Pregnant Midwife On His Doorstep

by Marion Lennox

  The contractions were deep and strong right from the start. This was to be no labour where Mum could stay home, rest between contractions, wait until they were five minutes apart and then think it was time they made for the labour ward. Hannah’s next contraction came three minutes later, the next two. And in between her body was rigid, fierce with expectation of pain.

  And fear. He could see it and he could feel it as he carried her back to the bedroom.

  This woman was a midwife. She knew birth almost better than anyone, but right now she wasn’t a midwife. She was a first-time mum and she was terrified. Professionalism had gone out of the window.

  And Josh?

  He didn’t feel like a doctor either.

  In the time after the accident, when his role had been patient rather than doctor, his fears had been those of anyone facing the unknown. Being on the outside, looking in, was a very different experience from the opposite—surrendering control.

  He felt way out of control now. The sight of Hannah in pain was doing his head in. He set her back on their collapsed bed and she grabbed his hands like she was drowning.

  ‘Stay with me,’ she managed. It was a fierce order, but it was a helpless plea.

  ‘Try and get rid of me,’ he told her. ‘I hauled you and your baby out of that car and I’m all for happy endings. You can’t throw me out of this movie at three quarter time.’

  She managed to chuckle but it was a wavery laugh, turning into a pain-filled gasp. ‘Josh...’

  ‘Yeah, whatever’s happening’s happening fast.’ Stupidly he was having trouble keeping his voice steady. He placed a palm on her rock-hard belly as the next contraction started to roll through. ‘Hannah, let’s get you across to the hospital. By the feel of these contractions, he or she isn’t mucking around.’

  ‘I... Yes... I’m booked in...’ And then the full force of the contraction hit and his hands were caught again.

  Afterwards he’d find scratches where her fingernails had dug into his palms, but he didn’t feel pain. He held her, willing strength, willing confidence, willing courage, and she closed her eyes and moaned, and he felt that he’d never been in such a position of trust...

  He’d seen births before—of course he had, throughout his training. He’d seen birth partners gripped like this, held, sworn at, shoved away and then grabbed again...

  He’d never understood until now that being in this position was an honour above all others.

  ‘You need to let me go, Hannah, love,’ he said, gently now as the contraction eased. ‘A mattress on the floor with no equipment is scarcely the optimal place to give birth. I need to find you a bathrobe and get you to where you need to be.’

  ‘Us,’ Hannah gasped. ‘Oh, Josh, please... Get us.’

  ‘Of course us,’ he said, and he heard the break in his voice as he said it. ‘Hannah, we’re in this together. It’s you who has to do the work but I promise you, I won’t leave you.’

  He was there. Somehow he got her across to the hospital but he was still there.

  As educated, as prepared as any woman giving birth for the first time could be, nothing had prepared her for this. Her body had been taken over by a force she had no control over. Her contractions had started strong and kept right on, wave after wave of power and pain.

  In the birth room with her were two of the hospital midwives, women she’d worked with, women she counted as her friends. She could feel their empathy, their support, their skill.

  A doctor flitted in from time to time, muttering things like ‘Progressing nicely, keep it up...’ The white coat at the end of the bed barely made an impression. It was just the midwives and Josh.

  Josh.

  She had no right to ask him to stay, but she had no intention of letting him go. Now was entirely selfish. She’d take what she needed to birth this baby, to have this little one safe in her arms, and what she needed was strength.

  And Josh gave it to her. He sat beside her for what seemed hour after interminable hour. He let her grip his hands in a death grip during contractions. How did that help? She only knew that it did.

  He murmured to her. He held her when she needed to be held. He listened to her swear—she didn’t even know she knew these words. He was just there.

  Josh. Her hold on sanity. Her hold on life.

  He was no such thing but that’s what he felt like and she wasn’t letting go for a moment. And when finally, finally that last moment came...

  ‘One more push.’ Josh was right there, firm, sure, her rock in a sea of pain. ‘You can do this, Hannah. We can see your baby. Just one more push and you’ll have him safe in your arms.’

  And she looked up into his face, stern and sure, compassionate, caring, but ruthless in his certainty for what she had to do—and she pushed.

  And one appalling minute later she heard a yowl of indignant protest and a tiny, slippery miracle of a baby was lying on her breast. Warm and wanting, mewing a tiny baby sound, already nudging towards her nipple.

  ‘You have a daughter...’ Josh’s voice was faint, seemingly far away.

  ‘A daughter.’ Her focus should be all on this tiny slip of a brand-new person, but it seemed there was room still for that ever-present awareness of Josh. He’d slumped back in his chair as if he, too, was exhausted.

  He’d been with her every step of the way. He’d saved her life and her daughter’s life and he’d been...here.

  ‘Josh, thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, love, thank you.’

  The love slipped out before she could stop it but she was blinking back tears and she had no room to care. Her daughter. Her daughter!

  ‘She’s perfect,’ one of the midwives breathed. ‘And red hair, just like her mum. A proper little Irish lass for you to love and cherish. Oh, well done, both of you.’ And she’d included Josh because for now he was her partner and no midwife would begrudge him that title.

  ‘All Hannah,’ Josh managed, gruffly. ‘All awesome Hannah.’ And he put his head down in his hands and held it perfectly still.

  ‘Don’t you dare faint on us now,’ the midwife said, but she was smiling. At some time during the hard, fast labour they’d learned he was a doctor and there’d been teasing. ‘It’s always the strong ones who go down.’

  ‘I won’t faint,’ he said, and he lifted his head and met Hannah’s eyes and smiled. ‘You’re brilliant, Hannah. Your daughter’s brilliant. Two tough, gorgeous women ready to face the world.’

  She smiled back at him, mistily, her hands cradling her baby, her world expanding by the moment. She’d done it.

  They’d done it.

  ‘Does she have a name yet?’ the midwife asked. ‘Or will you need time to get to know her before deciding?’

  ‘I’ve decided,’ Hannah said, smiling and smiling. Life was good. Life was great. Josh was right, she and her daughter could face anything.

  ‘Her name’s Erin, after my grandmother,’ she said. ‘Erin is strong and brave and I love her very much. Both my Erins. And if it’s okay with Josh...’ She smiled at him, almost shyly. ‘I’d like her second name to be Alice, because if it wasn’t for Alice you wouldn’t have been on that island and Erin and I would be...be dead. Because of Alice, Erin is here and safe. And I love the name. Is that okay with you, Josh?’

  Was it okay?

  Surgeon bursts into tears in patient’s bedroom? Not quite. He managed to nod, to stoop and kiss her—and then he staggered out into the corridor and let it all out.

  It was just as well this wasn’t his research hospital. Here no one knew him. He was just another visitor.

  Why did he feel so much more?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SHE’D ASKED ENOUGH of him. Josh needed to be back on the island—there was still mess for him to sort there—but when he demanded who else would look after Maisie and her pups she simply caved in.

&n
bsp; How could she not? She had no one else.

  She needed to be back in Ireland—she ached for the support the community would have given her. But her father was still abusive, domineering.

  She rang and left a message telling her parents they had a granddaughter. No one picked up. She knew they had caller recognition on their phone. It was useless trying to ring further.

  She rang her grandmother, who sounded weak and frail, but here at least was a loving reception for her news. Gran wept and told her she was lovely and brave and she loved her, and please could she send a picture of her namesake and she’d hide it under her pillow if her father visited.

  ‘If?’ Hannah queried, and there’d been a long silence.

  ‘He and your mother don’t come so much,’ her grandmother admitted at last. ‘Not since I told your father he was a bigoted bully for the way he’s treating you. Well, I’ve told him often enough in the past but I might have got really angry this time.’

  ‘Oh, Gran...’

  ‘It’s what he is,’ the old lady said resolutely, and then broke off as a fit of coughing consumed her. She couldn’t speak again, and finally Hannah disconnected and rang the nursing staff.

  ‘Please... I’m her granddaughter in Australia. Could you check with her for permission and then let me know if there are any changes in her health?’

  ‘She’s definitely slipping,’ the nurse warned her. ‘If you want to see her then you need to come soon.’

  These were words that made Hannah feel bereft, for how could she come? The impossibility of travel slammed home.

  Bridget rang, but it was a faltering, guilt-ridden call. ‘I heard your news from Gran. She’s so pleased, so touched that you called her Erin. Hannah, I’d love to fly over and see you but...’

  But. There were so many buts. She thought of the welcome most babies received in the small town she’d been raised in, and she ached for that community for her daughter.

  But she held her baby daughter close, and Josh was in and out of her room, always seeming to be there just when she needed him, and she decided there was nothing to be done but accept Josh’s offer of help and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

  Two days after Erin’s birth he was there to take her...home? It didn’t feel like home—a barren apartment that she’d left in a pile of boxes and chaos—but it’d be her home and her life from now on.

  They walked the block and a half from the hospital—the advantage of living in a hospital apartment. Josh carried Hannah’s holdall and Erin’s carry cot. Hannah walked beside him, cradling Erin. She felt sun on her face, a gentle wind, the strangeness of being outside hospital with a new little life. She felt...weird.

  Josh opened her front door for her and she felt a whole lot more weird.

  She’d left a barren, utilitarian, chaos-filled space. Now...

  The little kitchen was brightly welcoming, with benches clear of clutter, her mass of boxes gone. A shiny yellow kettle sat on the hob, a bunch of white daisies on the counter. Grimy windows had been cleaned to let sunlight stream in. Curtains now replaced her appalling venetians, fresh, new, yellow and white stripes. Gorgeous.

  Giving Josh a look of wonder, holding her precious bundle close, she ventured further.

  Into the living room.

  What little furniture she’d had had been cheap and nasty, bought or scrounged by herself and Ryan when they’d thought they’d be here for not much more than a year. There was nothing cheap or nasty in what was here now.

  Her horrid sofa was gone. The lounge was dominated by a club settee and two matching armchairs, old-fashioned floral, the kind that hid all sins, the kind that said, Sink into me, this is where you belong. Piles of cushions beckoned even more.

  ‘I can even sleep on it,’ Josh said proudly. ‘It’s long enough and there’s not a single piercing spring.’

  ‘Oh, Josh...’

  ‘Look at the rest,’ he told her.

  The rest...

  A woollen mat, deep pinks and soft lavender, covered the previously barren floor. A big television was wall-mounted—what had happened to her tiny squint-to-see-it model?

  There were wall lamps, a coffee table with a few enticing books scattered on it, and on the wall was a print of a watercolour, the Cliffs of Moher, wild and beautiful, a painting that spoke of home but yet was so beautiful in its own right that it didn’t cause pain.

  ‘This wasn’t all my work,’ Josh admitted as she gazed about her in wonder. ‘I rang Madison. She sent me a plan.’

  ‘You rang your sister—about me?’

  ‘I said I had a patient who needed cheering up.’

  A patient... Right. Madison would know he hadn’t treated a patient personally for years. What would Josh’s sister be thinking?

  But Josh was opening the bedroom door. What else?

  What else took her breath away. Her bed had been miraculously rebuilt—or was it a new bed? Beautiful new bedding.

  The serviceable bassinet she’d bought from a charity shop and scrubbed until most of its paint was gone had been replaced. In its place was a vision in pink, a pile of cuddly toys on the stand beside it, a change table, a mobile of teddy bears, a wombat nightlight...

  ‘Madison didn’t help me here,’ Josh said proudly. ‘This is all my own work. Plus a little assistance from the lady in the shop down the road. You’ll be thrilled to know I’m now a gold-class client of Cocoon My Baby. You want to see the pram?’

  She could hardly speak but she didn’t need to. Josh was opening the laundry door. On the far side of the laundry she saw a gleaming new pram-cum-stroller, one she recognised as being far beyond the realms of anything she might have afforded. But she hardly had time to see, for out of the laundry tumbled the dogs. Dudley and Maisie surged out to wag and lick and wiggle. Inside she saw a big, soft dog bed, with four tiny occupants. There was another bed for Dudley. And the door...

  ‘I talked your landlord into letting me put in a dog door,’ Josh said modestly, and Hannah thought of the crusty hospital property manager and thought how much money would have had to change hands before he’d have allowed this. ‘Oh, and I’ve been talking to your neighbour. Ruth loves dogs but has never summoned the courage to own one. We’ve thus removed two boards from your dividing fence. Her courtyard is bigger than yours so now they have what almost counts as a respectable run. Payment may possibly be first choice of pup but Ruth’s great. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she’s over first thing with a casserole.’

  She was speechless.

  She had her tiny daughter. She had her dogs. She had a perfect home and it seemed she had a neighbour.

  She had Josh.

  No. She didn’t have Josh. He was gorgeous, kind, caring, but she didn’t have him. Oh, but what he’d done for her...

  ‘I’ll stay for a couple of days,’ Josh said. ‘Just to see you settle in.’

  ‘I... There’s no need.’

  ‘Do you want me to?’ Was it her imagination or did she hear a note of anxiety?

  Did he want to stay?

  ‘Of course I want you to,’ she managed, and it was too much. She sniffed back a sob and hugged him, or hugged him as much as she could. He hugged back. She and her daughter were enfolded in this man’s arms. The dogs wuffled and wagged around her legs and her face was buried in Josh’s sweater.

  Josh might not be here for ever but he was here now, and here seemed definitely home.

  The next few days were chaotic, filled with the fuss of babies and puppies, filled with crazy domesticity. If they’d been true partners it would have been the start of the rest of their lives, but somehow the boundaries they’d both recognised the morning Hannah had gone into labour stayed in place.

  The boundaries were unvoiced but they didn’t need to be voiced. He lay on the sofa and listened to Hannah coo to Erin during the night feeds and he felt
apart. As he’d vowed to be apart. Three days later, with Hannah and her baby as settled as mother and newborn could be, they both knew it was time for him to go.

  ‘You’ve done so much for me already,’ she told him. ‘It’s time you got back to your own life.’

  Sense told him it was the truth.

  It had made him feel great that he could help her. That he could make her little apartment into a home. That he could cook for her, that he could care for the dogs, that he could watch dumb television while she nursed her tiny Erin. That while she slept he could take her baby and nurse her himself, giving Hannah much-needed rest.

  He’d done it for her, he told himself, and if his heart had twisted as he’d managed to get the tiny newborn bundle to sleep against his chest...well, maybe that was satisfaction in being needed as well.

  But if he didn’t leave now, would he ever? To make her dependent on him... No.

  But he could fill her needs one last time. On that last morning he rose early, made her eggs, toast soldiers and coffee—he’d already discovered her favourite breakfast—and took it in to her.

  Erin was asleep. Hannah was looking amazing, in pink PJs with purple sumo cats. Her curls were tangled by sleep, she was surrounded by a sea of pillows and she looked cross.

  She was staring down at a contraption that looked like some sort of plastic breast. He saw tubes, plastic bags, a wad of tissues—and a glower from Hannah that would have seen off lesser men than him.

  ‘It’s the work of the devil,’ she muttered. ‘But I will conquer it.’

  ‘Conquer what?’ But he’d already figured it out. He set her breakfast on the bedside table and perched on the end of the bed as she abandoned the contraption and tackled her egg with relief.

  ‘Bloody breast pump,’ she told him darkly. ‘I stick it on and nothing happens. Nothing. Then I take it off and milk flows everywhere. But it’s early days yet. Roslyn’s coming over later this morning—you remember the midwife who was there for me at the end? She’s a lactation specialist and has promised to help.’