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

splashy waves in the mug she now held between two hands. For a moment she was again reminded of her dad. She put the mug of tea down carefully, beside the computer.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, they are both fine.”
“There you are. I told you there was nothing to worry about. You’ll be fine too.”
Sean’s dismissal, of Debbie’s worries about childbirth was unhelpful. He thought he was saying the right thing to her, by telling her not to worry. Perhaps for some women that would have been true, but for Debbie an acknowledgement of the reality of what she was going to face, and some responsive support was what she craved.
But she was thinking, Chrissy, what about her? What could he mean? Was ‘her’ Chrissy, or was it herself? He had said "No she doesn’t know anything – yet", but about what? She needed time to consider what she had overheard. Above all she wanted to prepare herself, she wanted to be ready and in charge of her emotions. She wanted to think clearly. What did Chrissy have to do with it? Chrissy was her friend. She was going to be with Michael, wasn’t she?
“That’s wonderful news, isn’t it?” Sean and then, “Debbie, I have to go out for a couple of hours.”
“Tonight? Now? Why?” this time Debbie’s dismay was only too obvious. She began to cry. Sean stood up and went over to her,
“Debbie, we are going be all right.” He held her close to him, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. “Please trust me. I will explain tomorrow, I can’t explain now, and I have to go out tonight.”
He collected a jacket from the bedroom and was gone before she had time to ask him anything more, leaving her confused and alone at the top of the stairs.
The remainder of the evening passed quietly. Debbie sat with Scooter for much of the time. There were too many things to think about and she was very tired.
Sean returned home late to find her asleep in the chair. He woke her gently and helped her up to bed where she lay sleepless for the rest of the night.
On Sunday, Debbie spoke to Nigel. Helen and Chloe were doing well. She decided to visit Chrissy that morning, to look for clues. She would visit Helen and Liz in the afternoon. She planned to shop for a gift for Liz before then.
Sean was busy, nothing new in that.
“I’m taking you out this evening, so don’t be late back,” he'd said to her when she left the house. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten her birthday tomorrow after all.
A sense of abstraction had come to her, like a blessing, during the long sleepless night; but only after she had come to a point where continued
speculation was too painful.
Debbie had no idea what she was going to ask Chrissy, and when she discovered Chrissy was not at home she decided that focusing on Helen and Liz would help her through the day. She spent the morning shopping, and had her lunch in the supermarket cafe.
Helen had a side room. When Debbie entered the room, the first person she saw was Anne. She was sitting in the corner in a large green chair, wearing a matching cream and green outfit. She was cradling Helen’s baby in her arms. Anne reminded Debbie of a Madonna and child painting she had once seen in a gallery in London. She looked ten years younger than when Debbie had seen her last. It had been only a few weeks ago, but now seemed an age.
By contrast Helen appeared tired and flushed. Her eyes had lost their mischievous sparkle.
“Hello you, how are you feeling?” Debbie gave Helen a long hug and then was drawn to Chloe,
“She is absolutely gorgeous, the spit of her dad, “That’s a contradiction in terms if ever I heard one,” Helen retorted, holding her stomach. “No-one can look like Nigel and be gorgeous.”
“And all that hair, look at it - it’s standing on end at her crown. It looks electrically charged!”
“I know, it won’t lie down, though we’ve tried.”
“How are you?” Debbie asked again, but she also meant, how was it?
“I’m good, really. It only hurts when I laugh, or cough, or sneeze for that matter. Glad it’s over with. A bit sore, but I have this watch-thing here. Morphine apparently, it helps a lot, but makes me woozy.”
Debbie put the flowers she had brought in a vase then sat and held Helen’s hand.
“The flowers are for you, this is for Chloe.” Helen opened the gift Debbie had brought, a beautiful dress, white with pink rose-buds, age nought to three months.
“You can take it back if you don’t like it, or you if need a bigger size. I bought one similar for Liz.”
“Liz?”
“She had her baby yesterday, at home. I thought Nigel would have told you?”
“Nigel doesn’t know. He mustn’t have spoken to them. He’ll be back soon. He’s gone home for some spare nightgowns and knickers. I hadn’t planned to be staying in hospital for a few days. Is Liz still at home, did she have to come in?”
“She’s home, I’m going to see her later.”
“Give her my love, lucky girl.”
“You’re lucky too, Helen.”
“I know, Debbie, I’m lucky that we’re both here, safe and sound, but, there’s this feeling, difficult to explain really, especially when I feel I should be ecstatic. It makes me feel guilty somehow.”
Debbie watched a tear form in Helen’s eye. It swelled and spilled onto her cheek, rolling down and melting into a small blue flower on her nightdress.
“I didn’t finish it. I wanted so much to do it myself. I didn’t finish the job.”
Debbie squeezed her hand. She was not sure what to say.
“That feeling will pass, dear,” Anne said. “I know it will. It’s so confusing. Disappointment, relief, and you keep thinking about what happened, wondering why? You have been through a major event, Helen dear. Now you must rest and recover, at your own pace. I’m just so relieved that you are both here.” Anne looked down at Chloe and stroked her hair.
“I know mum but I can’t help thinking.”
Debbie squeezed Helen’s hand. She thought of her own absent mum. She decided not to ask Helen for details of her labour. It was all too close for comfort.
Helen joined this conspiracy of silence, to protect both of them; Debbie from the detail, and herself from talking about things she didn’t have the energy to deal with right now. Would words and description make it better or worse for Debbie, Helen wondered? She didn’t know the answer to this question. Today she felt like yesterday’s beer, tired and flat. Tomorrow she would tell herself it was done, she had done her best, and it was time to learn about living life, as a mum.
Nigel returned to the hospital at three o’clock and Debbie left at three thirty.
“Give Liz our love,” Helen said. “Oh and happy birthday tomorrow; Nigel, in my bag there’s a present
and a card.”
Nigel lifted it out and presented Debbie with her birthday present and a hug.
“Not to be opened until tomorrow, strict orders.”
“Thank you, you really shouldn’t have, not today.”
“I got it ages ago, Debbie. Have a lovely birthday.”
Liz was in the front room on the settee. Baby Arian, dainty with fluffy brown hair was nestled in her arms sleeping. Maggie made tea and Harry sat in the armchair reading his paper.
“Would you like to hold her?” Liz offered, and between the two of them they managed awkwardly to transfer her to Debbie’s arms.
“We’ll both be good at this soon,” Liz laughed, “We’ll be chucking them all over the place, like professionals.”
Arian rested on the top of Debbie’s pregnant stomach like a dish on a tray, and was soon pushed and prodded by the unborn infant.
“That’s early infant rivalry if ever I saw it,” Liz was laughing. She reclaimed her baby.
“You look so well. How was it Liz?” Debbie wanted, from Liz, answers to the questions she had not been able to ask Helen. “I hope I have a normal birth, I don’t want a caesarean. What’s the secret?”
“There’s no secret really Debbie. It’s hard and it hurts. You have to work with it and try your hardest to remember the pain has a purpose, even though it’s
awful. Try not to back off from it. I found it helped me to sink into it to try and relax, but it wasn’t easy, and relaxing didn’t take the pain away, although it did help. I learned that it got worse when I tensed up. You can feel it coming, and you know what it will feel like, and that apprehension can make it worse, don’t let your apprehension take you over. Stay with it and believe you can do it. Just do one contraction at a time and it will come to an end.”
“What about the things we learned in class?”
“The slow breathing out, the rocking, and the massage – I found all of those helped to pass the time. Diversions really, but they helped. Leo was good at the massage, and so was my mum. The warm water helped a lot. Rachel, the midwife was great. The student midwife was lovely, Gemma. I think she was nearly as delighted as I was. And being at home, that was good.”
Liz smiled down at baby Arian and stroked her hair. After a moment’s thought she continued. “There came a point, near the end, when I really believed I couldn’t go on, but knowing that you’re nearly there, that keeps you going. It’s really difficult when you don’t know how long it will go on for, or how much worse it’s going to get.
When it came down to it though, my body was doing something that was beyond my thoughts, and it knew what it was doing. I had to allow it, I think that acceptance of the contractions, for what they are, and what they are doing, is important. There is no
point in resisting. Resistance can’t stop the incredible power of it. You just have to get on with