Through my hands, over the years at our littleoffthegrid northern birthing unit, Ive helped usher into the world roughly twelve thousand newborns. Yet a handful of cases have lodged themselves firmly in my memory, and at the top of that list sits the only set of triplets Ive ever seen. Let me tell you about them.
It began with a young couple expecting their first child. The father, George, had been posted to our village by the NHS after a stint as an aircraft technician at the modest airstrip just outside Windermere. They lived in a tiny room in the local council flats. Lucy, the mother, was a brighteyed, flamingredhead from London a bundle of energy and good looks, and calling her anything less than a woman feels like a grammatical sin.
George came over from the North East of England and was a sturdy, laidback chap with a hint of that leisurely countryside swagger. Back in those halcyon days of the NHS, it was completely normal for a couple like them to be shuffled around like a pair of socks in the dryer. Early on they learned they were expecting twins.
Lucy decided she wanted to go into labour in London where her mother lived, but the babies decided to make an early appearance at 32 weeks. On the very shift I was on, Lucy turned up at our unit. The main maternity block was undergoing deep cleaning, so we were temporarily set up in the gynecology wing.
Our oncall obstetrician, DrDiana Clarke, was a brilliant and seasoned doctor. On a quick visual exam she suspected the little ones were lying the wrong way. That meant a natural delivery would be downright dangerous, so a Caesarean was called for. An Xray was hurriedly taken to confirm the positions.
Sure enough, the film showed two babies: one headfirst, the other breech. Satisfied that the situation was predictable, we rolled up our sleeves for the operation.
First we delivered a boy, a delicate 1kg700g bundle. While the nurse and I tended to him, the team lifted the second boy, 1kg600g, from the womb. Just as we were catching our breath, I heard DrClarke call out, Bring in the third! I wasnt in the mood for jokes the two lads were already tiny.
I may have muttered a cheeky remark to the staff, but a sudden, highpitched cry made me whirl around. And there it was: a little girl, a dainty 1kg400g miracle! I was flummoxed. How could she have been missed on the scans? It turned out the two boys were lying side by side along the length of the uterus, while the tiny sister was tucked perpendicular underneath them, hidden from view. Those little gentlemen had been protecting their lady from nosy eyes!
If DrClarke hadnt insisted on the surgery, those three probably wouldnt have survived. We handed the newborn girl to the nurse and, between us, cared for three preterm infants in a ward that wasnt exactly equipped for a baby boom. There was only one incubator a tiny crib for premature tots and we squeezed all three in. It fit, miraculously.
I never left their side that night; I was a bundle of nerves. By morning the babies conditions had steadied. The wards phone rang, and I found myself at the doorway as a dashing young man in a pilots uniform strode in.
Whos the lucky one? he asked, eyes wide.
Congratulations! Youve got two sons, I hesitated, and a daughter, I added.
Information took a while to sink in for the father. He repeated under his breath, Two sons and a daughter Two sons, got it a daughter? Wait three?
Right, three, I said, trying to sound as convincing as a salespitch.
He clambered up the wall a bit, looking dazed. We got him a chair and a cup of tea. It was clear hed been posted here, barely earned a few quid, lived in a cramped flat, and nowtriplets! The babies stayed in our unit for a while longer, gaining weight and strength.
I loved dropping by their cot, marveling at this little natures wonder. Though there were three of them, they were always clean, fed, and looked after. Mother Lucy was meticulous, her smile perpetually sunny. It was the first set of triplets in our little town, and the babies were blessed beyond belief.
The council promptly handed the family a threebedroom council house in the new estate and supplied everything they needed. They even assigned a dedicated health visitor for the first few months. But the real hero was Lucy herself a strikingly beautiful young woman who raised her trio from day one.
Ten years later I popped into the hospitals reception area. In walked Lucy, now a confident mother of three, with her kids in tow, here to visit their father. Two darkhaired boys, uncannily like their dad, followed her. Then, bounding in, was a brightredhaired, lively little girl a spittingimage of her mother.
Seeing that happy family filled me with a warm glow; I swear I could still feel the tiny heat radiating from those wonderful children. And in the back of my mind, I could still hear the faint thump of their little hearts.
