Ok, so here goes with a rather deep chapter which involves a sensitive subject so read at your own discretion :) I don't pretend to know anything at all about medicine so a lot of this is deliberately vague, please bear with me!
Shelagh woke up to the odd sensation of not having a clue where she was or what she was doing there, yet somehow feeling strangely at home. Without her glasses all she could make out was that the room she was in was small and simply furnished. There was light streaming through a nearby window and a dull ticking sound from a clock on the opposite wall which seemed to trigger some distant memory which she could not for the moment place her finger on.
"Déjà vu," she murmured dreamily, frowning. Then, as she regained consciousness almost fully a second thought hit her. "Darling?" she whispered. "Patrick?"
She only noticed there had been voices in the room when they stopped suddenly.
"Shelagh," came the immediate reply, and she felt her hand being taken by the familiar strong grasp of her husband. His other hand reached to smooth her hair and she smiled gratefully although she still had no idea what was going on. He placed a kiss on her upturned lips, which she returned briefly with an appreciative sigh before drawing away.
"My glasses?" she said, propping herself up and realising she was not in the bed but in fact on top of the bedclothes and still in her nurse's uniform. Patrick obliged and as the room came into sharp focus she gave a sharp gasp. She was in her old room at the Sanatorium, or at least one that was pretty much identical, they all looked the same with their drab wallpaper and clinical starkness. A familiar white-coated doctor was standing with a clipboard by the door; he looked away discreetly as his patient was tended to by her husband for a moment.
"Where am I?" Shelagh asked rather foolishly.
"You fainted. The doctors said they'd be able to move your appointment forward, so here you are. They kept you under and performed some tests." Shelagh nodded slowly under his doting gaze. He shifted uncomfortably and pouted slightly as he continued. "The others told me about the situation with Sister Evangelina. I'm sorry, I should have been there to support you."
Shelagh looked into his kind face and instantly found hot tears welling in her eyes. "Oh Patrick, it's nothing really. I just wish I'd had time to straighten things out with everyone before I - well, before I fainted and proved their point." A tear escaped, but no sooner had it reached the bottom of her glasses it was tenderly wiped away. "This is supposed to be a joyous occasion for everyone. I didn't realise it would be this hard." Another tear came, then another, too many for Patrick to catch. He resorted to planting a kiss of supplication on her lips, rather more passionate than the first, which he broke a few seconds later as he realised where they were.
"Sorry doctor," he smiled sheepishly, standing up to face the other man in the room.
"Not at all," came the blunt reply. "Now, Mrs Turner. It would appear you had a nasty shock on top of exhaustion and early stage pregnancy. Fainting is quite normal under these circumstances."
Shelagh gave a small smile. "Thank you doctor, I am well aware of that. I am a midwife."
"Of course." The doctor's face remained grave. "However, these circumstances do not factor in the detail that the mother is an ex-Tuberculosis patient. Please, do sit Dr Turner." Patrick reached once more for his wife's hand, feeling her begin to tremble as the doctor's words and tone began to make her stomach lurch.
"Is everything alright?" she breathed, clutching Patrick's hand with an iron grip as she received a sympathetic sigh in response.
"Well, not entirely Mrs Turner. This loss of consciousness was a warning signal. There's no easy way to say this... but the health of your baby and yourself is at risk due to the long term effects of the disease. You have a reduced energy capacity and your body is simply failing under the demands this foetus is bringing..."
Neither Shelagh nor Patrick could move, not even to share a glance. They simply clung to each other, watching the doctor say his piece and hearing only the ragged tremor of their breathing. But they heard what he said next as though it were being screamed down a megaphone.
"The chance the baby will not reach 20 weeks is almost one hundred percent. The risk is too great. We would advise abortion."
The world stood still for a moment as Shelagh stared into the doctor's face, feeling only the pounding of her own heart within her chest and the trembling grasp of her dear Patrick's hand in her own. She looked over to her husband, who had an expression of such shock and pain her heart broke just to look at him. He searched her swimming blue eyes, leaning to caress her face in his hands, shaking his head as he imagined what torment his beautiful Shelagh had just been so roughly plunged into by the TB doctor with his cold and distant professional assessment.
Then suddenly Shelagh stilled Patrick's hands and spoke, her voice thick with emotion and her eyes blazing with a fire he had never seen before, and which scared him. "No," she said, then louder, her tone now clear and defiant. "No, I will not do that. I simply cannot do that before God, my husband or my own conscience. I don't think either would forgive me." Shelagh knew she had spoken hastily and without consulting Patrick, but one look into his eyes which were spilling over with pride and relief told her she had made the right decision. It terrified the life out of both of them, and the implications were astronomical, but Shelagh had undying faith in God and Patrick had undying faith in her.
"That's my Shelagh," he exclaimed shakily.
"But Sir, the risks-" pressed the doctor.
"I am well aware of the risks, Doctor, I am a medical man. But if my wife says she'll go through with it then that is what we shall do." Shelagh burst into fresh tears of gratitude for this remarkable man who was prepared to face losing everything to support her principles.
"Well I cannot force you, only advise," said the doctor, writing something on his clipboard and staring with a secret admiration at the man and woman sitting defiantly before him on the bed; they had just received news and a dilemma that could tear two people apart, yet they had settled it with no words passed between them at all. "I wish you luck," he said, and made his exit, leaving the Turners clinging fiercely to each other with only the ticking of the clock to break the silence.
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