Eleanor: The power of love
The first time I met Eleanor I was working the night shift. Reading her case notes, I learned she’d conceived using IVF with an egg from her partner, Liz. But as they arrived at the labour suite, I was shocked that while everything about Eleanor suggested good health,
Liz was gaunt with skin so pale it was almost translucent. Searching through the notes, I discovered the reason. Two weeks after Eleanor had conceived, Liz had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She’d already had a double mastectomy and four cycles of chemotherapy. I couldn’t pretend to understand what they’d been through.
‘They looked pleadingly at me for clues or reassurance’
Eleanor’s labour progressed peacefully, but at 5.47am, the baby’s pulse began to drop. I pulled the emergency buzzer and, as the medical team filled the room, Liz and Eleanor looked pleadingly at me, searching my face for clues or reassurance, but the time had come to push. ‘Now,’ I said. Eleanor tucked her chin on to her chest, drew a deep breath, squeezing the sheets with one hand and Liz’s wrist with the other. And then came a gurgle. In a slippery flash of pink, the baby rocketed out. ‘It’s a boy,’ I said, laying him on Eleanor’s chest. She broke her gaze from Liz and looked down at their baby. This was a woman whose wife was a walking miracle of modern medicine, whose baby was a dazzling feat of reproductive science. She kissed her baby boy’s head, and smiled.