An Enormous Yes (33 page)

‘It’s the baby’s heartbeat.’ Amy moved her gown aside and pulled
irritably
at the monitor’s two straps: one positioned just above her ‘bump’, one lying tautly across it. ‘This lower strap is picking it up, which I suppose is reassuring in a way. But I can’t stand the feeling of being tied down, as if I’m in a straitjacket or—’ She broke off, all at once, clutching Maria’s hand in a vice-like grip.

‘God, another contraction!’ Baring her teeth in a grimace, she shifted on the bed in a vain effort to get comfortable.

‘Try to relax through the pain,’ Maria urged, wincing as her fingers were all but crushed.

Amy said nothing more until the contraction had faded, then slumped back on the pillows with a groan. ‘Relax? You must be joking! I’ve never felt less relaxed in my life. The last few hours have been a nightmare. Even when I arrived here and was lying in Triage, my waters suddenly broke. The sheet was absolutely soaked and I felt completely gross.’

‘It’s just a normal part of labour, darling.’ Maria was worryingly aware that Amy was so fastidious, she was bound to find it difficult to accept the earthier aspects of childbirth, without balking at their ‘grossness’. And, since she had continually postponed any antenatal training, this crisis had caught her woefully unprepared.

‘And, of course, I’m terribly concerned about the baby. I mean, suppose it’s born deformed or something? Or pitifully weak, like Sam. I can hardly bear to think about it.’

Despite her similar fears, Maria tried to take her own advice and at least
look
relaxed, however far she was from feeling it. She settled herself in the bedside chair and decided to let Amy talk, since she was clearly still
overwrought
. If she could get things off her chest, perhaps she would settle down and focus on handling her labour in the most constructive way.

‘And I’m really gutted that Hugo isn’t here. I can’t even get hold of him on his mobile, although I’ve tried half a dozen times.’

‘Yes, I tried, too, but I presumed he must have gone to bed. The strain of the court case must leave him pretty drained.’

‘But he
wasn’t
in court – not today. It’s Friday, remember, so all the courts are closed. He did ring me late last night – which was the early hours in Dubai – said he couldn’t sleep, because he was so het up about an
emergency
meeting arranged for today by his lawyers A big, important one, he said, with all the agents and assistants there, and a lawyer from the PI insurers – oh, and Stuart Smith, that friend of his who’s also involved in the case. Then he rang again in their lunch break and sounded just as fraught; said the afternoon session might drag on quite a while, and he wouldn’t be able to take any calls. Of course, I told him not to worry, because for me it was only eight in the morning and, at that stage, I was perfectly all right. But it’s a different matter now. I need him here, beside me, yet he can’t possibly get back in time. Even if he caught a flight this instant – out of the question, obviously – it would still be a good ten hours before he got here. And, anyway, he’s still not answering his phone. I’ve rung his hotel, too – in fact, just before you turned up, but they said he wasn’t back.’

‘But the meeting must be over by now. It’s nearly eleven at night, his time.’

‘I know. I can’t understand it. I mean, he’s usually—’ She broke off as
another contraction held her in its grip and she lay ramrod-stiff, until it passed, gritting her teeth in pain.

‘You need to breathe through them, darling. I’ll breathe with you, if that would help.’

‘Oh, Mum, you are a sweetheart!’ Once the pain had passed, Amy even managed a smile. ‘Rather than offering to help, you’ve every right to say “I told you so!” I mean, all those times you tried to persuade me to go to
relaxation
classes and I didn’t take any notice. But, you know, it wasn’t just a question of being short of time; it was more …’ She paused and frowned. ‘This may sound crazy, but the whole prospect of labour seemed completely unreal. I knew all about it in theory, of course, but I’m only beginning to realize now that theory’s no damned use.’

Again, Maria concealed her unease. Amy had always taken an over-
intellectual
approach to life, which didn’t bode well for the next twelve hours or more. Her own labour had lasted twenty-four hours – an ordeal she had never forgotten. ‘Well, at least
I’m
here, my love, and I’ll help you all I can. And if you give me the hotel number, I’ll keep checking with them, to see if Hugo’s back. He’s bound to turn up sooner or later, and I’ll make absolutely sure he catches the next flight out. If I take care of that,
you
can concentrate on what’s happening in your body and try to blank out everything else.’ Was that even possible, Maria wondered, when Amy was so used to being in control and would want to make the calls herself?

The midwife returned at that moment and, having checked the monitor, jotted a line or two on Amy’s notes. ‘I know you haven’t made a birth-plan, my dear, but have you given any thought to the type of pain relief you may want?’

‘Well, I’m tempted by an epidural, but also pretty scared, because I’ve heard awful things about them.’

‘That’s surprising,’ Jean said, ‘because they’re actually very popular with patients. Although, admittedly, there
are
certain risks I need to spell out, before you make a decision. Firstly …’

Before Jean had reached the third risk, Amy was already shaking her head. ‘I don’t like the sound of any of that. And anyway, I read about a case where they couldn’t get the needle in, and it all went horribly wrong. And, after four failed attempts, the woman was screaming in agony.’

‘Well, that kind of thing is exceptionally rare, and the staff here are—’

‘Even so,’ Amy interrupted, ‘I don’t want to take the risk. The woman in question was still having problems a whole year later, and that would be disastrous for me. I have only three months’ maternity leave, so I simply must be fit enough to return to work in late October.’

Amy was still focused on her job, Maria realized with dismay. Indeed, if she’d had to leave the office mid-afternoon today, there were probably things she had failed to complete, which might be preying on her mind. ‘From all I’ve heard,’ she put in, aware her daughter might not cope without some powerful analgesic, ‘an epidural can really help. There’s always a worst-case scenario but, if Jean says that’s so unlikely, are you sure you won’t change your mind?’ She herself would have welcomed an epidural had they been available in 1972. Instead, drugless, hopeless and frantic, she had shrieked so loud they must have heard her up in Scotland, and actually attacked the midwife who had come running to her aid.

However, Amy’s ‘no’ was so vehement, Maria desisted from saying any more; knowing she mustn’t interfere.

‘Well, we can give you Pethidine and gas-and-air,’ Jean said, ‘but not at this early stage.’

Amy let out a cry; gasping for breath at the pain of another contraction.

‘Amy,’ Jean said, firmly, seating herself in the second chair, ‘if you tense up all your muscles, your breathing becomes fast and shallow, which only makes things worse. So I’m going to show you a breathing drill that’ll help you handle the contractions. And, if you could learn it, too, Maria, that would be a bonus, because you can encourage your daughter to keep it up. I, or one of my colleagues, will stay here most all the time, although I may have to pop out occasionally. But, once you’ve established a good
technique
, Amy, you’ll feel much more in control.’

As Jean began to demonstrate the breathing, there was a tap on the door and in walked a statuesque woman in a different, darker uniform. ‘Hello, Amy. I’m the senior midwife, Harriet, and I’ve just come to introduce myself. How are you feeling?’

‘Much better with my mother here. But worried, obviously.’

‘Try not to be, my dear. We’re monitoring you and the baby very closely and everything seems to be going well so far.’

Maria pondered that ‘so far’. Did Harriet envisage problems further down the line?

Harriet murmured something to her colleague about needing her a moment, which made Maria start worrying again. Perhaps that patient rushed to theatre had died during a Caesarean, in which case, they
would
need extra help and, if they happened to be short-staffed, Amy might be neglected.

‘Amy, I shan’t be long,’ Jean told her, ‘then we’ll resume the breathing practice. Just press this buzzer if there’s anything you need, OK?’

‘Anything I need,’ Amy repeated, ironically, once they were alone again.
‘I rushed here in such a state, I didn’t bring so much as a toothbrush.’ Suddenly, she giggled – a most welcome sound to Maria. ‘You should see the list of stuff one of the online sites tells you to pack for your labour – video equipment, a CD of your favourite tunes, a laptop with computer games, jigsaw puzzles, playing cards—’

‘For heaven’s sake,’ Maria interrupted, laughing now herself. ‘It sounds more suited to an over-sixties cruise!’

‘They even suggest you bring a rolling pin.’

‘What, they imagine you’ll have time to rustle up an apple pie?’

‘No, it’s for your partner to give you a nice, firm massage, in case you develop backache.’

‘Well, I’m not sure I’d find a rolling pin in the Fulham Road, at this hour, but I could nip out and buy you a toothbrush.’

‘Never mind a toothbrush – what I would like, Mum, is some orange juice and Lucozade. I haven’t had a thing since breakfast, so I’m feeling really empty, but I’m not allowed to eat – only drinks, Jean says. Could you be an angel and go and fetch me some? The café may be closed by now but there’s a drinks machine in the basement. Hurry back, though, please. I know it’s quite pathetic, but so long as you’re here, I don’t feel half as panicky.’

‘Don’t worry, my sweet, I intend to stay and see this baby born! And I’ll be back in two ticks, I promise.’

Once she returned to Maternity Reception, with a good supply of drinks, she paused only for a moment, outside the double doors, in order to summon all her strength. Amy needed her – maybe more than ever before. In Hugo’s absence, she had become her daughter’s birth partner, and thus was utterly determined to offer every possible help and encouragement it was in her power to give.

‘M
um, get
off
!’ Amy snatched the cool flannel Maria was just laying across her forehead and flung it to one side. ‘I don’t want you fussing.’

The midwife exchanged a sympathetic glance with Maria. Cheery, chubby Linda had taken over from Jean at eight o’clock and, although it was now midnight, her genial good humour showed no sign of cracking, despite Amy’s angry outbursts.

‘I’m sick and tired of everyone! I wish you’d all—’ The rest of the sentence foundered in a shriek as she was gripped by another contraction. Maria sat, impotent and silent, willing to take on this labour herself, if only that could spare her daughter.

‘All I want is the pain to stop,’ Amy muttered, once she was able to speak again.

‘Well, in that case, my love—’ Linda paused a moment and made an addition to the maternity notes ‘—I suggest we give you a Pethidine
injection
? That’ll make you more relaxed.’

‘What are the side-effects?’ Amy demanded, tetchily.

‘It’s perfectly safe, given at this stage – first, let me assure you of that. It can make you feel a bit nauseous, and also rather dozy, but sometimes a little drowsiness can be a good thing.’

‘Not for me it wouldn’t,’ Amy retorted, in the same peevish tone. ‘I’ve told you already, I need to be in control.’

‘You
will
be in control, but just a lot less tense.’

‘It’s a type of morphine, isn’t it? I suppose you’re just trying to dope me, because I’m not the ideal patient.’

‘Not at all,’ Linda said, amicably; her supplies of patience apparently
inexhaustible
. ‘Many women find it very beneficial. But you might prefer to try some gas-and-air instead. Unlike Pethidine, that’s out of your system in just a couple of minutes, so if you don’t like the effects, you can stop immediately.’

‘And what
are
the effects?’ Amy still sounded deeply suspicious.

‘Well, again, it may make you feel a bit sick, but only if you over-breathe. And if I show you how to use it, there’s no great danger of that.’

‘Why not try it, darling?’ Maria urged, wanting to cooperate with Linda in any way she could.

Amy turned on her in fury. ‘Stop interfering, Mum!’

Maria tried to disguise her sense of hurt. For the first few hours, Amy had welcomed her help – indeed, seemed supremely grateful for her
presence
– but now every suggestion she made was either rejected or derided. She was beginning to feel useless and expendable and, in the absence of any practical role, her fears kept creeping back: suppose Amy’s panicky state was damaging the baby in some way? And what the hell had happened to Hugo? Despite her frequent calls, there was still no answer from his mobile, and his hotel insisted he wasn’t back yet, despite the fact it was 4 a.m. in Dubai. Had he had some dreadful accident? Was Amy about to be widowed, on top of everything else?

The next contraction brought such piercing yells, Maria could feel the pain lasering through her own body, as if she were re-living her own labour. Certainly, she would never forget that mounting, racking, relentless
escalation
of the pain. If only she could hold her daughter’s hand again, kiss her forehead, stroke her hair, as she’d been doing up till now, instead of slumping doltish in her seat.

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Amy announced, in the lull between
contractions
. ‘I can’t take any more of this, so I
will
have gas-and-air.’

With another of her sunny smiles, Linda unhooked the apparatus from the wall above the bed and handed it to Amy. ‘Breathe in through this mouthpiece, Amy, when you feel the next contraction starting. Take three or four good lungfuls, then let it go, as the pain dies down.’

All went well until Linda instructed, ‘OK, now let it go.’

Ignoring the midwife, Amy continued to gulp down ravenous mouthfuls, like a desperate famine-victim.

Linda adopted a firmer tone. ‘Take your mouth away now, please. You mustn’t over-breathe, Amy.’

‘I’m scared to stop,’ Amy panted, freeing her nose and mouth for a grudging couple of seconds, ‘in case I start too late for the next contraction.’

‘You won’t, my love, if the two of us co-operate.’ Linda seated herself close beside the bed. ‘If I place my hand on your stomach, like I did before, then I can feel your contractions and—’

‘
No!
’ Amy snapped, cutting her off in mid-sentence. ‘I don’t want anything else on my “bump”. The straps are bad enough.’

‘In that case,’ Linda concurred, compliant as ever, ‘why don’t you give me a sign as each contraction starts, and I’ll say, “Right, breathe in
now
”? That’ll be your cue to take in a few deep breaths, then, when the
contraction
eases off, you release the mouthpiece and breathe normally. Shall we give it a try?’

Amy nodded, clutching the handle so tightly her knuckles showed white with tension.

‘Right, breathe in
now
!’

Maria felt the effort in her own lungs as Amy took a frantic, gasping breath.

Yet she saw her daughter visibly relax, so it must be working, thank God.

‘Amy,’ Linda prompted, after a couple of minutes had passed, ‘the contraction must have worn off by now, so please let go of the mouthpiece.’

Again, Amy took no notice, continuing to snort in gas-and-air at a
voracious
, frenzied rate, only breaking off with an anguished wail. ‘Shit! I’m going to be sick.’

Linda was ready with a bowl and, having mopped Amy’s face, asked Maria to give her some water while she emptied the bowl and cleaned up. More than ready to help, Maria held the glass to her daughter’s lips, then settled her back against the pillows.

‘This really is gross,’ Amy muttered, screwing up her nose against the smell.

That word again. How, Maria, wondered, with an increasing sense of dismay, would her stylish, squeamish daughter ever endure this gruelling process to its end?

‘It’s important to ration yourself,’ Linda said, returning to Amy’s side, ‘or you
will
be sick, and also feel dizzy and light-headed. And you need to do what I say, because that’ll make things easier for all of us, OK?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ Tears streamed down Amy’s face. Suddenly, she seemed defeated; her former fury subsiding into deep distress.

‘Your mum and I are here to support you, so try to draw on that support instead of fighting it, OK?’

This time, Amy co-operated and actually succeeded in establishing a regular breathing pattern; becoming noticeably more relaxed.

‘Brilliant!’ Linda encouraged. ‘You’re doing really well. In fact, now you’ve got the hang of it, I’m going to leave you with Mum for just ten minutes or so. If you tell her when the contractions start, she can encourage you to breathe, and remind you to release the mouthpiece, just as I’ve been doing. Is that all right with you, Maria?’

‘Yes, fine.’ Maria feigned a confidence she was very far from feeling. If
Amy panicked, or vomited again, would she be able to re-establish the procedure without Linda at her side?

‘It’s very simple, actually, but if you need me, just buzz.’

Maria positioned herself beside the bed, feeling ridiculously nervous, as she awaited Amy’s next contraction, signalled by a harrowing groan. ‘Right, breathe in
now
!’ she said, copying not just Linda’s words, but her calm, authoritative tone.

To her surprise, everything proceeded smoothly; Amy following her instructions and even letting go of the mouthpiece every time. After a few contractions, she even dared relax, relishing the fact that, once again, she had a useful role.

However, as Amy inhaled at the start of the next contraction, Maria suddenly realized, to her horror and alarm, that the sound of the baby’s heartbeat had inexplicably cut off. The monitor was now eerily silent; the only noise that of Amy’s panting breath. Oh my God, she thought, the infant heart must have stopped. Had the gas-and-air affected it? Had it lost its frail grip on life?

Frenziedly, she pressed the buzzer. No one came. She tried again, so hard it hurt her finger, yet still there was no response. Perhaps Linda was helping out in yet another emergency and thus deaf and blind to this one.

She leapt to her feet, giving Amy what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Her daughter, thank God, was concentrating so deeply on the breathing, she appeared unaware of the crisis. ‘Back in a sec,’ she said, casually, although her pounding heart belied the offhand tone.

‘Don’t leave me, Mum!’ Amy cried, immediately losing her concentration and returning to her former fractious state.

Torn between her daughter and the baby, Maria knew she must get help. ‘I just need to ask Linda something,’ she said and, without stopping to argue, barged out into the corridor and ran full-pelt to the desk. ‘Quick, come
now
! The baby’s heartbeat’s stopped!’

There was no sign of Linda, but a different midwife rushed back with her to Amy’s room and went straight over to the monitor. While she checked it, Maria could feel her own body pumping with adrenaline, her palms damp with perspiration. Would the last eight months prove so much wasted time; the prelude to an infant’s funeral?

‘Don’t worry,’ the new midwife assured them – a petite and pretty Asian, in a dark blue headscarf that matched her uniform. ‘The baby’s moved a bit lower down, that’s all. It tends to affect the monitor, but it’s no cause for alarm. Everything’s just fine.’ She readjusted the straps and, instantly, the galloping noise was restored.

Maria’s relief was so colossal, she wanted to kneel at the woman’s feet. An expert and professional was infinitely superior to some bumbling, nervy mother like herself.

Amy, however, seemed distinctly thrown and, even after Linda returned and took over from her colleague, continued groaning and complaining. ‘Can’t you let me off this bloody thing?’ she wailed, pulling against the straps. ‘I can’t stand it any longer.’

‘It’s important for the baby,’ Linda reminded her, patiently, ‘as I explained to you before. We need to keep a constant check on how he or she is doing, right up to the birth.’

‘And when will
that
be?’ Amy asked, sarcastically. ‘Next week?’

‘You’re doing great,’ Linda soothed. ‘In half an hour, you’re due for another internal, and I reckon you’ll be six centimetres dilated.’

‘That’s nothing.’ Amy gave a sigh of mingled exhaustion and despair. ‘I’ve still got ages to go.’

‘Yes, but every contraction brings you nearer the moment when you’ll hold your son or daughter in your arms.’

Amy’s only response was a grunt, followed by a gasping shriek, as she fought the next contraction.

Her gown was rucked up in the effort, affording Maria a glimpse of her daughter’s naked belly. It looked so huge and solid, she longed to crack it open like an egg and release the baby simply, swiftly, without these hours of pain.

‘I’m bloody hot,’ Amy protested, once the contraction had passed. ‘And getting disgustingly sweaty under these straps. Why do I have to have my baby in fucking July?’

Maria felt embarrassed by the swear words, which Amy never normally used. But, as she recalled from her own experience, labour made you
foul-tongued
and hysterical. She wrung out the flannel in the coldest possible water and sponged her daughter’s sweaty face and hands. Expecting a rebuff, she was inordinately pleased when Amy squeezed her hand
affectionately
instead.

‘Right,’ said Linda, ‘let’s get back to the gas-and-air, in time for the next contraction.’

Leaving Linda to cope, Maria moved to the window, still needing to recover from the recent shock. She pushed aside the curtain, but the frosted glass blankedit to Amy – not until she’s stronger – but I’m in pretty serious trouble. The
only thing that matters at this moment out any view and all she could see was murky, clotted
darkness
, pressing against the pane. Wasn’t that like the present situation: everything sombre, blurry and uncertain – and, as Amy had just pointed out – no prospect of any light until much more time had passed? Yet, whatever
it required in terms of patience and endurance, she knew she had to be there for her daughter and – please God – for the baby, if it
did
survive.

‘Hi! I’m Dr Herbert, the doctor on duty tonight. I’ve just come to say hello.’

Maria murmured a greeting to the tubby man in blue scrubs – a
genial-looking
character, with a shock of ginger hair and joltingly scarlet socks. Amy, however, barely opened her eyes. The change in her was remarkable; no longer irascible and overwrought, but relaxed and even dozy. Three hours ago, she’d become so distraught, she’d changed her mind about the Pethidine injection – suddenly grabbing Linda’s arm and screaming at the top of her voice that she’d swallow a
ton
of morphine, if only it would dull the pain. Not only had the opiate worked; its effect had been dramatic.

‘I hear you’ve been a tower of strength,’ the doctor remarked to Maria, once he had checked the monitor and exchanged a few words with Linda.

A tower of strength? A ruined shack, more like it. Her back ached, her legs were cramped, her stomach rumbled audibly, but with Amy still in labour it seemed reprehensible to think about herself. Yet she couldn’t help wondering how long she could continue to play a supportive role while she felt so tired and drained. Her watch said 4.15, but time seemed suspended, as if she’d been confined to this room for days or even weeks.

Once the doctor had left, Linda put a hand on her shoulder, as if picking up on her thoughts. ‘That Pethidine injection will wear off pretty soon, so why not take the chance, while Amy’s quiet, to give yourself a break? You do look really weary, and I think you need to stretch your legs and get something to eat and drink. You’ll find vending machines on the ground floor and the lower-ground. They’re not that marvellous, to tell the truth, but at least they’ll fill the hole.’

‘Good idea. Thanks so much. In fact, thanks for everything.’ In contrast to her own state, Linda was still her serene and energetic self, despite the fact she had been on duty for eight-and-a-quarter hours. ‘You’ve been an absolute saint.’