14
Friday clinics were always a bit quieter.
The senior doctors and visiting staff generally booked in urgent cases only, and mostly saw their own white-card patients.
Most of their white-card consultations took place in their private consulting rooms, but they would bring white-card women in if they wanted hospital-based services or tests.
The others – the complex cases sent by GPs for free treatment – were left to the other doctors, generally senior housemen and above.
Occasionally a newly qualified doctor helped in clinic, but the tutors prioritised surgical and post-surgical work for them, along with newborn checks.
That, after all, was considered the core set of skills they were expected to learn.
By mid-morning the clinic team were well on top of the appointments, and had even been able to get some women seen early, for which the women were grateful.
Most women came at least a quarter of an hour before their slot, resigned to waiting patiently for their turn.
There were also usually a few unbooked women calling in hope that they would be seen, as they were worried about something.
Today so far there had been only one – a white-card woman in early pregnancy with spotting.
The doctor had told her gently that a miscarriage wasn’t inevitable and that she should go home to await events.
Maisie was just building up the courage to ask if she could pop up to check on Mrs Lennon when Sister Higgins from labour ward arrived to speak to Sister Hanna.
A few minutes later they both emerged, Sister Hanna saying, ‘Aye that’s no problem.
Happy to help.’ Her gaze swung to Maisie. ‘Midwife Canavan!’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘You’re needed in labour ward for the rest of today. I’ll see you again on Monday.’
‘Oh, right.’ Labour ward! Suddenly Maisie’s pulse was racing. ‘Yes, of course.’ Removing her apron, she rolled it up and placed it in the laundry basket at the back of the clinic. She would be given a fresh one in labour ward.
Sister Higgins made polite conversation with her as they went up to the middle floor. Yes, she had recently qualified. She had been working here two weeks. Yes, she was enjoying it.
‘You trained in London, Sister Hanna was telling me.’ Sister Higgins looked a bit strained – which was understandable, since presumably labour ward was really busy if they needed extra help.
‘I did. King’s College Hospital.’
‘And you did plenty of births there?’
‘Aye. About thirty in all – though the first twenty or so I was always with a qualified midwife.’
‘That’s a good way of doing it. But you’re able to handle a birth?’
I hope so. ‘I am.’ She had to speak more confidently than she felt, otherwise what was the point? ‘I’m good with straightforward birth, and I can spot when things are going wrong.’
‘That’s all I need. Good girl!’ Sister quickened her pace as they entered labour ward. ‘I need you for the lady in room 4.’
‘Of course.’ My first birth since Edie and Agatha. Her mind shied away from the story when it realised something else. My first birth since Gerald and I broke up.
Sister picked up a clipboard from her desk.
‘Mrs Duffy,’ she recited. ‘Age twenty-seven. In labour since during the night. Due date next week. Three children at home and then a few pregnancies lost.’ She paused, counting.
‘Two miscarriages, a stillbirth, then another miscarriage. And now this pregnancy.’
‘Right.’ The woman would likely be really anxious. ‘How’s she doin’?’
Sister grimaced. ‘She’ll be better once she has somebody supporting her properly.
’ She pointed to a cupboard at the back of the office.
‘Aprons and gloves are in there. If any more women arrive I’m gonna have to go in with the next lady myself – I had to leave Mrs Duffy on her own while I went to ask for help from the clinic.
I’ve been checking in on her since the night shift girls went home, thinking she must be getting close to delivery, but no sign of it.
There’s a few doctors about, and Dr Fenton has said he’ll base himself here today. He’s doing his rounds at the minute.’
Maisie was already donning a crisp, clean apron. ‘Mrs Duffy, room 4.’ She pulled some new rubber gloves from the packet, placing them carefully in the pocket of the apron.
‘Thanks, Midwife Canavan. You’re a star.’
Taking a deep breath, Maisie made her way to room 4 and knocked on the door. On hearing a muffled ‘Come in!’ from inside she entered with a smile.
‘Mrs Duffy? I’m Midwife Canavan. How are you?’
‘Desprit!’ Mrs Duffy had been leaning over the bed, but straightened when Maisie came in. She looked close to tears. ‘Stuck here for hours and nothing happening. Nobody’s been near me for ages either. I’d ha’ been better off at home!’
‘Ah, no!’ Advancing, she put a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. ‘Well, I’m here now, and hopefully I can stay with you until your baby’s born.’
‘Aye, that’s what the night nurse said, then on she went once it got to morning.’
Maisie couldn’t comment on this. ‘So you’ve been in labour a while then?’
‘Aye, since last night. My husband took me down here in the trap once I was sure this was it. I think that was about three this morning.’
‘I bet the horse wasn’t impressed at having to be harnessed up in the middle of the night!’
‘Too right! The poor craythur didn’t want to move.’ She gave a loud guffaw. ‘Neither did my man, truth be told! To be fair he works hard, delivering vegetables and coal and moving people all round West Belfast.’
‘You’re lucky he has a horse and trap. You’ll never be short while you have them!’
‘That’s as true as God,’ she agreed. ‘Houl’ on a minute. Here’s another one.’
Turning back to the bed, she leaned forward, breathing deeply and loudly. Her shoulders, though, remained tight, and there was evident tension in her face, neck, and arms.
Despite being nervous, Maisie now knew what her task was – to help Mrs Duffy feel supported and cared for.
The baby would take ages to come if its mammy was as worked up as Mrs Duffy seemed to be.
The importance of a safe, calm, quiet environment had been drummed into the pupil midwives in London.
Birth always goes better when the woman is calm, and a woman becomes calm when she is well looked after.
Maisie knew that, although she was not the cleverest person in the world, nor the prettiest, nor the most entertaining – Gerald had made sure she was fully aware of all her shortcomings – one thing she was good at was caring for others. I can do this.
* * *
Dan arrived in the nursery soon after Alex, telling him that he’d heard labour ward was flat out.
‘And I seen another woman in labour heading that way as I left,’ he said. ‘I reckon we’ll both be called there to help shortly.’
‘Right! Better get these checks done then. If we have time for a tea break will we go down to the canteen after this?’
‘Good idea!’
‘I have some craic for you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Fenton.’
‘That man!’ Dan raised his eyes heavenwards.
‘I know. He was at it again this morning.’
‘What now?’
‘Two different patients, two examples of Fenton blustering his way through.’
Dan whistled. ‘Always at it, isn’t he? You’ll have to tell me all about it.’
‘I reckon he’s never not at it,’ Alex countered grimly.
Dan nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’
Satisfied that they were in total agreement on the matter, they went their separate ways to check on their tiny patients.
* * *
Mrs Duffy had taken exception to the clock on the wall of her labour room. ‘If that clock doesn’t feckin’ start movin’, I swear to God I’m gonna take a hammer to it!’
‘Why? What’s wrong with the clock?’ Maisie glanced up at it. Eleven fifteen. She had been here nearly forty-five minutes, but Mrs Duffy remained tense.
‘The feckin’ thing keeps reminding me that time’s goin’ on, but I’m gettin’ nowhere with this bloody labour! Grrr!’ The final sound was a sort of half-growl, half strangled expression of frustration. ‘I just wish to God the child would come out!’
‘What were your other labours like?’
‘They were quick – apart from the first one. But sure I hadn’t a clue that first time. With the last one – our Mary – Ma Kennedy the handywoman only arrived at the house ten minutes before the head came out!’
‘Ach, I know Ma Kennedy. Her grand-daughter áine is never out of our house.’ Maybe it’s time to try to probe a bit deeper into her worries. ‘What made you come to the Royal for this one?’
‘Ah, you know, they said I was entitled to it this time.’ Something flashed in her eyes for a second, quickly masked. ‘And I’ll get a lovely rest – lyin’ up in a bed with no washin’ or cleanin’ or cookin’ to do for a week!’
‘I see.’ Maisie had indeed seen. That look in Mrs Duffy’s eyes – just for an instant? Pure terror. ‘That’s definitely something to look forward to. But giving birth in a hospital . . . it’s a bit different to home, isn’t it?’
‘It is that. It’s too . . . I dunno.’
‘Too what?’ Could Maisie help Mrs Duffy to go with her labour a bit better by changing the room?
‘It smells funny, and it’s very bright.’ Weak September sunshine was streaming in through the window. ‘And I feel like people’s luckin’ at me, you know?’
‘Aye. Well that part’s easily fixed.’ Walking across to the large window, Maisie pulled the curtains.
Apparently all the hospital windows were going to be fitted with special heavy drapes in the next week or two, as the blackout regulations were now in force.
The new rules were aimed at stopping Nazi planes seeing the lights of the city at night.
All streetlights were now off, and all houses, shops, and other buildings had to install blackout blinds or curtains. Scary stuff.
Instantly the room felt cosier, more private. ‘Ah, that’s better, Nurse.’ Mrs Duffy exhaled, visibly relaxing. Maisie couldn’t do anything about the smell of carbolic, but at least she could dim the light.
‘Call me Maisie.’ Now we’re getting somewhere.
* * *