“I don’t need sorting out,” I say politely. “Thanks all the same.”
“Darlin’, you’re having a baby!” The midwife peals with laughter. “You need to get into a gown. Or did you bring a T-shirt? And I’ll need to examine you, see how you’re progressing.”
I need to get rid of this woman, quick. She presses a hand on my abdomen and I shrink away.
“Actually, I’ve already been examined!” I say brightly. “By another midwife. So I’m all set….”
“Another midwife? Who? Sarah?”
“Er…maybe. I don’t remember. She suddenly rushed off, said she had to go to theater or something?” I blink innocently.
“I’ll start you a new chart.” Esther shakes her head, sighing. “I’ll have to examine you again….”
“No!” I squeak before I can stop myself. “I mean…I have a phobia about being examined. They said I could have minimal examination. Venetia understands. I really need to see Venetia, no one else. In fact, could you leave me alone till she comes? I want to focus on my…my inner womanhood.”
Esther rolls her eyes, then heads to the door and leans her head out.
“Pam. We’ve got another one of Venetia’s wacky patients here. Can you page her? All right.” She draws her head back in. “We’re paging Venetia for you. I’ll just fill this in. So, your water broke at home?”
“Uh-huh.” I nod.
“Did the other midwife say how far you’d got?”
“Um…four centimeters,” I say at random.
“And you’re coping with the pain?”
“Fine, so far,” I say bravely.
“Well, now.” The midwife finishes writing. “I really must examine you, so if you pop up on the bed for me….”
“No!” I back away. “Don’t touch me! I only want Venetia!”
There’s a knock at the door and a woman pops her head round it. “Esther? Can you come?”
“We’re busy today.” Esther sighs and hangs the chart on the end of the bed. “I’ll be back. And Venetia should be here soon. Sorry about this.”
“That’s all right,” I say, trying to hide my relief. “Thanks!”
The door closes behind her and I sink back on the bed. For a few minutes nothing happens, and I start to flick through the TV channels. I’m just wondering whether they have any DVDs for hire, when there’s another knock at the door.
It has to be Venetia this time. I grab the breakup bag, struggle to my feet, and take a deep breath to prepare myself.
“Come in!”
The door opens and a girl of about twenty, in a midwife uniform, looks in. She’s got blond wispy hair tied back and looks very apprehensive.
“Um, hi,” she says. “My name’s Paula and I’m a student midwife. Would you mind if I come and observe you in the early stages of labor for a while? I’d be really, really grateful.”
Oh, for God’s sake. I’m about to say “No, go away.” But she looks so shy and nervous, I can’t bring myself to. After all, I can always get rid of her when Venetia arrives.
“Sure.” I wave an arm. “Come on in. My name’s Becky.”
“Hi there.” She smiles shyly as she tiptoes in and sits down on a chair in the corner.
For a minute or two neither of us says anything. I’ve flopped back on the pillows and am staring at the ceiling, trying to hide my frustration. Here I am, all ready for a confrontation, and there’s no one to confront. If Venetia doesn’t show in the next five minutes, I’ll just go.
“You seem very…serene.” Paula looks up from scribbling on her notepad. “Do you have any particular coping mechanisms for the pain?”
Oh, right. I’m supposed to be in labor. I’d better put on a show or she’ll have nothing to write down.
“Absolutely.” I nod. “I’ll just move around a bit, actually. I find that really helps.” I get up and walk around the bed, swinging my arms back and forth in a businesslike way. Then I rock my hips around a few times, and do a stretch I once learned in Yoga-lates.
“Wow,” says Paula, impressed. “You’re very mobile.”
“I’ve done yoga,” I say with a modest little glow. “I think I’ll have a Kit Kat now. Just to keep my energy levels up.”
“Good idea.” Paula nods. As I reach for my bag I can see her writing down “Eats Kit Kat,” on her notes, and underneath, “Using yoga for pain relief.” She riffles back in her file, then looks up sympathetically. “During contractions, where’s most of the pain focused?”
“Er…just…around,” I say vaguely, munching on my Kit Kat. “Kind of here…and here…” I gesture at my body. “It’s hard to explain.”
“You seem amazingly calm, Becky.” Paula is gazing at me as I check my teeth in my hand mirror for Kit Kat crumbs. “I’ve never seen a laboring woman with such self-control!”
“Well, I’m a Scientologist,” I can’t resist saying. “So I’m trying to keep as quiet as possible, obviously.”
“A Scientologist!” Her eyes open wide. “That’s amazing.” Then she frowns in alarm. “Aren’t you supposed to be in total silence?”
“I’m the sort that’s allowed to talk,” I explain. “But not scream or anything.”
“Wow. You know, I’m not sure we’ve ever had a Scientologist in here before!” She looks quite animated. “Do you mind if I just tell a couple of my colleagues?”
“Go ahead!” I nod absently.
As she hurries out, I crumple up my Kit Kat wrapper and throw it in the bin, frustrated. This is stupid. Venetia’s not coming, is she? They’re never going to page her. And I’m not even in the mood for seeing her anymore. I think I’ll go home.
“She’s in here!” The door is flung open and a whole crowd of young midwives floods into the room, led by Paula. “This is Rebecca Brandon,” she addresses the group in an undertone. “She’s four centimeters dilated and is using yoga to help deal with the pain. Because she’s a Scientologist she’s keeping very quiet and calm. You’d barely know she was having contractions!”
They’re all gawping at me as though I’m an extinct animal. I’m almost sorry to let them down.
“Actually, I think it might be a false alarm.” I pick up my bag and shrug on my coat. “I’m going home now. Thanks very much for all your help—”
“You can’t go home!” says Paula with a little laugh. She consults my chart and nods. “I thought so. Rebecca, your water has broken. You’ll run the risk of infection!” She pulls off my coat and takes my bag. “You’re staying here till that baby’s out!”
“Oh,” I say, stymied.
What do I do now? Should I tell them I made up that my water has broken?
No. They’ll think I’m a total loony. What I’ll do is wait till they leave me alone and then sneak out. Yes. Good plan.
“She could be in transition,” one of the student midwives is saying knowledgeably to another. “They often want to go home at that stage. They get quite irrational.”
“Rebecca, you really need to put on a hospital gown.” Paula is surveying me with anxiety. “The baby could be well on the way. How are the contractions feeling? Are they coming quicker? Can I examine you?”
“She’s requested minimal monitoring and examination,” chips in another student midwife, looking at my chart. “She wants everything natural. I think we should get a senior midwife in here, Paula.”
“No, don’t!” I say hurriedly. “I mean…I’d like to be left alone for a while. If that’s OK.”
“You’re very stoic, Rebecca,” says Paula, resting a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “But we can’t leave you alone! You don’t even have a birth partner!”
“I’ll be fine, honestly.” I try to sound casual. “Just for a few minutes. It’s…it’s part of my beliefs. The woman in labor needs to be on her own every hour to say a special chant.”
Go on. I’m willing them silently. Just leave me alone….
“Well, I guess we should respect your beliefs,” Paula says uncertainly. “OK. We’ll pop out for a while, but if you feel anything moving on, just press the buzzer.”
“I will! Thanks!”
