The Runaway Midwife

by Patricia Harman

  Sometimes it’s the woman who’s the aggressor. Sometimes she hits or spits or scratches first. Sometimes she just gets in a man’s face so viciously, he loses it . . . a sad thing and even worse when children are involved.

  The wood in the fire crackles and pops as I make my bed on the sofa. Molly Lou and Chris are in trouble and I don’t know what to do. How did I get involved in this anyway?

  Oh yeah, I remember. Like my medallion says, MIDWIVES HELP PEOPLE OUT . . .

  Finally, I fall into a troubled sleep and dream I’m walking along the beach during the storm. The surf rolls up and out again. Sometimes I have to jump back to keep my shoes from getting wet. Something is out in the bay, a log, I think, or maybe a barrel. The dark shape floats closer with each surge of waves and then, with one big breaker, the body of the dead man rolls up at my feet. This time I can see his face. It’s Chris Erickson. His big hand grabs my ankle and holds on! I wake, frantically kicking the dead man away. In the firelight I can see Tiger staring at the door. His ears twitch as if he hears something.

  Someone or something is outside in the dark.

  Night Visitors

  Sara! Open up.” It’s a man banging on the door.

  “Who’s there?” I call while reaching for Lloyd’s old walking stick and moving close to the landline phone in case I have to call Dolman.

  Molly peeks out of the bedroom. “Is it Chris? Oh God, has he been drinking?”

  “It’s Wade and Rainbow,” the voice answers. “Can you help us?”

  I open the door just a crack, keeping my foot jammed at the bottom in case it’s a trick, but of course it’s not. Standing on the porch are not only Wade and Rainbow, but Peter Dolman. The squad car sits in the drive, red lights still flashing.

  “What’s going on?” I inquire, but really I don’t need to ask. Rainbow is holding on to the porch rail and panting, her mouth grim and tight. “Come in. Come in! Get out of the weather.”

  Outside, rain gusts in sheets across the yard and small branches fly. All three of the night visitors are soaked, Rainbow worst of all.

  “Come in. Come in. It looks like you’re in labor. I thought you were going to Windsor Regional to have the baby.”

  “We were,” Wade answers. “We planned to but wanted to spend one more weekend on the farm, helping with the harvest. When Rainbow started having contractions, Greg drove us to the marina and we got in Lenny’s boat. We were a few miles from the island when I realized the waves were too big and I couldn’t make it. We had to return, but by this time Greg had gone home.

  “Standing in the rain, we tried to call the farm, but we had no cell reception. Peter found us walking along Sunset Road. Can you help us, Sara? You’re a nurse.”

  “What about Jed? He’s a nurse too.”

  “He’s stuck in Leamington,” Peter chimes in. “The ferry doesn’t run until tomorrow morning and maybe not even then because of the breakers. The winds are twenty-five knots with gusts over thirty and there’s no way to get a helicopter here either.”

  “Please, Sara,” Rainbow says. “You can do it. I trust you. Even if you’ve never delivered a baby, you can do it. I brought my copy of The Emergency Childbirth.” Molly drifts into the living room, already dressed.

  I shake my head, smiling. These people don’t know that I’m a midwife and I can’t tell them the truth. “Come on, let’s get you dry. I don’t have any men’s clothes for you, Wade or Peter, but there’s a dryer and, while you wait for your things, you can wrap up in quilts and sit by the fire. Can you organize that, Molly Lou?”

  “That’s okay!” Peter says, blushing. “I think I’ve done my part. Call me if you need anything.” And he slips out the door.

  Back in the bedroom, I dry Rainbow and now give her my flannel nightgown. I braid her long hair, something I used to do often for women in labor. While I get her comfortable, I ask the usual questions. Molly slips out with a quilt and back with Wade’s clothes, which she throws in the dryer.

  “When did the contractions begin?”

  “Four hours ago. That’s when we started trying to get off the island. We were counting on Lenny’s boat, it’s been such a nice fall . . .” She twists away from me and takes a big breath then begins to pant, while I think about Lenny. I’d forgotten that Lenny and Wade were old friends. That’s who Lenny left his speedboat with.

  The Big Ben alarm clock on the dresser says it’s now two-fifteen. Placing my hand on her abdomen, I feel the strength of the contraction. It’s firm, but not woody hard. When it’s over, Rainbow takes a long trembling breath and smiles. The contraction was forty-five seconds.

  “Any leaking of fluid or bloody show?”

  “Not yet. But I think this is the real thing, don’t you?”

  “Are the contractions getting stronger?”

  “Yes. Yes. Much stronger.”

  “Then I imagine it’s real. I need to consider what supplies we need and where to find them. . . . Molly, can you walk Rainbow around the house while I get organized? Labor is easier if you stay on your feet. I’m going into the bathroom where I can think.”

  SITTING ON THE john, I rip a piece of lined paper out of my journal. A baby can be delivered in an elevator with nothing but a pair of hands, but I do have that box of old medical supplies that I took from Nita’s house.

  I open the cupboard under the sink to see what we’ve got and in the carton find two pairs of sterile gloves, an unopened roll of two-inch sterile gauze, some adult diapers, Betadine and a bottle of baby oil the old lady must have used for her skin. The rest of the stuff has to do with her diabetes.

  For a midwife who’s delivered over a thousand babies, I find myself surprisingly rattled. What else do I need? I write it all down as if I’m a first-year midwifery student.

  Warm sterile water

  Sterile scissors

  A bowl for the placenta

  A saucer for the baby oil

  I can use the sterile gauze to tie off the umbilical cord

  We have clean sheets and the adult diapers can be cut up for sanitary pads

  Dish towels for baby diapers

  A warmed bath towel for a baby blanket

  I take a deep breath. . . . Now what should I do next?

  Oh yeah. Examine the patient.

  Drill Sergeant

  Only three centimeters!” Molly wails.

  “There’s no way to hurry this, Rainbow. The baby is head down, low in the pelvis and the cervix is completely thinned out. Just take one contraction at a time. You’re healthy and strong. Your body knows what it’s doing. Let’s get you back out of bed again.”

  The clock ticks. There’s rain on the tin roof. Wade finds some music on his cell phone, a James Taylor song. There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range. His horse and his cattle are his only companions. I throw a log on the fire and the flames shoot up. We are slipping into the timeless waters of childbirth, where there are waves and then rest. Waves and then rest.

  AROUND FOUR-THIRTY, I notice that Rainbow is sweating. “Damn!” she says. “I can’t do this much longer. My back hurts so bad! Rub harder, Wade!”

  This gets my attention. When a laboring woman begins to swear, the delivery is getting close. Even very proper women have been known to curse at nine centimeters. “Would you like to get in the shower? Let the warm water massage your back?”

  “No!” Rainbow says as if that’s the dumbest idea she’s ever heard. For the last half hour, she hasn’t moved. She’s been kneeling next to the sofa, gripping one of the cushions as if it was a life preserver out in the lake. “If I move it will hurt more. Oh, I wish this was over!” Wade looks at me with big eyes, helpless in front of this force of nature.

  “Come on. Give the shower a chance,” I implore. “I really think it will help you.”

  THERE ARE TWO midwife voices . . . one soft and reassuring and the other a no-nonsense drill sergeant. I’m forced to use the second one now . . . “Enough of this! Up you go!” I walk her into the bathroom
by holding her under the arms, then I turn on the water.

  “Could I get down in it?” Rainbow asks meekly.

  “Sure. Take off your gown while I put in the plug. Then get in and stand and let the spray beat on your back while the tub fills.” I assist the big woman over the high side of the old claw-foot bathtub.

  “Mmmmmm,” she says. “Can you make it a little hotter?”

  “Just a bit.” It’s halfway full when Rainbow slides down into the water.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” she says with a sigh. The puffing and blowing, moaning and whining stop as suddenly as if Black Sabbath had been playing on the radio and someone changed the station to Brahms.

  I go to the living room for a candle and notice that Tiger is wary again. “Wade and Molly, can you go in and keep Rainbow company?” The cat’s ears flick back and forth, then he goes and lies down. A few minutes later he jumps on the back of the sofa and meows, then under the roar of the wind and the rain, I hear the sound of a vehicle.

  Is it the Nelsons, looking for trouble? As before, the headlights flicker through the trees getting closer, only this time the vehicle isn’t creeping, it’s moving fast, and I jerk back from the window when it pulls into the drive.

  CHAPTER 42

  Cleansing Breath

  Who is it?” Molly Lou whispers, coming out of the bathroom. “The Nelsons?” She knows of the trouble I’ve been having with them.

  “It looks like Chris getting out of his truck.” I take a big breath and let it out. How can this night get any crazier?

  The big man, dressed in a red poncho and tall rubber boots, slams the door to his truck and stomps through the wet grass and up on the porch.

  “Is Molly in there? Is she okay?” he asks when I poke my head out the door. I was expecting him to be full of rage, but instead he appears sick with worry. “I saw Dolman come up and down the road a few times with his red lights flashing. Has something happened? Can I talk to her?”

  “Yes, she’s here, Chris, and she’s okay. I don’t know if she wants to see you though. I’ll ask.” I shut and lock the door again. Molly is right behind me and she grabs my arm.

  “What did he say? Is he still acting crazy?”

  “He’s worried about you. Do you want to see him?”

  “Maybe I could talk to him just for a minute.”

  “Sure. But just in the kitchen. We can’t have any disruption. I’ll tell him what’s going on.” I go back on the porch.

  “It’s okay, Chris. You can come in for a minute, but I have to tell you, Rainbow from New Day Farm is in labor. Because of the storm they can’t get to the hospital, so we’re having the baby here. It’s very important that the cottage remain calm and the energy positive, and I need Molly Lou’s help with the birth, so don’t upset her.”

  “Sure,” he says, stepping out of his boots. “Sure. I’ll just be a minute.”

  I go back into the living room to give the two couples some privacy and take a minute to lie down on the couch. Wade’s cell phone now plays a new folk song. James Taylor again. Well the sun is surely sinking down, But the moon is slowly rising, And this old world must still be spinning ’round, And I still love you.

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Rainbow lets out a moan. “Mmmmm!”

  “You feeling pressure?” I stick my head into the steaming bathroom.

  “Just a little.”

  Wade, still wearing his boxers, is now in the tub too, sitting behind his wife, holding her around her waist and caressing her breasts and big belly.

  “I’ve got the bed already fixed up, Rainbow. So if you feel like pushing, we’re going to move to the bedroom.”

  “Oh, can’t I stay here? I read that some women have water births.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  I’ve delivered babies in the water before, but Rainbow is considered high risk and her amniotic sac hasn’t even broken. How do I know the fluid is clear? How do I know the baby is okay? I have no way to listen to the fetal heartbeat. On the other hand, even if I had a Doppler and heard a deceleration, what could I do? We are just going on faith here.

  Rainbow and Wade are watching me. Waiting for an answer.

  In Pastures Green

  Five minutes later, Rainbow is on her hands and knees in the tub rocking back and forth. When a contraction hits, she strains toward Wade and Wade seems to know what she wants. He puts both his big hands out so she can press her butt against them.

  “Mmmmm,” Rainbow moans. “I felt my water break.”

  Molly Lou slips back in the bathroom. “Everything okay with Chris?” I whisper. She nods but doesn’t smile, so I doubt that everything is okay.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asks.

  “Yes, check the water on the stove. Bring the pan in and prepare some warm compresses. We’ll need the supplies I laid out on the dresser moved in here. It looks like we are going to have a water birth. . . . Her amniotic fluid is clear.

  “You’re doing great,” I say to Rainbow as she begins to push. These are the familiar words I’ve said to women a thousand times. “You’re doing great.” “Keep it up!” “You can do it.” “You are powerful and strong.” “Push for your baby!”

  An hour later, the laboring mother begins to lose it. “This is really hard,” she whispers. “Oh no! Here comes another one.” And she strains. She growls.

  “Slow it down, Rainbow. Give me a minute. If you get another urge to push, try blowing . . . Molly Lou, can you open a pack of sterile gloves?”

  “Oh my God, I saw it!” Wade cheers. “I saw the top of the head.”

  Rainbow catches her breath and bears down, pushing harder, and I see that the man is correct; there’s a little dark hair showing at the opening. It peeps out and retreats.

  Wade’s face is shining with joy and he breaks out into a sort of singing prayer. “The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want. He makes me lie down, In pastures green . . .”

  “Slow it down, Rainbow. Blow like this. Whoooo! Whoooo! Whoooo!

  “Molly, get down there and breathe with her. Wade give me some room.” The father climbs out and drips all over me, but the water is warm and I could care less.

  Kneeling on the bath mat, I lean into the tub to hold on to Rainbow’s perineum. There’s no need for warm compresses to help the skin stretch. I swipe a little baby oil around the opening. “Push a little! Blow a little! Push a little! Blow a little!” I command. “When it stings, stop pushing and blow.”

  “Yea, though I walk through shadowed vale, Yet will I fear no ill,” Wade sings, kneeling with me.

  “Ughhhhhhhhhhh!” grunts Rainbow.

  “Stop, don’t push. The head is out. I want to check for a cord!” But there’s no stopping Rainbow. She bears down another time and a very blue baby squirts into my hands.

  “Is it alive?” Wade asks.

  The baby boy opens his eyes and looks around. I hand him to his mother.

  “I did it!” she says, and she holds him in the warm water, just up to his chin. “Oh my God! We did it. Oh, Wade, I love you! I love you! Molly Lou, Sara, I love you. It’s our baby. It’s Zachary!”

  Wade is silent, tears running down his face, and I think that he’s praying.

  Finally Molly asks, “Why isn’t the baby crying?”

  “It’s the warm water. He hasn’t gasped from the cold air hitting his body yet and the cord is still pulsing, so he’s getting oxygen . . . Talk to your baby, Rainbow and Wade. Rub his back. Make him talk back to you.” Rainbow does what I say.

  “Come on, buddy. Let’s hear you sing. Sing with your daddy.”

  “Goodness and mercy all my life shall surely follow me, And in my Father’s house, My dwelling place shall be,” Wade sings. Zachary opens his mouth and howls.

  Then we all cry.

  Storks

  At dawn, I am shocked to find, when I put Tiger out, that Peter Dolman’s squad car is parked in the drive. I stretch my tired body. I’d fallen asleep in the rocking chair, staring at the fire
, and now only a few coals glimmer in the grate. Banging around a little more than I need to, I put on more logs.

  Molly Lou is the first to awaken. “I’m starved. Do you have any eggs? I’ll make breakfast. Then I have to get home to get Little Chris to school.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Wade says, coming out of the bathroom. “I’ll cook. You go ask Dolman if he wants some grub.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re all sitting around the table eating eggs, juice and toast except Rainbow. We took her breakfast to the bedroom so she could rest.

  “How come you slept in the driveway again?” I ask Peter.

  “I tried to go home but couldn’t sleep, so I came back with my sleeping bag. Even then, I felt like an expectant father in the waiting room. I even got out a few times and paced back and forth.”

  “Did you hear anything?” Molly Lou asks. “We were pretty noisy. There was a lot going on.”

  “I heard voices and singing and then the baby cry, so I knew the stork had come.”

  After Rainbow nurses one more time, we gather their things, wrap the baby up and assist her out to the cruiser. The sun has come out and the water has calmed.

  “Thank you,” Rainbow says. “Thank you, Sara. You were a wonderful midwife. Maybe you should do it full-time.” This is said as a joke, but she doesn’t know how funny it is.

  “And thank you too, Molly Lou. I’ll always remember your support.” We give hugs all around, then Dolman takes the new family back to the commune.

  As I walk Molly Lou home along the muddy road, we are both tired but happy. Birth is like that. No matter how exhausted you are, a new life gives you energy, brings you joy.

  “You sure you’ll be okay? I mean with Chris. What did he say last night?”

  “That he loved me and that he was sorry if he hurt me.”

  “Take it slow, Molly Lou,” I advise her. “Don’t push it. Chris has waited for you for almost a year. He can wait a little longer. Just don’t get yourself in a position like you did last night.”