twenty rapid compressions for each couple of breaths.

Was that the right ratio? she thought in panic. It was higher in adults, lower in children and lower in infants. Oh, God, what was the ratio? Had her skills and training been punched out of her along with her confidence in A and E that day? Her brain became foggy with fear, dread and doubts. She couldn’t do this. She was failing. She was not going to be able to save this child. How would she face the parents? What about those two little boys? Oh, God, even the photos on the walls seemed to be staring down at her in accusation. You are a failure. You are no good at this. Look at what you have done.

Fran vaguely registered a siren sounding and it seemed mere seconds before Jacob Hawke was kneeling beside her, talking to her, but it was as if it was in a vacuum. She couldn’t hear him; she saw his lips moving but it was as if the sound had been muffled by her fear.

‘For God’s sake, Dr Nin,’ Jacob bit out roughly, finally shaking her out of her stasis. ‘Help me here. Keep her steady while I do the mouth-to-mouth.’

Fran blinked herself into action and held the child in position, watching in numb silence as Jacob determinedly worked at the breaths and compressions for what seemed like hours, made worse by the howling boys and now hysterical mother. Had the child’s colour improved, or was it Fran’s imagination?

Unexpectedly, the infant coughed, then seemed to convulse. She vomited up some water, coughed again, and then started wailing, the colour of her face turning from lavender to cherry red.

In the distance another wailing sound could be heard, this one the reassuring whine of the ambulance approaching at speed.

‘Mummy-y!’ the toddler croaked over another cough.

‘Keep her on her side,’ Jacob directed the child’s mother. ‘She’ll be fine but she needs to go to hospital for a proper check of her airways and lungs.’

Fran sat back on her heels, her breathing hurting her chest as cautious relief flooded through her. Ella was alive. Ella was breathing. Ella was alive…

Jacob met her eyes, something in his ice-cold gaze ripping through her like shards of ice. ‘Everything all right, Dr Nin?’ he asked in a tone as arctic as his eyes.

‘F-fine,’ she said, using a nearby chair to pull herself to her feet. ‘I…I lost concentration for a moment…that was all.’

‘Yeah, well, it only takes a moment and it’s too late,’ he muttered in an undertone, well out of hearing of the distressed family.

Fran wanted to be angry at him but her nerves were still shredded. She felt as if her whole body was hanging in pieces, none of them connected to each other. She could barely get her legs to move. Her head was spinning so much she thought she might be sick, but somehow she pulled herself together for the family’s sake.