Birth in Suburbia, Carol Falaki [electronic reader .TXT] 📗

He sat down next to her and leant over to kiss her cheek.
“How are you doing, love?” he asked.
“Okay,” this was not the truth; she was scared. By now Helen could feel there was something happening behind the screen.
“What are they doing?” she asked Gemma.
“The surgeon is cleaning your stomach now, he’ll start in a moment,” Gemma replied.
Amy came to say hello. “I may have to take your baby straight to the baby doctor she said, before bringing him, or her, to see you, it just depends how your baby is. The paediatrician is here, over in the corner by the rescuscitaire.”
Helen and Nigel nodded simultaneously. There was too much to take in, Helen was aware of bright lights, busy people and music, something classical and vaguely familiar, but drowned by voices and the many unfamiliar sounds, like the humming of machinery, and the occasional gentle clunk of metal on metal. She noticed a blurred reflection of green movement in the large theatre light above her, and deliberately averted her gaze, along with all thought of what she might see, or imagine she could see, in that reflection. She felt slightly cold and nauseous,
“Are you okay, Helen, you’ve gone a bit pale?' Nigel asked.
The anaesthetist, who had introduced himself as Dr Thomas, made an adjustment to her intravenous infusion and the nausea settled quickly. Nigel bent his head to kiss her cheek. He smelt of fresh sweat and cologne, reassuringly familiar, reminding her of home and safety.
Helen could feel some tugging and pulling, her body moved, swaying very slightly from side to side with the efforts of the doctors. Then she had a sensation, which in her imagination took her back to her childhood, to one Christmas when she was about six or seven years old.
She had awoken to find her Santa sack at the bottom of the bed. It was crammed full of presents, but the one she really wanted was at the very bottom. So she had put her hand in and reached as far as she could and rummaged around until she felt the familiar
shape beneath the paper, which she grabbed and then tugged. It had got a bit stuck on the way out and everything else in the sack was shoved and pushed out of the way. Determined she would not let go, and then success! She had pulled and wriggled her present out of the Santa sack. The Christmas wrapping came off in one go, to reveal a baby doll, with eyes that opened and shut and a sweet rosebud mouth. Helen still had the doll; she had kept it all these years.
“Seven twenty seven,” she heard a voice call, and then the most fantastic sound she had ever heard in her life. A quiet watery gurgle, accelerating instantly, to a full throttle release of primordial indignation; it was her baby’s cry.
Tears filled Helen’s eyes, she looked at Nigel, he was crying too. Amy came around the screen with a chubby pink baby with a mop of black hair.
“What have you got?” she asked them, displaying their naked angry infant.
“We’ve got a bloody beautiful baby girl!” Nigel exclaimed.
“Is this your camera?” Bob asked.
Nigel nodded, and the flash startled the infant girl.
“I’m just going to show her to the paediatrician and wrap her in a dry towel,” Amy said. “Then I’ll bring her straight back. What are you going to call her?”
“Chloe,” Helen replied, glancing at Nigel who
nodded his approval.
“Shall I weigh her?” Amy asked.
“Can we have a cuddle first?”
“Of course, I can weigh her when I put her identity bands on later.”
Nigel held Chloe in his arms, he felt clumsy at first but Gemma showed him how to support her head and positioned Chloe so that Helen could see her face.
It took more than half an hour for Dr Shah to sew Helen up. When the suturing was nearly complete Nigel was taken out, with Chloe, to the recovery room to wait for Helen to come out of theatre.
Helen was in the recovery room for a while, during which time she had her first real cuddle with Chloe, who had weighed a huge nine pounds and half an ounce.
Amy and Gemma were going off duty, the day staff were coming on, and so it was another midwife who helped Helen to give Chloe her first breast feed.
This was difficult at first. Helen was unable to sit up, and the drips and wrist attachment for patient-controlled analgesia were getting in the way, but Chloe latched on well, eventually, and fed, all the while gazing up at her mum, with wide and wondering indigo eyes.
Ed came into the recovery room to see Helen before she left for home at the end of her night shift.
“Congratulations,” she said enthusiastically. “You did really well, what a beautiful chubby baby, and look at all that hair.”
“I’m sorry to have been so much trouble,” Helen said.
“We’ll have no more of that,” Ed said with a change of tone, which caused Helen to tighten her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears again.
“What in the world have you got to apologise for?” Ed said kindly and gave Helen a hug.
“Thank you,” Helen said and smiled.
At nine 'o’clock on Saturday 17 July, Nigel began his announcement telephone calls. Anne was his first call.


Chapter Sixteen


At Home


Liz drove home slowly. She had to stop twice on the way when she was gripped by two more contractions. The pain was similar to the horrid period pains she had suffered as a teenager, only as well as radiating from her lower back to her abdomen this pain reflected along the front of her thighs.
It was usually a ten-minute drive, but took Liz twenty; fortunately the roads were clear so she could stop when she needed, without annoying other motorists. Her mum was at the door when she arrived home, watching for the car, and went to Liz on the path when it became obvious Liz was having a contraction.
“That’s four in thirty-five minutes, Mum,” she said. “Hallelujah.”
“Are you all right love?” Maggie asked her. “Are you managing?”
“I’m fine, Mum, when I’m not having one, that is; you can’t exactly ignore them, can you?”
“No, Liz, that’s what they’re there for, to let you
know it’s time.” Liz went into the house and headed for the bathroom to change her pad and check her amniotic fluid loss was still clear.
“Mum,” she called after a couple of minutes. “Come and look at this, is it okay?” Maggie checked her pad. There was a large blob of blood-stained mucous on it, although the fluid she was losing, in trickles and occasional gushes, was still clear and watery.
“That’s fine, there’s a lot more mucous than blood, it’s your ‘show', and it’s a good sign that your cervix has been ripening, and may even have started to open.”
“Only started to open?” Liz was worried. “These contractions are so painful - are you telling me they're going to get even worse?”
Maggie smiled, she looked calm, but later confessed to Harry that she had felt quite anxious about the idea of watching their own baby, Liz, go through all that and would have rather given birth herself.
“Liz,” she said. “You have had less than half a dozen contractions, it’s going to take a lot more than that to birth your baby. You need to think about using your time now; doing what makes you feel the best you can in the circumstances. Rest if you can. Believe me, you will need all the energy you can muster for later on.”
“Should we contact Rachel?” Rachel was her midwife. She had been to the house a couple of times to discuss Liz’s home birth and had brought a green plastic bag full of soft equipment, like pads, protective
sheets and a delivery pack.
“I’ll ring her, just to let her know, but I don’t think she needs to come rushing round just yet,” Maggie said.
Liz decided to have a bath, but first her mum insisted on washing the bath thoroughly, telling Liz it was to avoid infection.
“Because your waters have gone, and we don’t know how long you are going to be yet,” she explained. “And you should have the water comfortable, not too hot; we don’t want to overheat our baby.”
The bath was very relaxing and Liz had been in it for twenty minutes or so before she realised she hadn’t had another contraction. She decided to have some breakfast and then rest.
Downstairs in the kitchen everything looked like a usual Saturday morning. There was an aroma of fresh coffee and bacon, her dad was reading the sports pages and her mum was spreading butter generously onto toast.
“You Know when I was born they weren’t expecting me,” her dad said. “I was the second twin, they didn’t have all these scans and things back then and I gave my mother and the midwife a bit of a surprise. They were expecting the placenta and they got me!
“Oh dad that sounds awful, I’m glad you are you and not a placenta, but I’m also glad there is only one baby in her,” Liz said, patting her stomach.
“It was in the middle of the night,” Harry continued,
and when she saw me arrive your grandmother said, ‘Put the light out you’re attracting them.’ ”
“I’ve phoned Rachel,” Maggie said, ignoring her husband’s remarks, "She is coming later, after her calls, to see how you are doing, unless we need her earlier of course. We can contact her on her mobile if we need to.”
Liz was hungry. She ate a bowl of cereal and some toast and marmalade.
“I’m going to see if I can relax for a bit,” she said, “Although I feel too excited to relax. Mum, the contractions have gone off. I haven’t had one for nearly half an hour.” Almost immediately, she felt the now familiar low backache. It swiftly radiated