The Midwife's Confession

Midwifery was always physically taxing. The bending, leaning, twisting and supporting were part of the process, and for the first time Noelle wasn’t sure she’d make it through. The red-hot torture in her lower back wouldn’t let up and she once again toyed with the idea of taking one of her pills. Just one. She could almost hear them calling to her from her bag in the kitchen. She’d be more effective if she could move with less pain, she told herself, but she knew better. She knew the danger. This delivery was too risky. She was dealing now with posterior arrest: the baby was stuck and she knew her only option might be to transport Tara to the hospital for Pitocin to strengthen her contractions. Tara wept at the idea. “Your healthy baby’s more important than a home birth,” Noelle said, but she assured her they would try everything else she could think of first. She wanted to separate Tara’s actual need for transport from her own longing to be in the hospital near Emerson and her baby, as well as her desire to have this delivery behind her so she could take something for her back. She and Sam worked together, physically supporting Tara, changing her position on the bed, walking her around the room, giving her tincture of cohosh and other herbs—in short, doing everything she could think of to help the little girl who was trying to be born.

With only one option left to her short of transport, Noelle attempted to manually rotate the baby. The delicate maneuvering seemed to take forever, though she knew it must have seemed far longer to Tara. Noelle wished she’d had an assistant—she needed four hands to manage the rotation. Maybe five. She let out an enormous sigh of relief when the baby finally turned into position, her fetal heart tones strong and reassuring. A short time later, the infant slipped into the world and Noelle wasn’t sure which of the four of them in that hot, dark room was the most exhausted or the most relieved.

She was bathing the infant in the kitchen when Sam came into the room to watch. “She’s all right now, isn’t she?” he asked. “Tara?”

“She’ll be fine,” Noelle said, and she knew that when Tara had briefly lost consciousness after the delivery, he’d been afraid. She knew how much he loved Tara. She saw it every time she was in the same room with them, and she felt both happiness for the two of them—two people she loved—and a searing envy that had never eased up. Now they had a child to bind them together even more tightly. She was glad she was only a couple of months away from marrying Ian. For the first time in her life, she had someone to fantasize about the future with. Her longing for children, for an out-in-the-open family tied together by blood, would someday soon be a reality.

She sent Sam back into the bedroom to be with Tara while she finished examining the baby and calling Clare Briggs to come over. Then she wrapped the baby in warm receiving blankets, resting her carefully on a thick towel at the rear of the kitchen counter as she rummaged in her purse for her pill bottles. Finally. This delivery was over. Clare would be here in a few minutes. She could afford some relief now.

She carried the infant back into the bedroom and found Sam and Tara huddled together on the bed. Tara smiled tiredly and reached for her baby.

“We’re going to name her Noelle,” Sam said. She knew in that instant that he’d forgiven her for the night on the beach, but although she was touched by the gesture, she couldn’t let it happen. It was so wrong. There were moments when her guilt from that night could still find her, and this was one of them.

“Oh, no, you’re not,” she said. “Promise me you won’t saddle this baby with my name.”

She must have sounded even more vehement than she felt, because they quickly backed off and she was relieved. She couldn’t allow Tara, in her ignorance, to name her baby after her.

Clare arrived, bustling into the house with the self-confident attitude that always put new parents at ease. Noelle made sure everyone was as comfortable with one another as possible, then left for the hospital. She was beyond exhaustion, but she couldn’t wait to check on Emerson and see her niece. This was a child who might actually look like her. Wouldn’t that be something? She only hoped she wouldn’t look too much like her. Not enough to bring attention to the fact.

She took another Percocet before leaving Sam and Tara’s house. The past twenty-four hours had simply been too grueling for her back. By the time she was driving to the hospital, she felt the drugs soften the prickly edges of her pain. The muscles in her back loosened ever so slightly and her clenched jaw relaxed. She felt deliciously floaty as she walked from her car to the entrance of the women and new born unit. The relief from pain combined with exhaustion and the excitement of being minutes from seeing Emerson’s baby made her feel almost giddy.

She loved the unit at night when it was dimly lit and nearly silent. The unit was broken into pods of four rooms each. A small nurses’ station designed for one or two nurses sat at the center of each pod.

Noelle found the correct pod for Emerson. Jill Kenney, a nurse Noelle had known for years, was bending over one of two clear plastic bassinets next to the counter, changing the diaper of a caramel-skinned baby. She looked like she’d had as long and hard a night as Noelle and she gave her a tired smile.

“Hey, Noelle,” she said quietly. “I bet you’re here to see the Stiles baby. I thought you’d scrub in for that one. The mom’s your best friend, isn’t she?”

“I had a home birth of another friend.” Noelle returned the smile. “I’m going to ask them to time their babies a little better next time.” Standing inside the doorway of the pod, she felt as though she were in a dream. It was a pleasant, welcome sensation. Her back seemed to be made of cotton, soft and yielding and, finally, pain-free.

“She named her Jenny.” Jill straightened up from the bassinet and moved to the sink to wash her hands. “Not Jennifer. Jenny. I think that’s cute.”

Noelle walked toward the bassinets. “Who are these two?” she asked.

Jill sat down at the counter. She rubbed her temple with her fingers, her face pale against her short dark hair. “Well, this one’s mom needed a break.” She pointed to the darker-skinned infant.

“Do you feel all right?” Noelle asked.

“Actually, no.” Jill frowned. “Migraine. Therese is going to relieve me soon and I’m going home. It’s been wild tonight, too. It’s always that way, isn’t it?” She glanced at one of the monitors on the counter, then pressed a couple of buttons on her keyboard before looking up at Noelle again. “The time you don’t feel well is the time all hell breaks loose.”

“That seems to be the way it goes.” Noelle looked at the second bassinet. “Why’s this other babe out here?” she asked.

“Oh, that one’s really tragic.” Jill said. “Mom stroked out and is in a coma.”

“Damn.” Noelle peered into the bassinet. The baby’s wispy brown hair fringed her little pink knit hat. She was six and a half pounds, Noelle thought—she could judge a baby’s weight by looks alone —and her color was excellent. Whatever had befallen her mother didn’t seem to have had an adverse effect on her.

“They’re getting ready to transfer her mother to Duke.” Jill punched another few buttons on the keyboard. “I