And eventually she was nearly there. She could see the road rising out of the water. Only a few more yards. Once there she’d be safe… Perhaps her concentration lapsed at the thought of safety. There was a thump as a wave hit the car. It seemed to shudder and she was skidding, slipping, sliding! The car was going to roll, it was turning on its side! Alice screamed with terror as her body was jerked painfully by her safety belt. For a moment she was a little girl of twelve again. She felt rather than heard the glass on her side window smash, and water poured into the car. She was cold, she was wet! She was going to drown, to die!
Vaguely she was aware of the car being pushed along on its side, she could hear or feel the grinding sound of it on the sea floor. Her head was nearly underwater and as she tried to scream again it splashed into her mouth so she coughed and was nearly sick. She was struggling but she couldn’t move.
She had heard the old wives’ tale that when you were about to die, your past life flashed through your mind. It didn’t. But there was a vision that came back with astounding clarity. Perhaps the fear of impending death brought it on.
She had been working in an A and E department. She had attended a lecture given by a military doctor who had been on the front line of half a dozen of the nasty little wars that Britain somehow seemed to get involved in. For a moment, suspended in time, Alice could see and hear the man.
If you’re in a bad situation and you panic, you triple the chances of dying. I once had to evacuate two dead soldiers who had been sheltering in an enemy house when it was hit by a shell and caught fire. Both ran to the nearest door, tried to open it. It was locked. They died desperately trying to kick the door down.
The doctor had paused, taken a drink of water. Then he’d gone on, The door wasn’t locked. They didn’t realise it opened towards them. So—because they panicked—they died.
Alice could remember the shock, the shiver of horror that had gone through the audience. So she wouldn’t panic! Now, why was she drowning? Why was she not able to move? It was obvious! She reached down to her side and unfastened her safety belt. Then she pulled herself half-upright by clinging to the passenger seat.
She took a great breath, coughed and choked a moment, spat sea water out of her mouth. There was air here—and some light. She was not yet dead, there was hope.
Then she realised that the Land Rover had stopped grating along the seabed—and half of it wasn’t under water. She wriggled a bit, managed to stand on what had been her door—and reached up to the passenger door. She unlocked it, threw it back. Then she hoisted herself upwards—and the top half of her body was out in the rain.
The car was now still. It had beached in a little cove, some distance from the causeway. Water was rushing past it but she thought if she got out she could scramble ashore. She started to climb out, ignoring the scratches, the bruises. She was going to survive!
Then she thought. She was here to do a job. She muttered a quick prayer. Slid back into the half-water-filled car. She somehow negotiated her way to the back, grabbed the three bags she knew that she was most likely to need. It was agonising—wriggling, bending, pulling—but she managed to coax them out. And all the time there was the fear that the water might suddenly get stronger, drag the Land Rover into the current and drown her.
But it didn’t. She leaned out of the opened door and threw the bags one by one onto the little beach. Then she slid down the side of the vehicle and was up to her waist in water. The passing water plucked at her but she managed to wade ashore.
She was wet through, chilled to the bone, bruised, cut and battered. She calculated that she was a mile from her patient and no one knew where she was. Well, she’d have to do what she could. She felt in her pocket for her mobile. It might be wet but it could work. Not a chance—it must have been smashed when the car had rolled over.
Three bags on shore. She stuffed two under a rock and picked up the most important one. Then she set off to walk to Eleanor’s cottage. She had a baby to deliver.
‘Look at the state of you! Are you all right? Have you had an accident?’ Malcolm was at the cottage door, mouth and eyes wide open.
‘Yes, I’ve had an accident.’ Alice walked past him, talking as she moved. ‘I want a quick five minutes with Eleanor and then I’ll need to borrow some clothes from her. And if I could have a bath, I think that would be a good idea. Oh, and, Malcolm. A hot drink would be welcome.’ Nothing like getting your priorities right, she thought.
She knew where to go and went straight to the ground-floor bedroom where Eleanor was to give birth. She was aware that a dripping-wet midwife wasn’t exactly ideal but she wanted a swift preliminary look before taking time to look after herself. However, the first glance told her that Eleanor was not yet in any desperate state. ‘How are you, Eleanor?’
‘I seem to be better than you,’ Eleanor said. ‘At the moment I’m uncomfortable but not in any great pain. The contractions are getting closer together. But I can wait till you’re in a fit state to be a proper midwife. And then you can tell me what happened.’
She pointed across the bedroom. ‘Underwear in the top drawer. In that wardrobe you’ll find a top and a pair of slacks that should just fit. And there’s some slippers there, too. Malcolm!’ she shouted.
Malcolm appeared at the door. ‘Run the bath, find a couple of towels. Make the midwife a mug of tea and a sandwich. Oh, and get her a dram—just a wee one.’
‘Right,’ said Malcolm. He had recognised that whoever was in charge here, it wasn’t him.
Alice hesitated. She didn’t like leaving her patient but she knew she’d do a better job when she was clean and warm and dry. No way did she want to examine someone when she was wet through and coated with sand. So she said, ‘Scream if you need me. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She seized clothes from where she had been directed, headed towards the sound of running water.
She undressed in the bathroom, threw her sodden clothes into a basket. She scanned her naked body. She hadn’t realised just how badly bruised and scratched she was. Still, it may be painful but it was only minor stuff. Adrenaline still coursed through her body so she could cope. Later, she knew, it would all hurt more and she would feel desperately tired. But now she had a job to do.
Her bath was quickly over—though she would have loved to lie there, luxuriating.
She pulled on Eleanor’s clothes, walked into the bedroom to find tea and a giant pile of sandwiches waiting for her. Malcolm obviously thought that it wasn’t possible to over-cater. There was also a bottle of malt whisky and a glass. Alice looked at them and sighed. ‘We’ll both have a drop of that when you’re a father,’ she told Malcolm. ‘But I’ll not touch it until then.’ She told him where her other two medical bags were hidden, asked him to fetch them. He set off at once. Then Alice turned to Eleanor. ‘Now, for the business of the evening,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a look at how baby is coming along.’
At first it was a straightforward labour. Eleanor had been a perfect patient, she had done everything asked of her—correct diet, exercise, relaxation practice. There should be no trouble. Alice completed the usual initial tests—listened to the foetal heartbeat, took the blood pressure, pulse and temperature. All carefully entered in the notes. Then there was an internal examination. ‘Well-dilated cervix,’ Alice told Eleanor. ‘Everything going fine so far.’ Eleanor smiled.
Malcolm returned, carrying the two extra bags. Then he needed to wash and change and after that came in to hold Eleanor’s hand. Eleanor carried on with the breathing and relaxation exercises she had practised so often before.
Alice was happy with Eleanor’s progress. She knew that she was not fully fit and inside her there was vast fatigue. It would be good to get to bed herself—but until the baby was safely born, she could cope.
The baby’s head crowned. Alice put her hand on the head, then motioned for Malcolm to come round for the first glimpse of his child. He peered at the tiny rounded skull, the few strands of damp hair, and Alice t
hought she saw tears in his eyes.
‘I want to feel,’ said Eleanor, and reached down to touch. ‘That’s my baby,’ she said, and Alice thought she had never seen such a smile on a mother’s face.
As the baby’s head was visible on the perineum, the rest of the body should continue its descent. Alice looked down then she frowned. At the next contraction the head appeared to retract instead of coming out a little further. She said nothing, but uneasily waited for a further contraction. The same thing happened. It was called the turtle sign.
She fought to keep calm, the last thing she needed was to alarm Eleanor. But something in her attitude must have disturbed the mother. ‘Is everything all right?’ Eleanor called. There was tension in her voice.
‘Baby’s too happy where it is. Doesn’t want to come out into the cold wicked world. No need to worry,’ Alice reassured her, and waited for the next contraction. If she had been in a hospital this was when she would have called for the obstetric registrar and a paediatrician. But she was on her own. She could cope, she had to.
No doubt about it. The baby was making no progress. Shoulder dystocia, Alice guessed. After the head appeared, all babies had to rotate as they were being born. One shoulder at a time appeared. Sometimes, perhaps if it was a very large baby, a shoulder became trapped.
‘I want you further down the bed,’ Alice told Eleanor. And I want you in the lithotomy position. That means you pull your knees up to your chest and then spread them as wide as you can. Then I’m going to give you a quick injection and an episiotomy. We’ll just give baby a bit more space.’
‘It’s shoulder dystocia, isn’t it?’ Eleanor panted. ‘But you can deal with it, can’t you?’
For a moment Alice wondered if it was such a good idea to prepare mothers-to-be by making them read about all that just could happen, as well as all that would happen.
‘It could be dystocia,’ she said, making her voice sound cheerful. ‘No need to worry. I’ve dealt with plenty of them before.’ She ignored the little voice that told her that in the past she had always had help.
First, she performed the episiotomy. ‘Malcolm, come down here. Put your hand there.’ Looking worried, Malcolm did as he was told. Alice positioned his hand on Eleanor’s abdomen. Then she placed her hand on top of it, pressed downwards. ‘Hold your hand there with just that pressure. Don’t move it till I tell you.’
Malcolm said nothing but did as he was told. He didn’t look at what Alice was doing, but turned his head and smiled—somehow—at his wife. Alice knew she was lucky. Many fathers would have panicked at this stage.
Carefully, she drew the baby’s head upwards, then with the other hand reached in and slid four fingers behind the posterior shoulder. Ease the shoulder round! At first she thought it wouldn’t happen but then it slipped into the hollow of the sacrum. Then the shoulder was delivered. ‘Right,’ said Alice. ‘Small emergency over. Now everything will go according to plan.’
And it did.
The baby girl was born at one in the morning. A fine, healthy, large girl. There was the Apgar test to perform, the usual post-birth tasks and the notes to write up, but now Alice knew that the job was largely done.
The baby was to be called Joanna. Alice learned that Eleanor and Malcolm had debated names for hours.Alice remembered that she had just started to think about names for the child that she had never had. She had rather fancied Kate. Now she had her private moment of sadness for her own miscarried child. This always happened but it soon passed. This was a happy time.
She was kissed by Malcolm, agreed at last to share a dram with him. Then there was the usual settling-down process for Eleanor and soon she and her baby in the cot by her side were asleep. Malcolm was to sleep in the armchair drawn up at his wife’s bedside. Alice knew that he wouldn’t sleep much. He could hardly take his eyes off his new child.
In her turn Alice knew what she herself had to do then. Lie down before she collapsed. She rejected a bed in the upstairs bedroom, said she would sleep on the couch in the living room, that Malcolm was to call her if there was any problem at all. And she only intended to doze for a couple of hours.
She didn’t bother getting undressed. She would just sleep for a while. In the past she’d stayed awake for much longer than this. But the moment she shut her eyes she was conscious of a vast fatigue. She slept at once.
What was the noise? It was ridiculous, it would wake up the baby! A hammering, rattling, banging kind of noise—some kind of machinery? What was it? After a moment it died away but she could still hear it in the distance.
She was still on the couch in the living room but mysteriously it had become light. A typical change in the island weather—she could see the sun shining. She looked at her watch and blinked. Two hours’ sleep? It was six o’clock, she had slept for five hours. Well, better get up and look at her new baby and her mother… And another noise! Someone was hammering at the front door, a frantic knocking. Didn’t they know that people needed to sleep?
Alice stumbled to open the door, her bare feet chilled on the stone floor. And there was Ben.
Ben? What was he doing here at this hour of the morning? And why was he looking so wild-eyed? And why was he wearing some kind of an all-in-one suit and a helmet?
He looked at her disbelievingly. Then he grabbed her, pulled her to him, pressed kisses all over her face. His voice was desperate. ‘Alice! You’re alive!’
‘Well, yes,’ she said.
Malcolm came to the door to join them. ‘I heard the helicopter,’ he said. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MALCOLM took silence to mean assent, so he went to put on the kettle. And Alice could have stayed there for ever, being kissed by Ben. She felt at home, comfortable, as if she was in the place where it was obvious she ought to be. And she doubted if Ben would ever let her go. Certainly, he showed no signs of it. But slowly she became aware of how cold her feet were, of the cuts and bruises on her body, of the immense fatigue she still felt. But she didn’t care. She was being kissed by Ben and it was marvellous.
He was looking at her with an expression she had never seen before—a mixture of wonderment and joy. ‘You seem happy,’ she said.
There was an infinity of desolation in his voice. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he said. ‘I knocked on this door to ask for help in looking for your body and you answered. Alice, I still can’t believe it.’
‘Well, I’m not dead. Though I have felt better in my time.’
And then somehow the doctor in him took over. ‘You don’t look good,’ he said. ‘But since you’re standing and talking, I presume you’re all right for the moment. Now, what’s this about a baby?’
‘She’s asleep,’ Malcolm said, beaming as he reappeared. ‘But come and look if you like.’
‘I would like. And, Alice, you go straight back to bed.’
‘But I’m the midwife here. It’s my birth.’
‘No. For the moment I’m the doctor and you’re my patient so I’m in charge.’
‘Well, you’re not to make any decisions about Joanna unless I agree.’ Alice felt sulky. Her authority was being taken from her and she didn’t like it.
‘You’ll be part of any decision-making.’
‘Good. So long as that’s understood.’ Then she found that she was swaying and she needed Ben’s strong arm round her to ease her back to her bed on the couch.
Things did slip just a little out of her control then. She watched, half-bemused as, after examining Eleanor and Joanna, Ben arranged for Eleanor, Malcolm and baby Joanna to be airlifted to the mainland hospital so Joanna and her mother could be checked properly.
That decision having been taken, he came to Alice and said, ‘Your turn now. You can tell me later exactly what happened, I just want to see how you are.’
‘Right, Doctor.’
It was just a quick examination but he told her that he needed to look at all her cuts and bruises. This involved his looking at her naked
body. With a half-suppressed giggle she saw that he was being as distant, as doctorly as possible. Nothing he said or did indicated that he was aware that she was an attractive young woman, In fact, one that he had… Well, perhaps that was how it should be, but still… ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she said sweetly when he had finished, and pulled the blanket up round her. ‘That was just like being examined by a machine.’
‘Don’t you dare push it,’ he growled, and for a moment he was the old Ben again. ‘You’re a bit battered but as far as I can see there’s nothing seriously wrong with you that a lot of sleep won’t cure. I don’t think there’s any need for you to go to the mainland hospital, though perhaps…’
‘I’m not going. I’ve got work to do.’ Then she wondered how she was going to get back. ‘Anyway, what are you going to do? Going to the mainland as well?’
‘No. There’s a council team that will have to come out and look at the causeway, and the police will be here too. If Eleanor and Malcolm don’t mind, you and I can wait here till help comes.’
‘I don’t think they’ll mind,’ Alice said with a grin. She guessed that, like many islanders, the couple wouldn’t even lock their door when they left.
She still needed Ben’s arm to steady her as she went to say goodbye to Eleanor and the baby. Eleanor said she would have been just as happy to stay and be looked after by Alice. Then the Medivac team brought in stretchers, Ben went out to supervise and shortly afterwards there was the roar and clatter of engines and the helicopter was on its way.
Ben came back into the living room and she wondered, what next? They were alone together, would be alone for some hours. Why was Ben looking at her in that way, as if there was something that he couldn’t quite believe?
‘You’re still exhausted,’ he said to her. ‘Stay there and rest and I’ll make you some breakfast. Eleanor was most insistent on that. But now lie back on the couch and try to sleep.’
The Midwife And The Single Dad Page 14