by Rosie Nixon
As if he could hear my thoughts, he appeared at the doorway. Seeing my red eyes, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and drew me into his chest to comfort me.
‘Your mum would be so proud of you right now,’ he whispered.
It turned out to be a long evening. I spent a lot of it pacing around the flat, or trying to watch some episodes of Killing Eve which wasn’t exactly restful – not that it mattered, given I couldn’t concentrate on anything anyway. Unlike Jason, who was gripped.
The next contraction came a few hours after the first, and then both of us forgot to check the time of the next couple, but they were certainly not frequent. The pain, though; it was so raw. Could I be further along than the timings led us to believe? I even put my phone onto the stopwatch setting alongside his, in case his was wrong. Was it really going to get worse than this? I couldn’t bear it.
Jason was leafing through my Baby Group notes.
‘It says you shouldn’t go to hospital until the contractions are at least five minutes apart, or you will risk being sent home again,’ he read out authoritatively. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got a way to go yet, baby.’ He gazed up at me. ‘Fancy a game of Uno?’
‘Uno?’ I looked at him as though he were insane. ‘Do I look like I want to play Uno?’
‘Okay, well what about the playlist? We could go over the playlist?’ He reached for his iPhone, taking it off the stopwatch setting. He was obviously trying hard to distract me from the fear of another contraction.
‘Don’t worry about the playlist!’ I shrieked. The last thing I wanted to listen to was Salt’n’Pepa’s ‘Push It’. We had compiled it together over two months ago, when the birth felt like a distant diary date, a fun event, even, and we mistakenly thought Salt’n’Pepa might lighten the mood. It didn’t seem so entertaining right now. All I wanted was a dark room and some pain relief.
The next few hours passed in a slow haze filled with toast and mugs of herbal tea. Jason gathered the last bits for my hospital bag and I spent much of the time standing by the window, leaning into the ledge and shifting the weight between my feet, as Maggie had suggested might help. After a few stretches, I gazed up and across at the backs of the houses on the street behind ours, noticing, as time passed, how lights were gradually being extinguished downstairs as the occupants took themselves upstairs to bed. I wondered how many women all around the globe, in different continents and situations, of different colours, religions and levels of wealth, were on the verge of this life-changing moment too. Whatever our background or circumstance, we were all together now, and we had to dig deep. I thought of Susie and wondered if she was still in labour. Everything had gone a little quiet on the WhatsApp thread. We hadn’t heard any more about Susie after the ‘fucking painful’ message. Helen had responded:
Helen: Oh wow, good luck! But do you think you can spare any gory details until after we’ve all given birth? I’m getting twinges just thinking about it. Hope it goes well! Xx
She had a good point. I was trying not to imagine what Lin had decided not to share. Helen was right; perhaps it was best to keep quiet until there was happy news to announce or a joyful birth story to describe. I wondered whose would be the first. A little bubble of excitement allowed itself to ripple through my veins; not long now until we would be meeting the bean. I wondered what it looked like – was it a boy or a girl? I was still leaning towards a girl prediction. With hair or without? All tiny, red and scrunched up inside of me. I stroked my belly and another contraction began to take hold. I pumped out hot breath and looked up to the heavens and prayed for our precious baby to arrive safely, before yelling for Jason to, ‘Time it this time, for God’s sake! They are definitely getting closer!’
After an aborted attempt to go to bed, by 3 a.m. the contractions were coming thick and fast – some every ten minutes – and I couldn’t wait any longer. Jason helped me do up his largest hoodie over my pyjama top and we drove to the hospital, with me still in my slippers. It was agonizing sitting in the car and I adopted a position where I was practically kneeling in the footwell. I really hoped that we wouldn’t be turned away – or pulled over by the police.
I spotted Lin waiting outside the hospital doors as we arrived. She was on the phone.
‘Should we say anything?’ Jason asked as we approached.
‘No, we bloody shouldn’t!’ I yelled. The last thing I wanted was to bump into someone I knew when I was about to enter the transitional stage of labour. But she’d already seen us.
She was scrolling through her phone and whispered loudly:
‘Hi guys, we have Charlie, our beautiful baby boy! I’m just making arrangements for the placenta tablets. You’re up next then – baby’s coming early. Good luck!’ She looked at me and winced.
‘All okay with Susie?’ Jason asked, shifting the two pillows stuffed under his arm and setting down the wheelie case momentarily. I was annoyed he hadn’t remembered to bring my duvet and the third emergency pillow, yet we seemed to have enough luggage to move in here for a week; something I hoped we weren’t about to do.
‘She’s doing brilliantly, just, um, a long labour,’ Lin sideways glanced at me and winced again. Noticing the fear in my eyes, she smiled sympathetically, but I had already clocked how exhausted she looked. To me, she looked like she hadn’t slept for a couple of days and was in grave need of a strong drink.
I grimaced; another contraction. It was getting more intense by the second. I gritted my teeth through the pain. Now wasn’t the time for small talk.
‘Now, Jason. Let’s go!’ I commanded.
Jason turned pale and stuttered over his words. ‘Well, congratulations – send Susie our best,’ he muttered, before the doors swung open and we entered College Square Hospital.
Thankfully he remembered the way to the labour ward. I was so doubled up I was barely aware of our surroundings but at last I found myself by a bed. A curtain was swiftly pulled around us and I finally had a chance to bend over the side of something and concentrate on my breathing again – it was the only position in which I felt vaguely comfortable. I clutched my pillows tightly, breathing in the familiar smell of home to mask the clinical scent of antiseptic and starched sheets beneath it. I tried to focus on getting into some kind of rhythm with my breathing while I braced myself for the next contraction and the midwife went to get the gas. Another nurse came to check how things were coming on and, after managing to manoeuvre myself onto the bed, I felt as though she had crushed my soul when she told me I was only two centimetres dilated and we had ‘jumped the gun rather’ by coming in. I nearly throttled her. Luckily, they had a spare bed so she wouldn’t send us back home tonight.
‘Am I meant to thank her?’ I scowled at Jason the second she disappeared behind the curtain.
‘Well at least we can stay here,’ he replied timidly.
‘Whose fucking side are you on?’ I retorted, knowing that the swear word was unnecessary, but it came out just as another contraction hit me like a landslide. ‘You. Have. No. Idea. How. Painful. This. Is.’
The contractions continued, ever more frequent and when they checked again, I had reached seven centimetres. At first I thought they were having a wicked laugh at my expense when I was asked to get into a wheelchair. But no, they actually expected me to somehow get into one and sit still. I cautiously lowered myself into the chair the moment one contraction ended and was hurriedly pushed down corridors, skidding around corners, to one of the labour suites. Jason ran behind with all my belongings while I screamed at him: ‘The pillows, don’t forget ALL of the pillows! And the speakers!’ If there was a time for ‘Push It’ to be played, it was now. It suddenly seemed like a good idea after all. An absolutely brilliant idea. I hoped he hadn’t deleted it from the playlist. The gas had taken effect.
We reached the labour suite in the nick of time – the chances of an epidural or a birthing pool were blown. A monitor was put around my belly.
And then came the terrifying moment.
; An alarm sounded loudly, a light flashed above the door and suddenly half a dozen doctors and nurses were around me, doing things with instruments and putting things I didn’t understand on my bump. Jason was pushed to the back behind them. I grimaced loudly in the grip of shooting pains from within. A syringe was put into my arm, without any discussion. Sweat was pouring down my cheeks. I noticed Jason’s ashen, shell-shocked face peering through, trying to make sense of what was going on.
And then it all seemed to go quiet.
Chapter Twenty
Aisha
Suddenly the monitor beside me bleeped rhythmically and relief spread across the faces of the medical staff. A doctor called for everyone bar one nurse to clear the room and Jason appeared by my side, stroking my head. ‘What happened?’ he asked the nurse.
‘Baby’s heart rate slowed right down,’ she said, not taking her eyes off the monitor, ‘but it’s all fine now, back up and beating as it should.’
I swallowed hard. That sounded serious. The pain of that last contraction had been unbearable. Did I do something wrong?
The nurse moved around to my other side now. ‘Right Aisha, you’re ready to push. On the next contraction okay, let’s do this so you can meet your baby!’
It all happened so quickly. Just three strong pushes and then the sound of crying – high-pitched, weak, but a cry nonetheless – burst into the room. Sweat was dripping down my forehead and I gave a huge sigh of relief. Our baby was here – the bean was safe. Jason cut the cord.
‘Well done, dear,’ a kindly voice said, and I wasn’t sure whether the comment was directed at him or me. ‘Would you like to tell her the sex?’
A moment later, Jason’s head was close to mine, his top was off and he was holding a baby against his chest. His hands were trembling and tears ran down his cheeks. It was a slightly blue, blood-stained baby with white bits all over it, but it came from my body and it was amazing.
‘It’s a girl! You were right. We got our girl!’ he choked, as the tears fell thick and fast, setting me off too. A nurse came and helped him lay her across my chest. She was warm and slippery. And so tiny. I struggled to look down and take her all in. My hands were trembling too now. She had the sweetest little profile and dark hair, wet like a duckling. Her arms were held up, her hands almost clasped together in front of her face. I gently teased my index finger into her hand and her miniature fingers curled around mine. She was a miracle! I was overwhelmed with love and pride.
‘She’s beautiful,’ I whispered, barely able to get the words out. My hands were shaking as I wrapped them around her tiny body. ‘She’s our Joni.’ The name had been on our ‘favourites’ list for a while, a version of Joanne, which was the name of my late mum. It also meant God is gracious. And someone up there had been more than kind in granting us this bundle of perfection.
Jason wrapped his arms around us both. ‘I’m so proud of you, Aisha,’ he choked, kissing my forehead. ‘You are incredible. And hello little bean,’ he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘Or rather, Joni. I’m going to be the best father I can be. I love you both so much.’
Soon after, back on the ward, Joni had her first taste of colostrum; she latched on naturally and with ease. Even the midwife was impressed. I marvelled at how here she was, not even an hour old and already she was teaching me how to be a mother. I gazed at the side of her head as she suckled. I had so much to learn from her.
When I looked up, Jason was holding his phone, quietly videoing this tender moment.
‘How do you feel, my beautiful wife and baby mama?’ he asked, still recording.
‘I feel so happy,’ I said looking into the camera. ‘And lucky. How do you feel, to be a daddy?’
He paused for a moment. ‘I feel like the luckiest man on this planet.’ And his eyes welled with tears again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucy
Monday 24th May
The C-section appointment was at 8 a.m., which meant I wanted to leave the house by 7.a.m. – I couldn’t bear the stress of being late. But Oscar was convinced it would only take thirty minutes maximum to drive from Clapham to College Square Hospital.
‘Any earlier, and you’ll have too much time to pace around and get nervous,’ he said, and he did have a point. By 7.15 I was ready, so I tried to calm myself with a cup of camomile tea on the sofa as I read through some WhatsApp messages of luck from everyone in The Baby Group. Everyone except Helen.
Although he was the CEO of one of London’s largest PR companies, Oscar was possibly the least organized person I knew. The result of having a PA for most of your working life. Plus a wife or a girlfriend and a teenage daughter. There was always someone – generally a female – to take care of things for him: his washing, the food in his fridge, his social life and his work diary. But when it came to taking care of me on the morning of the C-section, his disorganization surpassed itself. Although highly attentive to me when he was on the prowl for a blow job, or a home-cooked dinner, Oscar was not a practical guy.
Thankfully, where he struggled, I excelled. I guess that was one of the things that made us a good match. I had fastidiously packed my hospital bag two months ago, just in case the baby tried to catch me out. I had heard that they could come earlier if you were an ‘older’ mother. All I needed to do was collect a few of my toiletries together and I was ready.
But Oscar was still faffing about getting dressed at 7.20, and my blood pressure was beginning to rise.
Neither of us could have envisaged the broken-down lorry causing huge tailbacks on Kennington Road, nor could we have foreseen that a burst water main would prevent any way around it. The traffic chaos meant we didn’t even pull into the car park at the hospital until nearly half past eight. I had called ahead to warn them we were running late, only to be told that we had missed our slot and would now have to be seen at the end of the surgeon’s session, at around midday. We discussed turning back, but who knew what other disasters might befall us, so we ploughed on. Maggie hadn’t covered how to handle stress like this – the stress of almost missing your own baby’s birth.
I’d already decided that I didn’t want Oscar beside me in theatre, for the birth itself. Even though he had come back into my life and we’d agreed to raise the child together, I felt I needed to do this on my own. I was concerned that his hand stroking mine as the operation took place – leading everyone in the room to wrongly assume he was the father – might be more of a distraction than a comfort to me. I’d made so many decisions on my own up until this point, I wanted to see it through by myself. At least Oscar had made that decision easier for me by making us late on this momentous day.
Yet I felt a deep unease. It was a strange feeling, to be bringing my baby into the world without knowing his paternity. I felt nervous and vulnerable.
When the time came to go into surgery, Oscar kissed me tenderly. ‘You’re going to be brilliant,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be here when you come out.’ I breathed deeply, obeying the instructions to put my hair into the unsexy blue hairnet, pull up the compression socks and change into a scratchy medical gown.
It was time to meet my son.
As it turned out, about halfway through the caesarean, when I was squeezing the female anaesthetist’s hand so hard her eyeballs appeared to bulge, I realized that all I wanted was to have Oscar by my side.
‘Get Oscar! Please get Oscar!’ I yelled. ‘I need Oscar here, right now!’
I knew I could do it on my own – I could do anything on my own – so it wasn’t that, but I wanted Oscar to meet my baby with me. Moments later, there he was, scrubs on, hairnet covering his bald head, which at least gave me some amusement through the surrealism of it all. He took my hand tightly in his, and whispered words of encouragement, telling me how well I was doing and how proud he was. He didn’t let go until my baby was born. And the second thing I heard after hearing my baby cry was Oscar telling me he loved me.
The baby was apparently ‘back to back’ so it took
some digging and delving to safely pull him out. And he was a big lad – a bonny nine pounds of baby. When the surgeon freed him from the safety of my womb and he appeared above the surgical sheet which was separating my eyes from the blood bath beyond, I lost it. I burst into tears and proceeded to shake and sob uncontrollably until he had been checked over, given a clean bill of health, and lain across my chest.
His features were scrunched up so tightly they were hard to make out, but he was real, he was breathing, he seemed healthy and he was safe. I was his mummy. I felt so proud of myself. I looked down at his little face, his tiny hands and feet, drinking him in. I wondered whether he had any of his father’s traits, whoever that might be. Looking into his blue eyes felt amazing, magical, life-affirming, as well as life-changing. Even despite the missing piece to the puzzle, it was all the things I dared to hope it would be.
Despite the back-to-back position, it had been a relatively smooth procedure, the surgeon told me afterwards, as my little boy and I enjoyed our first cuddles. The bond between us was already so strong. I was so glad Oscar was there too, to bottle the moment and keep telling me it was real. After all I had been through with the abortion all those years ago, and dreaming of this day for so many years, I desperately wanted to feel complete. If this was a film, we would have just reached the conclusion: our heroine could have done this on her own, but it was twice as nice doing it with her love by her side. Yet it wasn’t a film, and it was possible to feel simultaneously happy and sad.
