Anyone Can Dream

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.’

The child was tiny—minute, delicate little fingers that gripped Charlotte’s own and wouldn’t let go, her eyes clear and bright, fixed on Charlotte’s face.

The ache in her heart seemed to grow until she could almost feel the swelling in her chest. What would it be like, she wondered, to hold your baby in your arms? To have that serious gaze trained so intently on your face, and know that you were the most important person in that tiny child’s world?

All too soon Jet was warm and comfortable on the bed with the baby settled again at her breast, then with a minimum of fuss she delivered the placenta, exclaiming over it in fascination.

‘I never saw it with the first one,’ she told Sue. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’

Sue lifted up the membranes and showed how they had enclosed the baby, and Jet reached out a hand and touched the fine tissues.

‘It seems incredible that they can be so strong,’ she said in wonder. ‘They’re so thin. I thought they’d be thicker, tougher, somehow.’

Her gaze dropped back to the baby. ‘She’s lovely.’

Charlotte smiled. ‘She is—very beautiful. Well done.’ Her arms felt achingly empty. She turned to Sue. ‘Any needlework for me to do?’

Sue was busily tidying up at the business end, and paused thoughtfully.

‘Little graze on the back wall—it should be OK. The perineum’s intact and there’s no muscle damage.’

Charlotte, who hadn’t yet handled a repair alone, was only too relieved. She thanked the couple for allowing her to witness the birth of their baby, then went back out into the ward.

It seemed hectic after the tranquil scene she had just witnessed, a bustling, chaotic mass of busy people all going about their endless tasks.

Ants, she thought, bustling, busy little ants. And what for? Perhaps because everyone else’s arms feel empty, too.