by Jane Yeadon
My stroke would just have to wait.
‘Every baby is an individual,’ Miss Harvey had intoned, ‘and so nobody can actually say for sure how quickly they will arrive. Sometimes,’ she had given a little chortle, ‘the little rascals can surprise even the most professional of midwives, so you need to keep a lookout all the time.’
Unsure how to define ‘lookout’ other than peeking under the sheets whilst listening for unusual sounds, I was convinced that, with each contraction, this little rascal of a baby would arrive. Presumably one born in a bed would get me black marks. If I didn’t read the signs accurately and Denise didn’t get transferred to the labour ward in time it would figure badly in my record book as well as putting Margaret and Cynthia’s superiority at an all-time high. I put my hand on Denise’s abdomen and felt its hard contraction.
Oh Lord! Was this it?
Denise moved restlessly.
‘You alright?’ I asked, finger hovering over the panic button.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Never better, and would ye calm down? You’re making me nervous, so ye are.’ She reached towards her locker, pushing aside the sickness bowl. ‘I don’t think I’m needing that. Now where’s me Ulster Farmer’s magazine?’ She sounded a different girl – presumably her sickness had joined the baby in moving out.
‘Denise! You’re full of surprises. I thought Ulster Fashion Tips would be more your line.’
‘Ye thought wrong then, didn’t you,’ said Denise, waving the magazine . ‘Us farmers need to keep up with what’s going on. Now put away that eau de cologne you keeping drowning me with and see if there’s any messages from that baby.’
Pleased with her humour, I put the stethoscope in place, closed my eyes and listened. My heartbeat was so loud I wondered why my textbooks hadn’t offered any handy tips on screening out such competition.
‘Hello! I’m back. I’ve just had my last witness,’ announced Oliver from the doorway. Now, apparently qualified as a self-appointed advisor, he strolled in, pursing his lips to convey serious intent whilst folding his arms and looking over the charts as if they were ledgers.
‘Hello, Denise,’ he said, favouring her with a smile that made him look like a friendly ferret. ‘Things coming along fine are they? Thought I’d just see how you’re both faring.’
I presumed he meant the baby but he was raising his eyebrows and pointing to a graph that, before I’d gone deaf, had recorded a baby’s very fast heartbeat. It was about to go off scale. This baby must be doing circuit training, but surely it was time to get it off the treadmill . Any more of this and I’d not only be getting more graph paper, I’d be ringing that bell.
‘Uh-huh. You’ll need to watch this,’ he breathed.
‘What’re you whispering about?’ asked Denise, suddenly looking anxious enough to tear herself from the fascinations of pig breeding. ‘Is everything all right there?’
‘Absolutely fine. If Mr Allan would just shush, I’d get a good listen. See what’s the news.’
As the baby clocked another round, I took another reading and breathed easier. This was better. It must be taking a rest – even Denise’s blood pressure was back on track. I must read that article on pigs, I thought, it might relax me too.
Oliver had fetched a chair and sat down, saying in a smug way, ‘Thanks for waiting. I can’t wait to start on my deliveries, and if you’d like me to do yours, Denise, I’m sure Nurse Macpherson here’ll get plenty opportunity for others.’ He sat back, crossed his arms and legs and admired shoes so highly polished they competed with Miss Harvey’s.
Even though things were beginning to settle down, Denise’s labour seemed so fraught with danger that if Oliver was determined to get this delivery he could have it. Then I could cancel my stroke, deal with the burnt pan and at least get one problem off the premises.
‘Tell you what, Mr Allan.’ I shoved Denise’s paperwork into a bundle and thrust it at him. ‘Why don’t you take these readings as well? Then you’ll be finely placed to ensure she has a perfect delivery.’
Denise’s fairly benign state transformed into Sisters Unite as she put her paper down and squawked, ‘An’ what about me? I notice you’re not even asking me. You’re not thinking of leaving me with him now! I want you here.’ An imperious, if swollen, finger waggled. ‘Just hearing you speak makes me laugh – you’ve such a quair oulde way of talking.’ A traitorous tear rolled down that alabaster cheek whilst she moved into weenie voice. ‘The boys are alright but a girl needs another she can talk to.’
Maybe having a baby on the move gets a mother’s brain back. Denise was certainly picking up steam. The finger moved to Oliver. ‘I’ve been sick all my pregnancy and now I’m sick of being asked the same thing all the time. You said you’d be taking my history. Well, that’s history.’ She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
Oh Lord! These were classic eclamptic symptoms. Surely she wasn’t having a fit! Had I left things too long? Time froze, but just as I reached for the bell she added, ‘I don’t think you listen anyway and,’ her pout was one of her finest, her timing immaculate, ‘you’re just a student.’
Oliver, looking abashed, shot up and held up both hands. ‘Of course, Denise, whatever you say. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not here to do that and of course I’ll not ask any questions.’ He brushed back his hair, patting it down at the back as if scared it might take off. ‘Look! It’s probably best that I just go.’ He headed for the door, his brow furrowed anxiously. ‘Look, that’s me away now, OK?’
‘That’s another feckin’ question,’ she replied, picking at an imagin- ary thread off the bedclothes then lifting her paper.
‘I’ll be around if you need me, Janet,’ Oliver mouthed and walked off in a bus-losing sort of way.
Denise slid down in her bed, looking pleased. ‘Now you can tell me how thing’s are really doin’? That fella made me nervous, so he did, and he was looking so worried, it was making me even worse.’
I pinned on a smile. ‘Everything’s fine but you’re like a wee clucking hen and I’ll be thinking you’re sitting on a China egg if we don’t see that chick of yours soon.’ I hoped to sound encouraging.
A glimmer of humour showed in Denise’s pale face. ‘Well, it’s a pity it’s not one. I like hens.’
‘Better than babies?’
She smoothed the sheet and gave it close attention. ‘Probably. I haven’t had any experience of them. We haven’t been married that long. I’m only just getting used to a change of name and now my shape’s so different.’ She spread her fingers, nodding at them. ‘Even they don’t look as if they belong.’
‘I wouldn’t have put you as a hen wife,’ I mused, ‘but you sure are clocking up the contractions. Just feel that.’ I put her hand on her bump, but she didn’t seem impressed.
‘Does that all the time.’
Diligently I recorded strong 1–3, meaning any minute now. Before I took her pulse, I discreetly checked mine, ashamed when I found it beat hers.
But an unaware Denise was warming to her hen theme. ‘Now Rhode Island Reds, they’re great layers. The first batch were coming on great – eggs everywhere – lovely colour of yolks, and a nice bit of pin money for me too so I was planning more when this came along.’ She pointed to her bump, her shoulders drooped and she sounded defeated.
‘Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re a whizz on the tractor.’
Denise sat up, throwing back her hair as if it were blowing in the wind and she were a rally driver. ‘I really like the driving, especially now that we’ve got a new one. I chose the colour but it’s William’s pride and joy. He says he doesn’t really like me on it. Says I go too fast, but I just tell him the quicker the better.’ Her eyes sparkled and she had such colour in her cheeks I just hoped her blood pressure hadn’t noticed.
I tried for a big sister approach. ‘Tell that to that baby of yours and, for what it’s worth, Denise, it sounds to me that you’re coping pretty well already. Not many people can
say they’ve become a tractor man, hen wife, farmer, wife as well as an about-to-be mother. And what about William then? Is he excited about becoming a father?’
‘Oh sure – but then he didn’t have to carry it.’
‘No, but he can after it’s born.’
Denise looked thoughtful. ‘I never really thought about that.’ She giggled, putting her hand in front of her mouth as if to stifle such an unnatural sound. ‘So when it comes to pushing he’ll get his chance with the pram.’
‘Too much laughter in here!’ Sister Flynn whirled in.
I imagined that if people had clockwork for brains Sister Flynn’s would run like a trade union clock, its wheels whirring away in well- oiled precision. You could almost hear them ticking as she checked the progress charts on which I had so toiled.
‘Hmm.’ With nursing skill and a plumber’s confidence, she tweaked the valve of Denise’s labour-inducing intravenous drip to ramp up her contractions.
‘Ow!’ squeaked Denise.
‘Ah! That’s better. Let’s be getting a move on. That baby’s a dozy wee thing.’ She bumped her hand over Denise’s belly. ‘Uh-huh! Contractions getting stronger. Good good.’ Sucking her teeth over the record sheets, she dashed out again.
‘That woman gives me a sore head,’ Denise said, putting a hand to her forehead, ‘as well as makes me dizzy.’ She clutched her stomach and gave a little moan. ‘I think I need a bedpan.’
I looked at her closely. ‘You’re not feeling like pushing?’
‘No! But hurry.’
‘Trust me. I’ve helped many a princess onto her silver throne but don’t you be having that baby whilst I’m away getting it. I’ll only be a minute.’
‘Sure, having babies takes a little longer than that, they tell me,’ she said, squirming.
‘Goodness – did I hear light-hearted talk? That’s great. So how’s things doing?’ Lisa asked, joining Oliver who, in the absence of anything better to do, had been loitering at the sluice door in time to watch my return, bedpan in hand. ‘Bet you’re nervous, first delivery and all that, though you seem to be getting on grand.’ She looked at Oliver. ‘I thought you were staying to help?’
Oliver waved a careless hand. ‘Thought I’d give Denise a bit of space – she’s been seen by so many, I thought it best.’ He shrugged and looked at his watch. ‘So maybe this is a chance for me to nip off and have a coffee before the action starts and maybe a wee word of advice, Janet.’ He cleared his throat, whilst moving into how to manage finances, You Little Person, mode. ‘I’d look more in control. That poor girl’s anxious enough without you looking as if you’re having her every pain. Every time you put on the sphygmomanometer to take her pressure and pump up the cuff, she goes green.’
‘Same colour as this.’ My laugh was hollow as well as disbelieving whilst I pointed to the testing paper fresh from testing the bedpan’s water content.
‘What a cheek you’ve got!’
I could have gone to town on him but I needed to get back to my patient.
‘Look!’ I snapped. ‘This shows there’s enough protein in her urine to feed Africa. Somebody’s got to look out for her kidneys. With all the strain they’re under it shows they’re not managing to work properly . No wonder I’m worried, but as for being cool and calm, I think my patient trusts me.’
‘Of course. Whatever you say.’
‘Well then, I think I’d say you’ve a better future in anaesthetics,’ I snapped before going back to Denise who seemed mightily relieved to see me.
Her face was pink and she said in a strangled voice, ‘I’m beginning to feel like pushing.’
‘Right!’ I said. ‘So am I,’ and pressed the emergency button.
11
AND IT ’ S A FIRST !
Whilst Denise’s pregnancy had been a lousy nine months, her labour was at least, for a first-time baby and perhaps due to all that tractor drill, a relatively short affair.
‘First stage complete.’ Sister Flynn was as pleased as if she were a stationmaster with all trains running on time. ‘With a bit of luck, the second stage shouldn’t take long either. Go and scrub up, Nurse Macpherson. I think I’ll conduct this delivery.’
‘And I’ve found Denise’s husband! To be sure he was thinking you’d forgotten about him.’ Lisa sounded triumphant. ‘Stuck in the waiting room – he’ll be through in a minute.’
Her curls made a fluffy halo but Sister Flynn, unimpressed by random cherubs, merely said, ‘On his own head be it. We can’t be having him holding up the works.’
Not like me, I thought, scrubbing my hands and trying to feed them into rubber gloves, so large two fingers got trapped together. To my horror they stuck, as if welded together.
Unaware of my frantic fumbling, Lisa locked me into an enormous sterile gown with such insulating quality that had it not been for the cold sweat trickling down my spine, I could have dissolved.
‘Come on, Jane, let’s go. You don’t want to miss this one, do you?’
‘Um, Lisa …’
But she’d gone, leaving me no other option than to tuck the unoccupied rubber finger into my palm.
‘You’re ready to go, and it’ll be great, just wait and see.’ Lisa reappeared and now was at my shoulder. She propelled me forward. ‘Now I’ll need to get that husband ready before Flynnie makes up an excuse to keep him out. She’s really the limit. But I’m thinking I’ve won this round, and at the end of it all maybe one husband might just not think having a baby’s a piece of cake.’ The curls bounced as she added that she’d put Oliver in charge of taking Denise’s blood pressure. ‘Told him he needed the practice.’ Chuckling, she sped off. Tinker Bell on a mission.
‘Come on, come on!’ came Flynn’s scolding voice. ‘If you don’t come now, you’re going to miss it.’
There was every chance that was what I might just do. Being one finger down and trussed up like a mobile greenhouse I approached the delivery table. At least Denise wasn’t complaining that Oliver had been co-opted, even if his fountain pen was blotching ink all over the previously pristine charts. All other attention was being trained on the baby’s exit strategy, where a brief sighting had encouraged a small crowd into a spectator sport.
Oliver’s girlfriend was there too – she must have been a medical student clocking up her witnessing stats. Conscientiously, Oliver concentrated on his readings, looking sufficiently pale and heroic enough to be a main player. I hoped she was impressed.
‘There it is. We can see it but we need to see more, so come on now, you can do it this time. Push!’ Sister Flynn was a decibel short of shouting whilst Denise groaned, cursed and writhed.
‘You’re not pushing properly. Come on! You can do better than this.’
‘Oh shut up and do it yourself. So help me, William can have the next one. Where is he?’ Denise shook her head as if trying to free herself from a barbed wire pillow. ‘I’m being split in half. Somebody do something please!’ The cry was heart rending. She grabbed the Entonox and took a deep draught before Sister Flynn snatched it away, saying, ‘That’s making you woozy. Now, use your energy to push!’ She really should enrol for a charm school. Maybe she and Oliver could cut a deal and get it half price.
‘Nurse! Get your hand ready to cover that baby’s head. Smartly now.’
This was probably the time for the discovery of digital deficiency but the miraculous new appearance of a gowned and masked individual diverted all attention elsewhere.
Sister Flynn hissed, ‘No! Not you! Get to the top of the table.’
Had it not been for the twitching eyes and sweating forehead the figure making a fast relocation could have been just another doctor.
‘William! I thought you’d never get here.’ Denise’s welcome was marginally better though he was soon told off for smoothing her brow, patting her head, telling her to push and being responsible for her being stretched on this bed of misery. Lisa fetched him a seat, though he was so visibly trembling he looked as if he might fall off
.
‘Yez are all telling me to push but I can’t any longer. Yez’ll have to do something to help. I can’t do all the work.’ Denise’s voice was beginning to get faint, her hair was wet with sweat and lay in ropey coils over her shoulders, her hands flailed the air and she was so pale she’d have made a corpse look healthy.
Hang in there, Denise, I thought, you’ve come so far and in so many ways and taken me with you.
We seemed to have reached stalemate but at least I’d my floating rubber finger firmly tucked out of sight. Though it wasn’t likely to be hidden much longer it was rapidly becoming the least of my worries. The small bit of head showing was slippery and time was running out. Denise was plainly exhausted. Dr O’Reilly was beginning to look round, wondering where the forceps pack was. There was mounting tension under the spotlight, with the baby apparently stuck and the foetal heart registering distress.
Around a circle of clinical light, an ominous silence descended whilst William looked as if he might faint and Denise as if she already had. Oliver started to chew his pen then recorded a trajectory so blotched it looked like an exclamation mark. His girlfriend, coming out in sympathy, bit her lip.
Time was of the essence. I thought about Denise and how really tough she was, but she was getting too tired to continue and that baby needed out now.
‘Right! That’s it.’ Eyes trained on the spotlight, Dr O’Reilly moved to take over.
This was my last chance. I stood my ground, squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. ‘Hey, Denise, girl. Come on. It’s full throttle time. Go!’
Sister Flynn looked up, startled. Maybe she’d noticed the two fingers and read a different message.
‘I’m conducting this labour and I’m in charge,’ she whispered, the groove between her eyebrows deepening, ‘and just you let Dr O’Reilly in now! I’ve never seen the like.’ She narrowed her eyes but still I didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t budge. She upped her tone. ‘I’m ordering you to shift. Move. Right away! D’ye hear?’
