A Very Special Midwife

by Gill Sanderson

  Jenny thought for a moment. 'Pass me that mirror from over there,' she said.

  'What do you want a mirror for? You're fine and—'

  'The mirror, Mike!'

  So he passed it to her. She was a nurse, she knew what to expect. And her face felt bruised. But even so she winced as she saw the extent of the swelling on her face, the dressing on her head where the hair had been cut away.

  'I don't want to see anyone,' she said. 'That is, I don't want anyone to see me.' She added, 'Apart from you and one or two others.'

  'Fair enough. As I said, John Bennet said I could take as much time off—'

  'I'm seeing Mr Spenser some time this morning. I can't think until then. I'll feel better if I know that you're working. I don't want you just hanging around. It'll upset me and it'll upset you.'

  'But, sweetheart, I—'

  'Off you go, Mike, the nurse is coming in to wash me now. You know you'll be told as soon as there's any news.' She smiled. 'I've got a confession to make. On the consent form they got me to fill in, I put you down as my next of kin. Hope you don't mind.'

  'Consent form? I'm... I'm glad you did that.' Then the nurse came back in and he was gone.

  But he was back when Mr Spenser came round to see Jenny. The nurse bleeped him, he had asked her to. He waited outside while Mr Spenser made his examination and then came in to hear what the man had to say.

  The neurologist said he was reasonably happy with the result of the previous day's operation, but Jenny must realise that she had been very badly injured and the result was still uncertain. Time would tell. The arm he would see to in a few days' time. Jenny must try not to worry and he'd be in to see her tomorrow. Now he was going to prescribe analgesics. He wanted her to sleep.

  Then he left.

  Mike came over to hold her hand and kiss her cheek.

  'I'm a nurse,' she said, 'I understand doctor-speak. Mr Spenser suspects that this operation won't be a success, doesn't he? I'm going to be paralysed?'

  There was nothing Mike could say and she was sorry she had caused him to worry again.

  'Now,' she said, 'I think I know what you've been through in the past couple of days so I'm giving you an order. I've been prescribed a tranquilliser. I don't want to see you till tomorrow. I'm going to sleep all day.'

  'But I want to be here with you, for you!'

  'You can't help me sleep. If anything, you'll make it harder. Mike, come and kiss me and then off you go.'

  'But, Jenny, I—'

  'I mean it! Look, I'm the ill one here; I'm the one who gets what she wants. So go!'

  'I'll leave the nurse my number,' he said as he left. 'If you want me—any time of night or day.'

  But she didn't phone.

  Mike was there again when Jenny woke the next day, but was soon hustled out again by the nurses. They had things to do with Jenny, but suggested he come back at midmorning after the consultant's round and spend a little time with her. Jenny felt surprisingly calm. Perhaps it was the effect of the pills she was taking. Certainly the pain had been reduced to a vague discomfort. But whatever it was, she knew that her mind was clear.

  He kissed her, as he always did, gently, so as not to hurt her face. Then he sat by her bed and took her hand.

  'There are things that I've got to say to you,' she said, 'things to sort out now. First of all, we face up to the situation. My legs are paralysed. In a few weeks we'll know if they're ever going to mend properly. If they don't then I spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. Correct?'

  He wasn't expecting this brutal summing-up and winced as he heard it. But he realised that this was the way she had to tackle things. 'Correct,' he said. 'But, Jenny, I—'

  She had to make it clear what she wanted. 'We're dealing with facts now, not emotions,' she said. 'And we start with how you're feeling.'

  'Me! You're the one who's been hurt.'

  'Quite so. And I don't want you suffering for me. I can suffer on my own. The last thing I need from you is a long face. What I need is big smiles and confidence. Now, let's get something out of the way and then we can get on with life. Do you feel guilty at letting Sam go and then me getting hurt saving him?'

  'Of course I do! I've been over that moment a thousand times and each time I feel sick at what I did. I knew what Sam was like, I knew there was a road behind us, I knew—'

  'Mike! This is doing no good! It wasn't your fault, and I should know. Now, say to yourself that it wasn't your fault. If it's necessary, say it a hundred times. But say it until you believe it. Because you're no use to me if you're crippled with guilt.'

  He stared at her in silence, and for a moment she wondered if she had gone too far. Then his white face broke into a reluctant smile.

  'Jenny,' he said, 'you're a woman in a million.'

  'Probably,' she agreed. 'Most women are. Now, say it. Say it out loud and believe it: It wasn't my fault.'

  'It wasn't my fault,' he said.

  'Good. That's settled and you should feel better. Now, come here and hug me.'

  That afternoon she had several visitors, not only other members of staff but also the students she was teaching. Eventually the ward sister said she was going to ration the visitors.

  'You're tiring my patient! Work out some kind of rota among yourselves. Or if you want, I'll find you some work to do on the ward.'

  Sue came in the evening, Mike stayed at home to babysit Sam. Sue bent to kiss her and said, 'I'm not going to get emotional.' Then she laid her head on the bed and wept. 'I'm so sorry this happened,' she sobbed.

  Jenny reached down and stroked her back. 'It's not that bad,' she said. 'I've got a fighting chance.'

  'Mike told me all about it. I know that accidents happen. But one thing I'll never forget: but for you, Sam would be dead. Jenny, I'll never forget that.'

  Jenny felt rather embarrassed. 'It wasn't really a decision on my part,' she said. 'I just did it. And I'm glad I did. Now, would you like a chocolate? I've been collecting all sorts of presents.'

  When the day ended she felt exhausted. And when her light was put out and she was alone, she wept silently into her pillow. But she had to remain strong; she knew it was the only way she could cope. And there was Mike. The thought of him made her smile through her tears.

  A week passed. She had an operation on her arm, a plate and screws fitted. It would be wrong to say that she got used to not being able to move her legs— but she learned to cope with it. Mike came to see her three or four times a day, kept up his promise to remain cheerful. And there were always other visitors—she hadn't realised just how many friends she had. Mr Spenser came to chat and check on her. And Jenny managed to keep her fear hidden from everyone.

  Sue was a regular visitor and at the end of the week she said, 'I hear that they're talking about discharging you. Mike says that you live in a top-floor flat and that there's no lift. So that decides it, there's to be no argument. You're moving in with us. I'm a nurse, Mike's a doctor; we can cope easily. You're to come as soon as they let you out.'

  Jenny smiled. 'I'd like that,' she said. 'It's a long time since I've been part of a family.'

  A week later the occupational therapist came to teach Jenny how to deal with her life.

  'This is not a disability, it is a condition,' Alice, the therapist, said. 'And I'm going to show you how to deal with your condition.'

  The first lesson was showing Jenny how to wriggle out of bed and into a chair. It was surprising how weak she had become after her stay in bed. Of course, she knew about this—she had even lectured about it. But to experience it was something different.

  Then she discovered what she could do—and not do—in a wheelchair. Most people, of course, had two arms to manage with. She had only one. Her first trip down the ward was a voyage of discovery. 'I'm going to spend the rest of my life going in circles,' she said.

  Mike was behind her. 'While you're on a flat and polished floor like this,' he said, 'you can push yourself. I'm going to stroll along with
my hands in my pockets. Outside and up hills, I don't mind lending a hand.'

  Then there was her first solo visit to the specially constructed bathroom on the ward. It felt so good to be able to wash herself—and how she wished she could get in the shower.

  For an awful lot of this time Mike was with her. She had made him promise that in no way would he neglect his patients—and she didn't think that he did. But he found occasion to visit her many times a day.

  When she got a little stronger she knew there was something that she had to say to him. For a while their relationship had to alter slightly. Being in a wheelchair, having an uncertain future, made things different. And if he didn't realise that, she would have to make him.

  'Listen, sweetheart,' she said to him, 'we were going places before this thing happened to me. I suspect you were making plans and I've a good idea what they were. But we had an agreement. It was your idea. We were going to take things easy for a while. Get to know each other, enjoy just being together. Well, that's the way I want things to continue.'

  'But things aren't the same! They've changed and I want to—'

  'Poor Mike! The man who has to do everything in a rush! I'll teach you how to wait, young man.'

  'I don't want to wait,' he growled. 'I want to see you just a bit better than you are and then I—'

  'Mike! No more talk of the future until I'm out of this wheelchair! And if I'm different... that is, if I—'

  'It'll make no difference whatsoever to my feelings for you.'

  'It might make a difference to my feelings for me! So promise! We take things easy, OK? I want no heavy emotional scenes, no mad promises about what you'll do for me. Even if they are true. Mike, I mean this! Don't make me argue with you now! I just need a period of calm.'

  She knew he could tell that she was determined. And so, with bad grace, he said, 'Well just for now, then.' And she had to be content with that.

  And finally she was discharged. Alice had been around to Sue's house to recommend what changes might be needed and the district nurse would come at regular intervals.

  Mike had wheeled her out into the grounds several times already, but it gave her an extra thrill to be taken outside and know that she was leaving. She had worked in hospitals for years now, but for the first time she thought she fully understood how patients felt when they said that they were bored with their stay.

  She blinked as he wheeled her outside. 'My new car,' Mike said. It was a people carrier.

  'I thought you said you were going to get a little runabout,' she said. 'Just big enough for four.'

  'Changed my mind.' He pushed her to the passenger side and opened a large sliding door. 'Now, see if you can climb out of the wheelchair and into the car.'

  It was a bit of a struggle but she could. And it was far easier than she had expected. Mike beamed at her. 'There's a lot of room in the back for your wheelchair,' he said. 'No need to collapse it or anything.'

  'Mike! Did you buy this monster just to suit me?'

  'I've always wanted a really big car,' he said. 'And I've always wanted a red car. So now I've got both in one.'

  'Seems like a bargain,' she muttered.

  It was good to get to Sue's house. Mike had arranged for a wooden ramp to be placed down the front steps and for a similar ramp from the living room through the French windows into the garden so she could get out on her own.

  The ground floor had been rearranged. Jenny could wheel herself into the bathroom. A small room had been converted into a bedroom and a wardrobe and a chest of drawers put in.

  Jenny looked at the single bed and whispered to Mike, 'I don't think much of that. Only big enough for one.'

  Mike looked suitably disconcerted.

  Jenny had written out a list for Mike and he had taken Sue round to her flat and fetched the clothes, books and papers that she needed. They were neatly set out in her new bedroom.

  Jenny saw the thought and care that had been taken for her and bit her lip. She wasn't going to cry. But people were good to her.

  Then Sue came in, having fetched Sam from the childminder's. Sam was fascinated by the wheelchair so Jenny sat him on her lap and took him for a ride. Then she climbed out of the chair, sat on the couch and let Sam have a ride on his own.

  'It’s lovely,' he shouted. 'Mummy, can I have one of my own?'

  Sue had to turn away to hide her tears.

  But it was going to work. Jenny knew she would settle in. When she said that she was going to bed that night, Sue offered to come in and help her.

  'No need, thanks, I've practised, I can manage. I'm independent.'

  Mike tapped on her door later. He came in and hugged her, gave her a gentle goodnight kiss.

  And that set a pattern.

  Chapter Six

  On the ward Jenny had been given sleeping pills to enable her to sleep. Now she had to manage without. And she knew it was a good idea, she didn't want to become addicted to them. She hardly slept at all and when she did sleep she was tormented by memories of the last few microseconds before the accident. She thought she could see the bonnet of the car bearing down on her, feel that first crunch, hear the sound of bones snapping. Then she woke, moaning to herself, her body covered in sweat.

  Mike came in early next morning, brought her a small glass of orange juice. He frowned down at her, put his hand on her forehead.

  'How did you sleep? Was the bed comfortable?'

  She was too tired to try to lie to him. 'The bed is fine. But I just... I kept on remembering the accident and then I was afraid again.'

  'Jenny, you've had a very serious accident. Your mind took a beating as well as your body; you're suffering from post-traumatic stress. It will pass but perhaps you should speak to Mr Spenser about it.'

  'Perhaps you're right, we'll see.'

  Sometimes she had visions, nightmares in the day while she was awake. She thought of herself, her friends being involved in the worst of accidents. And tears would come to her eyes, her body would shiver and she just knew that the worst things in the world were going to happen. They never did. But she knew they would.

  One afternoon she was sitting in the sitting room in her wheelchair, trying to read. She was keeping a vague eye on Sam. Sue was in the kitchen. And suddenly there was a vision of what might have happened if she hadn't got to Sam in time. She saw the little body rocking into the air, the small bones shattering and the blood pouring.

  'Sam, Sam, come here,' she moaned.

  Obediently, he came. She pulled him onto her lap, wrapped her arms around him and tried to take strength from the fact that he was alive. And that was how Sue found them five minutes later.

  'Sam! Jenny, is he all right?'

  Jenny lifted her anguished face. 'He's fine Sue, he's fine. He's a lovely little boy. But I just thought that he might have been hit by that car and he might have been hurt and it was so real that... that, Sue, I couldn't stand it.'

  Fortunately Sue was a nurse; she could guess what Jenny was going through. And she was a mother too. So she knelt by the wheelchair, spread her arms around both Sam and Jenny.

  'We'll all be well soon,' she whispered.

  And slowly the stress passed.

  'It's interesting how we've changed,' Mike said, three weeks after she'd moved into the house. 'When you moved in I used to worry all the time about how you'd manage. All I could think was that you'd had an accident, you were an invalid and I had to be careful not to make things worse. But now you're you again. I see you, not someone who's been hurt.'

  'Good. And you've stopped treating me as if I might break every time you touch me. So we move on to the next step. I want to go back to work.'

  'You can't! Don't even think of it!'

  'I can. And I've thought of it quite a lot. I can lecture, see students and I can even do a bit of work on the wards. And don't forget the new rules. The department is wheelchair friendly.'

  'But you're—'

  'I'm capable of work. And, Mike, I'm bored out of
my skull!'

  'Even with the delights of my constant companionship?'

  'Even then. And there's another thing. I know Sue's been invited to go away to visit an old friend and take Sam. She won't go while she thinks I'm still an invalid. If I'm working she'll know that I'm getting back to normal.'

  He nodded. 'I'll tell her that she should go. I can look after you.'

  'Mike! I don't need looking after; I just want to go back to work. I'm going to phone the boss tomorrow morning.'

  He looked thoughtful. 'Let me have a word with him first. I'll get him to come round and talk to you. I must say, he's been having quite a time of it without you. Says he never quite realised just how much you did for him.'

  'Nice to be appreciated,' said Jenny. 'Now, practicalities. I'll go in with you when it's convenient for you—and only then. The rest of the time I'll travel by taxi.'

  She should have known that that would start a further argument.

  It was arranged that she was to start on a Friday, just to see how things went. She was to work for only half a day. Then there would be the weekend off. If things went well, she was to come in only for half a day at a time, and only when she felt up to it. Her own consultant had phoned Mr Spenser who had said that a limited work schedule could do her nothing but good. But it must be limited. And the university medical department was overjoyed.

  Going back was odd. Her room—her very own room—seemed strange. Many people stopped her to say how pleased they were to see her. Of course, all her friends had been round to see her but seeing them again as colleagues was odd. And if she saw pity in two or three faces, she tried to ignore it.

  She was scheduled to give a lecture. She felt strangely nervous, though there was no need; she had prepared and delivered the same lecture often before. But she wasn't sure how she would feel as she bumped her way into the lecture theatre, her notes on her lap.

  She wasn't expecting it but when she entered, her class stood and clapped. And that was a shock. For a moment emotion took over, she thought she could almost feel the goodwill of the group. Her chest constricted, she felt tears prick her eyes and she wondered if she'd be able to get one sensible sentence out. But then she swallowed, fought back. She was Jenny Carson, midwife and lecturer, a professional. She didn't give way to unnecessary displays of feeling.