by Cathy Glass
‘Faye, there will be more. You must try to relax and keep breathing as we’ve been practising. If you are tense, the pain will be worse.’
‘OK, I’ll try,’ she said amicably.
But as soon as the next contraction came she stiffened, clutched the edge of her seat, her knuckles white, and groaned loudly.
‘Take deep breaths!’ I said as I drove. ‘Stay in control.’ I was worried. This was just the start of labour. The pain would build steadily until the baby was born.
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. The contractions were still coming every five minutes. She had two more before I drove into the hospital car park. I parked in the bay closest to the maternity unit. Although it was after midnight and Faye was in labour, I still had to feed the meter and display a parking ticket in the windscreen. A large sign said that those failing to do so would be wheel-clamped, and a note in Faye’s maternity folder had warned the same. Faye had another contraction as I paid and then placed the ticket on the inside of the windscreen. ‘Breathe in. And out. In. And out,’ I said, slowing my breathing to remind her how it was done. I could see she was panicking, which would make the pain worse. I talked to her calmly for a moment and then helped her out of the car.
I carried her overnight bag and maternity folder and she linked her arm in mine as we crossed the car park. I could feel how tense she was as she braced herself for the next contraction. ‘Relax and breathe slowly,’ I said again.
The night was cold but clear. Stars twinkled brightly in the heavens far away, befitting a night only two weeks before Christmas. I helped Faye up the three steps to the entrance of the maternity wing, where I pressed the security buzzer. A nurse’s voice came through the intercom and I gave Faye’s name and said that I’d telephoned. ‘Push the door and it will open,’ she said, releasing the security lock.
We stepped in. It was a different world to outside. Bright, warm and decorated for Christmas. A large artificial Christmas tree festooned with silver tinsel and multicoloured baubles stood to our left. I’m sure Faye would have appreciated it had she not been gripped by another contraction. A nurse appeared pushing a wheelchair.
‘Hello, Faye,’ she said, smiling cheerfully. ‘I’m Eunice, a student nurse. Would you like a ride up to the ward?’
Faye nodded and collapsed gratefully into the wheelchair, and Eunice pushed it the short distance to the elevator. ‘I’m Cathy,’ I said. ‘Faye’s carer and birthing partner. Her grandmother is on her way.’
She smiled kindly. ‘We’ll soon have Faye settled and comfortable. It’s a busy night. You’re the third mum to go into labour this evening. Pre-Christmas rush.’ Eunice was very pleasant, a mature student nurse who was trying to put Faye at ease. ‘I see you’ve brought your lucky mascot with you,’ she said, referring to Snuggles, but Faye didn’t answer.
The maternity ward was on the second floor and as the elevator stopped and the doors opened Faye had another contraction. She went rigid and, clutching the arms of the wheelchair, cried out in pain.
‘Remember your breathing techniques,’ Eunice said, as I had been saying all day.
‘I can’t,’ Faye gasped.
‘Yes, you can,’ Eunice said firmly but kindly. ‘Deep breaths, and you’ll be able to have some gas and air soon. That will help you with the pain.’
Eunice wheeled Faye to the nurse’s station, where another nurse took over. I thanked Eunice and she said she’d see us later. I passed Faye’s maternity folder to the nurse and she began completing the paperwork for her admission, which she said would just take a few minutes. Faye groaned in pain, shifted in her chair and clutched Snuggles. I talked to her calmly, reassuring her, in between answering the nurse’s questions. Not far away a baby cried.
‘Listen, Faye,’ I said, trying to distract her. ‘I can hear a baby.’
She wasn’t interested. She was completely absorbed in her pain and discomfort. Once the paperwork was complete the nurse helped Faye from the wheelchair and we were shown into an examination room – sterile white and similar to the one we’d been shown on our tour. The nurse handed Faye a small cup and asked her to give a urine sample. We had to return to the corridor for the Ladies. I waited outside the door, and presently I heard Faye moan loudly as another contraction took hold. It was a while before she emerged with the sample. I handed it to the nurse to be tested and we returned to the examination room. Another contraction took hold and Faye leant on the examination couch while I rubbed her back and told her to breathe. The nurse reappeared with a hospital gown but said Faye could use her own if she preferred. Faye wanted to use the hospital gown, so when the contraction stopped I helped her into it. She lay on the couch while the nurse took her blood pressure, pulse and temperature and noted them on a form. She asked Faye if she’d had anything to eat recently and Faye shook her head. I explained she’d had dinner at six but had vomited, and since then she’d just had water, which the nurse also wrote in the notes. She then said she needed to take a sample of blood. Faye hadn’t made much fuss when the midwife at the doctor’s surgery had taken blood samples, but now this seemed to be one pain too many. It took a lot of persuading and distracting before the nurse was able to take the sample.
The nurse left and a midwife arrived. ‘Hello, Faye, I’m Gemma,’ she said cheerily, ‘one of the midwives who will be looking after you tonight.’
I introduced myself and then Gemma explained to Faye that she was going to examine her to make sure the baby was OK. I held Faye’s hand and talked to her calmly, but she moaned loudly as the midwife felt her stomach and then screamed when she examined her internally.
‘I’m sorry, pet,’ Gemma said. ‘I know it’s uncomfortable.’ Then, ‘Well done. You’re five centimetres dilated. Baby is on its way.’
While this meant little to Faye, I knew it was good progress. Although Faye’s baby might not be born for many hours yet, she was now in the active stage of labour.
‘Are you having a boy or a girl?’ Gemma asked Faye.
‘Don’t know,’ Faye said.
‘Have you thought of any names?’
Faye shook her head.
‘Mary if it’s a girl and Edward if it’s a boy,’ I said.
‘Those are nice names. Let’s get you into the birthing room.’
I helped Faye from the couch and we followed the midwife through to a birthing room, which was exactly the same as the one we’d seen during our visit. I hoped its familiarity was reassuring for Faye. She climbed onto the bed and tucked Snuggles on the pillow beside her.
‘Lucky mascot?’ Gemma asked, just as the student nurse had done. So I thought it probably wasn’t so unusual to bring a treasured object into hospital for comfort and security.
Gemma showed us how to use the gas and air but warned Faye not to use it constantly, as it could cause nausea. I explained this to Faye and that it would help her with the pain. Gemma asked Faye if she was having an epidural. When I’d discussed this with Faye she’d said she didn’t want a needle in her back, but I now asked her again, explaining that it would help with the pain. She still didn’t want it. When the next contraction came I guided the mouthpiece of the gas and air to her mouth. She took a breath and then, removing it, cried, ‘I’ve wet myself!’
‘I expect your waters have broken,’ Gemma said calmly. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. It’s part of labour. I’ll check.’
‘No!’ Faye cried as Gemma went to lift the sheet covering her. ‘Don’t touch me.’
Gemma paused and looked at Faye, unsure of how to proceed.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
Then we all turned as the door to the room began to open slowly. It was a moment before the front steel legs of a walking frame came into view and Wilma awkwardly shuffled in. I immediately went over to hold the door open for her. ‘Good to see you,’ I said.
‘There’s a lot of noise in here,’ she said, making her way towards the bed. ‘I could hear you from the corridor, Faye.’
‘Gra
n!’ Faye cried, pushing herself upright. ‘You’re here!’ Tears sprang to her eyes.
‘Of course I’m here, you silly sausage. I said I’d come.’
‘This is Faye’s grandmother,’ I said to Gemma as I drew up a chair for Wilma.
‘Nice to meet you. I’m one of the midwives looking after your granddaughter.’
I helped Wilma sit down. She was very stiff and her ankles and feet were swollen. She was wearing sandals despite it being winter, and I guessed these were the most comfortable footwear for her. I moved the walking frame out of the way to one side so that Wilma could sit closer to the bed and she hugged Faye. I returned to my chair on the other side of the bed.
‘Are you being good?’ Wilma asked Faye as she collapsed onto the pillow again. ‘I see you’ve brought Snuggles.’
‘It hurts,’ Faye said, grimacing, and then cried out as another contraction took hold.
‘Remember the gas and air,’ I said, directing Faye’s hand to the mouthpiece.
‘Breathe normally,’ Gemma said.
Whether it was the gas and air or her gran’s presence I wasn’t sure, but Faye began to relax and became more cooperative, now doing as Gemma asked. Without any fuss, she allowed Gemma to check if her waters had broken. They had, and Gemma said she’d get a fresh sheet for the bed. She left the room and returned almost immediately with a sheet and Eunice, the student nurse we’d seen on our arrival, who smiled and asked Faye how she was doing. The nurse and the midwife quickly and efficiently changed the sheet without Faye having to move much. Once Faye was comfortable Gemma said she’d be back later and they both left. I knew from the literature Faye had been given by the hospital and from my own experience of being in labour that the midwives and nurses wouldn’t be in the room the whole time, not until the next stage of labour when Faye had to push and the baby would be delivered. That’s why it’s so important for the woman to have someone with her.
Now it was just a matter of time and nature taking its course. In between contractions Wilma and I talked, and I was soon seeing another side to her. In the past she’d often appeared cool, a little severe and sometimes hard, but now that tough shell gave way to a softer, gentler person full of compassion, sympathy and concern. She was still firm with Faye as the contractions gripped her and she cried out, but that approach seemed to help her. I now realized that perhaps my approach with Faye since she’d gone into labour had been too soft. Wilma spoke to her quite forcefully, as though addressing a wilful child. ‘Breathe the gas and air,’ or, ‘Lie still.’ Faye did as she was told, although of course she was just used to doing what her gran told her, as she’d brought her up. Whatever the reason, much of Faye’s screaming and crying out stopped and she controlled the pain much better with the gas and air. I asked Wilma if she wanted me to leave. Giving birth is such an intimate and life-affirming experience, I wondered if she’d prefer it if there was just the two of them.
‘Good gracious, no,’ she said. ‘She needs us both. I’m not much help other than talking to her.’
‘Stay,’ Faye said.
Between contractions Wilma and I talked across the bed. Wilma was holding Faye’s free hand and I was holding her other with the gas and air, ready to guide it to her mouth when necessary. Occasionally Faye joined in with our conversation, but most of the time she lay with her eyes closed, sedated by the gas and air. Wilma told me she’d been with her daughter, Mary, at Faye’s birth, and then confided more about Mary and the happiness of her childhood before she began drinking heavily as a teenager. Her face clouded as she recounted how she had fought but failed to try to keep Mary sober. She’d died of multiple organ failure as a result of alcoholism, she said. By then Wilma was already looking after Faye and continued to do so, giving up work to invest everything in her granddaughter.
‘I still torment myself sometimes that perhaps I could have done something different that would have saved her life,’ Wilma admitted sadly. ‘Maybe I should have been stricter with her, or perhaps I was too strict.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but as a mother you blame yourself, don’t you?’ I nodded.
Wilma also mentioned the unknown father of Faye’s child, wondering again who it could be and the circumstances in which Faye had become pregnant. ‘We’ll get to the bottom of it one day,’ she said. We glanced at Faye, but she had her eyes closed and gave no indication she’d even heard.
As we talked Wilma asked me about my life and how I came to be by myself. I explained my husband had left me for someone at work many years before, and the devastation I’d felt when I’d found out he’d been cheating on me. I think the intimacy of the delivery room invited confidences that we probably wouldn’t have shared at another time. As Faye’s labour progressed I talked about the births of my own children, and my eyes filled when I thought of their father, so proud and emotional as he’d cradled them in his arms at their births. Now he only saw Adrian and Paula for a few hours every four to six weeks.
When Faye grew hot I rinsed a flannel under the cold-water tap and wiped her forehead. ‘I’ve seen this on the television,’ she suddenly said, smiling bravely.
The early hours of the morning rolled on and at five o’clock the doctor came with the midwife to examine Faye again and said she was fully dilated. The room quickly filled as the medical staff we’d seen on and off during the night – midwife, doctor and two nurses – were all in the room together, giving instructions and encouragement as Faye entered the final stage of labour. Wilma and I repeated the instructions to Faye and added encouragement and praise of our own, as she now had to push with the contractions and then relax and pant in between them. We mopped her brow and helped her with the gas and air.
Half an hour passed with Faye pushing when told to and trying to relax in between contractions, and she was exhausted. She said she’d had enough and wanted to go home. Gemma was so kind and reassuring and said that it wouldn’t be long now before her baby was born. Faye held Snuggles very tightly and with the next big push she cried out.
‘Good girl,’ Gemma said. ‘Your baby’s head is crowning. Nearly there. I can see a mop of brown hair.’
‘What’s happening?’ Faye gasped.
‘Your baby is being born,’ Wilma said.
A few more concentrated pushes and the baby’s head appeared, followed by the sound of suction as one of the nurses cleared its airways – suctioning out the mucous from its mouth and nose. A few more strong pushes, with all of us encouraging Faye, and one shoulder appeared and then the other. A final big push and her baby was born.
‘It’s a boy!’ Gemma said as the baby cried. She held him up. ‘Look. You have a son, Faye.’
My eyes filled. I kissed Faye’s cheek. Wilma did the same. ‘Well done, love,’ I said. ‘Look at your beautiful baby.’ This was probably one of the most emotional moments I’d ever experienced in fostering. Wilma was reaching for a tissue to wipe her eyes. Tears of happiness and relief that mother and baby were safe and well.
Faye appeared unable to believe that her ordeal was finally over and, looking bemused, she braced herself for the next contraction.
‘Faye, look at your baby,’ I said. ‘He’s beautiful.’
She raised her head slightly so she could see. Gemma had cut and clamped the cord and was now wrapping him in a blanket. As an experienced midwife she must have delivered hundreds of babies, but she made this birth feel as special and unique as the first. Having wrapped him in the blanket, she put a little white hat on him and placed the precious bundle in Faye’s arms. Wilma and I looked on in awe and admiration. I asked Faye and Wilma if they’d like me to take some photographs; I was the only one with a camera, and they did. I took about a dozen before the nurse said she needed to take Edward to be weighed, measured and generally checked over. She carefully lifted him from Faye’s arms and carried him to the scales on the other side of the room. Faye was still looking bemused so I explained what was happening.
‘Seven pounds three ounces,’ the nurse announced after
a moment. ‘He’s a good weight.’ She checked him over and listened to his heart and said all was well and he was very healthy.
Then she wiped him clean and wrapped him in a fresh blanket and returned him to Faye.
‘Baby Edward,’ Wilma said, gazing at her great-grandson. ‘Baby Edward.’ And her eyes filled again.
‘Don’t cry, Gran,’ Faye said. ‘You have to be happy.’
‘I am,’ Wilma said. ‘Really, I am.’ And I knew that, for now at least, all the worries of the past and the challenges that lay ahead had disappeared in the love she felt for that baby.
Presently Gemma suggested to Faye that she dress Edward in the clothes we’d brought with us, and I opened her overnight bag and took out one of the little vests, a babygrow and a nappy. I’d brought a hat with us but we didn’t need it, as the hospital had provided one.
‘They’re like dolls’ clothes,’ Wilma said, smiling. ‘I’d forgotten just how small newborn clothes are.’
‘Can you do it for me?’ Faye said to her gran. ‘I’m too tired and sore.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Wilma said, only too pleased to help. ‘Cathy can help me.’
I went round to Wilma’s side of the bed and set the baby clothes and nappy within her reach. I then carefully lifted little Edward from Faye’s arms and laid him on the bed; so small, fragile and precious. Faye propped herself up and watched as Wilma and I gingerly manoeuvred Edward’s little arms and legs into the vest, then put on his tiny nappy, taking a side each, and finally the babygrow. It was a joint effort, but Wilma’s arthritic fingers couldn’t manage the press-studs on the babygrow, so I fastened them. He barely stirred.
‘What a smart little fellow,’ one of the nurses said.
‘Just like his great-grandpa,’ Wilma said, referring to Stan.
Now Edward was dressed I took more photographs: Faye with Edward in her arms. Faye with Edward and Snuggles. Faye with Edward and Gran. Gran with Edward in her arms, and then she took one of me with Faye and Edward. A hospital orderly arrived with breakfast for Faye and a welcome cup of tea for Wilma and me. Following Faye’s instructions, I placed Edward in the hospital crib by the bed while we ate and drank. Wilma wanted to tell Stan the good news, so I lent her my phone, and then I telephoned home.