Sometimes thoughts of her came to him when he lay down in bed at night, exhausted from a long day’s surgery. Lying on his back on the cool cotton sheets, his arms above his head as he stared into the darkness and thought back to that night. The hum of the ceiling fan gently moved the heavy night air but it didn’t shift his thoughts. Nor his regrets. His mind was consumed with the memory of the hunger and desire they’d had for each other. And he pictured Flick’s beautiful smile. A smile that had lit up the ballroom on that night as they’d sat talking for hours, the sparkle in her eyes as he’d held her in his arms on the dance floor, and the passion that they’d shared in her bed all haunted him before he finally succumbed to sleep. And even in his dreams she would appear some nights.
Dreams that felt so real he could touch the softness of her skin. And taste the sweetness of her mouth.
But Tristan knew that it had had to end before it had begun. He couldn’t pursue a relationship. Flick deserved better. Although they didn’t speak of her future goals and dreams outside her career, her profession made him feel sure one day she would want a family, and a family was the one thing he couldn’t give her.
He looked over at the family photo on his desk. His medical graduation. It had been a day with more meaning to him and his mother and father than to many other graduates. It had been the first step on his journey to becoming a neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon. A journey he had chosen at sixteen when he’d received his heart transplant after spending years wrapped in cotton wool as his name had moved slowly up a waiting list. His mother was beaming in the photograph and his father wore a strained smile. His mother was thrilled that Tristan was alive to live his dream, his father worn down by years of worry.
More study had been ahead but Tristan had never doubted his path and finally he’d qualified. He’d become a heart surgeon who was also a heart transplant recipient and he’d wanted to specialise in neonatal heart surgery.
Tristan was determined to surgically alter the course of seriously ill newborn babies’ lives. Giving them a chance for a regular childhood, something he’d never enjoyed. It was his contact with children with whom he felt a bond and it satisfied his paternal longings. He had decided early in his studies that he would never have a child to call his own. With his medical history and the dire genetic inheritance for any future children, it wasn’t worth the risk.
His thoughts returned to Flick. He had to be cruel to be kind. One day she would meet a man who could provide her with everything she wanted and deserved, and Tristan did not want to stand in the way of her happiness. She might hate him now but keeping his distance would allow her to meet the right man. Someone who could give her a perfect life. But at least he would always have that one night they’d shared. A night he never wanted to forget.
The beeping of his pager brought Tristan back to reality. He looked down at the details then put a call through to the emergency department.
‘Tristan Hamilton. I received your page.’
‘Dr Hamilton, transferring you now to the A and E surgical resident,’ the young female voice replied, before putting him on hold for a moment.
‘Tristan, it’s Dylan Spencer. A patient presented in Cas ten minutes ago in first-stage labour, gestational age approximately thirty-seven weeks. On examination she revealed that she’s been monitored for the congenital heart disease of her unborn son—transposition of the great arteries. I didn’t want to let labour progress without your advice.’
‘Any other history?’ Tristan asked, concern colouring his voice. ‘Who provided the antenatal care?’
‘Her husband says they were notified of TGA at the twenty-week scan and his wife has been under the care of Dr Hopkins, the neonatal cardiologist at Sydney Eastern Memorial.’
‘What are they doing in Melbourne?’
‘Family gathering. Drove down for her aunt’s birthday or something like that.’
Tristan shook his head but did not voice his opinion. Transposition of the great arteries was a life-threatening condition for the baby and travelling so close to term was, in his mind, not the most sensible decision or one that he imagined would have been condoned by their specialist. The patient was fortunate labour had not begun on the journey.
‘I’ll put a call through to Nate Hopkins, but in the meantime please call OR and have them contact the obstetric resident, prep for an emergency C-section and then prepare the adjacent Theatre for a neonate balloon atrial septostomy. You’re right, we can’t allow labour to progress without intervention. The infant may not survive the birth canal.’
Tristan had just ended his call to the Sydney neonatal cardiologist when the scrub nurse arrived at his office door with A and E medical records in hand.
‘Dr Hamilton, here’s the notes for the emergency delivery.’
Tristan was already on his feet and heading towards the door, where he took possession of the medical records and slipped his own notes from the phone call inside.
‘They estimate from the previous ultrasound the baby may be close to six pounds,’ she informed him as they made their way towards the lifts.
‘How’s the mother?’
‘She’s holding up well. The epidural was administered but she’s still somewhere between shock and denial that she’s about to have her baby. Sophia, a community midwife from MMU, is in there with her, along with her student placement, Flick. They’re providing some emotional support while the obstetrician prepares for the C-section.’
Tristan flinched a little when she mentioned Flick. Just the mention of her name brought his still raw feelings rushing to the surface again. He had to pretend their night together hadn’t happened until one day he could forget it actually had. He would never allow himself to fall in love. Not with Flick or any other woman. Up until now that hadn’t been difficult but something about her had got under his skin and was causing him to lose sleep.
The lift doors opened and they both stepped inside.
‘As you instructed, the radiographer and paediatric anaesthetist are scrubbing in in the adjacent Theatre now in preparation for the atrial septostomy.’
They entered the empty lift and headed down to Theatre quickly and in silence as Tristan read the examination observations on the way.
The Theatre nurse met them as the lift doors opened and walked them to the scrub room. ‘Dr Hamilton, the father is waiting to speak with you but I explained that would be after the delivery when you have assessed their son and can provide a more accurate prognosis.’ Her voice was calm yet firm, her years of experience evident. ‘Both parents are aware that major surgery will be needed in the next few days for their son. The paediatric resident discussed the need for the immediate atrial septostomy with Mr Roberts, the child’s father, and obtained signed permission. And by the way, we have a medical student in Theatre to observe today.’
Tristan nodded as he scrubbed and gowned and entered the operating Theatre. Everything had been prepared for the emergency procedure on the newborn infant. The slightly nervous but very eager-looking medical student had also scrubbed in and was waiting in the Theatre, his expression close to that of a deer in headlights.
‘Tristan Hamilton, neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon,’ Tristan introduced himself as he checked the sterile surgical tray. He knew that everything would be in order as the Theatre team was second to none in detail and process, but it had been a ritual since medical school and one he never omitted.
‘Jon Clarke, third-year med student. I’ve heard so much about you and hope to specialise in paediatric cardiology but I’m keeping my options open.’
‘Welcome aboard, Jon,’ Tristan replied, keeping an eye on the doors to the Theatre and the impending arrival of the newborn patient. ‘In a few minutes we will have a neonate, approximately thirty-seven weeks with