they chatted, Charlotte watched with interest and not a little trepidation. Would she be able to repeat this procedure with his guidance? Because one thing was certain—he wasn’t going to be able to spoon-feed her forever.
Within a very short time the suturing was finished and William slid back the stool and rolled his head on his neck, standing up and stretching.
‘All done,’ he told the patient, and stripped off his gloves. ‘Now, I need a cuddle with this baby—if I may?’
The woman laughed. ‘Be my guest—actually, I wouldn’t mind a cuddle with him myself.’
‘I’ll bring him to you,’ William promised. He washed his hands, dried them and went over to where the nurse was just finishing the baby’s bath.
‘Hello, little chap,’ he said softly. ‘May I?’
The nurse nodded, and Charlotte watched, fascinated, as William’s big hands slid round under the baby and lifted him confidently into the crook of his arm.
As the baby’s cheek brushed against the fabric of William’s white coat, he turned towards the big man, his tiny mouth open, searching.
‘He’s rooting—here, I think he wants to be fed.’
The midwife propped the woman up into a sitting position, and then William perched on the bed and passed the baby to his mother.
‘Hello, my darling,’ she crooned softly, and, lifting her gown, she settled the baby expertly at her breast.
In seconds the room was filled with the rhythmic sucking sound, and they left the happy pair alone to their blissful feed. As they walked back up the ward together, William glanced at the clock on the wall.
‘Just after six. Not bad, for a day that was supposed to end at five.’
‘When did it start?’ she asked him.
He laughed. ‘Oh, two this morning—and yesterday finished just before midnight.’ He paused at the door.
‘Fancy a drink?’
She shook her head. ‘No, thanks—I’ve got a pounding headache.’
‘Maybe another time,’ he said, and, turning away, he thrust the door out of his way with the flat of his hand and strode quickly towards the lift. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he threw over his shoulder.
She watched him go thoughtfully. She hadn’t lied. She did have the most frightful headache, but there was more to her refusal than that.
She made her way home, weary, her mind full of the new things she had seen and done—her first delivery of sorts, the gynae clinic, the happy mothers with their babies—and William, of course, larger than life, full of warmth and compassion, his skilled hands steady, strong and yet gentle.
She regretted not going for a drink with him. It might have been fun, and one quick drink wasn’t going to affect their relationship.
Still, it was too late now, and probably just as well.
She took some pills for her headache, but it was joined by another ache, deep in her heart, that nothing could ever take away.
THAT first week was fascinating for Charlotte. Despite the August heat that made everything close and muggy, the windows in the tall maternity block were open and it was light and airy, a pleasant place to be.
She found herself shadowing William constantly, always at his elbow being instructed in one technique or another, and when on Thursday night he finally allowed her to do the night on call he insisted on being around just in case.
‘Anything at all, you call me. You can clerk the patients on admission, and you can handle any of the slightly tricky deliveries, but I want to be there beside you. OK?’
She nodded, not feeling in the least that she was being mollycoddled unnecessarily, because she had discovered that in obstetrics things could happen very fast, and when they did the window for correcting the problems could be frighteningly small.
One woman was admitted in labour shortly after William disappeared off down the corridor leaving her in charge. She clerked her, then checked with the midwife that all was going well, and went for supper, then went back up to the gynae ward to check that there were no problems requiring her attention.
She was bleeped while she was in the gynae ward and went back to the maternity ward to find that a woman was asking for sleeping pills. She wrote her up for some, then checked on the patient in labour again.
‘I think it’s going to be quite slow, but that’s fine,’ the midwife told her. ‘When she’s a little further on she wants to use the water pool, so if you’d like to observe I’m sure she won’t mind.’
Charlotte was fascinated. Delivery-wise it had been a slow week, and she was itching to see the water pool and other equipment in the birthing centres in use. So far the only deliveries had been in the normal delivery-room, but she gathered from talking to the nursing staff that that was unusual.
Certainly the trend now was towards more natural labours, and the hospital was extremely well-equipped to supply the needs of the informed new mothers.
Now all she needed was a little practical experience!
She went into the ward office and wrote up some notes, and then later on was called up to gynae to write up some pain relief for a post-op case.
At four o’clock, when she was feeling distinctly drowsy, the midwife found her at the central work station sipping a black coffee.
‘Things are hotting up,’ she told Charlotte. ‘She’s had a rest, and woken to stronger contractions, so I’ve got the pool filling and I’m going to pop her in it in a few minutes. Want to come and see?’
‘Is that OK with her? I don’t want her to feel threatened by my presence—you know, as if it’s necessary to have a doctor there.’
The midwife, Sue Coulter, shook her head. ‘It’s OK. I’ve told her you’re doing your GP training and that you’re just interested, and she and her partner are quite happy with that.’
So Charlotte finished her coffee and went into the birthing centre, in time to see Sue slipping off the woman’s gown and helping her into the large, deep pool.
Like a high-sided paddling-pool, it was about six feet in diameter and two feet deep, so that the woman could float in the warm water. Moving was easier, and the lapping of the water around her distended abdomen was very soothing. Her partner was bare-chested, and as the woman lay with her head on the side of the pool and her legs drifting in the water he reached round her and stroked the swollen curve with gentle, circular movements.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Mick,’ she said softly.
‘What’s the smell?’ Charlotte asked Sue.
‘Aromatherapy oils—lavender and jasmine oil mainly, but possibly some others.’
Just then the woman started moaning rhythmically, her voice rising to a crescendo and then dying slowly away as the contraction eased.
Charlotte thought it sounded as though she was in a great deal of pain, but Sue explained that she was just releasing the power of her body.
‘It often sounds worse than it is. Many of the women who deliver conventionally in silence actually suffer far more because it’s all internalised and they don’t release the tension. You can see Jet is actually very relaxed.’
Charlotte could see that; she could also see the support and love her partner was giving her, the tender way he held her, the soft murmur of his voice in her ear, the tiny little kisses against her cheek.
Another contraction followed,