5 #2
‘Oh! How is he? Is he all right? Nobody’ll tell me nahin!’ She clasped her hands together as if praying. ‘Is he gonna die, Doctor? Just tell me!’
‘He’s doing much better, actually.’
‘He is?’ A hesitant smile crossed her face. ‘You’re not just sayin’ that?’
‘No, definitely not. I’ve just assessed him. His colour is good, he’s breathing well, and I couldn’t see any signs of infection, so I’ve recommended he be brought back to you.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Overcome, she wiped the corner of her eye with a knuckle. ‘I’ve been thinking the worst, so I have!’
‘I’m sure!’ he replied sympathetically. ‘Now, I understand your milk is coming in?’
‘Aye.’ Carefully, she pressed a hand and arm across her bosom – testing, then wincing. ‘Hard as rocks they are, and burning hot!’
‘Well, we don’t want you getting mastitis, do we? An infection, I mean.’ Ironically, keeping the baby away would increase the chances of his mother suffering a blocked milk duct, which could quickly become infected.
‘Aye, milk fever bees terrible. My sister had it with her second and was lucky to get through it alive.’
‘Is this your fourth baby?’ he asked, trying to remember what he had read in her notes.
‘No, my fifth.’
‘And you fed the others yourself?’
‘I did, aye.’ She grimaced. ‘Never tried to do it with a scar on me stomach, though.’
‘How is your scar doing?’
‘The big doctor checked me yesterday. Said everything was all right.’
The ‘big doctor’ would be Russell, he guessed. Big in status, not size. He suppressed a chuckle as a brief image of Russell as a giant crossed his mind. ‘Good. And you haven’t had the shivers, or felt hot?’ As he spoke, he laid a hand on her brow. Normal.
‘No, not once, Doctor.’
‘Right then. But be aware, your baby has been on bottles the past couple of days, so it might take him a wee while to get used to the breast.’
‘Never you worry about that, Doctor, I know what I’m at. When will they bring him to me?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. Soon, though.’
‘That’s great news, Doctor. Thank you.’
‘No worries.’ There was a lightness in his step as he left the ward, making for delivery suite. It was good to feel he could make a difference.
* * *
Finally it was lunchtime. This morning’s clinic had been busier than ever, with three new white-card registrations on top of the review appointments.
Maisie had done all right, though. She hadn’t made any mistakes, and was starting to get used to the routine tasks here.
Making her way to the canteen, she was conscious of a strong sense of relief.
‘Maisie!’ It was Peggy, coming down the narrow stone stairs opposite the canteen. ‘I timed that well!’ she declared, and Maisie sent her a puzzled look.
‘I asked when the morning clinic usually finishes, and I tried to get my break at the same time.’
‘Nice one!’ A warm feeling went through Maisie.
She liked Peggy, and here was evidence that the liking was mutual.
As they tucked in to spuds and carrots and roast chicken – Maisie still inwardly amazed at how often rich people ate meat – they chatted lightly about their jobs and training, and about the midwives they were working with.
‘I can’t wait to go out on the district,’ declared Peggy. ‘That’s real midwifery.’ She flushed slightly. ‘Not that this isn’t, but – you know what I mean!’
‘I do,’ Maisie nodded. ‘Being with a woman in her own home, the hours and hours of sitting with her and encouraging her . . . It’s the best.’
Peggy said shyly, ‘I’m lucky. They’re starting me on some district work later this week.’
‘Ah, no way! That’s class!’ Maisie frowned in confusion. ‘How come they’re letting you do that so soon? They said they’d only move us to delivery suite once they’re sure we know what’s what. And only after we’ve proven ourselves in delivery suite would we be allowed to go out on the district.’
‘Oh, did you not hear what happened last week?’
‘No?’ Maisie was intrigued.
‘Before I trained as a midwife, I was a handywoman. I hadn’t told anybody, but it all came out at the fancy reception last Wednesday.’
‘Oh!’ Maisie put a hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘I hadn’t told anybody, but it turns out I needn’t have worried.’
‘Sure the handywomen are great! I’m so jealous, though – I’d love to get out to the home births.’
Peggy grinned. ‘Aye, I can’t wait!’
Maisie turned her mind away from envy. As a handywoman – a lay midwife – Peggy would have been highly experienced at handling births, even before undergoing formal midwifery training.
It made total sense that Matron would get her out doing the real work as soon as possible.
Maisie’s time would come; she simply had to be patient.
A pity I hadn’t trained as a handywoman when I was younger.
Ma Kennedy might have trained her, just as she was currently training áine.
There was no point in dwelling on might-have-beens, though. Gerald. Another might-have-been. If he’d been different. If I’d been different. She shouldn’t go there.Thoughts like that were not only irrelevant but harmful to her peace of mind. Questions to which there would never be answers.
‘How are you getting on in A Ward, anyway?’ she asked brightly. ‘What’s the name of the sister again?’
‘Sister Campbell. She’s a bit daunting, but she’s actually all right, I think. What about yours? Sister Hanna, right? The one who interviewed us with Matron?’
‘Very daunting.’ Deliberately, she matched Peggy’s choice of word. ‘I don’t see that much of her. Midwife Brooks is my real commander, I reckon. She’s very bossy.’
‘Bossy Brooks!’ Peggy frowned. ‘But how can she be? We’re all the same. There are midwives, and sisters, and Matron. That’s it, right?’
‘Nah. I reckon there’s another level. There are midwives and midwives. As newly qualified midwives we’re the lowest of the low. We know so little compared to the midwives who’ve been here a while. Apart from you, of course!’
‘But if we do actually know more than them about something we have to keep our mouths shut,’ Peggy responded, a tinge of bitterness in her tone.
‘I haven’t had that problem yet, but I can imagine!’
Satisfied that they were in complete agreement on these important matters, they returned to their chicken dinner.
* * *