19April2025
Dear Diary,
Over the years I have helped bring roughly twelve thousand newborns into the world at the little cottagetype maternity unit tucked away on the edge of Whitby. Yet there are a few cases that linger like bright constellations in my memory none more vivid than the one that gifted our town its very first set of triplets.
It began with a young couple who had just been assigned to our district. The father, James Whitaker, worked as a flightengineer at the modest airstrip that serves the northern coast. The mother, Emily Clarke, was a spirited, flaxblond girl from London with a smile that could light up a foggy morning. James, originally from the rolling hills of Yorkshire, was solid and unhurried, the sort of steady hand youd hope to find in an emergency.
The pair lived in a cramped cubicle within a council flat. Early in the pregnancy they learned they were expecting twins, which prompted Emily to plan a birth back in London with her own mother. Fate, however, had other ideas: labour began at thirtytwo weeks, and a sudden influx of patients sent our main ward to a deep clean, leaving us temporarily set up in the gynecology annex.
Dina Patel, our senior obstetrician, was on duty. When she examined Emily, she sensed something amiss with the babies positions. A natural delivery would have been too risky, so she ordered an emergency Caesarean and a quick Xray to confirm the layout.
The radiograph revealed two infants, one headfirst, the other breech. With that knowledge we moved straight to the theatre. The first boy emerged, a fragile 1.7kg bundle, and I, alongside the midwife, tended to him. As we were stabilising him, the second boy, 1.6kg, was delivered.
Just as we thought the work was done, a nurses voice cut through the bustle: Get ready for the third! My heart leapt the twins were already fighting for life; another would be a heavy burden. I muttered a few sharp words to the team, but a loud cry stopped me in my tracks.
There, beneath the two boys, lay a tiny girl, weighing a mere 1.4kg. She had been hidden in the Xray because the boys were lying side byby along the uterine wall, while she was tucked perpendicularly beneath them. It seemed the little gentlemen had shielded their sister from prying eyes.
If Dina had not insisted on the operation, those three might not have survived. We placed the newborns together in the only incubator we had a single, compact cradle designed for premature infants. Miraculously, all three fit.
I never left their side that night; worry kept me at the foot of the cot. By dawn their vitals steadied. The ward bell rang, and a tall, handsome man in a crisp RAF pilots uniform stepped through the doors.
Whos my child? he asked, bewildered.
Congratulations, I replied slowly, you have two sons and a daughter. It took him a moment to process the news, his mind stumbling over the numbers: Two sons a daughter three children?
We escorted him to a chair, offered a glass of water, and tried to explain our modest circumstances he had just been transferred here, his earnings modest, the flat they shared tiny. Then, out of the blue, triplets!
The babies stayed in our unit for weeks, gaining weight and strength. I loved watching them; despite being three, each was cared for, fed, and swaddled with the same devotion. Emily never ceased to beam, her face alight with a perpetual, contented smile. The whole town buzzed with pride these were Whitbys first triplets, and they were thriving.
The council swiftly arranged a threebed house in the new estate for the family, supplied furniture, and even assigned a health visitor for the first few months. Yet the true hero was Emily a stunningly beautiful, determined young woman who lifted her children from a precarious start to a flourishing life.
Ten years later, I found myself in the hospitals reception area when Emily walked in with her children, now grown boys who closely resembled their father, and a brightredhaired girl who was her spittingimage. Their laughter filled the corridor, and I felt the warmth of that first night surge again through my hands.
Seeing that happy family reminded me that the smallest lives can inspire the biggest changes. Ive learned that listening to a steady instinct and acting decisively can turn a precarious situation into a miracle. And for that, I am ever grateful.
