The Pull of the Stars(63)

She whipped the tube out of the needle in Honor White’s arm, and my blood jetted across the floor, unwanted now; noxious.

I pulled the needle and tube right out of my own arm and pressed hard on the puncture to stop the bleeding.

We could do nothing about the maddening itching—Honor White’s body’s way of trying to fight off my alien blood. She was gasping like a consumptive. I bent all my efforts on urging her to calm herself and breathe.

Dr. Lynn was scrubbing at the sink.

At a moment like this, why on earth did she need to wash her hands again?

Then I realised there was no hope but to get this baby into the air before the mother bled out.

I called, You’ll find a sterile pair of forceps on the—

I see them.

Bridie and I gripped Mrs. White and held her as Dr. Lynn went in with the first branch of the forceps.

Honor White let out a long howl.

Then the other branch.

Dr. Lynn muttered, Yes. Staring into space as she tightened her grip and curled her index finger into the ring at the hinge.

I told Honor White, A huge push this time.

Though she didn’t look as if she could even lift her head. Who was I to order this woman to go beyond her powers?

If you’d press on the uterine fundus, Nurse? asked the doctor.

I put my hand at the top of Honor White’s bump, waited for the wave to take her, then bore down.

Urghhhhhhhh!

Steady, steady…and here comes the face.

Without rushing, Dr. Lynn guided the head out in her tongs.

New eyes blinking through a wash of scarlet, turned to the heavens. Stargazer.

Was the infant going to drown in its mother’s blood? I flailed around to find a clean cloth and wiped the nose and mouth clear.

Dr. Lynn murmured, Wait for it. One more push.

I got behind Honor White and held her up to help her breathe. I swore, It’ll soon be over.

(Thinking, One way or another.)

She stirred a little, and her eyes widened. She coughed with a sound of something ripping. On the next pang, she shoved back so hard, the bed rail bit into my ribs.

The whole baby slithered out of her.

Well done!

Dr. Lynn said, Congratulations, Mrs. White. You have a son.

I held out a blanket to take him.

Unprompted, he let out a cry.

At first I thought the doctor’s forceps had cut his mouth. Then I recognised the kinked line—born harelipped.

But a healthy size for being a few weeks before full term, and a good hue.

Dr. Lynn was concentrating on stemming the bleeding. She massaged Honor White’s collapsed belly from the top, persuading her uterus to squeeze out the afterbirth.

Now the cord’s pulse slowed; this infant had had all he was going to get from it. I asked Bridie to bring me over the instrument tray. I tied the slippery blue rope in two places and scissored through.

Could you warm up a pint of saline, Nurse?

I bundled the White baby in a towel, set him in the crib, and told Bridie to watch him. Speak up if he seems to choke or changes colour.

I rushed to mix salt into hot water, then brought over the bottle. Dr. Lynn had already attached a fresh tube to Honor White’s inner arm. I set the bottle up on a stand so the saline would pour into her.

She was less flushed, and she’d stopped scratching at her weals, but she was weak as a rag. What other damage had my unlucky blood done her?

Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners, she was whispering, now and at the hour of our death, amen.

There’s the placenta now, excellent.

The meaty thing surged out, with a huge clot behind it.

Dr. Lynn lifted up the organ to check it was whole, then dropped it into the waiting basin.

I felt Honor White’s pulse; still too high and too weak, an awful feathery dance.

Suture, please, Nurse?

I washed my shaking hands before I threaded the needle.

Dr. Lynn steadily sewed up the small incision she’d made in Honor White’s perineum.

Bridie said, Your arm, Julia!

Inside my left elbow was trickling red where the needle had been. It’s nothing.

But she went to get me a bandage.

It doesn’t matter, Bridie. Leave it.

Let me just—

She tied it on me clumsily, too loose.

Over the next quarter of an hour, as we watched, Honor White’s bleeding did taper off. Oh, the slow, painful relief of it. Little by little, her pulse steadied and dropped to under a hundred, and the speed of her breaths diminished too. She was able to nod, to speak. I didn’t know if it was the saline, or divine mercy, or pure fluke.

I gave the White baby his bath with Bridie’s help. How it drew the eye, this fellow’s tiny gap—though only on one side, and the dip didn’t reach the nostril. I’d heard the ancient Romans were so horrified by these babies, they used to drown them. This one was in the pink; no sign of flu, and my blood didn’t seem to have done him any harm either, which suggested that his was a different type than his mother’s. Funny to think the two of them had been one a quarter of an hour ago and now were severed forever.

Bridie whispered to me, Is he not quite finished, then?

His mouth, you mean?

Maybe because the doctor took him out before he was cooked?

Dr. Lynn said over her shoulder, No, it just happens, Bridie. Runs in families.

(Especially poor ones, though she wouldn’t say that in front of Honor White. It was as if what the mothers lacked was blazoned on their children’s faces.) Honor White spoke up in a gravelly voice. What’s wrong with him?