by Cathy Glass
We also had Faye’s next antenatal appointment that week and the urine test showed some traces of protein. The midwife explained that this was not uncommon in later pregnancy and could happen for a number of reasons, including the mother’s kidneys working harder to support the baby or because of an infection – in the mother or the baby. Faye had to repeat the urine test, and as there was still a trace of protein present the midwife said that as a precautionary measure she would send the sample to the lab for testing. She would see us again in a week, and weekly from then on until the birth. Faye didn’t feel unwell and the midwife reassured us that there was nothing to worry about. That evening I recorded this in my log, as I was supposed to.
On the days when Faye saw her grandparents I continued going into town to Christmas shop. By 1 December I had bought most of the presents, Christmas cards, wrapping paper and bows, and finally had that conversation with my mother. Typical Mum, I shouldn’t have worried so much. She was positive and looking forward to Christmas.
‘Of course I’d like to come to you on Christmas Day,’ she said. ‘Just as usual. I’ll be going to the cemetery in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. Shall I make a trifle as an alternative to Christmas pudding? I did that last year and it worked well. And some cupcakes? You all like those.’
‘Yes, please, that would be great.’
Having spoken to Mum, I telephoned my brother and ‘officially’ invited him for Christmas Day. He, too, was pleased that we were all getting together and said he’d visit the cemetery with Mum on Christmas Eve. I’d go again the next time I went to see Mum.
The first weekend in December we decorated the house, apart from the Christmas tree, which we’d buy fresh nearer the time. Everyone helped, and Faye said she usually helped her grandparents decorate the flat and she’d do it next time she saw them. With less than two weeks to go before she was due to give birth, she was very large now and I warned her against going up stepladders to hang decorations, but she said they didn’t have those sorts of decorations; they had ones that stood on the floor and the sideboard, and a holly wreath on their front door.
The weather had turned cold and this, coupled with Faye being large, meant that she didn’t want to go out much, so we spent more time at home. I used every spare minute to continue teaching her about babies and parenting. I felt a sense of urgency now, as the time was running out, although I never forced her to learn and I always stopped if she was tired or had lost interest. I have to admit, though, that there were moments when I had to hide my frustration when she forgot something very basic that we’d already covered many times. As well as revising what we’d already learnt – holding a baby, making up bottles, feeding, changing, bathing, etc. – I also talked to Faye about the more abstract aspects of parenting; for example, how to know what a baby wants when it cries, establishing a routine, the importance of giving a baby stimulation, bonding and interacting with the baby. I knew the parenting assessment would include all of this, and it was as important as feeding and changing a baby. I used our practical aids where possible: the doll (an electronic one hadn’t appeared), bottles, nappies, the toy crib, babygrows for dressing and so on. I went online for the videos. There were informative educational clips of everything, including the actual birth, breastfeeding and generally caring for a baby. I hoped the visual input would help Faye understand more and reinforce what I was telling her. Although of course all this was academic. The real test would come when she had to put it into practice.
The visit to the labour ward went well. It was with the same group of mums-to-be and partners who’d been at the antenatal class. The midwife made a point of welcoming Faye and said she was pleased to see her again, which was nice. Because this tour was practical and visual – we could see for ourselves what the midwife was telling us – Faye remained engaged and interested throughout, although I knew I’d have to explain some aspects of what we’d been told later, such as an epidural, monitoring the baby’s heart and a forceps delivery. Some of the women grimaced in the delivery suite when this was mentioned, but for Faye ignorance was bliss. With little real understanding of what lay in store, Faye wasn’t worried about the birth and, smiling, remarked out loud that she was looking forward to seeing her baby.
‘So am I,’ one of the other women said. ‘I just wish it wasn’t me giving birth.’
The other women agreed.
The tour ended with a visit to one of the four bedded wards where the mothers had had their babies and were now resting before they were discharged home. Seeing the tiny newborns in their cribs or cradled in their parent’s arms banished unpleasant thoughts of the delivery room. Oohings and aahings could be heard coming from our group and everyone had a smile on their face by the time we left. This was the last of the antenatal group meetings and the midwife wished everyone good luck as she said goodbye.
With Christmas and Faye’s due date fast approaching, the excitement and sense of anticipation grew. We were all looking forward to Christmas and Faye giving birth to her baby. Each time I telephoned Mum, the first thing she asked was how Faye was, and my close friends and my good neighbour Sue always asked after Faye when they saw me.
Did I have doubts about Faye’s competency to parent her baby? I’d be lying if I said no. I often woke in the early hours worrying about something she hadn’t grasped or that needed emphasizing or I’d forgotten to tell her, and I’d make a mental note to go over it in the morning. Faye’s success had become my success, and I felt her possible failure and the loss of her baby would be my responsibility.
If anyone asked Faye whether she’d thought of a name for her baby, she still said Snuggles, which was starting to irritate me. What had once been cute now appeared ludicrous, with her due date looming and Faye about to become a mother. It seemed to typify and emphasize Faye’s learning disabilities and make her look silly, with the implication that if she was silly in this then she could be silly in other, more important matters connected with parenting. The subject of choosing a name must have come up at Faye’s next visit to see her grandparents. Since her review her grandparents had been talking a little more about the baby, rather than ignoring what was happening, although I don’t think they discussed long-terms plans. When I collected Faye at the end of her visit she said, ‘Gran helped me choose a name for my baby. If it’s a girl it’ll be Mary after my mum, and if it’s a boy, Edward, which is Grandpa’s middle name.’
‘Excellent,’ I said, pleased. ‘Good choices.’
Adrian, Lucy and Paula were pleased, too, when she told them.
‘Much better than Snuggles,’ Adrian said.
The lab results for Faye’s urine test were clear – there was no sign of infection – and the sample we took to the following antenatal check-up was clear too. Her pregnancy continued to go well; in fact, it had been an easy pregnancy. Faye hadn’t suffered from morning sickness and there’d been no complications. At the check-up on 14 December, Faye’s due date, she had an internal examination. The midwife had told her she would be doing this when we’d seen her the previous week. It was to make sure the baby was in the correction position, with its head engaged, ready for the birth. I’d talked to Faye about this and what would happen at the examination, but even so it was very uncomfortable for her and she grimaced, moaned and bit her bottom lip. The midwife confirmed that the baby was positioned correctly and she also said that sometimes this internal examination could cause labour to start.
She was right. That evening, as Faye came downstairs in her dressing gown after having her bath, she said her tummy was hurting her. The pain only lasted a short while – about twenty seconds – but it was intense. Half an hour later, while she was watching television, she grimaced and said her tummy was hurting again. It lasted about twenty to thirty seconds and stopped. I began to keep an eye on the clock and forty minutes went by before she experienced another contraction, again lasting about twenty seconds. It was now nine o’clock and her television programmes had finished. Faye asked if we sho
uld go to the hospital now. I explained that if this was the start of labour, this stage could go on for a couple of days and that she should go to bed as usual. I went up with her and waited on the landing while she brushed her teeth, went to the toilet and then climbed into bed. As I was saying goodnight to her (and Snuggles) she experienced another contraction, which was about half an hour after the last one. I told Faye to try to get some sleep and that I’d leave her bedroom door and mine open so I’d hear her if she called out for me in the night.
Lucy and Paula had spent most of the evening after dinner in their rooms. Adrian had gone out. As I said goodnight to the girls I told them that I thought Faye could be in the first stage of labour but I doubted anything would happen during the night. They were both excited and concerned for her and went round to see her, but she was already asleep, with Snuggles on the pillow beside her.
Faye didn’t call out in the night, but I checked on her at two o’clock, and when I heard her get up at four o’clock to use the toilet I went to see her. She was still half asleep and I asked her if she’d had any more pains. She shook her head and said a groggy ‘No’, so I wondered if the contractions had been a false start. However, as soon as she woke in the morning she said her tummy had started hurting again and that it hurt a lot. I timed the contractions. They were coming every half an hour and seemed to be more intense. She had breakfast in her dressing gown without a contraction, and Adrian, Lucy and Paula said goodbye and good luck as they left the house.
As Faye finished her breakfast she had another contraction, about forty minutes after the last one. I went with her upstairs and waited while she washed and dressed so I could reassure her if another one took hold. Sammy came with us. He hadn’t left her side since she’d got up this morning, as if sensing something important was going on and she needed his attention. He went with her into the bathroom and she left the door slightly open. She had another contraction as she washed and then again as she dressed. Downstairs I telephoned Faye’s grandparents – she was supposed to be seeing them today. Stan answered and said Wilma was still getting up. I told him I thought Faye could be in the first stage of labour, as she was having contractions every half an hour, so I wouldn’t be bringing her to visit today. He said he’d tell Wilma and she’d phone once she was dressed.
Faye and I were sitting side by side on the sofa when another contraction gripped her; this time it was twenty minutes after the last one. I gently rubbed her lower back and reassured her. She clearly wasn’t in any frame of mind to do much today, so when she asked if she could watch television I passed her the remote. I sat with her for a while as another contraction came, and then I completed a few jobs around the house, popping into the living room every so often or when I heard her groan or call out. My calm exterior belied my mounting excitement and apprehension. The contractions were now coming every twenty minutes and appeared to be more intense. It’s very difficult to gauge another person’s level of pain because all our thresholds are different, but when Faye was in the throes of a contraction she went rigid and couldn’t speak until it had passed. I tried to help her relax and reassured her that this was normal for the first stage of labour, but she wasn’t impressed.
‘Why’s my baby hurting me?’ she moaned. ‘That’s not nice.’
‘It’s not the baby’s fault,’ I said. ‘It’s nature’s way of pushing it out.’
‘I don’t want it out if it hurts.’
At midday, with the contractions still coming every twenty minutes, I telephoned triage at the hospital, using the number in Faye’s maternity folder. They confirmed what I already knew: that we should wait until the contractions were coming every five minutes or Faye’s waters broke, and then phone again and go in. I explained this to Faye, reassured her and rubbed her back. Wilma telephoned and apologized for not phoning sooner but she’d misplaced my number. I told her the contractions were now every twenty minutes and what the hospital had said, and that I’d phone her if anything happened, and definitely before we left to go to the hospital. She thanked me and asked to speak to Faye. She didn’t sound anxious or excited, just matter-of-fact. I supposed she’d had to deal with many crises in her life and now took things in her stride. I silenced the television and passed the phone to Faye.
‘My baby’s hurting me,’ she told her gran straight away. I couldn’t hear what Wilma said, but Faye nodded and then said, ‘I’ll try to be brave. I love you too.’
The afternoon wore on, with the contractions still coming every twenty minutes and Faye watching television in between. I was surprised by just how many repeats of the soaps could be found if you channel-hopped, and Faye knew where to find them. I sat beside her on and off for most of the afternoon, reassuring her and trying to help her relax and breathe when a contraction took hold. Wilma telephoned at five o’clock and I told her nothing much had changed. She spoke to Faye again and must have said that babies sometimes took a long time to come, for Faye said, ‘I wish my baby would hurry up, and stop hurting me.’
We were all in for dinner that evening and all furtively watched Faye as we ate. She had two contractions during the meal but still managed to clear her plate. As soon as she’d finished eating, though, she rushed to the kitchen sink and was sick, bringing up all her dinner. I reassured her there was nothing wrong and that this could happen at the start of labour, and then I poured her a glass of cold water. I felt sorry for her. I knew what it felt like to be in labour and at the mercy of your body. Adrian, Lucy and Paula, who’d seen Faye being sick and could be a bit squeamish, took refuge upstairs. Faye settled on the sofa again with Snuggles on her lap and Sammy at her feet and watched the evening soaps. By 7.30 the contractions were coming every fifteen minutes and my anticipation and apprehension grew. She had her bath as usual, although I waited on the landing to make sure she was all right. I gave her fresh clothes to put on, rather than her dressing gown. ‘In case we have to go to the hospital this evening,’ I said.
I sat with her again in the living room as the contractions went from every fifteen minutes to every ten minutes and seemed to grow in strength and intensity. I held her hand, massaged her back, reminded her to breathe and reassured her that this was all normal. Faye groaned and tensed when a contraction took hold but didn’t say much, other than how she wanted it to stop. Adrian, Paula and Lucy came down a few times during the evening, but they were subdued and worried when they saw Faye in pain and knew there was nothing they could do to help. They were all in bed by 10.30. I brought Faye’s hospital bag down from upstairs and placed it with the maternity folder in the hall ready, and then returned to the living room. We sat together on the sofa with the television on, Snuggles on her lap and Sammy at her feet. The Christmas garlands stirred in the warm air rising from the radiators. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked by and at midnight I was satisfied that the contractions were coming every five minutes. Using the telephone in the living room, I dialled the hospital and told the triage nurse the frequency of the contractions. She said I should bring Faye in. I telephoned Faye’s grandparents and to my surprise Wilma answered straight away.
‘I didn’t go to bed,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting up for any news.’ I told her the contractions were now coming every five minutes and we were leaving for the hospital shortly. ‘I’ll phone for a taxi,’ she said. ‘Can I have a quick word with Faye first?’ I waited until Faye’s contraction had passed and handed the phone to her.
‘The baby’s hurting me,’ Faye said. Wilma said something and then Faye replied, ‘Don’t be late. Love you too.’ She returned the handset to me.
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ Wilma said to me. ‘Look after her until I get there.’
‘I will.’
Faye wanted to use the toilet before we left for the hospital and I went with her upstairs. She had to pause at the top of the stairs as another contraction took hold. Paula and Lucy must have heard us, for they appeared from their rooms in their nightwear, and I explained that we were going to
the hospital. Then Adrian came out of his room, still dressed, and asked if I’d like him to drive us to the hospital.
‘That’s kind of you, love,’ I said. ‘But you need your sleep. You’re on an early shift tomorrow. We’ll be OK.’
They came with us downstairs to see us off and I reminded them to set their alarms, as I wouldn’t be there in the morning to wake them. Adrian put Faye’s bag and the folder in the car and wished her luck. The girls kissed and hugged her, but she was soon in the grip of another contraction, which made her gasp out loud. I slid my arm around her waist and waited for it to pass, then I helped her out of the house.
‘I’ll phone as soon as there’s any news,’ I said to my family. ‘The next time you see Faye she’ll be a mummy.’ And a little cheer rose from them and into the night.
Chapter Nineteen
Baby Edward
Faye sat rigid in the passenger seat, gripping Snuggles as another contraction took hold. ‘Breathe,’ I commanded, glancing at her as I drove. ‘Remember what I taught you about deep breathing.’
‘I can’t!’ she cried. ‘It’s hurting too much.’ Which of course is what many women in labour feel. Easy practising relaxation techniques in a class or at home, but rather different when labour sets in and the pain really starts.
As the contraction ended Faye let out a big sigh and relaxed back into the seat. ‘It’s gone,’ she said. ‘No more.’