I
had left the clear perspex cot on wheels behind this time. I wanted to hold my baby
close. Matron soon put pay to that. I was stopped short in my tracks.
“Where’s the cot Emma? You know Esme should always be transported in the cot to
the SCBU.” I pulled my baby in tighter to me, “But I wanted to hold her this
time.” She could see I was in bits and led me to a side room. Someone
collected Esme as I collected myself. The Matron helped enormously; placating,
reassuring, soothing.
Very
quickly after, a consultant appeared. He came in the room quietly. He had a
kind face and smiled with his eyes. Bald as a coot mind. I later found out
he was a father of five. So it’s true then: the follically challenged are
fertile men.
God
he was attractive, not in a catalogue way. Perhaps it was simply a case of – I’m
not sure what it is called actually, but I can liken it to Stockholm Syndrome,
where the captured falls in love with the captor, a psychological phenomenon, a
traumatic bonding.
Anyway,
here was a man who saved Esme from having to have a cannula inserted in her
head. Here was a man who thought that ten days of intravenous antibiotics were
enough. Here was a man willing to override his peers’ prescription of 14 days.
Here was a man that was the most human example of a doctor I’ve ever met.
I
was drawn to him that very moment. And then when he discharged us later that
same day, I knew I’d fallen completely.
After
being discharged we took Esme to see her consultant regularly for a couple of
years. I wonder if Simon noticed my skirts getting shorter in length
every visit? I know the doctor never did. Shame!
Note from author: Irrational thoughts are most
definitely allowed as blog content…