Charlotte gets up to stand at the window, looking out on the bright day. She could look all day.
“Charlie, did you hear me? Are you alright?” her mother asks.
“I’m fine. Poor Scooty. He had to look up into the sky and then he died. He was sad because I went away and then he looked into the sky.”
After a moment, she feels her mother’s hands on her shoulders, nudging her away from the window. “Charlie, come with me. Let’s go lie down for a while. I’ll get a cool cloth for your head and you can take a nice nap or something.”
“Okay,” Charlotte says. A nap does sound nice.
Willa
Bee finishes swaddling the baby and then hands her off to her mother. She’s already half-dozing, but also quite proud of herself. “She’s perfect, Ellie! You’ve done well.”
Ellie smiles down at the baby as she nestles the small, new person into the crook of her arm. It was a remarkably easy labor, but now the real labor begins, the kind that will last for years. Running a finger along the baby’s smooth brow, she says, “I have no idea what to name her. I thought I did, but now that I see her, none of those seem right.”
“It will come to you,” Willa says as she begins gathering everything that will need washing. Childbirth turns out to be a surprising messy business. There are so many fluids involved.
Already the women who live in the outbuilding they now call The Ward are returning. Each carries a child. One boy and two girls. Bee also lives here because she’s pregnant. There are also a half-dozen younger girls who have no mothers. It’s the smaller of the two buildings, so it’s a snug place and quite warm in the winter, though it does get rather hot in the summer.
The sound of a sniffle makes Willa turn toward the one sniffling. One of the three nurses that arrived their first year stands near the door, a cloth pressed to her nose and mouth. This is the first birth they’ve had to do without a nurse. A nasty head cold has swept through the camp and the two remaining nurses have caught the bug. It seems to happen whenever they get a longer visit from the men that supply them with necessary goods from the outside.
They’re losing the herd immunity they took for granted.
The nurse, Petra, is on the mend, but still snotting up a storm. She’s been directing the operation like a drill sergeant from across the room. Willa wonders how well they did. Petra’s smile and upraised thumb confirms things went as smoothly as it felt they did.
Her voice is nasal from the cold when she says, “Bring it here so we can check that it’s all there.”
That might sound ambiguous, but Willa knows what she means and she makes a face. Taking the basin where all the body materials that aren’t a baby have been put, she walks carefully so as not to jostle the contents. Petra holds the door open and Willa steps out, placing the basin on a piece of clean plastic laid out in front of the building.
This is part of learning how to avoid at least some of the dangers of childbirth. It isn’t for the weak of stomach.
“Come over,” Petra says, waving to the small group of women who have been waiting for this. Everyone has to learn.
Putting aside her germy cloth, she slips on some yellow gloves once meant for washing dishes in a gentler time. Reaching into the basin filled with blood and fleshy material, she runs the umbilical cord through her hands, pointing out the changes in it now that it’s detached. Then she reaches the end and the placenta.
It’s an organ, but a temporary one that’s no longer needed. Problems with the placenta used to be a major cause of maternal postpartum death, so they have to know what to look for. The strange thing is a bit flat and meaty. In another time, seeing something like this would have put Willa off beef for a long time, maybe even forever. Petra flips it onto her palm and holds it up.
“This is the maternal side, the side attached to the mother. See how dark red it is?”
Willa can see how squeamish about it many of the group are. She feels the same, but like them, she leans closer.
“We’re looking for anything that might indicate it’s not all here.” She gently slides her other hand across the surface and looks carefully. “This looks complete. See, we’ve got a full surface here. Most of the time it will be an entire placenta that’s retained, but it can tear as well, leaving behind a smaller chunk. Any piece of retained placenta can mean infection and death, so we have to look carefully. No tears here. Does everyone see?”
Petra passes her hand slowly in front of the group so that everyone can take a look. When everyone has their shot, she flips it to the other side. “And see? This side looks very different. It’s the baby side. Since it’s not attached to the mother, there’s less chance of a problem with it, but always check it anyway.”
Again, she passes it, then lays it aside. “Now, we’ll check the amniotic sac. It’s a bit of a mess, but making sure we’ve got the whole thing is important for the mother’s health. That can be complicated, since in this case, it’s torn to bits, but we do it anyway.”
Willa leans back a little at this part, letting those who weren’t at the birth get their look. She was there and saw it come, tore away what was left, and feels very confident that they got it all. As she watches the mess splatter the plastic sheet, she wonders again how anyone could do this to themselves on purpose. It’s a wonder anyone has a baby once they see this.
Yes, the baby now resting with her
