As a midwife, witnessing a new life coming into this world is, probably, the most normal and natural thing of all. Birth is fascinating; there is nothing predictable about it, and anything can happen. As someone who wants to keep everything under control -who needs to, actually-, sitting in a birthing room is my worst nightmare; buzzers, lights, medications and weird instruments make my head spin. That was the reason behind switching to a community midwife role as soon as I finished my preceptorship; I haven't hated anything more in my life and, for a year, I woke up sweating and panting, my anxiety through the roof. The idea of being in charge of two lives made me want to puke, and I almost barfed more than the ladies I assisted through labour did. I put on a great façade every day; I looked confident, with an I-know-what-I-am-doing mask on, but I really didn't. Oh, well, maybe I did -I did- but the imposter syndrome I have been battling since I can remember, and the absolute zero confidence in my ability made me wonder whether people were safe with me in charge. To be fair, touch wood, I haven't had any major issues, not with mum nor with babies so I must be doing something right. Nevertheless, even if my death count stayed at zero, I would never come back to work on a labour ward; I fell in love with community, and I know that it's where I am supposed to be. Being a community midwife means I get to see the same families through their pregnancy; I am there the first time they walk through the intimidating double doors, barely pregnant and just basking in the love they have created. I am there when they hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time, which has led to many shed tears through the years. I am there when their belly rounds and pops out, solidifying the reality that there is really a baby in there. I am there if everything progresses uneventfully, and I am there if anything creeps up, providing the support they need. I am there when they get close to their due date; impatient, tired, completely done asking me to just reach up there and pull the kid out. Just joking... most of the time. Finally, I am there when they go back home for the first time as a complete -for now- family; I am lucky enough to get to see the end result, and nothing can compare.
But why am I walking down a labour ward corridor at 11pm, then?
That is a really good question.
The answer is Amelia. She was my best friend growing up, and she still is even though we are quite grown; she celebrated her 28th birthday not long ago, while mine is coming up in two months. Mills always gets excited about birthdays, but I can't really see what the fuss is all about. We get a year older, and a year closer to the grave. Having been brought up by a single mother, a widower, meant that money was never enough, and we didn't get spare to splurge on ourselves; everything my mother could put aside went into our savings, to move out of the rough area we had landed. However, she would always treat me to a nice fast-food dinner, but I didn't want her to feel bad about our lack of fundings, or worse, to feel bad about herself that I always protested and claimed that birthdays were weird, and I hated them; funnily enough, now I kind of work with birthdays. That's karma for you, my friends. I guess. Maybe I loved them as a young child, before my dad got killed at 27 years old by a drunk driver, leaving a young wife and two kids, but I cannot really remember anything from when my father was alive, so who knows. I wrap my arms around my tiny body, rubbing my hands on my bare skin trying to generate some heat; it is May, but in London that doesn't mean anything, and temperatures are still on the lower side while the wind blows through the century-old windows with broken seals. For infection control, I can't wear a jumper while working, and that scores another point for community. Keeping my head low, I walk decisively through the second set of double doors and into the birthing centre; this area is different from the labour ward because it is more of a low-risk, high-screaming setting due to the lack of strong pain medications. But honestly, any woman that births, whether with or without meds, natural, caesarean, or home birth, they are my heroes. They take on the most painful job in the world and make it look effortless, even if they don't believe they do most of the times. Women are the strongest, and I will fight anybody who says otherwise, sorry. Lost in my train of thoughts, I trip on the long legs of the pale blue scrubs I am wearing, and I curse under my breath, hoping that none of the patients can hear me. When I arrived, all the scrubs my size were gone, and I had to make do with what I found; however, these garments are buggy, and they hang so low they threaten to show my boobs or my ass if I make one wrong move. Lifting the trousers up more, and rolling the waistband, I knock on the first door on the right.
"Come in," someone replies, but the voice is so muffled that I can't make out who spoke.
The main lights have been switched off while a lamp that projects a multitude of colours has been dimmed; looking around, it seems like we could be having our own little party in here. The room smells like fresh cut flowers, and a hint of tobacco, clearly belonging to the clary sage and lavender in the diffuser. My station is just next to the door; the computer is at the furthest end, near the wall, whereas the space before has been filled by Millie's notes as well as little boxes with all the equipment we need for a safe delivery. Next to me, there is a beige armchair that can be pulled out, making it into a snug little bed. The couch, however, is our birthing bed; it is extremely uncomfortable for midwives as it is basically on the floor, but it makes women feel more in a home-like environment, helping them to relax, so we endure it. But Amelia is not on the chair nor on the couch; she is standing under the jet of hot water in the shower, which is in the ensuite. Her brother, Jesse, is standing on this side of the curtain, his face is pale and dark circles frame his bright emerald green eyes. A low groan erupts behind the floral drape, and more colour drains from Jesse's face.
"Mills are you alright in there?" he asks, his voice trembling.
"Let me just grab your balls and squeeze them. Then, you can tell me how I am feeling," she snaps aggressively while her brother crosses his legs in front of him, probably terrified of her threat. I walk over to him, tapping his shoulder; he whips his head around, his eyes filling with hope and relief at my sight.
He lowers his head down to my ear whispering, "please, tell me you can cast out the demon that has clearly taken over my sister."
"I can hear you, dumbass," she shouts, and her voice vibrates through the small room, "and where the fuck is my fiancé? His kid is going to rip my vagina in two, and he can't be bothered to show up?" Jesse grimaces, surely disturbed by the image that Amelia has just painted in his head.
Suddenly, the curtain is pulled, revealing a flushed Amelia that is balancing herself while holding onto the sink. "Call him, now, Jay," she barks, and her brother quickly glances at me, I think to wish me good luck, before jogging out of that hellhole. Amelia keeps her head low, but she lifts her gaze up to me, looking me right in the eye through her lashes, "check how far I am, now," she orders.
"Mills, this isn't a good idea. I checked you when you came in, and I don't feel there is any indication to do it again right now. Let's wait a little longer, shall we? Even if you were ten centimetres dilated now, it wouldn't matter if you knew, the baby would come out anyways."
"Maeve, shove your finger up there and tell me how far I am or, I swear to God, I'll do it myself. Or I'll get Jay to do it," I snort imagining his utterly shocked face; he would do it, though, because, right now, he is absolutely terrified of her.
"Millie, you know the infection risk associated with it, we have talked about it many times," I insist but her face tells me she is not going to budge.
She points at her notes sitting on my desk, "you can write on there that I am giving you my full informed consent. Now, your finger, please."
Defeated, I draw the curtains and help her to lay down on the couch. While I prepare the equipment I am going to need and wash my hands, the door opens and closes with a thud that makes me jump. Whoever entered knows not to step through, and my guess is Jesse.
"I spoke with Nick," her brother chooses his words carefully, well knowing that anything might trigger his sister, "he is about ten minutes away and he is going to be here soon."
"Took him long enough. Don't come in yet, Lils is checking my cervix," she informs him as I slide a finger in to carry out this little procedure.
"That was something I really didn't need to know, Mill."
I chuckle; I am sure that before the night is out, I will need to scoop him off the floor because he isn't the calm, cool, and collected type of guy. I reach up until I can feel my godchild's head; I slide my finger over it, and I can feel the fontanelle and little strands of hair. I work my way around it, feeling every centimetre not to miss anything before removing my finger. Before I can fill them in, however, another contraction washes over Amelia. She turns on her side and curls into a ball while I remove the gloves, which slide off with a screechy sound, before massaging her lower back to offer her some relief.
She focuses on me, breathing in unison, "...eight... nine... ten...and that's it. Well done, Mills; you're doing amazing, babe."
"So, can you grab it?"
"No, I can't grab it! But good news; you are six centimetres dilated. We have a little longer before this cutie pie makes its arrival, but we are more than halfway there. Hopefully, they will show us their little face before the sun comes up."
Amelia adjusts the strapless bra and pulls up the black shorts she is wearing before showing me her face; her hazel eyes are filled to the brim and tears are now streaming down her cheeks, leaving wet trails behind them. Her shoulders rise quickly and uncontrollably until a sob escapes her tight lips, so I kneel in front of her, taking her cold hands into mine.
"Oh, no, Mills. No! You are doing a fantastic job, honestly. First babies take a while, but you have been powering through the whole afternoon and you have already reached the six centimetres mark; this is great, and it's all your doing!"
As I am comforting my best friend, Jesse peeks through the curtain with a hand covering his eyes. "I hope you are decent because I am coming," he stumbles and almost knocks over the tray with the essential oils before groping around for the couch; once he can feel the smooth leather under his fingers, he moves cautiously until he touches his sister's body, "I hope I have given you enough time to put your granny's knickers back on," he jokes and then he wraps an arm around her shoulders, inching her closer to him, "Millie, you are a strong woman; anything you have ever wanted, you have accomplished. C'mon, mate, you got Nick to fall in love with you after being in love with him for how long? Ten years? This can't be more difficult! It's still Nick's kid in there!" Amelia chuckles at her brother's words, wiping the tears away from the corner of her eye, "You can do this, sis, we all believe it. You will have all of us here to help you, you're safe."
She nods and squeezes our hands before I wipe away a tear that is still rolling on her cheek with the pad of my thumb. "Let's listen to this baby, c'mon," I say before reaching for the device and place it against where I know the baby's back is. A moment later, a steady thumping fills the room; Amelia, sitting on the couch, smiles at me biting her bottom lip whereas Jay falls onto his knees, his eyes glazed with unshed tear.
"That's my niece or nephew in there," he chokes, and, with my free hand, I stroke his cheek. He always portrays himself as this tough, cool as a cucumber guy, but he is a softie, and he is going to be the best uncle.
Amelia, as per usual, decides to cut the sweet moment short and tease her brother. "Spot on, you wanker! I had almost forgotten."
We sit in silence for a minute, enjoying the regular rhythm coming from the little device; the peace is disrupted only when someone knocks on the door.
"Come in," I call, and my colleague Sarah's blond hair peer through the door.
"How are we doing here?" she whispers, a smile plastered on her face. She has always been my favourite; she is just sweet, funny, encouraging, and she is the mentor and the midwife any student or mother would want to have working alongside them.
"We're doing extremely well," I tell her, "Mill is six centimetres already, and baby's heartbeat couldn't be better. I am going to start filling up the pool; fingers crossed, we're having a water birth!" I squeal, possibly more excited than Amelia.
As the warm water pours down and pools at the bottom of the tub, I get Amelia to sit on the birthing ball for a bit, helping her to rock her hips; she has taken possession of the gas and air tube, and she is holding it with her teeth, worried someone may take it away. When another contraction starts, she inhales the gas and air with all her might, and I have to remind her to breath normally, otherwise she will feel sick but the death stare she shoots me makes the words die in my mouth. I just sit there on the floor, my hands covered with essential oils while I massage her back.
"Lily, your hands are magic!" she declares, her pronunciation quite funny.
"Mills, you sound like Mickey Mouse," Jesse states, laughing at his sister's expenses.
"I don't care, everything is just so amazing! These contractions are amazing!"
Jesse turns to me, a worried look on his face; she was crying a moment ago, and now she lookes high on weed.
"The gas and air," I mouth before snatching the tube from Millie's hands, "let's give this a rest, shall we? C'mon missy, take nice, long deep breaths."
"I don't want to! Gimme me my little tubey back."
Tubey? God knows what that is.
"Deep breaths, Amelia. Now."
Finally, she does as I ask, and I hope she can cope without it for a few minutes because she definitely needs fresh oxygen before going all dizzy on me. As she protests but manages to work through a series of surges like a trooper, someone knocks on the door again. Sarah appears from behind it with Nick trailing behind her out of breath. Amelia rolls her hips on the ball until she's facing her fiancé, her nostrils flaring.
"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up!" she spits out through gritted teeth.
Nick rushes past Sarah, and kneels before his fiancée who holds a hand out, silently telling him to wait. Her face twists in pain and her nails dig into the skin on her thighs as her uterus tightens.
She whips her head towards me, "give me my tube, Lilith."
Amelia is calling me by my first name, and she only does that when is upset; no, not upset, pissed.
I shake my head no, "Mills, you need to wait a little longer. Take deep breaths, you can do this..."
But she doesn't let me finish before hissing, "I know I can, but I want the gas and air, now!"
She lunges at me, well her upper body does, and I have to shield the device with my body; I am flustered but I am doing it for her sake, I promise. From the corner of my eyes, I see Jay trying to sneak past Sarah to escape the commotion that is unfolding, but Amelia is quicker.
"Where do you think you're going, huh? Sit your ass back down, Jesse Edward Moore."
A soft pink creeps up on Jay's cheeks, and he starts scratching the back of his neck embarrassed. "Amelia, I don't want to be here when a baby shoots out of..." he awkwardly points at her now covered crotch area, "your altar of love."
Both Sarah and I snort at the nickname he's used; it's just a vagina, but he's so damn cute when he's uncomfortable so I'll let this one slide. However, Jat doesn't miss it and shoots me a death stare and I roll my eyes at him, mumbling "Jeez."
"Jay, but that's your niece or nephew! You promised," she sobs, and I can see the panic in her brother's emerald eyes.
She is exhausted and in pain, a ticking time bomb; her shoulders shake uncontrollably, tears spill, and sobs echo in the small room until Jay drags both his hands on his face, pulling the skin as he passes. "Fine!" he cries, "I'll stay. But I'll wait outside when they're coming out, and that's the only deal I'll make ya."
"Deal," she accepts with a satisfied smirk on her face.
What an actress.
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Hello and welcome to my world!
Thank you for reading this story; I hope you are enjoying it so far.
I will try to upload a new chapter every Saturday. Comments are greatly appreciated, and I can't wait to read your opinions.
*More spicy content to come*
Love, Izzy.