The Girl Who Cried Wolf(53)

I’m not entirely sure whether or not this is the right time to tell him that I think my waters have just broken.

***

The next few hours of my life could only be described as complete pandemonium. Michael had been frozen to the spot since I told him my waters had broken, muttering that it was too soon, but I was certain that the moment I had been dreading for the best part of nine months had arrived. I shouted for my mother, who came running out to see me holding my dressing gown against my groin and knew in an instant we were ready to launch. She untied her apron, shouted something to Izzy about my bags, and jolted Michael into sudden action by telling him to bring the Jeep round. I looked to her with desperation as she ran over and helped me into the house, bolting the kitchen door behind us. Freedom looked concerned and to my annoyance, she took the time to bend down and stroke his ears softly, telling him to be a good boy and that we would not be long.

I didn’t have time to be angry with her because the dull ache in my womb that had been present all day suddenly intensified, making me cry out in pain. ‘Oh God, you’re having contractions,’ said Izzy breathlessly, a mixture of excitement and high anxiety in her voice.

I took a moment to shoot her an evil look, annoyed that she knew I was having a contraction before I had even realised what they were. I should not have been surprised, seeing that she had read every single one of the baby books I had tossed aside, and had already bought herself a ‘World’s Best Aunty’ T-shirt. She would not have dared tell me, but I had found the offending garment in her drawer when searching for a jumper.

Izzy ignored me, and set a stop clock on her phone as we headed to the front of the house where Michael was waiting. I clambered onto the Jeep’s back seat, still in my white linen dressing gown soiled with a pinkish-tinged fluid. My mother and Izzy jumped in either side of me, Lillian already on her mobile to the maternity ward to tell them we were on our way.

I doubled over for a second time, my face twisted in pain, and cried out as another contraction grasped my abdomen with a forceful blow.

‘Four minutes!’ shouted Izzy and I squeezed her hand as hard as I possibly could until she yelled in anguish herself.

Michael turned to face me for a second and our eyes met. He recognised my expression of pure fear and gave me a look of pure love. ‘You will be all right, my darling. I’m not going anywhere; we will get through this together.’

I read between the lines and took a moment’s comfort knowing I was perhaps his darling once more.

***

A small team of medical staff are waiting for me at the ward entrance and I am in too much pain to argue as they whisk me away in a wheelchair. I am changed swiftly into a gown as they let Michael and my mother into the room, who stand by my head as a device is tied around my stomach to measure the baby’s heartbeat. Another unbearable cramp takes hold of me, and does not seem to release for a lifetime. When I open my eyes the nurses look concerned as they study a small monitor. One of them reaches across me and hits a red button.

I am doubled over in pain once more and tell them I need to push, but a midwife I do not recognise is huddled with the other nurses around the monitor. I scream for pain relief but no one listens as I hear Izzy telling the doctor that I last ate less than two hours ago.

Finally, the midwife acknowledges my presence and comes over to the bed while a nurse with a bag of fluids begins to attach an intravenous line to my arm. I am too alarmed to protest and hold more tightly to Michael’s hand as the midwife tells me that my baby’s heart rate is dropping quickly.

Another member of staff is rubbing a cool gel over my stomach and I recognise her from my last ultrasound.

‘Try not to worry, Anna. I’m going to take a look at what’s happening.’ She efficiently carries out her task and the midwife returns to my side a short time later to tell me that the umbilical cord is in front of the baby’s face. With every contraction my stomach is cutting off its air supply.

‘Will I die?’

He looks confused at my question but hastens to tell me that I need to have an emergency C-section and orders the nurses to prepare me for theatre.

I must not be making sense because Michael is the one everyone addresses as I am whisked away in the confusion to be given an epidural. I am asked to lean forward and an incredibly painful injection is administered to my back before I am wheeled into an operating room. My legs begin to feel numb and I panic, asking one of the staff where Michael was.

She turns as though she is surprised to hear from me and smiles reassuringly. ‘He’s on his way. Just getting him prepped for theatre.’

I wondered fleetingly if Michael was having an operation also. I have heard people using the expression that their teeth were ‘chattering with fear’ and this is happening to me now as I realise I can no longer feel my legs. The midwife enters the room with Michael, both dressed in green gowns and masks, and I only recognise my fiancé as he is always the tallest person in any room.

I hold on to his blue eyes and he tells me not to be afraid, that I will not feel any more pain and my legs are supposed to be numb.

‘But I can feel something!’ I tell him desperately, as the midwife hovers by my legs. ‘What if I feel them cut into me? Michael help me, I can’t do this. I can’t!’

He looks afraid as he bends forward to kiss my clammy brow and strokes the feathery hairs from my forehead.