I love this time of year in George Eliot hospital. As Christmas looms nearer, a contagious excitement creeps through the wards, lifting the spirits of poor souls who are unable to celebrate in their own homes. It's especially noticeable in here, the Maternity Unit, the place where new life is ushered into the world.

The first flurry of snow fell this morning; big, puffy flakes see-sawing down to settle on the window sills. In less than an hour, a deep, glistening white crust blanketed the hospital grounds. That triggered a collective enthusiasm to ready the room for the festive season. Now we're hanging brightly-coloured banners in loops on the walls, and pinning sparkling twisters to the ceiling - blues, reds, greens, and golds. Several of the new mums are tying decorations to their headboards - teddies, Santas, and glittery stars. We used to have a real tree but Health and Safety put a stop to that - they reckoned the needles were a danger. Now we have an imitation one from Korea that's just like a proper fir. It has a sweet, resinous smell of pine and plastic needles that prick your fingers - just like real ones. We've put it by the door, covered in twinkling glass balls and tinsel. The air is taut with anticipation as we wait for the sun to melt into the horizon. When it does, we will turn on the tree lights for the first time and feel Christmas has truly begun and the Prince of Peace is on his way.

This year, he can't come a minute too soon. He'll need all the tricks in his bag when he meets Alana Duggan, the baby from hell. That's what the others call her when her mother is in the loo. Three days old, lungs the size of a hot air balloon. In all my twenty-three years as a nurse, I have never known anything like her. Life has become very challenging since little Alana arrived.

Her mum, Marian, is just a dot of a thing, barely out of nappies herself. Hair the colour of jet and a mole above her upper lip, that she calls her 'beauty spot'. When I asked her if the father - . . . more