Baby Love, page 29
It was hurting so. Why couldn’t human beings be like kangaroos? Their babies came out thumb-sized and crawled up to their mother’s pouch. I didn’t really like the idea of a gaping pocket in my tummy, but anything would be better than this pain. I was sweating and had to bite my lip to stop myself screaming. I was surely about to have the baby now.
‘Help!’ I called feebly. ‘Please help!’
A pale gaunt woman came round the curtain. She had an elaborate white cap on her head, an apron starched as stiff as a tea tray, and a dark navy dress almost down to her ankles. If she’d carried a lamp with one raised arm she’d have looked the spitting image of Florence Nightingale in my Child’s History Book at home. I suddenly realized this ward had nothing to do with birds.
‘Was it you calling out?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I whispered fearfully. ‘Please, I think I’m going to have my baby any minute.’ It was just like being back in the Infants, when you were about to wet yourself.
‘I very much doubt that, but I’d better take a look,’ she said. ‘Lie down properly now, and pull your nightgown up. Legs wide apart.’
She raised the sheets as if they were made of gossamer and peered at me closely while I blushed. She even felt me, which seemed like an assault.
‘You’re barely dilated, silly girl,’ she said briskly. ‘But we’ll get you prepared once feeding time is over. Now you lie there quietly and think beautiful thoughts. We’ll keep your curtains open, so we can keep an eye on you.’
I did as I was told. I watched the other mothers and their babies. Most of them were feeding them themselves, but a few had bottles. The babies didn’t seem to mind, they just sucked determinedly. The woman in the next bed to me sat her baby up and patted it on the back. She nodded to me. I nodded back.
‘How old are you?’ she called.
‘Nearly fifteen,’ I whispered.
‘My God! You’ll make the Guinness Book of Records,’ she said. ‘Whatever do your parents think?’
I wanted to tell her that it was none of her business, but I seemed to have lost all my spirit. ‘They’re ashamed,’ I mumbled.
‘No wonder!’ she replied. ‘Honestly, girls nowadays! I was still playing with dolls when I was your age.’
Her baby gave a little burp as if it was agreeing with her.
I turned away from her onto my side, feeling dreadful. It was so unfair. The French boy across the channel was about to become a father, but no one was making him feel awful.
‘You don’t need a father,’ I said silently to my baby. ‘You’ll be fine just with me as your mother.’
I wondered if the baby believed it. I pictured it with dark hair flopping over its forehead and a foolish expression on its tiny face, babbling with a comic accent.
‘No, no, no!’ I whispered, shaking my head.
‘It’s a bit late to say no now,’ said the woman in the bed next to me, but she must have been concerned when she saw my face. ‘Hey, Nurse! The little kid’s acting weird. Can you check she’s all right?’
‘I’m busy helping Baby Smith to feed. She’s OK. Sister Fisher has examined her. She’s not due for yonks,’ the nurse called.
I wondered how many hours she meant by ‘yonks’. I didn’t see how the pain could get any worse. It was already ten times as bad as any period I’d ever had. Twenty times worse. Couldn’t they even give me an aspirin? I thought I’d have doctors and nurses all around me, telling me what to do, holding my hand, helping me. I didn’t expect to be stuck in a big ward with a lot of hostile women looking at me disapprovingly, and a nursing staff who didn’t take me seriously.
I gave a tentative push, hoping that the baby would be born there and then in the bed just to show them. Nothing happened. I tried harder. Maybe it was blocked up inside and wouldn’t ever come out, not even if they cut me open? I started to shake, but I was determined not to burst into tears in front of everyone. Maybe I could distract myself with a book?
I reached for the bag in my locker and found one of Mrs Chambers’ books, I Capture the Castle. It didn’t look very promising. I’d seen too many castles on the Welsh coach tour to want to read about them now. I opened it without enthusiasm but the first paragraph was so extraordinary that I became gripped. I read on and on, getting more and more interested. The ward might not have existed. The pains interrupted my reading, making the page blur, but the moment they started fading I was back in the old castle with Cassandra.
I was startled when someone tapped me softly on the shoulder. It was the young nurse with the untidy hair.
‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to make you jump. Is that a good book? I love reading too, though I never get time nowadays,’ she said. ‘Sister Fisher has sent me to look after you. Can you come with me?’
She helped me out of bed, and even put my slippers on for me. I leaned on her while we shuffled the length of the ward, everyone staring again. She took me to a little side room. There was a sink and a toilet and a hard-looking bed covered in wipe-down leatherette, like our three-piece suite at home. It didn’t even have proper bedclothes, just one white cloth. I had to position myself on it carefully and then lie flat on my back. It wasn’t easy, but I managed it.
The nurse was over at the sink, filling a bowl with water. Perhaps it was for washing the baby when it came out?
‘Don’t look so worried. It won’t take too long,’ she said.
‘The other nurse said I won’t have the baby for yonks, whatever that means. So what do I do? Just lie here until it’s born? Will you … catch it?’
She stared at me. ‘You’re not having your baby yet! I’m just giving you your shave and enema!’
I didn’t know what she meant – but then it became all too clear. This was far worse than being examined by Sister Fisher. I could feel myself going bright red with embarrassment and the nurse blushed too, though she was trying hard to be matter of fact. The shaving was bad enough, but the enema was appalling. I only just reached the toilet in time.
When at last it was all over she helped me go to yet another room, equally bleak, but with a bed with proper sheets and a blanket. She wouldn’t let me put my nightie back on, making me wear a ridiculous gown that tied at the back and showed my bottom.
‘There! You’re all ready now,’ she said.
‘What happens here?’ I asked fearfully.
‘Nothing really. You just wait until you’re ready to push,’ she said.
‘I am ready to push now!’ I insisted.
‘Sister Fisher said you won’t be ready for a long time,’ she said. ‘Not till this afternoon. Maybe this evening.’
‘But it’s hurting so badly now!’ I said truthfully. It felt as if the baby had hated the enema as much I did.
‘You’ve got to open up more. Then you’ll feel this great urge to push,’ she said. ‘Well, that’s what it says in the nursing book. I told you, this is my first day on Nightingale. If you hurry up a bit your baby will be my first birth!’ She looked at me hopefully.
‘I’ll try,’ I said. I wanted her to be there to help me but I wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing. Her hand shook a little while she was shaving me and I had painful little nicks down there.
‘You’ll have a doctor too,’ she said, guessing what I was thinking. ‘Or maybe even Sister Fisher.’
‘What’s your name?’ I asked her.
‘I’m Nurse Robinson,’ she said. ‘But you can call me Carol if you like. And you’re Laura, it says so on your notes. Mrs Laura Peterson.’
‘Mrs?’
‘Sister Fisher says we have to put Mrs for everyone, to avoid unpleasantness,’ said Carol.
‘But everyone knows I’m not married,’ I said. ‘I’m not old enough!’
‘I know. But it’s the rules. Sister Fisher’s rules anyway.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She’s an old bossyboots!’
‘Yes, she’s ever so scary,’ I said, and then tensed with another contraction.
Carol took hold of my hand and squeezed it tight while I gasped. ‘Gosh, it looks awfully painful!’ she said, when it was easing.
‘It is!’ I said.
‘I think being on this ward is going to keep me on the straight and narrow,’ said Carol. ‘My boyfriend keeps on at me, wanting to do you-know-what, but I can see the consequences now! Did your boyfriend talk you into it, Laura?’
‘Yes. I suppose so. Though I didn’t fully realize what he was doing. And he wasn’t really even my boyfriend,’ I said in a rush.
‘Oh dear. Well, never mind, you’ll have a fresh start soon. You’ll go back to school and no one will know you’ve ever had a baby,’ she said, trying to be comforting.
‘But I’m keeping it!’ I said.
‘What? Sister Fisher said all the Heathcote House girls have their babies adopted,’ she said, surprised.
‘Not mine!’ I said, starting to cry.
‘Oh, don’t cry! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. The sister on my last ward said I kept putting my foot in it, and I do!’ she said. She looked near tears herself.
‘It’s all right. You weren’t to know,’ I said quickly.
‘Well, I’d better leave you to get some rest,’ she said, standing up.
‘Oh, please don’t go!’ I said, alarmed at the idea of being left in this small room all by myself.
‘I can’t stay long, or Sister Fisher will be on the warpath.’ She consulted the watch pinned upside down on her uniform. ‘Another five minutes?’
She stayed for nearly fifteen, telling me how she’d wanted to be a nurse ever since she was four and had been given a little nurse’s dress and a red bag of kit.
‘There was a bandage with plastic scissors and some plasters and some ointment and pretend medicine in a little blue bottle with a cork. I adored it! I played all my dollies were in hospital after that. I can’t believe I’m doing it for real now. Actually, it’s all a bit too real sometimes. What do you want to do when you get older, Laura?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. I did wonder about being an actress but I don’t think I could ever make it. I love reading. Maybe I could work in a bookshop. I’d like that,’ I said, thinking of Aunt Susannah.
‘I love reading too. Did you ever read the Sue Barton books? They’re ever so good. All about nursing,’ said Carol.
I had always thought they looked rather dull, but I pretended to be enthusiastic to please her. She started telling me the whole plot of her favourite one. I didn’t really listen properly but it was soothing to hear the sound of her voice, and she held my hand again when the pain started up. But then another nurse put her head round the door.
‘There you are! Sister Fisher is looking for you, Carol!’ she said.
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to go, Laura, but I’ll pop back as soon as I can, OK?’
It wasn’t OK at all, but I didn’t want to get her into trouble. I lay there by myself, and the pain got worse, and then worse again, and there was no way I could distract myself. I wanted to read, but my book and all my things were back in the main ward. I heaved myself off the bed, staggering a little, and as soon as the next contraction eased I tried dashing back to the ward, holding the back of my gown together so I wouldn’t expose myself. I must have turned the wrong way because I couldn’t find it.
I ended up in another toilet with something utterly disgusting in a kidney-shaped bowl by the sink. I thought at first it was a dead baby and nearly fainted, but when I dared peep again I saw it was some kind of bloody membrane. The nurse who had summoned Carol came in and saw me staring at it, hypnotized.
‘You’re not meant to be in here,’ she said, hurriedly putting a cloth over the bowl.
‘What is it?’ I whispered, my throat dry.
‘It’s just an afterbirth, that’s all,’ she said.
‘What’s that? Is it a baby gone wrong?’ I asked.
‘No, all babies have them when they’re in the womb. It’s to keep them safe,’ she said.
‘You mean I’ve got one inside me?’ I said, horrified.
‘Don’t worry, it’s all very natural,’ she said. ‘Jesus, you poor kid, you don’t know a thing, do you?’ She shook her head at my ignorance.
I was used to being the one that knew a great deal, but you didn’t study childbirth at the Grammar. I felt mortified.
‘I was trying to find my way back to the ward but I got lost,’ I said.
‘You’re not supposed to be on the ward now. You’re in the side room ready to be taken to the delivery room when the baby’s about to be born,’ she said. ‘Come on, I’ll take you.’
‘But I wanted to go back to get my book,’ I explained.
‘I’ll find you something to read,’ she said. She led me back to the side room and then disappeared. She was gone a longish time and I thought she’d forgotten – but at last she came back. She thrust an old magazine with a faded pink and blue cover at me. ‘Here, it was all I could find.’
I hated the Woman’s Weekly. It was an old granny magazine, and the stories were as weak and unappealing as the coloured cover, but it was all I had, so I read every word. I even read the knitting patterns, which were far more complicated than the one I’d used for my matinee jacket and bonnet and bootees. They were a waste of wool anyway, because the weather had turned very warm.
Then the pain got so bad my eyes blurred and I just lay there, crying, feeling desperately alone. I wanted Mum. I actually called out to her in the midst of contractions, though I knew she couldn’t possibly hear me. Carol didn’t come back, and the other nurse only appeared briefly, checked me all over, and said I still wasn’t ready. More hours went by. It felt as if they’d all forgotten about me. It was the middle of the afternoon now. I’d somehow missed lunch, which seemed especially unfair.
Then Carol popped in briefly and held my hand again for a little while. I said I was starving hungry so she gave me a stick of the Kit Kat she had in her pocket, but somehow it didn’t taste right.
‘Oh no, I think I’m going to be sick!’ I gasped.
She managed to get a cardboard bowl under my chin just in time.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I gasped. ‘What a waste of your Kit Kat!’
‘Oh well, never mind,’ she said, though she sighed.
‘Do you think there’s something wrong with me – or my baby?’ I said. ‘It’s just taking so long and it hurts so terribly. Couldn’t I at least have some aspirin?’
‘I’m certain that’s not a good idea,’ she said. ‘But I’ll go and ask Sister Michaels if you’re ready for some pain relief.’
It seemed bizarre that she had to consult her to see if I needed it, when I was the one experiencing the pain, but it was clearly the rule. She went and fetched Sister Fisher, who looked suspiciously at the sick bowl.
‘What’s this dark stuff?’ she said. ‘It’s not blood, is it?’
‘No, Sister, she was just a little sick with chocolate,’ said Carol.
Sister Fisher frowned at me. ‘You shouldn’t be eating at this stage, you silly girl. Where on earth did you get the chocolate from?’
I saw the panic on Carol’s face.
‘I just smuggled it in,’ I said quickly. ‘Oh, Sister Fisher, please can’t you make the pain go away? I think I’m dying!’
‘Nobody’s allowed to die on my watch,’ said Sister Fisher. She checked me over, and put an odd metal thing on my tummy, leaning her head against it.
‘What’s that?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Ssh! I’m listening to your baby. Ah, I can hear his little heartbeat ticking like a clock,’ she said.
‘It’s a boy?’ I said, wondering if she could see through my skin too.
‘Or a girl. It’s a pretty safe bet it’s one or the other,’ said Sister Fisher. ‘Now cheer up, child, I can assure you you’re not dying. You’re doing well. Just a few more hours to go.’
A few more hours! I thought she must be joking – but she was right. They gave me the gas and air machine Belinda had told me about, but it made me feel sick again, and it didn’t really seem to make much difference to the pain. I couldn’t help screaming when it was at its peak, and a new nurse put her head round the door to say I was frightening another patient just starting her labour. I was past caring. Then Sister Fisher gave me some kind of injection which did blot out the pain a little, but it blotted me out too, so that I couldn’t properly focus, lost in a strange alien dreamworld.
It was supper time before they said I was fully dilated. It felt as if I’d been torn so wide apart I was ready to give birth to an elephant. I was so tired and woozy by this time it seemed a possibility. I pictured my baby like a little Dumbo, with enormous ears and a stubby trunk, and held onto my tummy, telling it that I’d love it no matter what.
Then they put me on a trolley and wheeled me into another room with a higher bed with terrifying stirrups at the end, and steel instruments laid out like bizarre cutlery in a tray. There was a doctor in a mask and gown who nodded at me, and pointed with a blue hand that I should lie on the bed. I thought he had some bizarre skin complaint. It took me a while to realize he was wearing surgical gloves.
‘Hello, Mother,’ he said to me, which took me totally by surprise. Mother! It was the first time anyone had called me that. Why didn’t he call me by my name? Why didn’t he comment on my age?
He didn’t seem at all interested in me, just my nether regions. He told the nurse to get my legs strapped up to the stirrups. I hated the indignity.
‘I don’t need to be strapped to them! I promise I won’t run away,’ I said.
‘There now. It’s simply so that Doctor can see properly,’ said the nurse.
We seemed to be stripped of all identity – I was Mother, he was Doctor, she was Nurse. She wasn’t the older nurse, she wasn’t Carol, she was someone new and I wasn’t sure I liked her. She was curly blonde, and though I couldn’t see much of her face because she was wearing a mask, she seemed very pretty.
‘Where’s Nurse Carol?’ I asked.
