From Here to Maternity

by Sinéad Moriarty

  The midwife said that the aim was to keep the baby inside for as long as possible to let the lungs mature. I was put on constant foetal monitoring to make sure the baby didn’t go into distress. Everyone looked anxious. I held my breath.

  Within half an hour Dr Philips was at my bedside, and although he patted my hand and told me not to worry, he looked pretty worried himself. ‘The longer we can delay the birth, the better it is for the baby,’ he explained. ‘It’s quite small still and we’d like to give its lungs a bit longer to develop. But if you do go into full labour, don’t panic. Premature babies have a very good survival rate these days.’

  Survival! He used the word ‘survival’. So it was life and death. There was a possibility that the baby wouldn’t make it. I stifled a wail.

  ‘What happens if the lungs aren’t developed properly?’ James asked.

  ‘We put the baby on a ventilator which does the breathing for them,’ said Dr Philips.

  ‘A ventilator?’ said James, looking as horrified as I felt.

  ‘Let’s not worry about things until we have to. Emma, it’s very important that you try to remain calm.;

  Keep calm? How could I possibly do that? It was too early. The baby shouldn’t be coming now. I’d heard about premature babies dying. We all had. How could this be happening? I had felt fine until today. Why now? Why us?

  For two hours I sat in the bed and lurched from hope to despair. ‘What if the baby dies?’ I asked James.

  ‘Stop it, Emma. Our child is going to be fine,’ he said, as though chasing away negative thoughts.

  ‘But what if?’

  ‘Emma, it’s going to be all right. We’ve paid our dues on the baby front. It took us three years to have Yuri and we deserve a break. This baby is going to be fine. It has to be. It will be,’ he said, clenching his fists and pacing up and down.

  ‘I really wanted Yuri to have a brother or sister. I don’t want him to be an only child.’

  ‘He won’t be.’

  ‘At least we have Yuri. Thank God we have him. He’s given us the gift of parenthood. Whatever happens, we still have our son,’ I sobbed.

  ‘Emma, you have to stop thinking the worst. Of course we’re lucky to have Yuri but we’re going to have another baby too. Come on, start thinking positively.’

  ‘You’re right.’ I sat back and closed my eyes. ‘You will survive,’ I whispered, to my swollen stomach. ‘Come on, stay with us.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Another few hours and, hopefully, the contractions will have stopped and we’ll be back on track,’ said my eternal optimist.

  Ten minutes later, I started to bleed. I screamed at James to get Dr Philips.

  He came running and performed an ultrasound. ‘Emma, this is showing us that clots have formed in the placenta, which is now breaking away from the uterine wall. We’re going to have to perform an emergency Caesarian.’

  ‘Is the baby OK?’ I sobbed.

  ‘Yes, but it needs to come out now before it gets into distress. The anaesthetist is on her way. I’m going to get scrubbed up. I’ll see you in theatre.’

  I began to hyperventilate. James held my hand and stroked my forehead. He was trying to be stoic, but I could see the cracks. He was terrified too.

  Chapter 33

  Dr Philips smiled as he held up our baby. ‘It’s a girl,’ he announced.

  James and I stared at our tiny daughter. Her body was curled up and her eyes were closed. She didn’t cry. I put out my arms to hold her but the midwife whisked her away immediately to the neonatal intensive care unit.

  ‘What are you doing? Is she all right?’ I sobbed.

  ‘She’s very small and she needs to be put on a ventilator straight away. Don’t worry, she’ll get the best care in NICU,’ said Dr Philips.

  ‘But she didn’t cry,’ I croaked.

  ‘It’s all right, Emma. She’s alive – she just needs help breathing,’ he said, as he started sewing me back together.

  ‘I want to see her. I want to see my little girl, please.’

  ‘You’ll be taken to her as soon as possible, I promise.’

  James, who hadn’t uttered a word since the birth, was squeezing my hand so tightly that I thought my fingers would break. His face was ashen. Suddenly his grip loosened and he passed out.

  When he came to, he was lying on a bed beside me in a little room down the corridor from the NICU.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You fainted.’

  ‘Is the baby all right?’

  ‘I don’t know, they won’t take me down to see her yet,’ I said, crying.

  James got up and came over to hug me. ‘I’ll go and find out.’

  He came back with a nurse from Intensive Care who told us that our little angel weighed just three pounds and would need careful monitoring for the next few days. She explained that the baby was on a ventilator and had tubes all over her body to help her feed and breathe.

  ‘It looks a lot worse than it is, so don’t be shocked when you see her. I’ll talk you through it.’

  ‘But is she all right?’ asked James.

  ‘So far she’s doing well, but the next twenty-four hours are critical,’ said the nurse.

  James helped her lift me into a wheelchair and they pushed me down to the NICU where we entered another world. The room was crowded with premature babies in incubators. Alarms were going off and parents, sick with worry, were sitting beside their tiny tube-covered infants. Our little girl was huddled in an incubator with tubes all over her body, up her nose and in her mouth. Her eyes were open and, as we leant over to look at her, James’s chin began to shake. He was fighting desperately to be strong.

  The nurse patiently explained what each tube and monitor was for. Among them there was a feeding tube and a heart-rate monitor, and the big tube taped to her mouth was connected to the ventilator. ‘Premature infants tend to have apnoea. It means there are times when they stop breathing. It can happen once a day or more frequently. The good news is that, as the baby matures, she outgrows it.’

  ‘How will you know if she stops breathing? What if I fall asleep and you’re looking after another baby and you don’t notice?’ I asked, panicking at the thought that she might be overlooked. It was pretty crowded in there and I wanted my baby to get the best treatment possible.

  ‘Don’t worry, the monitor will sound an alarm. Babies normally breathe twenty to sixty times a minute and some¬times stop breathing for ten to twelve seconds. The pauses are considered normal if the baby begins breathing again by herself, there’s no change in skin colour and no drop in heart-rate. Pauses between breaths that are longer than fifteen seconds or occur with a change in the baby’s skin colour and a drop in heart-rate are not normal, and the alarm will give us plenty of warning.’

  ‘How long will she be on the ventilator?’ asked James, precariously peaky again.

  ‘We’ll be monitoring her progress very carefully and, hopefully, after a day or two we’ll be able to take her off the ventilator and see if she’s ready to breathe on her own. She looks like a fighter,’ said the nurse, smiling at us. ‘Have you chosen a name?’

  James gave me a watery smile, ‘Lara, Lara Hamilton,’ he said, as I sobbed over the incubator. Lara and Yuri were the names of the two main characters in Dr Zhivago, one of my favourite films. When we found out that our adopted son was called Yuri, I knew it was fate and I’d always hoped that if this baby was a girl we’d call her Lara, but James never seemed that keen on the name.

  ‘Can I pick her up?’ I begged, desperate to hold my daughter and kiss her beautiful little face.

  The nurse shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Emma, not yet. But you can hold her hand,’ she said, opening a little circular door at the side of the incubator.

  I put my hand in and held Lara’s tiny fingers in mine and felt a rush of love wash over me. It was just like the first time I saw Yuri, the strongest emotion I’d ever felt. She was so small, vulnerable and sick. ‘Please, God, please, ma
ke her better. Please don’t take her away from us,’ I whispered, as James put his arm round me. Then I took out my hand and watched as James gently held his daughter’s hand and lost control of his emotions.

  Babs woke up as her eyelids were jammed open. ‘Ow,’ she snapped, and Yuri giggled. He had climbed out of his cot and into her bed, having found his parents’ empty.

  ‘Bdabda?’ he said, pointing to their bedroom.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bdabda,’ he said, waddling over to the room.

  ‘Oh, right, yeah, Dada. Well, he’s not there and nor is your mum, so you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid. Remember me? Fun Auntie Babs?’ she said, waving her arms in the air.

  Yuri looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Your mama and dada are gone.’

  He blinked, then his lip began to wobble and he started to bawl.

  ‘Oh, Jesus, don’t cry. They’ll be back. It’s not like when your other mother dumped you at the orphanage. They haven’t gone for good, just a little while. And guess what? You’ve got a sister. How cool is that? A playmate. Well, if she makes it that is,’ said Babs, suddenly feeling a bit tearful. James had sounded so hollow when he called from the hospital in the middle of the night to tell her what was happening.

  Yuri continued to cry.

  ‘OK, Yuri, I’m not holy, but I think we need to pray.’ Babs knelt down and pulled him down beside her, rubbing his back to calm him. ‘Dear God, please let Yuri’s sister have a long and healthy life. Emma and James have suffered enough shit trying to become parents. They deserve a break.’

  Distracted by the display of piety, Yuri stopped crying. He struggled to his feet and pulled at Babs’s pyjama leg. She followed him downstairs to the kitchen, where he frowned at her and babbled.

  ‘Look, kid, I don’t understand baby-talk. You’re going to have to help me out here. Are you hungry?’

  Yuri shouted, ‘Orig, orig.’

  Babs looked around. What on earth was he talking about? She wanted to ring James to ask him what his son ate in the morning, but she knew she couldn’t. OK, I can do this, she thought. It’s a process of elimination. She lifted Yuri up and opened all the cupboards. ‘Now, what do you want?’

  ‘Orig,’ he shouted, squirming.

  ‘Well, what’s that?’ she asked, pulling out cornflakes, then bread and yogurt. Eventually she saw him pointing at a box of baby porridge on the counter. ‘OK, I get it. Porridge,’ she said, showing Yuri the box. He laughed and bounced up and down with excitement and starvation.

  She made her nephew a bowl of porridge and gave him a spoon. Most of it ended up in her hair and on the floor. Much to Yuri’s delight, Babs’s reflexes were slower than his mother’s, and he had plenty of time to flick the porridge off the spoon before she reacted.

  After breakfast, she took Yuri out of the high chair and brought him upstairs to change him, forced into it by the stench from his nappy. She put him on the floor, took it off and gagged at the smell. She wiped his bum with toilet paper, but as she was reaching for a new nappy, he peed over her.

  ‘Shit,’ she said, jumping back and wiping her face. ‘You’re a bit young for golden showers.’ She threw a new nappy on and spent the next ten minutes wrestling him into a jumper and jeans.

  As she was pulling on his socks, the doorbell rang. Babs ran down to answer it. ‘Where is he?’ Mum asked, pushing past her.

  ‘Upstairs,’ said Babs, as they heard a thud and then a loud wail.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, have you no sense? You can’t leave him alone for a minute,’ said Mum, rushing up the stairs. They found Yuri in his cot. He must have climbed into it, then on to the chest of drawers and up on to the book shelf, which had toppled him back down. Thankfully, his fall had been broken by the mattress. He was sitting surrounded by books, one of which must have hit him on the side of his head because he was now rubbing it.

  Mum picked him up and cuddled him. He was clearly delighted to see her familiar face. ‘Gany,’ he murmured into her ear, as he clung to her cardigan.

  ‘You’re all right, my little pet,’ said his devoted granny. ‘I’ll kiss your head better.’ Turning to Babs, she snapped, ‘Get dressed, we’re going to the hospital to see Emma. I’ll deal with your sudden homecoming later.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’ asked Babs.

  ‘Not as such. She came on to the phone but she couldn’t speak, she was so upset. Lord, as if they haven’t suffered enough,’ said Mum. ‘Thank God for this little dote here,’ she added, hugging Yuri tighter. ‘Come on, now, let’s get to the hospital. Emma needs her family round her. Seeing Yuri’ll cheer her up.’

  While Babs threw on some clothes, Mum packed a bag for Yuri – nappies, spare clothes, some toys and food. Yuri followed his granny around watching her, afraid that if he took his eyes off her she’d disappear too. As she was zipping the bag up, he shouted and pointed to his cot.

  Mum saw the little grey elephant. She went to place it in the bag but Yuri grabbed it and clutched it to him. He seemed to sense something was wrong. He needed his comforter.

  James and I sat by Lara’s incubator and prayed as we never had before. I made a pact with God: if he let Lara live, I’d donate my organs to medical science, go to Africa and build schools, join the church choir, never raise my voice in anger again, be nice to Babs – even though she would try the patience of a saint – and look after my mother in her old age instead of putting her in a home as we children had all agreed.

  I leant over and gazed into Lara’s eyes. ‘Come on, angel, fight.’

  James held my hand. ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he said. ‘We can’t lose her, Emma, we just can’t.’

  I willed myself to be strong. ‘We won’t. Lara’s going to live a long and healthy life.’

  ‘Why is having children so bloody difficult?’ he asked.

  I sighed. ‘Maybe it’s because when they do arrive, they bring you so much joy that you have to suffer a bit first.’

  ‘Some people just have sex, get pregnant and have healthy full-term babies. Why the hell do we always pull the short straw?’ said James, angrily. ‘It’s not bloody fair.’

  ‘No one gets away lightly,’ I said. ‘Everyone has stuff to deal with. If it’s not a struggle to have children, it could be ill-health or money worries or bad relationships. We’re lucky, James. We’ve got great families, each other, our health, Yuri and now Lara. That’s a lot of blessings,’ I said. ‘Now, come on, we need to think positively for her.’

  ‘Emma,’ said James, staring into the incubator, ‘I love you.’

  Typical! Just as I was being strong and positive, he disarms me. I sobbed into his shoulder.

  Chapter 34

  Donal had been up all night, thinking of ways to get Lucy back. He’d had enough – phone calls, flowers and calling into her office weren’t working. It was time for something more drastic. He was going to persuade her to come home if it killed him. He picked up a few things he needed, then drove to the hotel where she was staying. He strode purposefully through Reception, ammunition in hand. As he was waiting for the lift to go up to Lucy’s room, he caught a glimpse of her in the restaurant having breakfast and reading the paper.

  Taking a deep breath, Donal pushed open the glass door to the dining room, walked over to Lucy and set down his CD player. As he pressed play, Christy Moore’s haunting voice filled the room – with Donal howling along at the top of his lungs:

  ‘Black is the colour of my true love’s hair,

  Her lips are like some roses fair,

  She’s the sweetest smile, and the gentlest hands,

  I love the ground, whereon she stands.

  I love my –’

  Everyone stopped eating and stared over. Lucy had jumped up and switched off the music. ‘Jesus, Donal, you’re making a scene,’ she hissed.

  Donal knelt down on one knee and handed Lucy an enormous bunch of roses, before addressing the other guests. They were mostly tourists, who were amused, i
f startled, by the spectacle. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you all, but I need your help. I am married to this beautiful creature. Before we got married, we broke up for a few days and I went out and got blind drunk and ended up in bed with another girl. I know it was stupid and, believe me, I regret it. But I love this woman more than life itself and I want her to come home. I can’t function without her. I need you to help me convince her to take me back. Lucy, my darling girl, I miss you, I love you, I need you in my life. Please forgive me.’

  ‘Aw, honey, you’ve got to go back. I’m on my fourth marriage and none of my husbands would ever have done that for me,’ said a lady dressed from head to toe in plaid.

  ‘It’s so romantic. What a beautiful song. Who was that singing?’ asked her friend. ‘I must get the CD for my Freddie.’

  ‘Girly,’ said an elderly gentleman in the corner, ‘this fella must be crazy about you. He’s just made a complete ass of himself.’

  ‘Stay away. Once a cheat, always a cheat,’ said a voice from the back.

  ‘Oh, don’t mind Muriel, honey. Her husband was a sex addict,’ whispered the tartan fan. ‘This boy loves you. I can see it by the way he looks at you.’

  ‘You are a rock of sense, madam. Please, Lucy, listen to her,’ said Donal.

  Lucy looked at him. He was a wreck. He looked as bad as she felt. She knew he loved her and that he’d be an amazing father to their baby. He had proven himself already with Annie. But he had cheated on her. Was he a womanizer? She’d never seen him flirt with another woman and he was the first guy she had ever gone out with who had made her feel secure. She was totally herself with him.

  Lucy felt a hundred years old. The last few weeks had been a nightmare. She had been sick every day – a combination of morning sickness and emotional upset, exhaustion and, most of all, loneliness. She missed Donal. She loved Donal.

  ‘Any chance you could forgive the poor eejit? He’s blocking the door,’ said the waiter, struggling under a tray of dirty plates.