The Midwife's Special Delivery

‘A Pisces,’ Rory corrected, ‘which is the same star sign as me—so you can’t go wrong.’

And of all the things she’d remembered, this was one thing Ally had almost forgotten. Forgotten that unlike most doctors Rory didn’t just arrive for the grand finale but actually enjoyed the last act. It could have been annoying, a doctor peering over his newspaper every now and then and telling a labouring woman to push over the pain, but somehow it was comforting. That a doctor was here made Lucy feel safe, that he hadn’t dashed off and told her the end was in sight. It helped Dean, too, because if Rory thought this display from Lucy was absolutely fine, then maybe, just maybe, it was.

‘Time to get dressed.’ Standing up, he pulled on his gown and gloves but didn’t intervene, just stood behind Ally’s shoulder observing quietly as she attempted to deliver a rather large shoulder. At that moment, Ally was grateful for his calm presence. She felt a tiny beat of panic as she wondered if maybe this baby was too big, if this shoulder was ever going to free. ‘Finger behind,’ Rory murmured, and it wasn’t an instruction, more encouragement when so many doctors would have taken over. ‘Got it.’

She could almost feel his smile shining over her shoulder as the baby’s shoulders were delivered and the baby uncurled, crying before the rest of its body was even out.

‘What is it?’ Lucy cried, as Ally placed the tiny bundle onto its mother’s stomach. She was grateful that Rory didn’t answer, just rubbed the babe’s back as mum and dad had the pleasure of finding out. ‘A girl,’ Lucy gasped. ‘We’ve got a girl.’

‘Congratulations.’ Rory smiled as the baby’s body pinked with each and every lusty breath, angry fists flailing as Lucy pulled her in closer. ‘She’s beautiful.’

She really was.

Ally felt her eyes fill as they always did as a new life gave a bewildered blink at the world it had entered. She relished those couple of moments of naked beauty before she wrapped up the babe. Dark strands of hair were plastered to the infant’s head, round blue eyes fixed on her mother’s, and Ally was in no rush to break the spell. Taking a blanket from the warmer, she wrapped it around mother and daughter as Dean held them both close. She quietly got on with her work, the placenta being delivered easily as the baby suckled.

‘I’ll come back in a while,’ Rory said, slipping away, dimming the lights as he left.

Even that small gesture touched her. Clearly he remembered how she liked to work: the curtains were still drawn and that was exactly how Ally liked it for morning births—the woman had laboured all night, and for a little while the darkness was still welcome. Later either she or Dean would welcome the new day in for the new arrival. Ally tidied up as best she could, recording her two patients’ observations as unobtrusively—completely happy with the newborn’s progress. Her skin was a healthy pink, her eyes wide as she vigorously suckled. All too soon Ally would have to weigh her, measure her, check her over, then call the paediatrician to do the same. All too soon, the babe would be bathed, the hair that was plastered to her head would become soft and fluffy, the creamy vernix—mother nature’s version of cold cream—that covered her now would soon be washed away, but for now she was as new as a newborn got and Ally wasn’t about to break this very special moment.

‘How are you doing, Lucy?’ Ally checked, smiling at the tired, delighted new mother who was too mesmerised by her daughter to even look up.

‘She’s OK?’

‘She’s perfect,’ Ally said softly, answering every mum’s question. ‘We’ll check her over properly later, but for now she looks wonderful. How are you feeling, Lucy? That’s important, too.’

‘Tired,’ Lucy admitted, then gave an almost apologetic grin. ‘I’m starving, actually.’

‘Why don’t I give Win a call and get the pair of you some breakfast? While you have that, I can weigh and check over this gorgeous girl of yours.’

‘Can I hold her for a moment longer?’

‘You can hold her for as long as you want.’ Ally smiled. ‘Win’s not as fast as she used to be, so breakfast might take a while!’

Win, as always, timed it perfectly! Just long enough to give Mum and Dad that first long cuddle and just short enough for them not to feel guiltily relieved when Ally took their precious baby off for its myriad of tests while they tucked into tea and toast Win-style—although the eggs Rory had promised were no longer on the menu. Since Rory had last been here, things had changed. Meals were delivered directly from the kitchens, and even though the fridge groaned under the weight of the free-range eggs Win brought in from home, for health and safety reasons they could only be eaten by the staff. As Ally headed into the staffroom for a well-earned cuppa, she found Rory doing just that!

‘How are they?’ Rory looked up from his mountain of eggs and toast.

‘Great. Hugh, the paediatrician, is in looking at the babe now.’ Heading for the kettle, Ally’s tone was dry. ‘I’d hate to know your cholesterol level, Rory. It must be through the roof.’

‘Actually, it’s very low.’ Rory laughed.

‘I doubt it,’ Ally said, pouring herself a drink and picking up the newspaper—deliberately not turning to the horoscope section, even though she normally did every other day. ‘I cleared away two pizza boxes last night.’

‘Life’s bloody unfair like that sometimes.’ Rory rained more salt on his eggs as he chatted. ‘When I hit the big three-o I decided to take my own advice and get myself checked over properly. I kind of braced myself for a life of salad and steamed fish once I heard the result, but guess what?’ Looking up from her paper, Ally rolled her eyes as he continued, ‘I’m so healthy I’m almost unhealthy. My blood pressure and pulse rate are both so low it comes as a bit of a surprise that I’m not fainting all over the place, my iron level’s great, LFT’s completely average, cholesterol low…’

‘Lucky you.’ Ally poked her tongue out at him then carried on reading her paper.

‘What time do you finish?’

‘Three,’Ally said, without thinking.

‘I’m off at five.’

‘Good for you.’

‘We could have dinner.’

‘I can’t.’ Ally didn’t even look up. ‘I’ve got an antenatal class at six.’

‘Congratulations!’ Rory grinned. ‘You should have told me the news!’

‘I’m teaching an antenatal class at six,’ Ally said through gritted teeth. ‘A mature parents’ antenatal class.’

‘Which means it will go on for ever,’ Rory groaned in sympathy. ‘Why is it that the older they get, the more questions they have?’

Ally gave a very reluctant smile at his insight. It was a question she’d pondered many a night when she’d packed up after a class that had run way overtime.

‘And they always have a list,’ Rory carried on, warming to the subject as he registered her reaction. ‘One father-to-be waylaid me in the corridor at work the other week to ask about perineal massage to stop his wife from tearing.’

‘So?’ Ally frowned.

‘He had a list of oils and asked me to choose the one that was most appropriate.’ Rory gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘I told him to save his money and that a pair of scissors—’

‘You didn’t!’ Shocked, she interrupted, then glared as he laughed.

‘No, of course not. I told him that the hundred-dollar oil on the top of his list sounded great, and then I used the sterile scissors a couple of weeks later.’

‘Perineal massage works,’ Ally retorted. ‘You’re so anti anything remotely alternative.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Rory said, mopping up the last of his egg yolk with his toast. ‘In fact, perineal massage is way up on my list of recreational activities…’ Green eyes met hers but it was Ally who looked away first, Ally who blushed purple before he continued, ‘for parents-to-be. It creates intimacy, gives the mum some much-needed pleasure, but I’m not convinced it reduces the episiotomy rate.’

How had he done that? As Win came into the staffroom, flustered, Ally flicked through the paper and stared unseeingly at an ad for a flash new sports car. Just one pause, one flash of his eyes and a safe medical topic had bordered on dangerous—or at least it had for her. Rory, it would seem, was completely unfazed, his generous grin aimed at Win now as she came to collect his plate.

‘I’ll wash it, Win,’ Rory feebly argued as she replaced his empty mug with a full one and took his eggy plate. ‘It’s the least I can do. That was the best breakfast I’ve had for ages.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Win chided, but her beaming face said otherwise. ‘It’s great to see you back here, Dr Rory.’

‘Great to see you too, Win.’ Rory smiled back, clearly delighted to see her again. ‘What’s all this nonsense I hear that you’re thinking about retiring?’

‘It’s true.’ Win’s resigned voice had Ally looking up and she silently prayed that Rory would tread carefully. Win had been the maternity unit’s domestic for more than three decades and had run the place with utter devotion over the years. Widowed at a young age and the mother of five children, she had worked a mix of morning and evening shifts to earn enough to raise her children. And in the thirty-five years she had worked on the unit the entire place had remained spotless under her care. Win looked after the patients and staff of the maternity unit way and above the call of duty, cups of tea appearing at busy times, a piece of home-made cake coming out during quieter ones. But way more valuable than the tea and cake was Win’s insight: on more occasions than Ally could recall, she had found Win chatting to an anxious mum, somehow putting a woman at ease in the way only the voice of wisdom could. Many times the powers that be had tried to get Win to sign a new contract, to schedule her hours in line with the rest of the health network, but she had stood firm, keeping to the old rules. But now Win couldn’t do it any more. She couldn’t manage the forty-hour weeks, and reducing her hours would mean signing the dreaded contract, which could see her allocated to any ward in the hospital.

‘I need to cut down my hours. I was hoping to just do one shift a week—you know, to keep my hand in—but if I do, my supervisor has told me that they won’t be able to guarantee that I’ll be rostered here on the maternity ward. She’s spoken with management and they said I’ll have to go to wherever I’m needed most if I’m only working one shift a week. I could end up on A and E perhaps or maybe even Intensive Care, and that’s the last thing I want.’

‘A change is as good as a rest,’ Rory offered, and Ally just wished he’d drop it, sucking in her breath as he pushed on. ‘But if you don’t want to go to another ward, just tell them that you belong here,’ Rory said, as if it was that easy. ‘The ward will back you. After all, you’ve been here longer than I’ve been alive. Surely the hospital should bend over backwards to accommodate you, shouldn’t they?’ He looked over at Ally, clearly expecting her support. ‘Have you spoken to Win’s supervisor about this?’

‘Of course I have,’ Ally answered, but her eyes were warning Rory to drop it. Ally, along with most of the senior staff on the maternity ward, had been vocal in her efforts to keep Win, but the sad fact of the matter was that she was considered too old and too inflexible for the job. The truth, though Win didn’t know it, was that the powers that be knew full well that Win couldn’t bear to work anywhere other than her beloved maternity ward, and that was the very reason they weren’t offering it—they wanted her to leave! It had been left to Vivien, the maternity unit manager, to soften the blow a bit, to explain to Win that despite the staff’s protests, if she signed the new contract, there was no guarantee she’d be working on maternity.

Once Win had gone, Ally half expected Rory to pick up the conversation where it had been before Win had come in—to tease her a little bit more—but Rory had other things on his mind.

‘Did you really speak to her supervisor?’ Rory checked.

‘I just said so, didn’t I?’ Ally answered abruptly.

‘So why can’t she stay?’ Rory pressed.

Ally wished he would just leave it. ‘Rory, I did speak with her supervisor, so did Vivien, so did Mr Davies, the consultant, but, as much as we all adore Win, that’s not the issue.’

‘Win’s been here—’

‘Win’s been here for more than thirty years,’ Ally broke in. ‘Which is exactly the problem. Win runs the ward as she did when she started. She refuses to change her routine.’

‘Why should she,’ Rory answered, ‘when clearly her way works?’

‘It doesn’t any more, though,’ Ally snapped. ‘Take the eggs! The days are gone when you bring food in from home and give it to the patients. As nice as it is to spoil the mums, there are health regulations that have to be followed, and for ages Win refused to abide by them. Over and over the staff tried talking to her, telling her that she couldn’t keep cooking for the patients, but she refused to listen. It took two written warnings—’

‘Written warnings!’ Rory’s voice was incredulous. ‘Over eggs on toast! You know when I applied for the registrar’s position here, I was sent a load of stats, and one of the things that stood out was the infection control rate. This may be a relatively small suburban hospital but the infection rates in this ward are second to none. That has nothing to do with luck, you know, Ally.’

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