Bleeding heavily
No movement
Heartbeat faint
Placental abruption
Acute hypoxia
Stress on baby
No oxygen
Forceps
Ventouse
Quiet Isaac was right at her side and gently slipped his hand around hers as the tension increased.
‘Isaac … what’s going on? Please …’
‘Don’t you worry, darlin’. I’m here. I’m here. I’m goin’ nowhere …’ He was aware that he was reassuring himself as much as he was comforting her.
Hope couldn’t see the ever-expanding pool of blood on the bed between her legs. He could, and he started to breathe very deeply to steady his shock. The consultant swept in and was quickly gowned-up by the other nurses as they apprised him of the situation.
The situation …
Which was clearly getting worse by the minute. The words were being repeated again, but now louder and faster, so that he could take instant decisive action.
Abruption
Hypoxia
Zero heartbeat
The consultant took hold of the forceps and skilfully manoeuvred them inside Hope, explaining what he was doing all the time, but not once looking her in the eye. He couldn’t. No time. He had to concentrate. Hope’s heart was beating fast. She was in hell. For the first time, she felt like an animal. The tugging below, the stroking and patting above by Isaac, with everyone focused on the unseen baby and how to get it out quickly: it all felt overwhelmingly savage, bestial. She was still pushing and breathing hard when she looked to Isaac for any sign of comfort, and she saw that he had tears rolling down his face. Fear tears.
Quiet Isaac saw that she had noticed, and he quickly wiped his face dry and attempted a pathetic smile. He found himself suddenly noticing all the small things in the room. He was mentally pinching himself to stay strong. He focused on the top window blind, then the tap in the sink, then Hope’s cross around her neck, which was now dipping into a tiny pool of sweat gathering there in the bowl of her throbbing throat.
And in that appalling, gut-wrenching instant when he couldn’t meet her gaze, Hope knew.
Like a switch flicking, she shifted immediately from physical pain to mental pain, which was a jump from a puddle into Niagara Falls. The doctor was still tugging away at her, but Hope knew it was too late. That baby had climbed out of Hope’s heart and was gone.
By the time the dead infant was delivered and the consultant turned off the monitor and quietly confirmed, ‘I’m afraid this little one hasn’t made it. I’m so very sorry, folks,’ Hope had pulled up a drawbridge. No one from across the moat was coming into her grief. Even the lifeless child placed in her arms didn’t stir her. She was numb.
The room went completely quiet to honour the awful moment. No one spoke. There were no words big enough. This should have been the cue for whoops and cooing and crying for joy and happy kisses. Instead, it was a breathless room for a breathless baby.
Time stopped for a few brief, respectful, hushed minutes.
Hope handed the little bundle of lifeless limbs wrapped in a white hospital blanket over to Quiet Isaac, who took it so tenderly.
‘It’s a girl,’ said Fatu. ‘What will you call her?’
Hope looked at her, astonished and bewildered. ‘Call her …?’
‘Yes. It’s good to give her a name. You’ll be glad you did. She’s still your daughter, even though … she wasn’t here long.’
‘I was going to call her Minnie. If she was a girl …’ said Hope, in a daze. Her brain couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening.
‘She is a girl,’ said Fatu, ‘she is.’
‘OK,’ said Hope, agreeing just to get this strange moment over and done with. ‘OK, then she is Minnie …’
‘Yes. Minnie. Good. That’s good,’ chimed in Sarah, who had rushed in to help. She smiled at Hope, and Hope’s face smiled back, although nothing in her body had directed her to do so. It was habit. Manners.
She mirrored Sarah’s smile and felt a tiny infinitesimal drop of comfort. Throughout all of this muffled interaction where women were helping a woman, Quiet Isaac stared down at his tiny dead daughter. Her little face was relaxed, her eyes tight shut; she seemed to be sleeping a deep deep sleep. Born sleeping. He couldn’t believe how beautiful and perfect she was. Still warm. Nutty brown with lots of black black hair. He was jolted into the horrendous realization of it all, the terrible truth, by the piercing cry of a newborn – by Florence – somewhere up the corridor.
Quiet Isaac couldn’t be quiet any more. He pulled his lifeless daughter tight to his chest, threw his head back and howled. His pain was as big and loud as a whole wide world of sorrow. He was helpless to save his daughter, helpless to remove Hope’s anguish, and helpless to stop the torrent of sadness that flooded out of him. Here she was. A real baby. His own flesh and blood. In his arms. A miracle. Everything about her was right, except … except … she wasn’t there.
Eighteen Years Later
Eyes shut, nose pinched tightly, Minnie was counting in her head underwater. She’d done this in the bath ever since she was small. She was eighteen now, but she was still no better at it.
Twenty-one elephant.
Twenty-two elephant.
Seconds are elephants. Or Mississippis. Or Minnie Moos.
Could she get past thirty for the first time ever?
Feel like a pearl diver?
Feel like she’s flying?
Yes, nearly, twenty-eight elephant …
Gah! No, she had to sit up and surrender.
Why was she so rubbish at it?
She’d always felt as if she had less lung power than her friends. She ran out of breath before them if she did any exercise, especially dancing, which she loved. She managed one song, then she had to make excuses, sit down and watch instead. No fun whatsoever.
Minnie gulped the lovely air as she lumbered herself awkwardly into a semi-upright sitting position in the small bath. Her body was so unfamiliar now that she
