Chapter 51: in which Tim takes on more responsibility with Nina, and Patrick and Shelagh wage war on bureaucracy!
This chapter is important to me for a number of reasons, it's the start of a plot line I've been thinking about for a while - while my experiences are not a carbon copy of what Patrick and Shelagh are going to deal with, it is all part of the same world. And I hope that anyone out there who isn't already furious about what's happening with the NHS at the moment, might be a little more angry and ready to fight after this storyline!
Part of this chapter is for Beau2809, who requested a bit of Tim and Nina bonding - so I hope this meets with expectations.
Thank you for all your lovely reviews - they make me very happy. So if you want to continue my happiness - they why not review! ;)
This chapters song is:
Nina - The Fratellis
Enjoy - and thanks for reading!
Shelagh picked Nina up off the scales and placed her carefully on the floor to replace her nappy and vest, she could see the young health visitor sat neatly on the edge of the arm chair writing quickly in her notes.
"That's lovely – she's gaining weight perfectly, 5.4 kilos. Lovely, you're still breast feeding?"
"Yes, no issues there – it's going OK I think."
"Lovely. Now, how's mummy feeling?" She cooed, tilting her head on one side and smiling sympathetically at Shelagh on the floor, lifting up her daughter who was unsettled from being striped and laid down on the plastic scales, Shelagh returned to the sofa and smiled.
"Mummy's feeling fine thank you."
"Lovely … and Daddy?" Continued the young woman, not noticing the edge in Shelagh's voice,
"Yes, thank you. Patrick's doing fine, he's at work at the moment."
"That's fine, although we do like to see Mummy and Daddy together with baby. And anyone else in the house, you've got another little boy haven't you?"
"Well he's not a little boy exactly. Tim's 14, and he's my stepson."
"Oh I see, has he got contact with Mum?"
"Uh … no. No Patrick was widowed."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
"No. Don't worry, its fine."
"So, so you and Tim have a good relationship?"
"I like to think so yeah, he's a sweet and very clever boy, I love him and I think he loves me."
"Lovely and with baby? There aren't any issues there?"
"Ninaand Tim seem to get along well … I think."
"Well, it can be difficult for an older sibling, or a younger one, to adjust to baby – especially if it's a reconstituted family. If you feel comfortable, perhaps have Tim babysit for you and Daddy, it can help with the bond sometimes."
"Right, that's interesting – thanks."
"Lovely." smiled the health visitor, with her sickly sweet toothsome smile. It was the unnerving smile of someone who was endlessly supportive, to the point of being patronising, a quality that Shelagh detested in health care professionals. She heard the front door close, followed by the familiar thud of Patrick's bag landing beside the front door, he looked peaky and harassed as he appeared around the living room door and confused when he saw the woman sat on the armchair.
"Oh look, Daddy's home!"
"Is he? That's nice, hi love, hello?" Said Patrick, looking between his wife and the woman,
"Patrick, this is Amy, the health visitor."
"Oh … good. Hi Amy, Patrick Turner." he said, extending a hand running the other through his hair, catching Shelagh's questioning look he gave a tiny shake of his own at her and sat down heavily beside her on the sofa. Running a hand along her husband's forearm Shelagh turned back to face the health visitor,
"So Daddy, how's things with you and Mummy?"
"Uh … I'm good. Although you do know that we're not your parents don't you?"
"Well that was uncalled for Patrick, that poor girl."
"That bloody annoying girl!"
"Yes she is annoying, but still … what's wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing's wrong."
"Patrick."
"I'm fine."
"Patrick."
"I'm … we had a letter of the ELC today. There's a planned re-organisation of the maternity structure in Greater London."
"So – what does that mean for us? For everyone?"
"Our jobs are on the line, well … to a degree, I mean you're all experienced midwives, I've got more years clocked up as an obstetrician that I care to think of, Dan'll be moved on to a new SHO post. But if the re-organisation goes ahead then, the maternity unit's gone along with all the jobs, your clinic … the lot."
"Right. Well, what are we all going to do about it? We are going to do something I take it Patrick?"
"You never give up do you?"
"No, I can't."
"You won't ever give up on me will you?"
"No of course not, why? Why would I ever give up on you?"
"Because right now – I feel like a salmon, swimming desperately against the current."
"Well if you are, then I'm with you – we're swimming against the tide together."
Patrick straightened his tie and checked his reflection in the mirror, he ran a hand tersely through his hair trying to tidy it somewhat, appearing over his shoulder Shelagh straightened the green jumper she was wearing, over a pair of grey trousers that he was sure he hadn't seen before.
"Where are those from?" He asked, nodding at her legs,
"I've had them ages, but I'm rarely required to dress up as an adult these days – now smell me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Smell me, what can you smell?"
"What's this, perfume?"
"Baby sick unfortunately, can you smell it on me?" taking her gently by the shoulders Patrick leant in and inhaled deeply before leaning back and breaking into a sly smile.
"No – you smell sexy to me."
"Patrick, you can't smell sexy."
"You do."
"We're off to a meeting in which we may save or lose our jobs – and you're trying to chat me up."
"Older husband, younger wife – I have a duty to up-hold my image of a dirty old man!"
"Well – two out of three isn't bad I guess. Now, do you think Tim'll be OK with Nina this evening?"
"Yes! Well … probably, but we've fitted fire alarms, so there's a limit to how much damage he can cause." Sighing Shelagh nodded slowly, she looked past Patrick and stood on her tip-toes to look in the living room mirror, smoothing away a wayward hair from her forehead and running the back of her finger under her eyes to catch any wayward eyeliner. "Are you ready?"
"Yeah … Tim?!" She called into the kitchen, after a moment the teenager appeared, engrossed in his mobile he glanced up absent mindedly. "Are you sure you're OK with this Tim?"
"Yeah, it's cool."
"OK … I've fed and changed her, she's just gone off now. When she waked up I've expressed some milk – it's in the fridge."
"I know Shelagh. I watched you put them in there."
"Right … and when you warm it up, just put it in a jug of warm water."
"Yeah I know – you told me that when I watched you put the milk in the fridge. Really – I'll be fine! Now go."
"He's right, we'll be late!"
"OK. Oh – Tim, her nappies are in the –"
"I know! Go to your meeting." Said Tim sternly, a half smile creeping across his lips, sighing deeply Shelagh returned his smile and leant forward to give him a tight hug, letting him go she took a deep breath.
"I know, I trust you."
The man slid a hand up his nose, pushing his glasses up and squinted at the clock on the wall of the meeting room, taking a deep breath he stood up slowly cleared his throat and the room hushed.
"Good evening everyone, apologies for the late hour but … needs must. Now – I know that most of you are already acquainted but for the purposes of clarity … we have Sister Julie Raymond from maternity, Dr Patrick Turner obs reg in Maternity, Shelagh Turner – senior midwife who runs the Royston clinic. Sister Mel Arky from neo-nates and Dr Tom Bowler consultant for neo-nate care – thank you all for coming, especially Shelagh who I know is on mat leave at the moment. Now – we're all here to discuss the proposed re-organisation of maternity services in the hospital."
"I'm sorry Mr Jensen, but can we please be clear – my colleagues and I are here to discuss the closure of our maternity services in the hospital. Because this is not a reorganisation of our services, it is a dismantling." Interrupted Dr Bowler, an older man with silver white hair neatly combed into a tight side parting, who had fixed Mr Jensen with a cold stare. Throwing Shelagh a glance, Patrick raised an eyebrow – clearly Tom Bowler was a man to have on your side,
"It is a reorganisation Dr Bowler, your personal opinion on what it is that we're doing is irrelevant. The facts are simple; this hospital is haemorrhaging money, the ELC is doing what it can but austerity measures must be taken. The world of child-birth is changing."
"Mr Jensen really," continued the doctor. "I think you'll find that we are a little better to comment on the changing face of perinatal care in this country, don't you?"
"Granted Dr Bowler, but you cannot ignore that fact that it is changing. We are trying to move away from hospital based maternity departments. We're trying to use specialised maternity centres, improved maternity care for mothers and babies."
"Hang on Mr Jensen, while maternity centres are excellent for mothers having normal pregnancies, standard births and healthy babies. For any-one else they've of little help!"
"Mrs Turner?"
"At the Royston I treat mothers with very complex underlying conditions, it would be very irresponsible to not have them giving birth in hospital."
"And they can! We're not stopping people giving birth in hospital."
"But Mr Jensen … if you shut all the hospital maternity departments then where do you propose they do give birth? Perhaps cardiology might take them?" Added Shelagh sharply crossing her arms, she had little time or energy for the greasy little man from the ELC health board. Dr Bowler turned slightly and gave her an approving smile,
"Shelagh makes an excellent point Mr Jensen, which I'll add to if I may. In Neo-nates, Mel and I deal with babies for whom every second counts in getting them the care they need. If we change over to your proposed maternity centre scheme then what'll happen? Will we return to the antiquated days where prem babies have almost no-chance of survival?"
"No one is suggesting that Dr Bowler!"
"I would go one further Mr Jensen," began Patrick tersely, leaning forward towards the slightly sweaty man. "That your plans for the East London and the Cities maternity care are taking us back not forward, not only in terms of the care of new-borns and neo-nates. But also in terms of the mothers, in your maternity centres, will there be facilities available for caesarean sections? Or forceps deliveries?"
"If you will let me finish!" Pleaded Mr Jensen, looking more and more uncomfortable and flustered by the moment, as he was attacked on all sides. "We are NOT closing the maternity units … we are merely re-locating resources. For the majority of mothers, they can have a safe, normal delivery in the centre. With a skeleton staff and limited beds in the hospital for those who really do need medical attention."
"We are running on a skeleton staff Mr Jensen, we are understaffed, underfunded and short on beds! You say we're haemorrhaging money – well quite frankly I don't see how we can be, we're barely employing anyone!" Interrupted Julie throwing her arms up in exasperation and looking to Patrick and Shelagh for support, who nodded keenly and stared at Mr Jenson.
"I'm not sure how familiar with the technicalities of birth," Replied Julie, "But if one of my mother's requires an urgent forceps delivery because … the cord is wrapped around the babies neck in the birth canal I can hardly say; Wait a minute dear, while I ring an ambulance to take you to the hospital where there might be an obstetrician available to give us a hand. I am all for the de-medicalisation of pregnancy and birth, but not at the risk to my mother's health."
"I appreciate -"
"No Mr Jensen, I'm not sure you do." piped up the small red-headed nurse sat beside Dr Bowler. "I really don't think you do, you deal with figures and policies and procedures. We deal with lives, and I think for you to stand there, with no experience of the world you're controlling and destroying, and tell us that you appreciate our concerns … I think it makes a mockery of the NHS and all it stands for. I think I speak for everyone in the room when I say that we trained as healthcare professionals to care for people to the best of our abilities, and we will not stand ideally by and let you stop us."
"Hear hear – well said Sister Arky." Said Patrick beaming at the young woman, before turning in his chair, along with the rest of the meeting who were all carefully watching the twitching mess of Mr Jensen.
"… and then the Doctor opens up the motorway so that all the cars can fly out and join New New York again, and he sits with Novice Haim … that's the cat-nun-nurse remember? The face of Boe's dying, so he tells the Doctor his dying words which are: You Are Not Alone." Tim finished triumphantly looking down the baby in his arms, although his blow by blow account of the first three series of Doctor Who had stopped her crying, they hadn't sent her off to sleep yet. Not that he really minded, he liked talking to Nina, she never got bored or interrupted, she just lay there utterly absorbed in staring at his face. His life had changed beyond belief in the last few years, sometimes he wasn't sure if he liked that, he loved Shelagh, and he loved Nina – but sometimes he missed the time he and his Dad used to spend together. But then again, he thought, as he looked intently at Nina's blue eyes, perhaps that was all a dream. Patrick Turner worked, he would always work and as much as he loved his family – his work was his life, when Tim tried to remember long summer days in the park he couldn't. He knew in his heart of hearts, that although he had to share his father's attention these days – the dark cloud of the past had been lifted by Shelagh, bringing him back into the light and into his families lives.
Against the warmth of her brother Nina had drifted off, Tim considered putting her to bed upstairs in her room, but he didn't want to wake her, she looked too peaceful, curled up against his hoodie. Laying her down in the Moses basket beside the sofa he watched her for a moment longer – checking that she didn't stir, before he picked up his latest book, Shelagh had found it for him in town and brought it home, a vast colour text book with pictures of insects from around the world. She knew that he still struggled with his reading, despite his teachers best efforts, and so she always hunted out the fully illustrated adult textbooks for him, to fuel his passion for entomology. Leaning forward he brought up You-Tube and scrolled through for a suitable playlist, he turned the volume almost as low as it would go and leant back on the sofa, grinning down at Nina as the song started.
Well I'm no sick boy, she's no hand me down, went to London with a red and brown ornamental ruby ring, she said please tell me just one thing. Was I a first class nightmare, did I bring you down? Was I mental, was I what you found? Filthy and cheap, I apologise, won't get jealous, won't kill other guys. Well she's not you, but you're not here, let's make it clear. Well, Nina said that she was leaving me so I stuck around for a beer