Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

The Suit now looked appalled - because he had been publicly embarrassed. From my few short months in England I knew that embarrassment was considered the most fearsome of personal calamities - and to be avoided at all costs. But whereas in America, the guy would have countered by saying something politic like, 'Mind your own effing business', here he suddenly went all pale and diminished, and could only mutter, 'Like I said: I was just trying to make a point'.

To which my Good Samaritan with the Labrador gave him a cold, knowing smile, and said, 'Of course you were'. Then she turned back to me and asked, 'Need a hand with the rest of the boxes?'

'I'll be fine. But I...'

'Nice to see you again, Sally' she said, proffering her hand. 'It is Sally, right?'

I nodded. 'Julia?'

'Well done'.

The gent cleared his throat, as if to announce his departure. Then he turned tail and hurried back into his house.

'Twit', Julia said under her breath after he was gone. 'No wonder his wife walked out last month'.

'I didn't know...'

She shrugged. 'Just another domestic drama - like we've all had. And, by the way, I heard you're a new mother. Wonderful news. I would have dropped over with a little something, but I've been away most of the last two months in Italy with my son Charlie'.

'How old is he?'

'Fourteen. And what did you have - a boy or a child?'

'A boy' I said, laughing. 'Jack'.

'Congratulations. How's life without sleep?'

'Well... he's not home yet'.

Then I explained, in the briefest way possible, what had befallen him.

'Good God', she said quietly. 'You've really had a ghastly time of it'.

'Him more than me'.

'But are you all right?'

'Yes and no. Sometimes I can't really tell'.

'Got time for a cup of tea?'

'I'd love to - but I really need to be at the hospital early this morning'.

'Completely understood', she said. 'Anyway, drop by whenever. And do throw as much rubbish in that fool's skip as you like'.

With a pleasant smile, she ended our little encounter.

I followed her instructions, and threw all the remaining empty boxes into the skip, along with four brimming bags of builders' debris. Then I walked to the tube, thinking: 'I actually have a friendly neighbour'.

At the hospital, I was on my ultra-best behaviour. And I was hugely relieved to discover that Jack's return to Paediatric ICU had been a brief one, as he was back on the normal baby ward. The usual unit sister was there as well - eyeing me up carefully, the way one does with anyone who's been labelled 'a loose cannon'.

But I gave her a big smile and said, 'Is Nurse McGuire around? I think I owe her an apology for being so extreme yesterday'.

Immediately the unit sister relaxed. Acts of Contrition usually do that.

'I'm afraid she's off on a week's holiday - but when she's back I'll tell her what you said'.

'And I am sorry I didn't make it last night. It's just... well, to be honest about it, I was so tired I simply passed out'.

'Don't worry about it. Every mother is exhausted after giving birth. And the good news is: that little relapse last night was nothing more than that. In fact, you might be able to bring him home as early as tomorrow'.

I was all smiles. 'That is great news'.

'Are you up for feeding him now? He's definitely hungry'.

Doing my best to disguise my unease, I nodded, keeping the fixed smile on my face. The unit sister motioned for me to follow her. We walked down the ward to Jack's crib. He was lying on his side, crying loudly. I tensed - wondering if he'd really start bawling when I picked him up. But I tried to mask this by saying, 'He sounds really hungry'.

The unit sister smiled back. Then there was an awkward moment, where I stood by the crib, not knowing if I should pick him up, or if the sister was going to hand him to me. Looking rather warily at me again, the sister motioned for me to take him. My hands were sweaty as I reached in. And yes, his squeals did amplify as I lifted him up.

Keep your nerve, keep your nerve, I told myself. And, for God's sake, don't look fearful.

I pulled Jack close to me, rocking him gently. His crying redoubled. I quickly settled down into the hard straight-back chair by the crib, opened my shirt, released my left breast from the nursing bra, squeezed the area around the nipple in an effort to expend a little milk, but felt nothing but solidified concrete.

Don't think about it, just get him on the breast and hope that you don't start screaming. Sister is studying your every move.

I gently directed Jack's head toward the nipple. When he found it he began to suck ravenously. I shut my eyes as the pain hit. But then his voraciousness suddenly paid off - as his vacuum-like suction cleared the ducts and milk poured forth. It didn't matter that his steel-trapped gums were squeezing the hell out of the nipple, or that my level of discomfort was rising by the minute. He was eating.

'Are you in a bit of pain there?' the unit sister asked.

'Nothing that can't be managed', I said.

This was the correct response, as the sister nodded approvingly and said, 'I'll leave you to it'.

As soon as she was out of sight, I leaned over and whispered into Jack's ear, 'Thanks'.

After ten minutes, I transferred Jack to the other nipple - and, once again, his hoover of a mouth cleared all obstructions within moments and milk flowed freely.

Of course, I've read the usual pop psychology stuff about how physical blockages can lead to psychological blockages. But though I used to be sceptical of this kind of body/mind linkage, I have to admit that when I left the hospital that morning, I felt as if I had finally rid myself of the gloomy impasse in which I had lived since Jack's birth.

'Well, God bless my nephew's suction', Sandy said when I called her around nine am her time to tell her that, finally, I had been able to feed my son without the use of a dreaded breast pump. But when I said that I was now feeling almost blissed-out, she said, 'Great to hear it - but don't get yourself into a state if you suddenly slip back into the glums again. Once Jack comes home you're going to be dealing with broken nights - when three hours of uninterrupted sleep will seem like a total triumph'.

'But I haven't been to bed all night, and I feel totally terrific'.

'Why didn't you get to bed last night?'

'Because I was asleep all day yesterday'.

'I don't like the sound of that'.

'Really, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. I needed to shut down for a while. And now, I feel as if my equilibrium is back to normal, and I've really got things back into proportion, and I'm feeling genuinely at one with things'.

Long pause. I said, 'You still there, Sandy?'

'Oh, I'm here. But I'm also wondering if you've suddenly turned into a Moonie'.

'Thanks a lot'.

'Well, what the hell do you expect when you start saying garbage like "I'm at one with things."'

'But I am'.

'You now have me very worried'.

That was typical Sandy - even more literal than I was when it came to judging other people's moods. But I knew I was all right - though when I returned home that morning from the hospital, there was a note waiting for me from Tony, saying:

Invitation Declined With Regret. US Deputy Secretary of State in town tonight. Just received last minute invitation for dinner at the Embassy. Will make it up to you.

Great, just great. But after last night's stupidity, I wasn't going to call him up and hector him for turning down my invitation. Instead, I'd put a positive spin on this situation. Rather than fall into bed now for a nap, I'd force my way through the day on no sleep, then go by the hospital around seven and would be back home in bed by ten - tired out enough to sleep straight through the night without interruption. Come morning, I'd be back on a normal schedule - and ready to bring my son home.