The Antenatal Group

by Amy Bratley

  ‘Isn’t that a bit like treating your baby as if it were a pet?’ she said with feeling. ‘I don’t agree with regimes where you’re not allowed to make eye contact with your baby at night. For God’s sake! And all that controlled crying would leave me in pieces. I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘But I want to go back to work, you see,’ replied Katy instantly. ‘As much as I want this baby, I also want to work. And Alan and I hope to keep our lives as they are. If I don’t get enough sleep, I’ll be hopeless the next day. I need to be organized.’

  ‘I think parents do get desperate,’ said Ginny with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘And it’s worth remembering that all babies are different. For some, a routine might work; for others, definitely not. It’s your call. But you might as well prepare now for the fact that the first few weeks will be sleepless and, at the start, midwives believe that a baby needs to be fed on demand, sometimes almost every hour. You’ll be exhausted, and so your partner, or support system, will be invaluable at this time.’

  ‘Would you recommend sleeping with the baby to make breastfeeding easier?’ Mel asked.

  ‘I think co-sleeping is fine, as long as you haven’t been drinking alcohol or smoking and you don’t have pillows or duvets that could get over the baby’s airways,’ answered Ginny. ‘The World Health Organisation recommends that you have your baby in your room with you for at least the first six months, and having the baby in a Moses basket by the bed makes breastfeeding throughout the night much easier. In my opinion I think you need to have ten full days in bed after labour. With your baby in the basket next to you, you’ll have time to focus on getting breastfeeding right and recover from labour.’

  Laughter rippled through the room.

  ‘Ten days!’ said Katy, glancing at Alan. ‘There’s no way I could stay in bed for ten days.’

  ‘Katy will probably be running a half-marathon by then,’ laughed Alan. ‘She’s not very good at relaxing.’

  ‘It’s not really a matter of relaxing,’ said Ginny. ‘It’s necessity. Giving birth is very tiring; then, the lack of sleep in those early days can leave you feeling exhausted physically and emotionally. Of course, exercise is really good for you, but if you can rest in bed for those few days, you’ll recover from the whole experience much more quickly.’

  Ginny’s voice was soothing. Outside the window, a magpie hopped on to the windowsill and stared in. He was so blatant the way he walked back and forth, he might as well have been doing the cancan. Erin cursed the magpie and the bad luck associated with it. She closed her eyes briefly and drifted away from the conversation, allowing herself to imagine what feeding the baby might feel like. She knew it would be tiring in those first few weeks, waking up several times a night to feed, but she knew she wouldn’t care. She’d stay awake all night if she had to. Once the baby was in her arms, she would do anything for him or her. Opening her eyes, she saw that the breastfeeding baby was now asleep and that Ginny was handing out dolls for them to hold in position, as if they were breastfeeding. Feeling a sudden pressure in her abdomen, Erin felt she needed the toilet.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said to Edward. ‘Just need the bathroom. Excuse me.’

  Letting the door of the classroom close behind her, Erin walked to the toilets and went into the cubicle. She pulled down her underwear and sat on the toilet seat. Bloody magpie. One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy. She vowed to have a look for a second bird when she returned to the window. That would make her feel better. There usually was one somewhere nearby if you searched long and hard enough. Irritated with herself for having silly, superstitious thoughts, she shook her head. Never used to be like this, did I? Absent-mindedly, she glanced at her underwear and saw a spot of red on the cotton. Blood. Oh, God. Blood. Blood.

  ‘There’s blood,’ she said, suddenly desperately alert. ‘Fuck. Blood.’

  Twisting round, she looked into the toilet basin. There were a couple of drops of blood in the water and a tiny bit on the tissue too. Her heart pounded in her chest, she went from boiling hot to freezing cold and thought she might be sick.

  ‘Oh no, oh shit, on please God no,’ she said, gripping her throat, her voice rising higher. ‘Please God, no. Please keep the baby alive. Please don’t let the baby die.’

  Without returning to the classroom or picking up her coat, Erin moved through reception and half ran, half walked across the car park through pouring rain towards the Accident and Emergency department of the hospital. Please, God. Please don’t let this happen. With tears blurring her eyes, she stepped in front of a car, which slammed on its brakes to avoid her, its wheels gripping the wet road. The driver sounded the horn. Erin didn’t notice. Running into the hospital, she went straight to the reception desk.

  ‘I’m thirty-seven weeks,’ she said, when it was her turn to speak. ‘I’m due to have a C-section in two weeks. I’m bleeding.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the lady. ‘Let me get you seen to immediately. Take a seat.’

  But Erin couldn’t sit down. The room was spinning. Her head was floating. Her legs were liquid. Images of blood burst into her mind. She wished and prayed and made deals with God for the baby to be safe. She leaned over the reception desk.

  ‘I’ve already lost one baby,’ she said to the receptionist. ‘I can’t lose this one. Please.’

  The receptionist was clearly concerned, but she was also trying to get attention for other patients, one of whom was screaming in pain and another who appeared to have lost consciousness.

  ‘Okay, my love,’ the woman said. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get a foetal monitor on you asap.’

  Don’t worry, thought Erin, how could she not worry! With shaking hands, she called Edward. He didn’t pickup. She didn’t leave a message. She phoned Katy, who she knew would have her phone on her lap. Sure enough, Katy picked up after one ring.

  ‘Katy Tyler speaking,’ she said. ‘How can I help?’

  In the background, Erin heard the sounds of the other women in the class chatting, the sound of Meg crying.

  ‘It’s Erin here,’ she said with false calm. ‘Edward’s not answering his phone. I’m in A&E. I just went to the toilet and I’m bleeding.’ Her voice wobbled and she swallowed. ‘Can you ask him to come, please?’ she finished.

  ‘Yes,’ said Katy calmly. ‘Of course, Erin. Don’t worry.’

  Erin put down the phone without saying goodbye. She found a seat. With her head in her hands, she focused on the baby, pleading with it to be okay. She’d only been there for two minutes, but it felt like for ever.

  ‘Erin,’ said Edward, his hand suddenly on her back. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I’m bleeding,’ she said, feeling panic finger her spine. ‘I’m waiting to see someone.’

  ‘Is it labour?’ he asked, but she shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s bright red blood and I can’t feel the baby moving.’

  Edward’s face was ashen. He bit his lip and looked wildly about the A&E department, which was teeming with people. Erin watched him walk to the reception desk and speak to the receptionist.

  ‘We lost our first baby,’ he said. ‘And now my wife is bleeding and she can’t feel the baby moving. She needs to be seen right away.’

  ‘The doctor is coming,’ she said. ‘He knows your situation.’

  Erin watched Edward push his hands through his hair. She saw his jaw tighten and clench and his hands bunch into fists. Erin stood and moved towards him, holding her breath. She held out her arms towards him.

  ‘WE NEED TO SEE A FUCKING DOCTOR,’ Edward shouted at the top of his voice. ‘NOW!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Outside Erin’s house, high-ceilinged and Victorian, with decorative stained-glass windows above the front door and flowers neatly bordering a square of grass, the antenatal group patiently waited, a quiet camaraderie between them, their umbrellas dripping with rain. Ringing the ting-a-ling-ling doorbell, a throwback to a different era when a maid in a f
rilly white hat and apron would have scuttled to the door to answer, the group fell into silence.

  ‘Big house,’ said Lexi, not knowing what to say.

  It was the kind of house she’d imagined for herself during her years as a teenager, when, in retrospect, she had been at her most delusional. At that time in her life, squished into a two-bedroom terrace with her depressed mum and two stinking gerbils who wouldn’t die whatever she fed them, Lexi had dreamed of a man on a white horse taking her away from the pebble-dashed estate she lived on, charging into her house through the bay window in the living room and whisking her off to a big house and frequent holidays in paradise. Ha! One failed relationship with a bloke who spent all his free time watching Robson Green’s Extreme Fishing and eating peanuts had stapled open her eyes about that particular dream. That was when she realized she was going to have to get serious about sorting out her own life. She needed a vocation. Falling in love with her job made more sense. What she hadn’t counted on was a) meeting Alan who, for one night only, seemed every bit the man on the white charger and b) owning a biological clock that ticked louder than Big Ben.

  ‘Very,’ said Rebecca. ‘My flat is about as big as the storm porch.’

  It was two days after the breastfeeding class (which had staggered on while Erin was in hospital). Under her umbrella, Lexi clutched a bunch of sunflowers that crinkled in their cellophane, and stood next to Mel, who had a box of chocolates balanced on top of her overflowing bag, and Rebecca, who carried a box of homemade brownies. Just behind them was Katy, who had brought an ostentatious fruit basket. That irritated Lexi, but she didn’t let it show. Now wasn’t the time for pettiness. She wanted and needed to make amends for her comments in the teashop.

  ‘Do you think she minds us coming over?’ said Mel. ‘Her text was a bit strange.’

  ‘She seems like a very private person to me,’ said Katy. ‘The last thing she probably wants is for us all to turn up on her doorstep like some kind of pregnant girl-band.’

  ‘Ha!’ said Lexi, smiling over-zealously at Katy. ‘That’s funny. Short-lived career, though. Look, I think she’ll be pleased to see us. People need to see friends when they’ve had a shock, don’t they? We’re all going through the same thing. So, here goes.’

  Lexi pressed the bell again, and the women stopped speaking. After a long pause, Erin opened the door, dressed in pale pink pyjamas and a dressing gown. She looked ethereal, her hair twisted in a plait and pinned at the top of her head. It was the first time Lexi had seen her without makeup and, though she was as white as snowdrops, she was naturally very beautiful.

  ‘We brought you a few things,’ said Lexi. ‘Can we come in for a few minutes?’

  Erin looked so startled, despite the fact she had known they were coming over, that Lexi wanted to hug her. Erin took steps backwards, which Lexi interpreted as an invitation, so she stepped over the threshold, the other women following close behind. They waited in the hallway, on the black-and-white-tiled floor, each smiling awkwardly at one another, not quite knowing what to do.

  ‘How are you, Erin?’ Katy asked. ‘Is everything okay with the baby?’

  Time seemed to stand still as Erin briefly closed her eyes, sighed and smiled a small, cautious smile. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank God. Come through.’

  She gestured towards the living room, so the women moved on in, murmuring appreciatively about Erin’s splendid home. Erin waited by the door, pulling her dressing gown tighter across her bump. Her skin flushed pink.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’ Rebecca asked. ‘Sounds like you had a horrible shock. Edward texted us to say you had to spend the night in hospital. Ginny sends her regards. She said she’d see you at the next class.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Erin, smiling warily. ‘Yes, I’m all right now. The bleeding stopped quite quickly, but it was . . . it was—’

  Erin’s hand shot to her throat. She pinched at the skin just under her chin and closed her eyes for a long moment.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, opening them again, blinking away tears. ‘It was pretty scary. I . . . I don’t really want to go into—’

  ‘Sit down, Erin,’ Mel said. ‘Please, you don’t have to say anything. We just wanted you to know that we’re thinking about you and, well, we’re all in this together now, aren’t we—’

  ‘I—’ Erin interrupted. ‘I can’t really explain . . . it was all because of . . . before . . . I had—’

  Lexi saw that Erin was shaking violently. She stood up from her chair and gave her a hug then led her to the sofa and gestured for her to sit down.

  ‘If you’d rather we left,’ said Katy. ‘We can do.’

  But Erin shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d like to tell you. I need to tell you.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Three years ago I was pregnant,’ started Erin, slowly. She rolled the belt of her dressing gown between her fingertips, looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

  ‘The baby was a boy, and I was so excited about having him,’ she whispered, before clearing her throat. She looked around at the women’s expectant faces. ‘We’d tried for more than two years to conceive, you see. We thought we weren’t going to be able to have a baby, and when I got pregnant with him we called him our miracle baby.’

  She paused and drew her fingertips along underneath her eyes. Lexi gave her a warm, sympathetic smile.

  ‘I spoke to him all the time in the womb,’ Erin continued. ‘I played him my favourite music and read him poems. I bought nursery furniture and a whole wardrobe of sleepsuits for him. I was a dance teacher at the time, and all my students were fascinated by my pregnancy – constantly asking me questions, which I was delighted to answer. I used to let them feel him kick. Josiah was the most exciting thing ever to happen to me.’

  Smiling at the memory, she sat forward in her chair and looked at the carpet. The room was silent.

  ‘But, when I was thirty-nine weeks pregnant, days away from my due date,’ she continued, ‘I realized the baby’s movements had slowed down a little. I just thought Josiah was getting into position and getting ready to be born, rooting down for birth, but I went to the hospital to get checked out anyway, because I’d read that you should.’

  Everyone was completely silent, but Erin didn’t notice.

  ‘My obstetrician listened for Josiah’s heartbeat and kept on moving the monitor around my bump. But there was nothing. There was no heartbeat. I remember looking at the doctor, who was avoiding my eyes. He went completely pale and asked me to call Edward to the hospital. I kept asking “Is Josiah all right?” But he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.’

  Erin shook her head and let her hair fall in front of her eyes. After a few moments, she pushed it away and took a deep breath.

  ‘While I was waiting for Edward to arrive,’ she went on, her mouth contorting as she struggled not to cry, ‘two more doctors checked me over. Their faces said it all, but I still asked them if the baby was all right. I still hung on to that hope. He was snug and warm inside me, ready to be born. What could go wrong? Finally, when Ed arrived, the doctor told us that Josiah had died in the womb. Even though I knew that was what he was going to say, hearing the words out loud almost killed me. That was my baby. He should have been alive. I was all ready for him. I had a little white polar bear in his cot and an elephant mobile hanging from the ceiling for him to look at. I felt as if my life had stopped, there and then.’

  Tears were tumbling down Erin’s cheeks now, and she pushed them away with her palms.

  ‘Oh, Erin,’ said Lexi, shaking her head. ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Mel.

  Rebecca’s hand was over her mouth, and Katy’s eyes were big and round and glassy.

  ‘He told me that the baby had died in the womb but that I should give birth to him naturally,’ said Erin, her voice breaking. ‘So, the following morning I was injected with a hormone to begin contractions and, after a long, exhausting labour, Josiah was bo
rn. He was pink and warm and perfect. He looked alive. I knew he was dead, but the midwife handed him to me to hold and I wondered if they had it all wrong, because it felt as if he was alive, just sleeping. When I looked at him, I felt this immense rush of love. I loved him with everything I had, because I had only those few minutes with my baby. I phoned my mother and explained that Josiah had been born sleeping. Oh, God, she was trying so hard not to break down and be strong for me. I could hear my father in the background asking whether I’d had a boy or a girl and him crying out when she whispered what had happened. My mother spoke so lovingly to me, I was bowled over. For some reason, I’d expected her to be disappointed. I loved her more than ever that day. I remember her words exactly. She said, “He’s your sweet child, darling, you hold him close, you love him and kiss him and talk to him. He’s your son, no one can take that away from you, he’s your baby. Enjoy these moments, my darling, and relish them. They are yours, together.” Simple words, but, my gosh, it chokes me to tell you that.’

  Mel, who had tears running down her cheeks, moved off the sofa to sit by Erin. She put her hand on her Erin’s back and rubbed it slightly. Erin smiled at her gratefully.

  ‘Edward took a photograph of me cradling Josiah, because he didn’t look dead, he really didn’t,’ said Erin. ‘It sounds macabre, but I let myself imagine he was alive. I dressed him and bathed him and the midwives gave us some time together as a family. I remember, it was a beautiful sunny day and Edward opened the window so I could sit near it holding Josiah to let the sun fall on his face. He needed to feel the sun on his skin. Of course I knew he couldn’t, but it meant something to me. Edward sat with us, but then I asked him if I could have a few moments with Josiah on my own. I wanted to look at him and capture him in my heart. I wanted to be a mother. It was so quiet in that hospital room, and I held him and rocked him and I sang him the lullaby my mother used to sing to me. I did not cry, because I was holding my baby. I was holding my baby boy, my Josiah, my sweet boy, and I loved him more than I can possibly say.’