“She’s sound asleep thank goodness. Now we can relax.”
“I think I’ll pop round to the local for a pint of guinness, if that’s alright with you girls. I’m sure you have some catching up to do.”
“You go. We’ll be fine,” said Orla.
Miriam was grateful to Patrick for giving them this time together. If the baby woke in the day they would be interrupted. It would be far easier to talk whilst she was sound asleep in the evening. Orla put on a record by Dusty Springfield and turned down the volume so that it was just in the background. Orla sat on the floor and Miriam sat on the sofa.
They waited for the front door to slam, then Orla passed Miriam her glass of wine and offered her a cigarette. Miriam hesitated.
“I shouldn’t really be having one of these.”
“Why not? It’s never stopped you before.”
A silence hung in the air. She could hear the cog wheels of her sister’s brain turning round. To hell with it, why shouldn’t she have a cigarette? She couldn’t be in any worse a position than she was already in? In any event, was she going to keep the baby?
“Go on then.”
They lit their cigarettes and both took a sip of wine.
“Are you going to tell me what is going on sis? I mean you split up with the love of your life, jack in a fairly decent job with prospects and hop it to London. You normally plan things.”
“Not this time sis.”
“What do you mean?”
She paused, trying to take in the enormity of it all, how quickly this had all happened. She felt so alone, yet she had her sister with her and the child she was carrying. How different her life had seemed a few weeks ago. How everything had changed. The fire had stopped crackling now and just sizzled with a quiet ember.
“I’m pregnant sis. I didn’t mean to be, I mean I didn’t plan it this way, but I was so in love, or thought I was. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want a child, a child with me.”
The hopelessness of her situation, overcame her and she burst in to uncontrollable sobs. Orla took the cigarette off her and hugged and rocked her until the inconsolable crying had subsided. Her eyes were puffy and red now, and sore, with the sheer stress of it all.
“Surely he will come round? It is not as if he hasn’t had children before, even been married before. Have you tried talking to him?”
“There’s no point. I could see it in his eyes. He offered me money to get rid of it. With him it is matter of fact. I don’t know what to do sis. Our parents would kill us if they knew. They must never know about this baby. Will you promise me that sis, on your baby’s life?”
“Yes of course, of course, but what ARE you going to do about this baby? Sooner or later, you will start showing. I can’t keep this from Patrick forever. If you are going to have an abortion, you need to get it done sooner rather than later, because after a certain period there is no going back!”
Her sister was clearly agitated now, anxious for her and her well being, anxious for all of them.
“I feel terrible about lying about this to our parents, but what can we do. My hormones are all over the place. I feel incapable of making any rational decisions right now. All I know, is this baby was conceived out of love and now that love has gone. The thought of going through an abortion is tearing me apart, but what else can I do? I can’t afford to look after myself, let alone bring up a child as a single parent. My whole world has fallen apart sis.”
Miriam threw her face into her hands and Orla lit her another cigarette.
“Listen, I know this has come as a bit of a shock to you and you haven’t had time to rationalize anything, but don’t you think you have been a bit hasty about Len. I mean only two months ago you were having fabulous weekends away. I mean he is older than us, certainly a lot more responsible than my Patrick, surely he won’t shirk responsibility for this. I just don’t fecking believe it!”
She knew what her sister was saying, but it was no use. She knew that look of utter disdain, she had seen that evening on Valentine’s Day. If only she hadn’t seen it.
“What’s it like giving birth sis?” Miriam said, trying to change the subject “Is it as bad as you said?”
“Oh you don’t want to go there sis at the moment. Let’s just work out what you are going to do with this baby. Have you got any money? I mean, for an abortion?”
“Oh don’t worry, Len is sorting out that side of things. I can still get a job, until I start showing. David is doing a whip round at his local gay bar. They obviously have no reason to let the cat out of the bag.”
“Are you thinking about an abortion?”
“I honestly don’t know sis. When I saw your baby today, all sorts of emotions came flooding in. She is just so helpless and vulnerable and alive. How can I think of killing such a thing!”
Her thoughts had been a mess when she had first seen and smelt Charlotte. She now had a living baby inside her. It may just be a blob, but it was her blob, that would one day turn into a life if she let it.
“I know you haven’t decided what to do sis, but I know a friend who went to see a specialist in Harley Street. They put her on to a reputable doctor, nothing legal of course, who carried out, you know, the evacuation procedure. It wouldn’t harm you to see them if you have the money.”
“I can’t make any decisions right now, I’m exhausted sis.”
“How about I make you a nice cup of cocoa and put you to bed before Patrick comes home. It’s normally a late one, if he meets his Irish mates. I’ll warm up a hot water bottle to take to bed with you.”
With that she dispatched Miriam up another flight of stairs to the bedroom in the attic. She snuggled into bed with her cocoa and hot water bottle and started to doze off. She was awoken a few hours later with a front door slamming and the sound of Patrick bumping into furniture in the dark. The baby began to cry and she heard her sister scalding Patrick for waking the baby. There was a clash of dishes in the kitchen as her sister could be heard warming, she supposed a milk bottle to feed Charlotte. Was she ready for this she thought? Her eyes were drooping, willing her to go back to sleep. Eventually she fell in to a deep slumber, too exhausted to care.
After an exhausting week at her sister’s house, she walked one day, down to the end of Danvers Road, armed with a telephone number for some specialist in Harley Street. When she reached the phone box, she checked there was no one else waiting, and took the piece of paper out of her hand bag and rang the number. The phone rang three times, before a receptionist with a clipped accent answered.
“Harley Street Obstetric Clinic, can I help you?”
“I would like to book an appointment.”
“To see whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, can you give me an indication?” she said some what exacerbated.
“All I know is, it is something your clinic specializes in.”
“May I ask, are you pregnant?”
Miriam paused, she did not want to admit that she was pregnant to a stranger on the telephone, it seemed somehow so impersonal.
She could hear a sigh on the other end of the telephone. The street was quiet and she checked to see that no one was around to hear their conversation. After a long pause she whispered.
“I understand that you have a doctor who can cure menstrual blockages.”
“We do.”
“Then can I make that appointment?”
” I suggest I make an appointment for you with Doctor Marsden on Thursday at 4 o’clock prompt. Our fees are £50 cash per consultation. Your name please?”
“Oh er Mrs Smith.”
” Doesn’t sound very Irish, considering your accent.”
“Oh I married an Englishman,” she said thinking on her feet.
“Very well, we will see you on Thursday.”
When Thursday came, she put on a smart cream dress and a small tailored jacket and took the tube to Oxford Circus. She took a brisk walk up Regent Street and then took a lef
t into New Cavendish Street and started to look out for the sign for Harley Street. The piece of paper had the number 95 written on it and she scanned the street for the even and odd numbers and realized she needed to turn right. The entrance to the building was imposing with a large black door and a brass buzzer. There were lots of suited men in bowler hats, walking in both directions. She pressed the buzzer and the door opened with a click.
She approached the haughty woman sitting behind her desk, at reception.
“I have an appointment to see a Doctor Marsden.”
“Mrs Smith I assume.” She said raising her eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Take a seat over there and a nurse will come and take you to the doctor shortly.”
Miriam took a seat in one of the large leather sofas. She could see that there were about two or three other ladies before her. One was heavily pregnant and looked as if she were about to give birth. Another had a small baby with her, not much older than Charlotte. There was also a rather miserable looking woman in her forties with her husband. Perhaps she was here because she couldn’t conceive. How Miriam longed to swap places with her.
She picked up one of the expensive magazines amongst the Vogues and Tatlers on the table. The receptionist brought her a cup of coffee with a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk, made out of what looked like expensive china. The room was silent as the baby was sleeping. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts. She took two sugar cubes from the bowl and stirred them in to her coffee. The room was dominated by a very grand ornate fireplace with a gilt edged mirror above it, much grander than the one at the surgery in Dublin.
Her thoughts went back to the catholic school her sister and her had attended as a child. It had been a very strict convent school on the outskirts of Macroom. The nuns had looked after them and fussed over them, but it was an extremely catholic upbringing with mass every morning and evening. Their religious teacher had been a priest who had spent hours and hours talking about how bad abortion was. He had shown their twelve-year-old eyes pictures of aborted babies, and he would yell at the top of his lungs in class, how wrong it was to kill an innocent life. Every time she thought of this baby, a picture of this priest popped in to her head as it did now. It was as if he knew, now ten years on, that Miriam would be sitting in this surgery, in Harley Street, thinking about aborting this baby.
She caught the eye of the receptionist who was looking at her with disdain. She’s thinking she hasn’t got a wedding ring so she must be dirty or unclean. She had stupidly overseen this small detail. She hung her head in shame and returned to the magazine she was reading. It talked about contraception and the fact that soon the family planning clinics in England would be offering contraception in England. If only she’d had access to contraception and not relied on the catholic rhythm method. Her life would be so different now.
“Mrs Smith, the doctor will see you now,” a nurse said, tapping her shoulder. She led her down a series of corridors until they came to a door with Doctor Marsden’s plaque on it. She knocked the door.
“Come in.”
Miriam entered a room to find a male doctor standing quite formally behind his mahogany desk. The room was full of antiques with an ornate chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. He was wearing a suit with a jacket slung over the back of his chair. She guessed he was in his mid forties, with slightly receding hair. His eyes were dark brown and his skin was slightly tanned.
“Nurse, you may leave us now. We’re not to be disturbed.” The nurse slowly clicked the door behind her.
“Right, Mrs Smith, just to dispense with some formalities, I take it your name is not Mrs Smith?”
“No, sir.”
“You are about twenty four years of age and that you have come to me about a pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
“That you are not married and want to consider your options?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you currently residing?”
“I’ve come from Ireland, but I am staying at my sister’s place in Muswell Hill.”
“I take it that you have sufficient funds?”
“Yes I do, or rather, my partner has. He has offered to pay for everything.”
“I assume you are here, because there are no solutions for you in Ireland?”
“Yes.”
The doctor leaned back in his expensive leather chair and clasped his hands together. He swivelled the chair slightly to look out of the window and then swivelled back again. A silence hung in the room, whilst he appeared to be in quite serious thought. Miriam noticed a photo in a silver frame of a woman and two children, who she presumed to be his family. How lovely to be so happy and in love with your wife and so settled, she thought.
“Mrs Smith, or can I call you by your first name?”
“Miriam.”
“Miriam, I don’t have to tell you this, as you probably know, but abortion, if that is the road you are going down, is still illegal in this country. It carries a life sentence and whilst mothers are rarely prosecuted they are sometimes imprisoned, if found out. There may be talk, this year of David Steele the MP introducing the Abortion Act, but even if this were to go through this would not be enacted until April 1968, the earliest, which doesn’t help you one iota. You can still carry out the abortion yourself or have what is called a back-street abortion. Such a decision should not be taken lightly I might add. I can tell you, I do consultancy work at St Mary’s Hospital Paddington and I see five to ten cases a day of women with pain and bleeding from early pregnancy, often or not caused from early abortions.”
The doctor paused to gauge her reaction. He picked up a silver pen and twiddled it between his fingers, all the time watching her. The clock on the mantelpiece timed on the half hour.
“If you decided to go for the back-street option, you are taking a number of risks. There have been some reports of lead poisoning, but I would say that anyone that offers you these products, is not qualified to take out the procedure.”
He then ripped a piece of paper off his pad and started to draw a triangle.
“This represents your uterus, and this is where your foetus lies at the moment. There are essentially two procedures that can be carried out under supervision, one is surgical abortion, by vacuum aspiration or dilation and the other is curettage. I’ll explain.”
Miriam pulled her chair a little closer to look at the diagram. She made a nervous cough, looking at the drawing. They were discussing a baby here, a baby that was inside her.
“Slow me down if I am getting too technical. Vacuum aspiration involves dilating the cervix. The uterine contents, in your case the foetus is withdrawn by the means of a small tube, called a cannula which is connected to a vacuum pump or hand operated syringe. Dilation or curettage is when a curette or spoon tipped metal instrument, in layman’s language is used to dislodge the foetus.”
He then paused and leant back in his chair again. The rain was beginning to pour outside and tap against the window pane. The doctor got up and walked to the surgical white bed with metal bars in the corner of the room. He went to the sink, to wash his hands and then wiped his hands on the towel. He then patted the bed and said
“I suggest I examine you. How many weeks pregnant are you?”
“About eight weeks.” She said as she approached the bed.
“Just take your jacket and shoes off and lie down for me.”
He then took a stethoscope and placed it on her heart. He then undid the buttons on her dress and placed the small round disc on her stomach. He then took her arm and placed a blood pressure monitor on it. He slowly inflated the bag and took her pulse, pumping it with the small contraption underneath.
“Mum and baby are doing fine.” He said. He then beckoned her to get down from the bed and back to the desk.
“I have a question to ask.” She said.
“Go on.”
“If having an abortion is illegal, then how can you help me?”
“Let me
just say, that in return for a large fee, there are ways, we doctors can interpret the law, that in a way, allows us to terminate pregnancies. This information must not, you understand, leave these four walls and you should always refer to your problem as a menstrual blockage amongst friends.”
“Yes, yes, I completely understand.”
The doctor got up and proceeded to the bookshelf to retrieve a large leather bound book. He returned to the desk and flipped through a number of pages.
“It says here that if a doctor were to assess that continuing the pregnancy for the mother will make the mother a mental and physical wreck then the doctor will be preserving the life of the mother and so make the abortion legal.”
“Yes, but I am not a mental and physical wreck.”
“Ah but that is down to interpretation and it is a matter for me to assess whether your life needs preserving on this occasion.”
“Would you carry out the procedure here?”
“Good Heavens no, I would make a referral to two Harley Street psychiatrists in Half Moon Street and then the abortion would be carried out in Ealing under their instruction. In other words, I would have to get two psychiatrists to say you were upset enough and then you would stay overnight in a north London clinic. I have to say Miriam, this is not for the faint hearted. You may never be able to have children again, although it is still possible. Anything can be achieved, if you have money.”
Miriam sat and pondered what he had just told her. She was not ready to make a decision yet. She’d only just got used to the idea of being pregnant. To call it a foetus, inside of her, was to dehumanize it. It was a baby and this doctor had heard its’ heartbeat. Those pictures that priest had shown her at school, kept flashing back in her head.
“Listen, you don’t have to make a decision now. How about I hand you a letter of referral to the Half Moon Street specialists, I talked about. At least you have then gone away with something for your consultation fee. There will be no need to come back and see me, unless, you decide to keep the baby of course.”
She nodded and the doctor picked up his pen and began to write the letter of referral. He blotted the piece of paper with some blotting paper and then neatly folded it and put it in an envelope and sealed it for her.
Abandoned Love Page 9