12October2025 Diary
By the time I retired from the little maternity unit that sits on the edge of the North Yorkshire moors, I had helped bring roughly twelve thousand newborns into the world. Most of those memories fade like mist, but a few stand out starkly, especially the only set of triplets I ever cared for. Its that story Im going to put down tonight.
The parents were a young couple dispatched to our village by the National Health Services placement scheme. The father, Tom Harper, was an aircraft mechanic stationed at the modest airfield in Whitby. The mother, Eleanor Finch, hailed from London and was a bundle of bright red hair, boundless energy and striking good looks calling her simply a woman feels almost an insult.
Tom was originally from the Midlands, a solid, calm fellow with a laidback air about him. In those halcyon days of the late 1990s, such a mix of backgrounds was not unusual at all. Early in the pregnancy they learned they were expecting twins. Eleanor, wanting the comfort of her own mother, planned to travel to London for the birth, but labour surprised us all by arriving at 32weeks.
Emily, the midwife on duty, wheeled her into the labour ward just as the main block was being deepcleaned, so we were temporarily operating out of the gynecology annex. The oncall obstetrician, DrDiana Clarke, was a seasoned, competent doctor. After a quick visual check she suspected the babies were not lying correctly, a situation that could make a natural delivery extremely risky. She ordered a Caesarean and a quick Xray to confirm the positions.
The film showed exactly what we feared: two tiny bodies, one presenting headfirst, the other breech. We prepared for the operation. The first baby emerged, a boy weighing 1.7kg. While my assistant and I tended to him, the team pulled out the second boy, 1.6kg. Just as we were finishing, a voice from behind the scrub table barked, Get the third one!
There was no time for jokes; the two newborns were already fragile. I may have muttered a few terse words at the hurried staff, but a sudden, sharp cry made me turn sharply. And there, tucked beneath the two boys, was a little girl 1.4kg completely hidden in the ultrasound and the initial exam. The twins had been lying side by side along the uterus, while the third, their sister, lay transversely beneath them, shielded from view.
If DrClarke had not insisted on the surgery, those three might not have survived. We placed the newborns, one after another, into the single preterm incubator we had a tiny cot meant for the most vulnerable infants. Miraculously, they all fit. I stayed by the cot through the night, my heart pounding with anxiety. By dawn their vitals steadied, and the wards bell rang.
A handsome airman in his flight suit stepped through the doors. Whos the new arrival? he asked, eyes wide. Congratulations, I replied after a pause, you have two sons and a daughter. The news seemed to take a while to sink in for him. He muttered under his breath, Two sons a girl three children? I tried to reassure him, Yes, thats right. He slumped a little against the wall as the reality washed over him. We gave him a seat and a glass of water; his mind was still reeling.
He had just arrived on his placement, barely earned any pounds, living in a cramped council flat. And now a set of triplets! The babies lingered in our unit for weeks, gaining weight and strength. I loved visiting their cot, marveling at the sheer miracle of life that lay there. The mother, Eleanor, was everpresent, her smile bright and constant, her care meticulous. She was the first mother of triplets the village had ever seen, and the children were unbelievably fortunate.
The council promptly allotted them a threebedroom council house in the new estate, furnished and ready. A community health nurse was assigned to them for the first few months. Yet the true hero of this tale was Eleanor a strikingly beautiful young woman who lifted those three tiny lives onto her feet and nurtured them into health.
A decade later, I found myself wandering the reception area of the same hospital. Emily, now a senior midwife, entered with her three children, come to visit their father. The two darkhaired boys, spitting images of Tom, trailed behind her, and then burst forth a sprightly redhaired girl a living replica of Eleanor. Watching that family, my hands still tingled with the warmth Id felt that night, and I could almost hear the faint beating of those infant hearts.
Lesson learned: in the chaos of emergency, never underestimate what a careful eye and a decisive cut can save. The smallest lives often hide in the most unexpected places, and a steady hand can bring them into the light.
