Sandra: Real Life and Fiction

On  Thursday 20th June 2002 I helped with the delivery of my first grandchild Annie.

"Our hearts have met,
 Our hands have touched
 And Nanny loves you very much" xx

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I was tired. I had just sat down with a cup of tea and kicked off my brown brogue shoes when someone knocked at the door.  Sighing, I heaved myself out of my chair and walked in stockinged feet to the front door. I opened it to find May Baker standing there looking anxiously at me.
'I am sorry to intrude Janet but its our Doreen. I think she's getting near her time'.
Smiling at May I invited her to come in whilst I got my bag together.  I liked May she was a kind woman
who would help anyone. God knows how she ended up with a daughter like her Doreen.
Doreen who had dismissed my advice to stop smoking and cut out the drinking as scare mongering. I wondered how Doreen would cope with labour and giving birth, certainly not quietly if she were true to form!
'How often is she getting contractions?' I asked as I struggled to put my swollen feet back into my shoes.
'About every fifteen minutes.' May replied.
'Right, best get our skates on then May'. I squeezed May's hand. 'Lets go and get this grandchild of yours safely into the world'.  Mays face lit up and she smiled happily as we walked down the path together.

It was a hot, humid day. The purple angry sky promised a storm. I always make a point of noting the weather when attending a birth. Babies born when its raining have trouble sleeping.  Babies born when its windy suffer from colic something terrible. Babies born on sunny days have sunny natures and those born on cloudy days are by nature quiet and reserved.  Trust Doreen to have her baby in the middle of a thunderstorm!

Doreen was standing by the door when we arrived. Her hands wrapped around her swollen belly. 'Thank God you are here', she cried before another contraction took hold causing her to grip the door frame till her fingers turned white.  Together, May and I manoeuvred Doreen back into the house and slowly up to the bedroom. Halfway up the stairs Doreen's waters broke. She screamed 'Oh my God I have pissed myself'.
May laughed. 'It's only your waters Doreen, nothing to worry about'.
With Doreen safely ensconsed on the bed I set out my bag and instructed May to boil up the kettle and saucepans of water. Taking my trumpet out of my bag and warming it in my hand I hold it against Doreen's stomach. Listening for the babies heartbeat and any signs of foetal distress. I can hear a faint beat but guess the baby is further down the birth canal than I thought. Moving the trumpet down I am rewarded by a strong resounding thump, thump.
I examine Doreen and can see she is fully dilated.  Infact I can feel the babies head. 'Right Doreen when you get the next contraction you must push as hard as you can'.  Quickly I lay out the towels that May had put out and call May to bring the water upstairs.  Doreen whimpered then screamed. I screamed back 'Push, push I can see the head, One more big push'. May held her daughters hand and Doreen swore and pushed and screamed and I supported the babies head and turned the shoulder ready for the next contraction.
The cry of a mother as her child passes the final distance through the birth canal into the bright new world is unique. A cry from the soul, animal like and yet beautiful. I have assisted at many births but each time it is special. Each time I cry.
'You have a little girl'. Doreen. She is beautiful'.
'Poor little sod' Doreen cries as I rub the baby vigorously with a towel waiting for that first cry.
With a gasp and wildly clenched fists baby Sarah Baker exclaims indignantly and loudly as lightning flashes
and thunder grumbles overhead.