several ladies in turn, just as I always did. ‘Let me have a little feel, make sure your uterus has contracted as it should … now then, have you got any pains in your legs?’
The routine postnatal checks were second nature to me, which was just as well as I felt quite distracted. I just couldn’t stop wondering how people could live such complicated lives. How did people get themselves into such a muddle? I couldn’t help reflecting on the very sad case of Mrs Johnson, too. Terrible things happened to people; tragic events beyond anybody’s control. So why do others choose to go down a difficult path, all of their own accord?
I thought about my own life, and not for the first time I thanked my lucky stars for the hand I’d been dealt. I couldn’t have asked for a better start. My parents always wanted the very best for me, and fortunately had the means to send me to a private school. It was strict at Harrytown High School, being educated by straight-laced nuns, but as an adult I could see how it had given me a good, solid foundation in life.
If it wasn’t for the high expectations the headmistress Sister Mary Francis had for me, I would never have applied to do my nurses’ training at the prestigious MRI. I was very glad I did, even though it was extremely tough. I would not be here today if I hadn’t worked as hard as I did, passing my exams and gaining a pupil midwife place at Ashton General.
‘Let’s have a look at baby’s cord … shall we give baby a little top and tail, as I see she has some white stuff under her arms? Don’t worry, it’s just the waxy vernix that’s been protecting her in the womb, a little wash will sort that out.’
I’d said the same things countless times on this ward, but on this day I couldn’t help worrying that little bit more about each mother and her baby. I looked at them and hoped everything was as normal as it seemed, and if it was, I wished Mrs Prince could be just like them. How awful it must have been for her, living with such a lie, not to mention having to see me on the ward, an uncomfortable reminder of the past. She clearly remembered me, and for all she knew I could blow her whole world apart in an instant with an ill-timed recollection.
I wanted to reassure Mrs Prince that her secret was safe with me, but I certainly didn’t want to cause her any more stress, so I just kept quiet. Towards the end of my shift I diligently asked Mrs Prince if she wanted to join some of the other ladies in the nursery for a baby-bath demonstration, or whether she needed any help at all with little Phillip’s feeds. The answer was a firm but polite ‘no’ to both, as I thought it would be.
I think I was as relieved as Mrs Prince herself when she was discharged forty-eight hours after giving birth, which was typical then, provided there were no complications. I happened to be in the car park, just arriving for work in my electric blue Volkswagen Beetle – my pride and joy at that time – when I saw Mr Prince proudly carrying Phillip out of the hospital in a Silver Cross carrycot. He placed the carrycot carefully on the back seat of a brand new BMW as a smiling Mrs Prince looked on. I silently wished them all the best, hoping they could go on and live a happy life together.
My life seemed so very simple by comparison to theirs. I was just seventeen when I met Graham, and we married when I was twenty-one. Now, after seven years together, we were on the cusp of starting our own family. We’d talked about it excitedly for months, and had recently decided to stop taking precautions. As we were already in July by now, I calculated that even if I caught quickly I would have worked for more than a year as a junior sister before I might be taking maternity leave in 1973. I had it all worked out, and I was very grateful to have not only had such a solid, comfortable start in life, but to have landed on my feet in a loving marriage, where we had no secrets from one another.
* * *
September 1972 proved to be a very busy month. ‘All dem Christmas parties!’ Sister Kelly commented, referring to the fact that September, being nine months after the Christmas party season, is traditionally the busiest month on the maternity unit.
‘Yer hear the same thing every year,’ she lamented. ‘Forgot the Pill. Threw up because of the drink. Honest to God, it’s the same story year in, year out. Will these women never learn?’
I had to smile at her reference to ‘the drink’, because it was well known that Sister Kelly herself liked a little tipple from time to time, when she was off duty.
One morning I was dispatched to the labour ward, as it was ‘bustin’ at the seams’ according to Sister Kelly. ‘They need an extra pair of hands, so they do. It’s like a conveyor belt in those delivery rooms.’
I was pleased to see Sister Judith Houghton on duty. I’d had a soft spot for Sister Houghton ever since she helped me deliver my very first baby as a pupil midwife, and every time I saw her I remembered the warmth of that first baby’s head in my hands. It never failed to thrill me, and I was delighted to be with her on the labour ward today.
‘We have Mrs Sully on her way in,’ Sister Houghton told me as she allocated the jobs.
My heart jumped on hearing that name. Just as when I’d seen Mrs Sully at antenatal clinic back in March, I had a somewhat mixed reaction to seeing her again. I was absolutely thrilled that she was having another baby after losing her first so tragically, but I was also very anxious that nothing should go wrong this time round. ‘She’ll be here any minute.’
Sister Houghton explained to me that Dr Bedford, one of our consultants, had kept a very close eye on Mrs Sully in recent months. She was slightly overdue but there was nothing whatsoever to indicate she might suffer complications this time round, as the prolapsed cord that proved so calamitous last time was caused, very cruelly, by extreme bad luck.
‘Would you like to take care of her?’ Sister Houghton asked.
‘Of course,’ I replied without hesitation. ‘I’d be very pleased to.’ I meant it, and Sister Houghton gave me a knowing smile. When a mother has lost a baby as Mrs Sully did, there is nothing the midwives want more than to see her return and deliver a healthy baby. Sister Houghton knew very well that I had been deeply affected by Mrs Sully’s loss, and she knew how much it would mean to me to deliver her baby this time round.
I took a moment to compose myself in the office. ‘Please God, look after Mrs Sully this time,’ I said silently.
I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high. I wanted everything to run smoothly for Mrs Sully, I really did. When she arrived on the ward, escorted by her husband, I was pleased to see she looked radiant and remarkably calm. Her face lit up when she saw me.
‘It’s good to see a familiar face, I’m pleased it’s you,’ she smiled, hands linked protectively underneath her extremely large bump.
‘I’m pleased, too,’ I replied. I had been prepared to step aside should Mrs Sully have wished, and I was very glad that was not necessary.
Taking careful steps and supported by her attentive husband, Mrs Sully went into the first-stage room.
‘This is Malcolm,’ she said. ‘He’s staying with me all the way through.’
I was glad to hear that. It was still quite uncommon for men to accompany their wife during the delivery, but if we thought they might help in any way, most midwives had started to encourage the men to consider it. The majority of expectant fathers refused, but recently I’d started to notice a very slight shift, with a few more men shuffling in to the delivery rooms. In my experience, the trick was to suggest they would have an important job to do.
‘I think it would help your wife if you could rub her back,’ I might say, or, ‘Your wife is a little anxious; perhaps if you held her hand and talked to her you might be able to keep her calm … There’s no need for you to be at the other end of the bed – unless you want to be, that is …’
I never put pressure on men to attend, but if I thought their wife might gain some comfort or benefit from it, I tried to encourage it. In Mrs Sully’s case, I suspected her husband would be a great support and I was glad the decision was already made. He was an impressively tall and strong-looking man, and he appeared as calm and good-tempered as his wife.
‘I