The Pull of the Stars(24)

Back to the here and now, Julia.

Delia Garrett had said her first two babies popped out. Best to be ready for it to happen any minute now and try to reduce any tearing when the head came down like a rocket. Impossible to offer her any privacy, but at least I could have supplies laid out and a crib standing by.

Bridie, could you nip back up to Maternity and ask for one of those foldout cribs on wheels that go at the end of a cot?

She dashed away.

Nurse Julia!

That was Delia Garrett. Breathe in more chloroform, I told her as I pressed the inhaler to her mouth. You’re going great guns.

In the next lull, I washed my hands again and laid out what might be needed for delivery: gloves in a basin of biniodide of mercury, swabs, scissors, a hypo full of chloroform and another of morphine, needle-holder and needles, sutures.

Delia Garrett made a new sound, a low growl.

I asked, Ready to bear down next time?

She nodded furiously.

I took the inhaler out of her hand; I needed her alert.

It only struck me now that, unlike the proper hospital beds up in Maternity, these camp cots had no rails at the bottom. Nothing for it but to have Delia Garrett lie the other way.

Could you spin around, dear, and put your head at the end of the bed for me?

How’s that going to help?

I stood her pillow up against the headrest. When the pang comes, jam your left foot against this and push, all right?

I wrenched blankets and sheets out of the way so she could rotate herself. I looped a long roller towel around a bottom corner of the metal cot and set it in her hand. Pull hard on this too.

Delia Garrett gripped the towel, her breathing harsh.

I pulled up her nightdress and bent her right leg up in my lap to get a good look.

I hadn’t noticed when Bridie wheeled in the crib I’d asked for. She was looking white; faintness, fatigue, or just excitement? Of all the wards for her to have walked into this morning—had the young woman had any idea where Sister Luke was sending her?

Thanks, Bridie. Hurry for Dr. MacAuliffe now.

She shot off again.

The young surgeon might be irked if he had to stand around and wait through more than a few pushes, but I’d rather chance that than have him stay away too long.

The next pang made Delia Garrett screech.

I reminded her, Low sounds, they have the most heft to them.

I knelt over Delia Garrett and set my thigh into the small of her back for her to brace herself against as she pushed. The towel was so tight around her hands, it striped them with white. That silence as she held her breath and bore down; there was nothing like it. I realised something then: no other job would ever satisfy me.

Urghhhhhhh!

I said, And rest a minute now, catch your breath.

I felt her pulse to make sure its force wasn’t too high.

Lunch. (A voice I didn’t recognise.) Sorry it’s so late.

I whipped down Delia Garrett’s nightdress for decency and turned my head to the door, where that kitchen maid with a purple birthmark held three stacked trays. Not just now, please!

Thrown, she gazed around. There wasn’t enough room on the counters or desk. Maybe if I set them down on the floor?

I knew one of us would be sure to stumble over them. I told her, Outside the door.

The kitchen maid disappeared.

I shook off my irritation and focused on Delia Garrett again. I could see the next pain in her eyes, an oncoming train. Chin down, now, Mrs. Garrett. Curl into the push. Kick with that heel and haul on the towel.

She moaned.

I thought of something Ita Noonan had said when she was admitted last week, back when she was still compos mentis. She hadn’t wanted to let me near her at first because she said she’d always had a neighbour called Granny in when she was having her babies, and Granny had lucky hands—did I have lucky hands? I’d been tempted to point out that I had three diplomas instead. But half the battle with patients was persuading them out of their fear, so I’d looked Ita Noonan in her red-rimmed eyes and sworn that I did indeed have lucky hands.

I pulled up Delia Garrett’s nightdress again for a better look. I wrapped my left arm around her right leg and held it up out of the way. She went quite silent as she heaved this time. Her face was a dull crimson.

Between her thighs, at the heart of her purplish flesh, a darker tuft. I can see the head, Mrs. Garrett!

She sobbed, and it disappeared again.

Don’t push this time, just nice little breaths, I urged her. As if you’re blowing out candles.

Her perineum was bulging redly. If the head crowned too fast, during a contraction, it could tear her open. I could press on the perineum, but that would further strain the delicate skin. Instead I did what Sister Finnigan had taught me: set the heel of my right hand behind Delia Garrett’s anus, pushing the unseen head forward, and snaked my left arm over her thigh and through her legs so I’d be ready at her soft parts. Now!

She pushed, heaving in my arms so hard, I thought she might snap my wrist.

I glimpsed the head again, just inches from my face, and with three fingers of my left hand I tried to get a purchase on the slickly furred scalp and draw it forward…

Delia Garrett made sounds like she was being eaten by wolves. She kicked at the cot rails.

Thudding steps behind me. Just Bridie. Seeing Delia Garrett with her head almost hanging off the end of the bed, she gasped.

The dark tuft disappeared again, swallowed up in purple. I kept my voice steady: Where’s Dr. MacAuliffe?