Third Child

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘I wish I could believe that.’

  ‘This woman now has five fetuses left in her. But already she had become very big. Five babies at one time could be dangerous not only to the children but also to the mother. Everyone agrees that the mother is the person to be considered first.’

  ‘Yes, yes—can we cut to the chase and tell me the reason why you called me here. You’ve had months—years even to think about all the rights and wrongs of your vocation.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The face which once knew happiness, who enjoyed her life and career was not smiling now. Sad eyes had pulled her face into despair.

  ‘The mother is an attractive woman who is underweight. She is also delicately boned. So, when she carries, her stomach protrudes making her look bigger than she is. The gynecologists suggested that she have all the abortions in one go to reduce the risk to her. But both husband and wife want their children to be perfect, and they don’t care about the consequences.’

  ‘Are you saying that she died trying to have her babies?’

  ‘No, she didn’t die. They both knew we would do everything to look after her. When you have enough money and prestige, you can do what you want in life and no one is going to stand in your way. They have a different way of thinking to you and I.’

  ‘So, the mother is fine. What happened next?’

  ‘I was told quite strongly that I should never talk about this to anyone. I said I knew this, and that I was a professional, they could trust me. And apart from that, I had signed a form that stated that if I spoke to anyone outside the clinic, I could be taken to court and sued. It would probably result in imprisonment. I told them that I understood this.’

  ‘Okay, so why are you talking to me about it?’

  ‘Because things have changed. The husband wants two boys, only sons not daughters. The mother was carrying five boys, and they were for now, all healthy, but three of them still had to go. Neither of the parents wanted any more than two.’

  She stopped to look at Cecelia.

  ‘Do you know what the real problem is with multiple births?’

  ‘That the children will be too weak to survive?’

  ‘Image. The world is full of images. It’s not enough to be rich and powerful. People must believe in you. I have seen how it works and the homages made to these people who conform to an ideal. The rich, the leaders, politicians—they live a life of privilege and all we ask of them is to comply with our model. If they weaken, they fall.’

  ‘Okay,’ Cecelia nodded.

  ‘I thought I could do what was asked of me, do you understand, to provide a good service to help the new parents? It’s their lives and their choices. My beliefs are different to theirs which means I must not interfere. I am not there to judge them. I thought by believing this, my part in their needs would be absolved.’

  There is no God, you are absolved, Cecelia wanted to say. But the way Angelina was looking about her searching for the right answer kept her transfixed.

  ‘Another abortion occurred in the fourth month. I held her hand even though she was unconscious. Again, she had been dilated for the procedure and this time, extraction of the fetus would be riskier. The fetus is taken apart bit by bit. At four months abortion are not uncommon in this clinic.’

  ‘Why do you keep on calling it a fetus, surely it’s a baby by now?’

  ‘Technically, if the fetus is birthed, it would not be able to survive on its own. And besides, to call a fetus a baby now is politically emotive, it’s like saying that at this stage the baby has a soul. I’m sorry, this is the only way I can deal with it. You must not allow yourself to get emotional when you are doing an abortion—many women’s lives are saved by this procedure. And besides, an unwanted disabled child can be a problem for them and society?’

  ‘But the people who you are looking after are the rich and powerful. They want these children, it’s a symptom of their vanity so their children can carry on their line. In this way, they can rule and always be privileged.’

  Angelina shook her head as if she was clearing her mind of all unsolicited imaginings. She wasn’t listening to anything that Cecelia was saying.

  ‘It’s unavoidable, but you form a relationship with this soon to be a mother.’

  ‘A mother?’ it came out of her mouth as if she was using a swear word.

  ‘Yes, this woman is about to become a mother, but only to two children not to the others—shouldn’t we give people what they want?’

  ‘Are you asking me this or telling me? But it doesn’t matter what I think. You have a story to tell and I should be professional and listen to you.’

  ‘The trouble is, once you get to know her, you can’t help but like her. I can’t put my finger on it, but she makes you feel that you are the most special person in the world. Then suddenly you become her greatest friend. You become her family. And she tells you how she feels, and she wants to know all about you…’

  ‘What has this got to do with anything?’ Cecelia was now exasperated.

  ‘I don’t know, perhaps it’s an excuse or even an apology for what I had agreed to do.’

  Impatiently, Cecelia ran a hand down her brow while wondering if she could walk out without listening to Angelia’s story any longer. ‘And so, you found yourself liking her because she flattered you?’

  ‘Yes, for all that she has done and was about to do, I found myself still liking her.’

  She looked away from Cecelia’s eyes falling now deeper into the past.

  ‘When the second abortion came along, it was her that told me I would be okay—a patient telling a nurse that everything would be fine. The unborn wasn’t a baby so why worry about it?’

  ‘Couldn’t you ask to be put on another case?’

  ‘No. I had to see this through, I made a promise to her. I told her we would get through this together by giving each other strength.’

  Was she a fool to damage her mind going through this because of someone else’s selfish needs?

  ‘Is this illegal what the clinic is doing.’

  ‘I expect so, but where money is involved, these people can do anything.’

  Angelina looked down again, she still had a long way to go.

  ‘It was awful extrapolating the little body. We had to place it together to make certain that all the body parts were retrieved. Another few weeks and this fetus would have been a feasible and living baby.’

  Silence again as Angelina was looking at something only visible to her.

  ‘It was me who had to pick up the little leg and place it against the torso. A crushed tiny human jigsaw, attaching the small arms and the mashed skull on its small neck. The body was strangely still, no growth was being completed anymore. It’s wrinkled face and pushed up nose looked so peaceful as if it had been asleep. Poor little boy. Once every part had been identified, the fetus is placed into the macerator, chewed up as if it had never existed.’ And then she tried to smile as if what she had just related became glib. ‘But that’s what happens every month when women menstruate.’ She bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from saying any more.

  ‘Hardly the same thing though?’

  ‘Yes, I know. Not a good comparison, but one which helps you in your prayers.’

  Surely, she couldn’t believe in God by doing the job she was doing.

  ‘And after she was gone, she left me a gift,’ Angelina began again as if she had awoken from that bad dream. ‘A diamond bracelet. It was beautiful, diamonds set in gold, the most beautiful one I had ever seen, and probably worth a fortune. To me it was, but I expect to these people, its cost was nothing. It felt like a bribe. Do you mind if I have a drink now?’

  ‘No, suit yourself.’

  ‘Would you like a drink? I have everything. You only have to ask.’

  ‘Wine would be nice.’

  I watched as she went over to an antique-looking cabinet. She poured out a glass of wine for me, and for herself, she made a cocktail then walked back slowly. />
  ‘Two months had passed since she had the third abortion. I thought that after all that time, they had changed their minds, they were going to keep the three healthy boys, and I was glad. But then I got a telephone call from her saying that she was looking forward to seeing me again.’ Angelina shook her head in disbelief. ‘She was now seven and a half months pregnant. Any babies born now would be premature, but if they were put into an incubator, they would survive. She was going to have her babies now. I was so pleased they weren’t going to go through with another awful extraction until the following morning when I was told to gown up for another abortion. At first, I wondered if they had put me on another case. And then I saw Ruth, she waved to me when she was going into the robing room. “Ready for the last one,” she called out to me.’

  Angelina stopped. The disturbing memory was filling her mind while Cecelia read her haunted face.

  ‘No, I thought to myself, no. You can’t be having an abortion now. The baby is alive, it can feel. It can see and hear its mother’s voice and will respond to music especially when the mother sings. And if she touches it, its protruding foot will wriggle and delight if she grabs hold of it.’

  Was she reliving this moment again?

  ‘Routine. Routine saves you. I had to wash up and gown up. I believe that I went into automatic mode. Scrubbing my hands and my elbows—do you know, every night when I come home, I have to soak my hands in cream?’

  How young she looked when she glanced at Cecelia. Innocent with expectation in her eyes as if she was waiting for her answer, but Cecelia knew she shouldn’t reply. Angelina was deep in reliving the scene.

  ‘She was already in the theater when I went in. You know, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone through this procedure like walking, eating, sleeping, it becomes a habit, routine. The operation theater is so familiar to me, it’s like my home that I think nothing of it. I know this world, it was familiar to me, but not anymore. But now when I see these doctors, the men I used to respect with intelligence and understanding, who always made the right decision… These men I knew became white-clothed demons covered up completely with their hands held up as they moved about the theater, they had become awful monsters. While the silver metal operating tools to aid and cut off pain and fear had become weapons of torture. The child who was sleeping now was going to be destroyed.’

  She threw her hand to her mouth.

  ‘Is it murder to kill a child at this stage in life? A cesarean would have been the correct way for the baby. But what would you do with a baby when it starts crying? You can’t kill it, this would be murder, but you can pull it out through the uterus bit by bit. Bits of the child’s body is acceptable. What are people thinking when they do this, pulling a living child to pieces to work within the law?’

  ‘Rage, I had to work through my rage. It was better that I was angry than to give into my real feelings. I could have screamed. My friend, this patient was already prepped up and unconscious, she was not going to feel anything. Everything was cleaned up for her. Her child was not a child but a messy collection of flesh and blood. She was eager to have this thing out of her. How do these people manage to live with themselves?’

  ‘My hands were shaking—I was shaking when I took my place with the team, but no one could read my eyes as I could not read theirs… If she had been awake—I would ask of her to please have the baby and give it to me, and I promise you I would look after it, and I would. It was madness, pure insanity. Don’t go through with it, I kept on saying to myself. Don’t have this extraction, let it live and give it to me. But they wouldn’t, would they, they wouldn’t allow me to have their baby son? They would sooner have it dead.’

  She shook her head and stared at Cecelia. Cecelia could see that Angelina had become that other woman to herself.

  ‘I saw the drip keeping her hydrated and sedated. I had to prevent myself from pulling it out to say to this bitch, “if you want to get rid of your third child, you should be conscious. It’s the least you can do. Be there for your son, just this once. He’s been inside you, trusting you for seven and a half months—don’t you want to see him to say goodbye.”’

  Poor grieving woman, Cecelia had to prevent herself from comforting her. She needed to get her story.

  ‘The head gynecologist looked around at us, “Are we ready?” he asked calling us to be attentive. Gowned and masked, no one could see that I was shaking and making promises to myself that I wouldn’t faint. This was what my job was all about, and why I trained. But as I neared her lying on the operating table, her eyes covered with eye pads to prevent damage, I saw her stomach. It was moving. The children inside should have been drugged as well, but now they were moving about.’

  Digging her fingernails into her flesh, Cecelia had to leave Angelina inside that dark nightmare until her story was complete.

  But was Angelina imagining this terrifying episode? Had she cracked up and from her dreams produced this horror? Could she tell reality from fear? Cecelia knew about fear and how it operated with the imagination. Was it possible that Angelina’s fears were migrating unreal events to her mind to produce such revulsions?

  ‘But if I should warn the doctor that I had seen the baby which they were are about to terminate was still alert and alive, would he ignore it? I don’t know. But he must be able to see the children stretching and moving. Mustn’t he? If he and the rest of the staff were choosing to ignore the life going on below the flesh, and if I exposed it to them, they would gang up together and I would be the threat. Put on red alert and certified that I was mad.’

  Angelina lowered her head in shame.

  ‘But I didn’t say anything, like a coward I took my place amongst the monsters. The operation was going to be carried out. Oh, God, forgive me for my part in this infant’s murder.’

  ‘The baby was going to be dismantled, his leg caught hold of, twisted and tugged which meant the bones would break and then be pulled out, piece by piece. Oh, can you imagine the agony?’ she shook her head again while her eyes were alert to insanity.

  ‘At this stage, the baby would not be able to cry tears or make any sound in his mother’s sack, but he would suffer the dismantling of his body. Can you imagine the intrusion of being grabbed hold of by a cold long-toothed metal clamp? Impossible,’ she shook her head again. ‘Impossible to understand the horror committed to the young innocent.’

  Cecelia couldn’t take her eyes or ears off Angelina. And then she heard her sigh as if resigned to her part in it.

  ‘Usually, the legs are torn off first before the arms. The head is the last to come out, it needs to be crushed first before it’s retrieved.’

  Horror and the need for reassurance, Cecelia now found that she was rocking.

  ‘I was handed his first leg, and now I was waiting for the first arm. I placed the warm leg on the metal dish as I had done before. His body was beginning to form outside of his mother, bit by bit. But he wasn’t real, I kept on telling myself, and by now any breath of life he would have had, had gone. He is dead, I kept on telling myself. He will suffer no more pain, no more hurt, no more betrayal, and all is peace in his mind. He sleeps now.’

  ‘The gynecologist inserted the instrument again, “I have it,” he said as he began to retrieve the arm. But it wasn’t only an arm this time, the baby’s head came with it, and it appeared to be still alive. “Quick get the head,” the gynecologist yelled at me. And when I took it, the little person opened his eyes and looked up into mine. I didn’t think it was possible?’

  And then Angelina bent over and groaned, her eyes soaked with tears as she began to sob.

  ‘Oh, did this little child so new to life believe that I was his mummy? The poor little child was a mess, his legs had been pulled off and now his arm was distorted, and yet he waited and suffered to keep alive to see who it was that had done this to him. Oh, what have I done?’

  Unable to take her eyes from Angelina, Cecelia felt for the recording device and switched it off. The i
nterview was now terminated.

  3

  Perhaps she was numb, it was difficult to tell how she felt traveling home in the taxi. A luxury that Cecelia felt she couldn’t afford, but this was an emergency.

  It was late, very late and how would she be able to get herself up in the morning for work. But there again, how would she now be able to sleep after what Angelina had told her. It was just so horrible and incredible, and something so impossible to believe could happen. But why would Angelina make something like this up? What gain could be got from it? It was now a question of whether she believed her or not?

  There are too many questions as there are too many whys. Righteousness always stands out against injustices, but when it’s obvious, do we choose to ignore it? If we choose to be silent, then it becomes a canker, a cancer growing and thriving and waiting to consume.

  Now, what was she supposed to do with this story? It was a tale of horrors told through the night standing tall and gory like an unwanted visitor. But in the hours of daylight, quietly it became unreal. It never happened; it was just a bad, bad, dream.

  Sometimes, the story is only real while it’s being told, but then life bubbles through and interrupts and chases the devils away. It’s facts which make it real which stands astride and heaves life into the ephemeral story. But there were no real solid facts to this story. This woman could have made it up, bore a grudge against the clinic. When they found their name in the paper, who would they sue? The source was where it came from, herself. It was this answer which satisfied Cecelia’s need to sweep this dreadful story under the mat.