The last triplet was always tricky. The beam from the operating-room light followed the flash of tiny limbs in the uterus like the final dancer on the stage. This baby did not enjoy the limelight.
Dr Sienna Wilson blew breath up under her mask to shift the wisp of blonde hair that had dared to escape from under her floral theatre hat during the struggle. Scooping the squirming passenger from his mother’s previously crowded womb, she admonished the tiny face, ‘I’m sorry, young man. It’s your time to shine.’ The staff in the theatre exchanged glances with relief.Continue Reading