by Rena Marks
“Just focus on breathing. Come on, follow the breathing with me, Lucie, and Drakar,” Miranda says. She’s good at Lamaze. I wish I would have had Miranda’s help back in my village.
Niki is squirming now, so we help her to kneel. She leans up against the back wall, and leans her cheek against the cool rock of the cave.
I’m aware of how reverent mother silently watches everything, learning and studying our techniques. She’s had to set aside her grandmother status to be the healer and she wars with her natural worry.
Then I hear a small tearing sound and check Niki’s birth canal. There are stiffened pieces of placenta coming out.
“Is this like your ekseta?” I ask reverent mother.
She shakes her head. “No, it is stiffer.”
“It doesn’t look like placenta, either. I’d imagine it’s a combination of the two.” At least I hope so.
Carmelac’s drumming becomes more even and soothing, and it calms the atmosphere for everyone, not just Nicki.
“I’m tired,” Niki moans, and both Drakar and reverent mother glance quickly at me for the answer.
“Of course you are,” I say cheerfully. “This is labor, sweetie. It’s not all peaches and cream. But I’ve delivered hundreds of babies. No worries. You’re almost there.” My voice sounds more confident than I actually am.
I’m barely aware of any activity going on outside in the main cave. Of course, it’s spring, so a lot of people may not be present. And during this season, cooking takes place outside.
“I can’t hold it anymore,” Niki grunts, her voice ragged with pain. She ends on a screech, and her body involuntarily seizes.
“It’s time,” I say calmly, ignoring the huge eyes of everyone who stares.
Niki is kneeling on the bed, leaning forward with her torso supported by a huge pillow. I have had many breech babies birthed from this position and prior to this birth, never had any problem in delivering the head.
But of course Niki’s labor is different. We have no idea what she’ll be pushing out.
She pushes and pushes, and little by little, the baby's bottom descends. Tiny testicles are fully formed. I wonder briefly what I would do if the baby's head were extended, never having dealt with this complication during a breech labor in the kneeling position. Of course, this could be a common condition. The infant could have the larger Blaedonian stature. Another horrible thought hits me. What if the baby only has the Blaedonian larger head and the human smaller body? While it would be an easier labor, the poor thing would look like a little Frankenstein.
But it’s obvious that Niki grows weaker by the minute.
I reach inside her, up very high, to be able to touch one of the baby's arms and sweep it down across her face. The second arm is easier to extract, but his head remains quite high in the pelvis, with his chin extended.
I reach higher with my fingers—impossibly high, it seems—before I can reach the baby's tiny mouth. Pressing my fingers against the cheekbones, I try to flex his jaw onto his chest but can't budge it. I wonder briefly if we might be able to establish an airway, but that clearly isn't going to work either. The head is far too high.
“Okay, Niki. We’re going to try something different,” I say. “Let’s stop the kneeling position and get you lying on your back on the floor. We’re going to deliver your baby boy.”
“It’s a boy?” she gasps.
“It is,” I smile.
Once Niki is comfortable lying on the floor, this change of position makes it much easier to flex the head and deliver. Would it have been easier to do all this on the bed? Yes, I think it would have. Live and learn. However, Niki seems to be more relaxed on the floor, as if she did not have freedom of movement on the raised bed.
“We use the kneeling position,” reverent mother says.
“I still like the kneeling position for most mothers,” I murmur. “But keep in mind that it had its limitations with her sudden inability to expel with the half-born baby. Her uterus is exhausted and not pushing like it should.”
Niki seems to be less panicked like this, also.
“There is a Burns-Marshall maneuver, when the aftercoming head is extended. There are two ways of determining if the head is extended. First, the baby's hairline at the nape of the neck is not visible. If that happens, do not attempt to deliver the head yet.” I force my voice to sound calm and soothing, as I point out the horror to reverent mother. I’d like to scream out that we could break the baby’s neck. But instead I say, “The neck is too fragile.”
She gets what I mean, though, and her eyes widen slightly.
“The second way of knowing if the head is extended is by feeling with your fingers to see if the baby’s chin is not flexed onto its chest.”
“If the head is extended?” reverent mother asks.
“In Niki’s case, we don’t know. I’m not sure how a Blaedonian baby looks. I should have been present for Byndi’s birth.” I mentally curse myself. No, I chose to hide out and deny my calling. “But we’ll prepare anyway. The first step is to raise the body.”
I line pillows under her body, from her head to her tailbone.
“The remedy is to make sure that the mother's bottom is right at the edge of the bed. Allow the baby's body to hang out—but hold a fur around him to keep him warm—and allow him to hang unsupported for five to ten seconds. This is usually long enough for the weight of the body to pull the baby's head into the flexed position. Once the hairline is visible, it is safe to deliver the head.”
When the black hairline shows, I move into action. More bits of “shell” fall out as the baby falls into the blanket. It appears there are parts of placenta, and parts of a soft version of ekseta.
“Now, I need everyone to remain silent,” I say. “I’ll need to check the heart rate when he’s born, and I can’t count the beats if you’re all talking.”
They nod, and the rest of the baby is born.
I study him quickly. His head is larger than normal, but his body seems to be in line with a large human infant. His skin is slightly blue, and I curse mentally. I have no idea if that signifies a lack of oxygen or if it is a natural skin tone.
I place my fingers on his neck to feel his pulse. He is born with a heart rate slightly less than 100 beats per minute, and plenty of fluid in his airway. I can hear the sounds even without a stethoscope.
But if I had prepared better, I would have made a stethoscope for this purpose. I make a mental note to do this for Miranda’s birth.
“Fluid in the lungs,” I call out. “Now watch.”
Back blows between the shoulder blades are needed to clear his airway. CPR brings him around so that his ten-minute Apgar test is now an eight. From that point on, the baby does well and squalls.
Not that the Apgar means anything here.
“Okay,” I present the infant to his mother and father. “Now hold your son to your bare skin.” Both Niki and Drakar reach for him, and the blanket I’d wrapped him in falls away. It’s dirty anyway. They press him to Niki’s chest and Drakar’s hand covers the baby’s back.
I lean back, and watch the placenta/ekseta mixture fall from Niki’s body in rhythmic contractions that she’s not even aware of. Reverent mother moves down to where I am.
“It looks like the entire ekseta, though it is much softer,” she says.
“Looks like the whole placenta too, I agree. Though it is much harder.” I grin at her and she grins back, giddy relief in both of us.
We did it. We delivered the first Blaedonian/human hybrid.
But I was irresponsible. I should have prepared for this long before Niki’s labor arrived.
Chapter Three
As soon as we emerge from the cave, Rayhaan is upon us. “Is it a boy? A girl? Is it healthy?” he asks. He hardly stops for answers as he pounds out questions.
I nod, along with Tessa. “Mother and child are fine. It’s a boy. Drakar and Niki are relaxing right now. Lucie will be out in a minute.”
Rayhaan nods. “I’
ll let everyone know. We will have the blessing tonight. I’ll dispatch the hunters so we can feast.”
“I’ll let Atareek know.” My man is on the first shift of hunters, and it’s how I met him. His was the team that was sent to rescue Drakar when they received word that we’d crashed on the planet.
“Well, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll take a nap,” Tessa yawns.
“Hmmph. I noticed there was no cord wrapped around the baby’s neck.”
“Wasn’t there?” Her grin is cheeky. “My bad.”
I hug my friend goodbye when we reach her cave, and the curtain is drawn open by Jeroc, one of her mates. I nod at him and continue down the hallway.
I finally reach our cave, and Atareek has water boiling over the pit for my tea.
“You look about ready to collapse,” he remarks, as he guides me to our nest. “Sit, Vee. I will get you a cup to drink.”
I lay on top the furs, and he returns to me, setting a bone cup down next to me. It’s steaming, and the rich scent wafting up lets me know he brewed my favorite.
“You’re a good man.”
He grins. “I’ve told you so.”
“Yes, but that was before I knew the language,” I counter.
He grunts in response, and then turns to me. He pulls the moccasins from my feet, then inches the leggings over my waist and hips. Finally he removes my beaded top and the leather bra, and then wraps me in one of his soft, brushed shirts.
It took a while to get used to being a pampered female. It didn’t help that I was terrified of him when we arrived. His language seemed harsh and guttural to me, but then again, I had no idea what was going on. Part of me felt like I was in a bad dream, and wasn’t sure how to wake up. There was no one I could talk to, because no one knew Spanish. I clung to Lucie, because she spoke French. I was comforted by the fact that she spoke with a lilting accent, even though we could not communicate fully.
Atareek terrified me.
He followed me every chance he got. He kept talking to me in his harsh voice, sneaking up on me. All he had been trying to do was show me his planet, take me under his wing. I didn’t understand, and I had numerous nightmares about my abduction. Little did I know, the big blue barbarian watched over me. One night he tried to wake me from a particularly vicious one, and take me outside to the see the beauty of their mornings. I howled, long and loud, waking the entire cave. After a flurry of language between Niki and Lucie, Niki stared into my eyes, sending an electrical zap deep into my brain. When the fog cleared, I was able to understand the languages everyone else spoke.
To my horror, once I was able to communicate I realized I wasn’t living a perpetual nightmare. No, it was very real. The other women and I had been abducted from various places, and we crash landed on this planet, Blaedonia. The blue men took us in and taught us to survive.
I’ve spent every day with Atareek ever since. I’m not sure why I thought he was ever scary, because he’s sexy and handsome.
He loves me for me. Not because I’m the only midwife in the village and I have—had—money. No, the Blaedonians don’t even use money.
To Atareek, I’m just Valencia. Usually, he calls me Vee.
“What is troubling you, my love?”
I sigh. “I should have been better prepared. There could have been serious harm done to this infant, and I should have prepared for the birth instead of hiding out like I knew nothing of delivering infants.”
“Do not beat yourself.” Atareek has taken slang to a whole new level, and frequently misuses it. It usually makes me smile. “You came through at the end and he is healthy.”
“Yes, but what if?”
“It still would not have been your fault. You cannot take the weight of the world on your head and shoulders.”
“That’s a shampoo.” I’ve explained this to him hundreds of time. “It’s one or the other. Weight of the world on your head. Weight of the world on your shoulders. Not both.”
He grins easily. “What can you do to make it better?”
“I can prepare now for the next birth. I can make a stethoscope, for starters. I’ll need a tube-like device. That vein that hardens that we use as straws? Is there something that stays softer?”
He nods. “You can use the same vein. It just needs to soak periodically in a salt-water mixture to retain some moisture.”
“I’ll also need two cylinder-type devices. Like a funnel.”
He looks confused.
Something with a wide opening on one end and a small opening on the other. So you can pour things into a bottle or jar without spilling.”
His face clears. “We have those shapes of something. Lucie found some at the cave of origins. She called them…soft shells?”
“Sea shells. That’s right. I forgot about them. I’m sure I can find the shape I need.”
“Project one is underway. Sleep today, and later I will take you outside on a journey to find all that you need.”
A sense of relief washes over me.
“I forgot to tell you. The first level hunters are being dispatched for food. It will be a feast tonight.”
He smiles. “I figured. Sleep, Vee. I will be back when you awaken.”
I yawn and hug him tight when he moves in close. There is a slight curl to his sexy lips, and his thick lashes sweep down, covering the intense darkness to his eyes. He kisses me, nibbling my lips. He whispers love words in my ear, putting a smile on my face. As soon as our curtain drapes shut, I’m out like a light.
* * * * *
How did I receive the calling to become a midwife?
Poverty. My mother was in labor with my sister when the village midwife burst in. There was tension in the small building with the collapsing walls. I squatted in a corner, dirty and dusty from playing in the mud. My hair was braided tightly. My mother had sensed she was going into labor the day before and wanted my wild hair tamed in a lasting hairstyle.
I was terrified at the beginning of the labor. Mama screamed loudly, over and over. But as time went on, I never heard a newborn’s wail rent the air.
Instead, one by one, neighbors arrived, entering the small bedroom and keeping me outside of it. I was given food to eat, and truth be known, it was more than I’d ever had in a month.
I couldn’t remember my father any longer, it had been so long since I’d seen him. One of the older ladies clucked her tongue and muttered, “Cantina.” At four, I wasn’t sure what that meant.
As an adult, I’m quite aware. My father was a philanderer, arriving at our pathetic, run down house long enough to impregnate his wife before moving on with a new trollop once my mother grew large with child.
Then I heard the midwife’s name whispered with a panicked undertone, and more people came and went before she arrived. From my corner, I still squatted, watching the entire scene unfold.
She handed me a sweet, and patted my head, but did not mutter the falsehoods that all the other ladies had said previously.
“The medicà is coming. Everything will be fine,” they’d say, while looking away guiltily.
“Soon you’ll have a baby sister or brother to play with,” they’d say, while walking away like they couldn’t bear to look at me.
Other ladies brought in clean towels and countless bowls of water. We didn’t have running water in our village, much less in my house.
I lost track of time as my eyelids fluttered closed, right there as I sat against the wall. After a while I startled awake, aware of a different atmosphere now. No longer was there panicked tension. Now there was an overwhelming heaviness to the air, a sense of tragedy. I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat.
There were old ladies sobbing, their wailing meant to frighten off negative spirits so that the freshly dead may find their way to heaven.
I knew without a doubt I’d never get to play with that baby sister.
The midwife left the room, walking with another woman. She stopped in front of me, still drying her hands on a towel.
&n
bsp; “What of this one?” the woman with her asked softly.
The medicà stooped in front of me, hiding the procession of the people who left my mother’s bedroom.
“You have large eyes,” she said to me. “Good for observing. Come with me, Valencia. You will learn much.”
She held out her hand for me, and I placed my much smaller one into it.
Outside, I blinked. There were burros parked, and she calmly climbed onto one. Someone lifted me onto the spot in front of her, and the packing mule slowly tromped away. Looking down at the ground I saw my shadow bounce—up and down, up and down.
The midwife behind me began to unbraid my taut plait, and I winced. The hair had been pulled so tightly into the braid, my head was sore. She combed it through with her fingers, massaging my sore scalp gently. Then she looped my hair into two pigtails up over my ears. Now as we rode, I could watch my wavy hair bounce up and down with the rhythm of the burro’s gait. It made me giggle, and I shook my head, making her laugh also.
It took a long time to reach her village. Then at last, the burro procession stopped.
Her house is real. There were four walls, none of which were broken and crumbling in pieces like they were at my home. There wasn’t as much dust here, only as much as the burro kicked up.
Anxiously, I tried to brush off some dirt from my skinny knee. I suddenly looked filthier in the midst of all this splendor.
The burro stopped kicking his feet and a man came from inside the home. He helped her down, and then he set me down onto my feet.
“Who is this?” he said.
“This is Valencia.”
“Valencia.”
“Valencia.”
“Valencia, you are still sleeping?”
I vaguely hear Atareek’s voice from the land of the living. I open my eyes to find him peering down at me. “Not any longer,” I grumble.
Atareek grins, unperturbed. “Tijar arrived home when I did. He just went and woke Tessa. They’re in the pool. I thought perhaps you might want to bathe while your friend is there.”
I nod sleepily, still halfway engulfed in my dream. Atareek scoops me up in his strong blue arms and makes his way down the hallway. He whispers sweet nothings in my ear, because he knows I love it. He calls it sweet everythings though, and it’s the one term I don’t correct.
