And Baby Makes Two

Chapter Two (part six) - From Second to Third

As we head out of the park I try and drag my eyes away from the foreign land of swings and slides that sits fenced-off, like a ghetto, at the edge of the park.

Strolling along Church Street I decide to own up, “Actually Nancy, these Branston Pickles seem to be getting stronger.”
“Really?” she gasps, her eyes wide as saucers, “Well, are they regular?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Shit! What did they say at NCT again?......” Nancy thinks. “If you can speak then you’re not in labour. You’re speaking so you can’t be.” satisfied she relaxes back into her normal state of unpanic.
“No" I wince, "wasn’t that about one of the 'stages' of labour?”
“Oh.......yeh, maybe you’re right.” We both stare at each other looking a bit puzzled. In the face of adversity I opt for a practical approach.
“Let’s just go into this shop. I need to get a few supplies like coffee and sugar for my Mum and Dad, just in case I am in labour and they need to come and stay at mine.”
“Cool!” Nancy replies, happy to be a given a simple task..., for the time being.

We walk into the Turkish supermarket and head for aisle two. Just then a searing pain splits me in half and takes my breath away. I am unable to stand straight.
“Actually Nance, would you mind......just..........stretching.........up.........there, phew! And getting that sugar down for me?” The pain subsides a little.
“Sure!” Grinning, Nancy stretches up to reach the groceries; enjoying the adventure we are both on.
Taking my purse she pays for our groceries while I deal with the pack of dogs around my stomach who are about to move in for a second attack.

Walking through the front door of my flat Nancy heads straight for the kitchen and begins unloading the food and groceries into my cupboards.

“I’ll put the kettle on. Tea or Coffee?” she calls out.
“Ummm......either......not sure...........tea....please.” I manage to tell her.
“Are you sure you’re not in labour?” she asks again.
“No, I can’t be I’m early. It’s probably just Braxton Hicks. My Mum said she had ‘contractions’ for two days with all three of us, before she went into labour. Each time my Dad took her to the hospital they would have to send her home because she had stopped!”
Nancy smiled and seemed satisfied that I knew what I was talking about.

The familiar beat of Eastenders drums out from the TV set and I am back on all-fours, leaning on the sofa, with my back to the television. Nancy munches her way through more Maltesers and sips on her glass of red wine. I decide to try some of my own wine, hoping it will take the edge off the pain. The metallic liquid fills and lines my mouth like liquid mercury and I return my glass to the table next to me. The pain is excruciating now and I realise I can’t speak through each wave of pain; only able to concentrate on reaching the other side of the ‘peak’. No sooner has the pain weakened than I feel a new wave of pain coming on.....
“Nancy, do you think you could start timing me. I think I may be having contractions every three minutes.”
“Sure, let me get my phone....”
She disappears into the kitchen, returning with phone in-hand,
“Ok, tell me when.”
As I rise over the crest of the wave and begin my descent, a second wave draws up alongside me.
“Ak.......choo........lee, I...........think.............we...........should...............go.........nooooowwwwww!”
“Oh shit. Fuck. Really, now? Right.”
Nancy spins on the spot a few times then locates the car keys.
“Right. Ok. I have the car keys.”
She stands and stares at me for a few moments rooted to the spot.
“Right. Um. Right. I’m going to get our hospital bags and put them in the back of the car, and then I’ll come back and get you.”
She goes into the bedroom and comes back out dragging both suitcases behind her. Disappearing out the front door, she returns seconds later puffing and sweating.
“Right. Ok. Come on I’ll help you up the steps.”
My cosy flat is left behind, waiting like an expectant father pacing the corridor for the first cry of his newborn child.

Nancy helps me up the steps and I stop three times en-route to the car unable to move during the peak of each contraction. Crawling onto the back seat of my car on all-fours, Nancy leaps into the driver’s seat and grinds the gears as she hurriedly puts the car into motion. Each tiny bump, jolt or stop magnifies the pain a thousand times over. Weaving through the dark backstreets of Hackney Nancy swerves and speeds, jumping lights to get me to hospital as fast as she can. We are both laughing, albeit mine through clenched teeth as I hold onto my breathing technique like a life-jacket at sea.

Screaming into the Emergency car park, Nancy brings the car to a halt and in one single action, jumps out, opens the door and gets me into a standing position in the hospital car park. The ten metres to the hospital entrance takes us twenty minutes as each contraction comes, one on top of another; an unbroken tsunami wave, allowing only two steps between pauses.

From a distant world, shouts enter my subconsciousness, “You go girl, hang in there you’re doing a great job!” Encouraging words from a couple of Midwives going off-duty and climbing into their cars. I smile despite myself.

Finally in the lift, we travel up to the labour ward and assistance arrives at last in the form of two black angels who soar down and lift me up from under my arms, and in their strong capable arms, carry me into a delivery room as Nancy relays my details a world away.

Sitting pretty astride a birthing ball everything around me fades away like mist as I concentrate solely on my outbreaths and surviving each bout of pain. In moments of lucidity I wonder why I didn’t get one of these balls as they really are the perfect seat for pregnant poses. I snatch a look at Nancy, whose hand is white and bloodless. She grimaces at me, horror in her eyes. Shit, why was she horrified. Did I look that bad? Maybe I sounded that bad! Oh shit here comes another one.....

After hours, or minutes (who knows), I am being escorted along the corridor to the birthing-pool room. It looks like a private members club swimming pool and I lower my pain-wracked naked body into the blood-warm liqiud and release a pleasurable sigh as my body relents to the support of the water.

All too soon the water seems to turn into sticky, gloopy jelly and my instincts push me up the steps and out of the pool again. A Midwife wraps my dignity in a towel and I am escorted back to my room once more.

As I am seated on the bed an overwhelming urge infiltrates my body from within. In exactly the same way as a heave of nausea hauls the whole of your insides up, so this impulse demanded that my entire body was to bear down. With eyes wide and pupils dilated, in true Holby City style, I announce to the world that “I NEED TO PUSH!!”

It is all action-stations. I am checked and confirmed as ready, and with legs astride, back resting on four - maybe five – pillows, I push. Push like it is all that matters. Push for my life. Push for the whole of history. Push for the beginning of the world. Push, like only a mother can...
“He’s coming I can see his head, he’s coming!” I hear a voice ring out.
“Come on now lovely, just a few more times and you have done it! Come on, 1, 2, 3 and PUSH!”

Cheerleaders fill the room dressed in white and red. Flinging pom-poms around their heads, they gyrate in rythmic dance movements. Great leaps into the air end with straight-legged kicks, and as tension mounts the team of perfectly white-teeth, jump up in unison and belt out my teams chant: P.U.S.H What do we get, PUSH!
I am winning, and with only seconds remaining of the match the crowd is on fire. The stadium fills with deafening roars of ecstacy, as cheerleaders reach their climax. The whistle blows and the game is over.

Zoe Plummer is declared the undisputed champion of all time........

.........and then I see him. His eyes, wide and soul-searching, stare adoringly and questioningly into mine. He is tiny, like a little sparrow freshly hatched. He is placed on my chest but holds my eye, and I love him. I love this little alien squirming on my breast without understanding why. A camera flash startles us both 2, 3, 4 times, and then he is whisked away, returned to me swaddled in blankets of love, protection, and belonging.

posted by Rebecca Valentine at 3:26 pm 1 comments