Caroline Anderson - Anyone Can Dream

She made her way home, weary, her mind full of the new things she had seen and done—her first delivery of sorts, the gynae clinic, the happy mothers with their babies—and William, of course, larger than life, full of warmth and compassion, his skilled hands steady, strong and yet gentle.

She regretted not going for a drink with him. It might have been fun, and one quick drink wasn’t going to affect their relationship.

Still, it was too late now, and probably just as well.

She took some pills for her headache, but it was joined by another ache, deep in her heart, that nothing could ever take away.

THAT first week was fascinating for Charlotte. Despite the August heat that made everything close and muggy, the windows in the tall maternity block were open and it was light and airy, a pleasant place to be.

She found herself shadowing William constantly, always at his elbow being instructed in one technique or another, and when on Thursday night he finally allowed her to do the night on call he insisted on being around just in case.

‘Anything at all, you call me. You can clerk the patients on admission, and you can handle any of the slightly tricky deliveries, but I want to be there beside you. OK?’

She nodded, not feeling in the least that she was being mollycoddled unnecessarily, because she had discovered that in obstetrics things could happen very fast, and when they did the window for correcting the problems could be frighteningly small.

One woman was admitted in labour shortly after William disappeared off down the corridor leaving her in charge. She clerked her, then checked with the midwife that all was going well, and went for supper, then went back up to the gynae ward to check that there were no problems requiring her attention.

She was bleeped while she was in the gynae ward and went back to the maternity ward to find that a woman was asking for sleeping pills. She wrote her up for some, then checked on the patient in labour again.

‘I think it’s going to be quite slow, but that’s fine,’ the midwife told her. ‘When she’s a little further on she wants to use the water pool, so if you’d like to observe I’m sure she won’t mind.’

Charlotte was fascinated. Delivery-wise it had been a slow week, and she was itching to see the water pool and other equipment in the birthing centres in use. So far the only deliveries had been in the normal delivery-room, but she gathered from talking to the nursing staff that that was unusual.

Certainly the trend now was towards more natural labours, and the hospital was extremely well-equipped to supply the needs of the informed new mothers.

Now all she needed was a little practical experience!

She went into the ward office and wrote up some notes, and then later on was called up to gynae to write up some pain relief for a post-op case.

At four o’clock, when she was feeling distinctly drowsy, the midwife found her at the central work station sipping a black coffee.

‘Things are hotting up,’ she told Charlotte. ‘She’s had a rest, and woken to stronger contractions, so I’ve got the pool filling and I’m going to pop her in it in a few minutes. Want to come and see?’

‘Is that OK with her? I don’t want her to feel threatened by my presence—you know, as if it’s necessary to have a doctor there.’

The midwife, Sue Coulter, shook her head. ‘It’s OK. I’ve told her you’re doing your GP training and that you’re just interested, and she and her partner are quite happy with that.’

So Charlotte finished her coffee and went into the birthing centre, in time to see Sue slipping off the woman’s gown and helping her into the large, deep pool.

Like a high-sided paddling-pool, it was about six feet in diameter and two feet deep, so that the woman could float in the warm water. Moving was easier, and the lapping of the water around her distended abdomen was very soothing. Her partner was bare-chested, and as the woman lay with her head on the side of the pool and her legs drifting in the water he reached round her and stroked the swollen curve with gentle, circular movements.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Mick,’ she said softly.

‘What’s the smell?’ Charlotte asked Sue.

‘Aromatherapy oils—lavender and jasmine oil mainly, but possibly some others.’

Just then the woman started moaning rhythmically, her voice rising to a crescendo and then dying slowly away as the contraction eased.

Charlotte thought it sounded as though she was in a great deal of pain, but Sue explained that she was just releasing the power of her body.

‘It often sounds worse than it is. Many of the women who deliver conventionally in silence actually suffer far more because it’s all internalised and they don’t release the tension. You can see Jet is actually very relaxed.’

Charlotte could see that; she could also see the support and love her partner was giving her, the tender way he held her, the soft murmur of his voice in her ear, the tiny little kisses against her cheek.

Another contraction followed, then another.

‘They seem to be coming thick and fast,’ Charlotte commented to Sue.

‘They often do—the water seems to accelerate labour at the same time as it eases the pain—incredible, really, especially for women who want to avoid pain relief.’

Just then Jet had another contraction, and Sue listened to the baby’s heart with a waterproof Sonicaid.

‘Lovely—it’s doing really well,’ she announced.

‘I want to float face down but I’ll drown,’ Jet said after the waves had passed.

‘No problem,’ Sue told her. ‘Have you ever used a snorkel?’

She nodded. ‘Yes—I used to swim a lot.’

Sue handed her a bright yellow snorkel tube, and, fitting it in her mouth, Jet turned over on to her front and floated, arms and legs bent slightly, drifting in the warm water. When the next contraction came she pulled herself to the side, her legs spreading automatically, and, lifting her head out of the water, she began to moan again.

Three times she did that, and the fourth she turned over, her expression totally focused as she began to grunt.

Sue quickly reached down into the water and examined her by touch alone, and then smiled.

‘Nearly there, Jet. Keep going, my love, just one more gentle push—lovely, stop now and pant—that’s it—little pants—good girl—that’s it—and again—lovely!’

Jet cried out, her face a mixture of pain and relief, and, reaching down, she stroked her baby’s head in wonder.

‘Are you sure it can’t drown?’ she asked, showing the first sign of concern, but Sue shook her head.

‘Oh, no—the chest is still compressed. Once the body’s delivered that’s different, so we lift them up quickly then, but now no, it’s perfectly safe.’

Jet sighed gently and leant back against Mick’s arms. ‘Oh, here we go,’ she groaned, and with a long, deep grunt she pushed and Sue lifted the tiny baby clear of the water and placed it in the woman’s waiting arms.

‘Oh, Mick, look,’ she said, tears mingling with the water on her face, and her partner reached round and cradled his child, his own tears flowing just as freely.

‘What is it?’ Sue asked.

Jet bent her head and looked more closely, then lifted a face dazed with happiness. ‘She’s a girl.’

‘Congratulations,’ Sue said warmly, and Charlotte couldn’t help the little bubble of happiness that rose up inside her.

The pain, she knew, would come later, but for now the beauty of the moment carried her willingly along.

After a few minutes, when the cord had stopped pulsating, Sue severed it and handed the little girl to Charlotte. ‘Here, you have a cuddle while Mick and I help Jet out of the water and dry her off a bit.’