by Jane Yeadon
Outside, Belfast might be roaring and grumbling and inside there was about to be a war but I didn’t care. I’d gone deaf, dazzled and delighted because a head had made its debut.
I continued, ‘You’ve done it! Wonderful! Now! Idling time, foot off and think of …’ Now what would appeal to the farmer in this wife? My mind raced, then, ‘Chickens! Chook chook, Denise! That’s it! Great! Now clocking time nearly over, just another wee burst for the shoulders.’
I spread the fingers of my left hand. At least, and even though it felt like a flipper, I’d got this one properly gloved. I hooked it under an emerging arm then, with both hands, helped out the little baby.
‘It’s a boy!’
As if on cue, sunshine glanced in the window, making the room less clinical. Denise’s yell was enough to drown out the baby’s but by the time the cord was cut and he was lifted, handed over and checked that he’d more fingers than the deliverer, he’d begun to successfully register. Unfortunately, so had Sister Flynn.
‘I’ve just noticed your fingers,’ she croaked. ‘Tell me I’m seeing things, or have we a lunatic at large?’
‘They’re very big gloves,’ I tried for the confident manner of a coper. ‘It wasn’t a problem.’
She shook her head as if ridding it of flies. ‘It’ll be card tricks next. You and I’ll need to have a talk after all this, but in the meantime,’ she turned her attention to Denise who was tracing a bawling infant’s cheek and looking at him with a dazed expression, ‘isn’t that a grand wee son you have there?’
Denise promptly handed him to William as if she were a stolen goods fence.
‘Don’t drop that child!’ snapped Sister Flynn, getting back into her stride and making William start. He held the baby more firmly but already the sister was looking for Lisa. ‘Staff!’ Doing wonders for paternal confidence, she continued, ‘Go and rescue that baby will you.’ Then picking up a syringe she jabbed it into Denise’s arm. ‘This should stop any bleeding but we need to get that placenta out now. Nurse Macpherson, get back here and see this labour through properly . Had you in all your glory forgotten about the third stage?’
Given the preceding drama, the after-birth sliding out into a kidney dish was something of an anticlimax. Meanwhile, Denise was getting her brain and body back, allowing her to operate normally once again.
‘And I’ll have that baby back now,’ she said in a tone that meant business. ‘I need a word with the wee love, even if he’s given me such a hard time.’
Oliver, meanwhile, had stopped asking for more graph paper and started to chart something less meteoric whilst his girlfriend looked on as if he were drawing a masterpiece.
‘Full throttle indeed!’ chuckled Dr O’Reilly, stretching his neck and shaking his head. ‘Must be a new gynaecological term. Still it seemed to do the trick. Wait till I tell my colleagues, and where did you say you trained, Nurse? I’d say you’ve the makings of a grand wee midwife there and, Sister,’ he waved a spade-like hand under her nose, ‘maybe you should look out gloves to fit smaller people.’ He drifted off before Sister Flynn could tell him her theatre was the best equipped in Northern Ireland and that there were small gloves if people would only look.
Then, as if control might just be returning and within her reach, she looked at the contents of the kidney dish. ‘That’s good. A fine, healthy-looking placenta.’ She put it aside almost tenderly. ‘I’ll take it to the sluice and look at it properly there. Of course, Nurse Macpherson,’ her tone was withering, ‘even though placentas can tell you a lot, you won’t need to look at it since you’re such an expert.’
‘Och no, there’s still one or two things I’ve to learn.’ I thought this was rather daring but lacked the bottle to ask about the placenta’s ultimate fate. There was a rumour that she dug them into her garden where the roses were apparently spectacular. By the same token, a bottle of enema soap might be handy for their green fly. A burnt pan, however, wasn’t much use to anybody and would only put Sister Flynn into orbit if she found it.
One thing was plain. That pan needed shifting as quickly as Denise and her husband were now demanding to get out of labour ward.
12
RING A RING
In the small cubicle, home to so much of Denise’s drama, a battalion of cleaners, strong in turban headscarved uniforms and Popeye arms, had moved in. They were scrubbing and hosing the place down as if to rid it of any lingering spirit.
I thought of asking if they’d any handy tips for dealing with incinerated articles but they were far too busy running to a Flynn schedule to stop. They’d shoved Denise’s locker outside the kitchen and, stuck for any better idea, I pulled the pan out of its hiding place, stuffed it in a bag and shoved it into the locker just as Sister Flynn came round the corner.
‘The porters must have forgotten to take the locker to the postnatal ward,’ I said, hoping to sound less flustered than I felt, ‘so I’ll just take it up there before I go off duty.’
‘Alright. That’d be good.’ She sounded absentminded as she twitched her nose. ‘It smells like a dead cat around here. It’s probably a pair of oulde knickers I bet she hasn’t washed since coming here. But I suppose her locker’s her business.’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘You’d think a girl would have more pride about her wouldn’t you?’
Before Denise’s reputation could sink further, I grabbed my cloak, tore out of the labour ward and propelled the locker at a spanking rate, making its wheels bounce as I reached post-natal, where splashes of colour from floral bouquets at every corner made it a brighter world than the one I’d just left.
Here, patients converged in amiable groups, talking about their labours like athletes recovering from a major event. Even now, competition lingered as they outdid each other in tales of labour in all its merry facets, whilst their trophies lay in contented comas in cots beside their beds.
The less happy babies were in the nursery. It led off from the ward and William was standing outside it. With his nose pressed against the window he was gazing in at babies registering protest with such red faces and waving fists they made the room look like a shop stewards’ convention. The locker wheels creaked and groaned as I trundled towards him but this new father didn’t seem to notice.
‘Where’s your wife?’ I asked, parking transport downwind.
‘In that side ward,’ William said, unable to take eyes away from the glass but thumb indicating a room opposite. ‘They’ve given her a sedative. Thought she deserved it after all that hard work with her blood pressure and all.’
‘Right. I’m just putting her locker back,’ I said and went into a room so full of Denise’s flowers their scent gave a competitive edge to the pan which I was now stuffing under my cloak. I thought Denise would be amused by its presence but I didn’t want to disturb my star athlete, so I left the locker and tip-toed out.
‘Congratulations, William,’ I said but he just nodded. He too was in a different world – probably planning a pram on as grand a scale as his tractor.
Back along the corridor and heading for the Home, I met Father O’Patrick, who looked at me shifty-eyed. Maybe the pan bulge made him think this was a patient going in the wrong direction but he scurried away as if he didn’t want to see anybody. This was a sentiment I shared completely as, top speed, I arrived at the pantry of our floor without meeting anyone else.
There was enough cleaning material here to scour Ulster so I set to, filling the sink with sufficient water and detergent to get a soap kitchen going and finding that water-play still held appeal with the pot bobbing about cheerfully, as if appreciating restoration.
‘Brian and I are going to the Medical Ball.’ Cynthia leant against the doorway. Her appearance was unexpected and could have been unwelcome had she not been so excited she didn’t seem aware of either the pan or the suds.
‘That’s nice,’ I said, sinking the pan. I was as amazed at the amount of bubbles enema soap could generate as at Cynthia’s news that Dr Welch was such a fast o
perator.
‘Yes, we’re really excited.’ She sighed happily, rubbing her London Hospital badge in such an absentminded way I nearly offered to show her how to clean it properly. ‘So I’m going to go down town tomorrow after work to see if I can buy an evening gown. Something in gold I think.’
‘Sounds your style.’
Ignoring sarcasm, she pressed on. ‘I’m sick of the antenatal clinic and women just wanting to speak about their pregnancies, and I just know they won’t want to hear anything about me, far less about a ball. It’s next week so maybe and with a bit of luck we’ll get a shift by then.’
I swished the water in triumph whilst keeping the pan down. This was my finest hour and not to be rushed. At length and as if careless I said, ‘And by that time, I’ll maybe have had a few more deliveries. I got my first one today.’ I turned looking forward to seeing her reaction but she was gone and I was speaking to myself.
Lisa came into the ward kitchen the next morning just as I was returning the pan, bright as a new sixpence, back to its cupboard. She wasn’t singing and seemed worried.
‘You wouldn’t know anything about Denise’s ring would you? Apparently it’s gone missing.’
‘She wasn’t wearing it here,’ I said. ‘It’s such a knuckle duster I’d have noticed it. Did she say where she thought it might be?’
Lisa spoke carefully. ‘She’s sure she put it in her locker but if she did it’s not there now.’ She gave a tuneless hum and clicked her teeth. ‘The thing is, Jane, Sister Flynn said she saw you fiddling with the locker yesterday and you looked really flustered when she spoke to you about it.’
I was torn between guilt and outrage and a cold sweat gathered on my forehead. I had to swallow hard, eventually uttering, ‘She’s not actually accusing me of theft is she?’
‘Well no, not really, ‘ Lisa sounded miserable, ‘but she couldn’t have made it up about the locker. What were you doing with it?’
‘Returning it to Denise, and I think I need to see her now. I’m really insulted. I’ve had a few things thrown at me in nursing but this has got to be the worst.’
I had tried to keep my voice down but Oliver appeared as if at a reveille.
‘Something up then?’
‘Oh, not at all. I’ve just been accused of stealing, that’s all. How dare they!’ My voice trembled.
‘How so?’ He sounded clinically interested.
Lisa held up a placatory hand. ‘I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding and the ring’ll probably turn up any minute now, but right now it’s lost and Denise is really upset about it.’
‘Not half as much as I am.’ I was grim. ‘Where’s that bloomin’ Sister?’
‘Not on duty till later which is why she wanted me to speak to you. She wants it sorted out before she comes on duty. Said in a thing like this, time’s of the essence.’
‘She would and what does she think I have – a magic wand?’ I figured a less disciplined person might have stamped her feet. I merely took a deep breath and gritted my teeth.
Plainly one for avoiding scenes, Oliver suddenly looked at his watch. ‘Excuse me, but I need to do something. I’ll be back in a jiffy and hopefully in time for a delivery.’
‘You can have them all.’ I was sour. ‘Certainly I won’t be around to stop you.’
Oliver made a line of his mouth and said as he left, ‘Don’t you be doing anything rash now.’
Lisa pulled on her curls. ‘Ah, Jane, now, we’re not accusing you of stealing. Things are always going missing between wards. I’m sure it’ll turn up.’ She seemed almost relieved when Dr O’Reilly’s voice, full of urgency, called from the corridor, ‘Prolapsed cord! Theatre! All Staff! Now!’
We poured into the corridor.
Had there not been an illustration in the midwifery textbooks I might have thought that this patient kneeling on a trolley on all fours and resting on her forearms was engaged in some form of Irish worship. Actually, this was the position needed to stop an umbilical cord coming before its baby. No wonder then that the mother was being whisked into theatre where a team was rapidly assembling, focussed on getting that baby out before the cord could block the life it had so far nourished.
In a previous existence I had been badly let down by the wilful vagaries of an operating table, determined to reach the ceiling despite my best efforts to get it do otherwise. I had learnt the hard way and now knew how to get instant co-operation as well as to do something clever and on the same lines as de-clutching. I leapt into theatre and got the table tilted before it had time to change its mind.
‘Good girl,’ approved Dr O’Reilly, ‘nice light touch of feet there.’
I could have snapped, ‘To match my fingers?’ but there was enough drama going on to put any old and missing ring on the back boiler. Why on earth had I thought childbirth was a straightforward affair?
The atmosphere round the operating table reflected the silent tension of people having to deal with lives in the balance. Still, and compared to normal labour, a Caesarean section was quick and quiet. One scalpel cut was enough to produce a dazed-looking baby with such a startling immediacy I looked for a zip whilst wondering aloud why Sister Flynn wasn’t promoting Caesareans as necessary for fine tuning the assembly line that was labour ward.
‘It’s dangerous. Needs a backup team,’ Lisa explained, nodding at the anaesthetist and paediatrician, as engrossed in their work as a sewing bee. ‘Patient might haemorrhage, baby could be affected by the anaesthetic and then there’s all the problems of post-operative care and the discomfort of clips.’ We watched as Dr O’Reilly, appearing to have swapped needlework skills for those of a joiner, stapled the final layer of skin on a now-flat abdomen.
‘Just another wee miracle,’ he said, pulling off his mask to allow a big beam to bring sunshine into the place. ‘Thanks, Staff. Great team. Couldn’t have done it without you.’
The baby was put in the quiet of an incubator whilst I was left to look after the patient until she was ready to go to the post-natal ward.
‘Have you counted her jewels?’ I had asked, but Lisa had just shaken her head and hurried away.
13
A BAG PACK
I was lying on my bed, considering the ceiling and hoping that, like this morning’s patient, having my feet higher than my head would be beneficial.
There was a knock at the door, so timid it must be Marie.
‘Come in!’ I shouted, incapable of moving.
Marie sidled in, leaving the door open. She was carrying a piece of paper and gazing round-eyed as if legs resting halfway up the wall had mystic significance. Since there was nothing unusual about her looking anxious I presumed all was well but felt maybe I should explain the prone position.
‘It’s been a killer of a day. In fact, so bad that at one time I thought I should just pack my bags.’
Conversations with Marie tended to include some benign if unseen presence at her shoulder, since she usually kept darting her gaze over it as if to get reassurance before speaking. This time, however, there was no delay as she gasped, ‘Sure, and is that not what Seonaid’s actually doing? She’s been given a terrible dressing down from Matron and had a warning.’ She plucked at my arm then ran to the door. ‘Come and see her, Jane. I’ve tried speaking to her but it’s hopeless. She’s one suitcase full already. It’s a desperate situation so it is.’
I got up as quickly as throbbing corns would allow. ‘You’re beginning to sound like a proper Belfaster, come on.’
She put the paper down on my bedside locker.
‘What’s that?’
‘Just a wee map of all the nearby churches, all denominations. You never know when it might come in handy.’
‘Right now,’ I said following her, ‘if we’d the time.’
Seonaid was sitting on a suitcase, trying to shut it. Normally chaotic, her bedroom had progressed to a war zone. Her uniform, screwed into a ball, was jammed into a corner whilst books lay in a jumble beside her suitcase. U
nderwear, papers and dresses littered the floor whilst her cap had been flung in the waste paper bin. The only neat thing was a pair of tap dancing shoes tidily placed at her feet.
‘I don’t remember it being this difficult packing,’ she said in a matter-of-fact sort of way, ignoring water overflowing from the hand basin. ‘Marie, you’re not missing any babbies are you? I think I maybe packed one in by mistake.’ She sat on the lid, bounced on it, then sucking her lip in frustration, said, ‘Come on and lend us your weight. I need to get it shut before midnight.’
‘Indeed, and we will not, and that’s not why we’re here.’ Marie’s saints must have knocked off, leaving her surprisingly forceful. ‘Jane, go and turn off that tap or we’ll all drown. And would you look at the state of this room?’ Tut-tutting, she started to pick things up from the floor, giving the proper respect to Seonaid’s record book and a collection of shoes, the height of which made my sleeping bunion wake up and wince. If Seonaid was going to leave, she’d be better with walking shoes.
Outside these convent-like walls there was a different life, with the Falls Road traffic muttering about its business, whilst in the distance a recent fall of snow had covered the Belfast hills. Their forbidding countenances had been gentled into soft folds. When the weather was better we would have to go and explore them.
‘Marie says you’ve been given a hard time by Matron. What on earth’s that about?’
Seonaid twiddled her toes, apparently a riveting sight. ‘That oulde yoke Father O’Patrick went to visit her. He told her about me seeing Mrs Murphy and said I was interfering outwith the hospital and had persuaded her to have a sterilisation. Well, and much as I might have wanted to, I didn’t. Anyway, I thought the Doc. would do a better job of it.’
‘Did you tell her that?’
Seonaid shrugged. ‘There wasn’t much point. Sure I couldn’t have interrupted her anyway – she’s used to holding the floor. Remember when that Stormont fella came to make us take that oath of allegiance ? I’m surprised she let him take centre stage and didn’t knock him off his perch. Then, of course she wasn’t best pleased either at a priest – a priest! – coming knocking and complaining at her door.’ Seonaid scratched her head thoughtfully as if to prompt her memory. ‘Oh yes! Then she said I shouldn’t have been out in the Falls wearing the hospital uniform. The way she said it you’d have thought I’d gone down it naked!’ She got up off the suitcase and stretched. ‘Anyway, I could tell she was really pleased to get me into her office, gave her a chance to have a go about not buying her book as well.’