Claiming Noah

by Amanda Ortlepp

  It wasn’t that Catriona wasn’t thrilled to be pregnant. She just wished it was something she could share only with James, her family and her closest friends. As she rode the bus home one night, thinking about how strangers treat pregnant women like public property, she caught a man staring blatantly at her stomach. He hadn’t offered her his seat but he obviously realised she was pregnant, because he wouldn’t take his eyes off her mid section. Catriona stared straight at him, expecting to break him out of his reverie, but his gaze didn’t move. Whatever the reason he was staring – Curiosity? A fetish for pregnant women? – it made her uncomfortable. Just as she was about to say something to him he reached out and touched her belly, first with the tips of his fingers and then with his whole palm. As Catriona gaped at him, stunned into muteness, he pressed the stop button on the handrail in front of him and picked up the plastic shopping bag he had secured between his ankles. It was only when the bus stopped that he withdrew his hand, stood up and climbed down the stairs to the footpath, all without once meeting her gaze.

  ‘You won’t believe what this weirdo on the bus just did to me,’ Catriona said to James as she struggled through the front door, having walked the short distance home from the bus stop. ‘Why is it that the normal rules of social decency fly right out the window once you’re pregnant?’

  She paused at the mirror by the front door. Her face looked puffy and her hair seemed thinner in parts. She had a breakout of pimples across her chin, presumably in response to the hormones surging through her body. That was in addition to her belly, which at seven months into her pregnancy had grown so large she kept knocking things off tables as she misjudged her girth.

  ‘Glowing, my arse,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing attractive about any of this.’ She sighed and waddled towards the kitchen. ‘What’s for dinner? I’m absolutely starving.’

  James was waiting for her in the living room.

  ‘What?’ Catriona asked, startled by the proud look on his face. ‘What have you done?’

  He smiled, took her by the hand and led her upstairs. ‘I know you’ve been busy at work trying to get things finished before you go on maternity leave, and you haven’t had time to think about preparing for the baby, so on my day off today I thought I’d knock some of the things off our list.’

  They reached the door of what would soon be the baby’s room and James stepped back to let Catriona open it. Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. He had bought everything: a cot, a change table, a pram. The receptacle under the change table was filled to the brim with nappies and baby wipes. The cot was assembled and had been made up with sheets and a blanket. James had even bought a plush yellow chair for the corner of the room for Catriona to sit in while she fed the baby. He couldn’t have thought of a better way to cheer her up. She had tried a few times to go shopping for the baby, but every time she went she had been overwhelmed by the volume of products on offer and had left the store empty-handed.

  She turned to James, overwhelmed with emotion. ‘You’re amazing. I can’t believe you did all this.’

  He led her from piece to piece in the room, pointing out all the things she had missed. ‘Here’s the baby monitor, so we won’t miss the baby crying if we’re watching television. And here’s the baby capsule for the car; a guy’s coming to fit it next week.’ He opened the cupboard door and pointed to the filled shelves. ‘And I’ve bought linen and face washers and wraps – everything you need, apparently. Your mother came and helped me. And she’s going to organise a baby shower for you in a few weeks, so you’ll probably get a lot of clothes and toys for the baby then, but I bought a few things just so we have what we need.’

  Catriona hugged James as tightly as she could with her enormous stomach in the way. ‘You’ve done so well, thank you. You have no idea how happy it’s made me.’

  As she looked around the nursery it occurred to Catriona that no matter how uncomfortable her pregnancy was, and how much she hated the attention from strangers, it was a small sacrifice for what they were getting in return.

  • • •

  The last two months of Catriona’s pregnancy passed in a blur of appointments, shopping and other preparations for the baby until the day came, ten days after her due date, when her obstetrician decided to induce labour.

  Catriona settled on to the bed in the antenatal ward of the hospital and smiled at James. After the build-up of IVF and two pregnancies, and two unsuccessful membrane sweeps by her obstetrician, it had felt like they were never going to make it to this day.

  ‘We’re going to apply a gel to your cervix to ripen it,’ the midwife told Catriona in a thick Scottish accent. ‘For many women that’s enough to get the labour started and the rest can progress naturally.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Catriona said. ‘Whatever you need to do.’

  James watched with interest as the midwife attached two monitors with belts to Catriona’s stomach.

  ‘What are those?’ he asked, craning his neck to see what she was doing.

  The midwife tilted a screen towards them. ‘We monitor your baby to make sure it isn’t distressed. Look,’ she said after she pressed a few buttons. ‘That’s your baby’s heartbeat.’

  Catriona and James watched the moving line on the screen with amazement.

  ‘And it’s okay?’ James asked.

  ‘It’s absolutely fine at the moment, but we’ll keep a close eye on it.’

  The midwife prepared a syringe and asked Catriona to lie back and spread her knees so she could insert the gel. The gel was cold and the process uncomfortable, but it was over with quickly.

  ‘We need you to stay lying down for a while so the gel can be absorbed and do its job,’ the midwife said after she had finished. ‘I’ll keep monitoring your baby’s heart rate to see how it’s responding.’

  Other than a couple of twinges Catriona didn’t feel anything, so after a while the midwife left. ‘Give me a yell if you need anything,’ she said as she headed out the door. ‘Otherwise the best thing you can do now is try to get some rest. It might be morning before anything starts happening.’

  Catriona slept in short bursts. Each time she woke, she wondered if it was labour pains that had woken her. A couple of times she contemplated waking James, who was curled up in a chair next to her bed, but after waiting a few minutes she felt no indication that her labour had begun and tried to get back to sleep.

  Eight hours later, in the early morning, the midwife told them after another examination that it was time to apply a second layer of gel. ‘Your cervix hasn’t opened up yet, but another dose usually does the trick.’

  After an hour Catriona was told she could get out of bed and walk around, as long as she came back to the ward every half-hour. She and James walked around the hospital grounds, enjoying the summer sunshine and air that didn’t smell of disinfectant, and then went further down the street to pick up some breakfast at a nearby cafe.

  ‘You look like you’re about to pop,’ a man in the cafe said, eyeing her belly.

  ‘Not any time soon, apparently,’ Catriona replied.

  On the way back to the hospital she had a bite of James’s croissant, but despite not having eaten all night she wasn’t hungry.

  Soon after they went back upstairs, they were moved to the birthing suite. The excitement Catriona had felt when they arrived at the hospital had disappeared. She was agitated and impatient, not wanting to be in pain but not wanting to wait any longer for her labour to start. To pass the time they watched an inane romantic comedy on the television in her room, and then a game show in which the host and the audience were so hyperactive it seemed as if happy gas had been pumped into the television studio. Their exhilaration made her feel even more glum.

  Four hours after the second dose of gel, she started to experience sharp pains low in her belly.

  ‘It’s happening,’ she said, grabbing James’s hand. ‘The contractions, they’ve started!’

  James left the room to find the midwife
and came back five minutes later with a woman Catriona hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Where’s the other midwife?’ Catriona asked. ‘The Scottish woman?’

  ‘Mary’s gone home for the day. I’ll be looking after you now.’ She read the chart at the end of Catriona’s bed. ‘So, you’ve had your second dose of Prostin gel?’ she asked.

  ‘Four hours ago.’

  ‘I know you’re uncomfortable,’ the midwife said after another examination. ‘But they’re not contractions, I’m afraid. They’re what we call Prostin pains. They’re caused by the hormones in the gel. Why don’t you try having a warm bath? A lot of women find that helps with the pain.’

  The bath did help, but after a while Catriona’s skin started to pucker and her back felt stiff. James called the midwife and together they helped her to get out of the bath and back into bed.

  ‘Well, the good news is that your cervix has opened up a bit,’ the midwife said a couple of hours later. ‘So, we’ll be able to break your waters now.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’

  Catriona stared out the window while the midwife rummaged around with some surgical equipment on the medical cart in the corner of the room.

  ‘What’s that thing?’ James asked as the midwife approached Catriona with a long plastic hook.

  ‘It’s called an amnihook. It pierces the amniotic sac.’

  ‘I don’t want that thing going anywhere near my baby!’

  Catriona couldn’t help but laugh at the terrified look on James’s face. She had read about amnihooks in her pregnancy books, but she had never thought to tell James about them. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s just like bursting a balloon.’

  ‘That’s exactly right,’ the midwife said. ‘It shouldn’t touch the baby, and your wife won’t feel any pain.’ She turned to Catriona. ‘Usually, after the membrane ruptures, you’ll start to feel pressure from the baby’s head resting on your cervix, which can be uncomfortable, so get yourself ready for that.’

  After fourteen hours in the hospital without a single contraction, Catriona was more than ready for her labour to start. Her baby had taken control of her body for the past nine months and now it was dictating the conditions of its arrival as well.

  James took hold of her hand and smiled at her in a way she knew was meant to reassure her, but she saw his gaze dart towards the amnihook. A few seconds later Catriona felt the sensation of warm liquid between her legs.

  ‘There you go,’ the midwife said. ‘I told you it was easy. Now we’ll give it a while to see if your contractions start naturally.’

  But the contractions didn’t start. After another two hours, the midwife was back in the room. ‘Okay, we have to move on to Plan C now. Your little one seems to want to stay put, so we’re going to have to get things moving.’

  Catriona sighed and leaned back against the pillows on the bed. James was stroking her hair and she was trying to resist the urge to tell him to stop touching her. She wanted him to go away for a while, but she knew he wouldn’t leave. ‘I can’t believe it’s taking so long. Is Plan C the drip?’

  ‘That’s right. We’re going to put you on to a Syntocinon drip. It mimics the hormone Oxytocin, which your body produces when you’re in labour. That’s what starts the contractions.’

  ‘Will it definitely work?’ James asked.

  ‘It will definitely augment the labour, but the pain can be more severe than if contractions start on their own, so you’ll need to prepare for that,’ the midwife said. ‘We’ll keep the monitor on you full-time now, so you’ll need to stay in bed, I’m afraid.’

  James smiled at Catriona. ‘It won’t be much longer now. You’re doing really well.’

  Her contractions did start, and they were as painful as the midwife had warned, but they progressed at an infuriatingly slow pace. As the hours went on Catriona grew sick of waiting, sick of being in bed, and sick of the sound of James’s voice telling her it would all be over soon. Every half-hour the midwife increased the dosage on the drip, which increased the intensity of the contractions. Before long Catriona was barely able to draw breath before the next contraction hit. But they kept telling her she still had a long way to go.

  Twenty-six hours after she had arrived at the hospital, Catriona was physically and emotionally exhausted. She desperately wanted a drink of water, but there was no time in between her contractions to ask for one, and she hardly had the energy to speak. The lights on the ceiling wavered in and out of focus and she was barely aware of who was in the room with her. She assumed James was still there somewhere because she heard his voice every now and again, but there could have been an entire football team in the room and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  With each contraction she felt for sure it was going to be the one that ripped her insides in two. The gas the midwife gave her hadn’t alleviated her pain, and despite the intensity and frequency of the contractions it seemed she was no closer to having the baby than she had been twenty-six hours earlier. An epidural had never been part of her birth plan, but when she thought she could handle the pain no more she mustered the strength to ask for one.

  Relief washed over her as the epidural took effect and the pain receded, but the relief was short-lived when she heard the conversation her midwife was having with the obstetrician.

  ‘BP’s dropping.’

  ‘How’s the baby doing?’

  ‘Starting to show signs of distress during the contractions and a slow recover to baseline.’

  ‘How long has she been on the Syntocinon?’

  ‘Ten hours.’

  The obstetrician’s face hovered over Catriona’s. ‘We think it’s important to get your baby out soon, so we’d like to talk to you about your options.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, struggling to prop up her body with her elbows. She looked across at James for reassurance, but he seemed as distressed as her.

  ‘The epidural has caused your blood pressure to drop, and that’s affecting the amount of oxygen getting to your baby. Because you’re on a high dose of Syntocinon your contractions are very strong and we’re concerned about how your baby will cope if we continue.’

  Catriona looked at the heart-rate monitor, but in her exhausted state she couldn’t make sense of it. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘We can’t be sure how much longer a natural delivery will take,’ the obstetrician said. ‘And if the heart rate continues in this pattern, then we’ll need to get your baby out as quickly as possible. My opinion is that a caesarean is the safest option for you and your baby at this point.’

  ‘I don’t want that,’ Catriona said, hearing the whine in her voice but not caring. ‘I want a natural birth.’

  ‘We can keep trying for a little while longer if you want. And another thing we can do is to take a sample of blood from the baby’s scalp, which will give us a better idea of how it’s coping, and then we can make a more informed decision,’ the obstetrician said. ‘It’s your decision, of course. But if your baby continues to shows signs of distress, then we’ll need to do an emergency C-section.’

  Catriona slumped back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Someone took hold of her hand and when she opened her eyes again, James’s face was next to hers.

  ‘I think we should go with the caesarean now,’ he said. ‘If that’s what’s best for the baby. We don’t want to wait for it to get worse.’

  She stared into his eyes, beseeching him. ‘But I didn’t want a caesarean. We had a plan.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘But we need to do whatever’s best for our baby. And you’re exhausted. I know it’s not what you wanted, but I just want you both to be safe.’

  Catriona was disappointed that it had come to this, but she knew he was right. As she was prepared for surgery, James tried to reassure her that they were doing the right thing, telling her it would soon be over and their baby would be with them. She barely had time to respond before she was rushed into the chaos of noise an
d light of the operating theatre. After the agony of a long labour it felt like only a few minutes before the midwife handed her a small bundle, loosely wrapped in a striped blanket, and said, ‘Here he is. Here’s your son.’

  As she glanced at the baby on her chest, tiny and helpless but already grappling for her with its mouth and its one free hand, she waited for the rush of adoration she knew she was supposed to feel. Instead she felt dread taking hold of her like a hand to her throat.

  5

  DIANA

  Monday, 13 June 2011

  Diana and Liam sat in two uncomfortable chairs facing the fertility counsellor’s desk. The shelves surrounding the walls were littered with educational flyers covering every conceivable fertility issue: Embryo Donation; Ovulation Induction; Intracytoplasmic Sperm Injection. It had never occurred to Diana how many different methods had been developed to deal with infertility.

  The counsellor was an older woman, in her late sixties, Diana guessed. She said her name was Mrs Olsen and since she offered no first name Diana and Liam were forced to call her by her surname as if she were their teacher. They had made the appointment with Mrs Olsen at the request of the staff at the fertility clinic, who had stressed to them the importance of discussing the social, legal and emotional implications of adopting an embryo.

  ‘You’re very fortunate,’ Mrs Olsen said to them from behind her desk. ‘Most couples are on the waiting list for a long time. Some have been on the list for years.’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ Diana said. ‘We feel very lucky to have been chosen.’

  ‘Doctor Malapi feels strongly about matching the embryo as closely as possible to the recipients. He feels it’s a key success factor for implantation, as well as for the future of the child, of course.’