AN EQUAL START IN LIFE?

Lanarkshire 1963-64 I was never certain what to expect when I answered the phone and heard a voice saying with a trace of panic « I think it’s coming. » Most of my patients I knew and we had been able to prepare for the coming birth together. At weekends however, when I ‘stood in’ for another midwife, there could be surprises. I well remember one such birth. To begin with, I had difficulty finding the place. The family were living in an old miner’s row tucked away between blocks of newer buildings. As I stepped carefully through the mud to get to the door, I noticed that several of the houses were boarded up. “Wonder how long it will be before they demolish the whole lot?” I muttered I knocked and hearing a feeble “Cum in” entered a dim, uncared for room. The mother had obviously waited until the last minute to call us. We knew why. She wanted to avoid being carted off to the hospital. Perhaps the cold sterility of the place frightened her. Or perhaps she simply had no one she could call upon to take care of the 4 or 5 wee ones who were crawling and running around us. The family appeared to be living in one room, a large bed in one corner, the toilet out the back somewhere. The woman was skinny and pale, her “bump” very obvious under her thin dress. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked weary, no energy left to scold the wee ones when they got out of hand. Dirty dishes were piled up in a filthy sink near a window which let in little light. Only one tap, icy cold water, so put a full kettle on the stove. I’d need some warm water later, to wash mother and baby. Normally she shouldn’t be delivered in such unhygienic conditions, but it was too late for an ambulance to get her to hospital in time “Where’s your husband?” “Doon the pub probably” she replied with resignation. “Is there anybody who could keep an eye on the wee ones for you?” “Just until the baby arrives?” I added, seeing her fearful reaction. “Maebee Missus Black at the end o’ the block.” Fortunately Mrs Black was willing. That sorted, I continued my preparations for the birth. Baby clothes? Not any I felt happy to dress a newborn in. Luckily I always carried a spare set, just in case. “Have you a basin I can use to wash the wee one in, when it comes, Mrs Muir?” “There’s yin ower there oan the flair”. A good scrub with some disinfectant and it will have to do. “Have you a cot or a carry cot or something?” Silly question. The baby would share her bed, warmer that way. I couldn’t encourage that though. Too risky. She could so easily roll over and smother the bairn. So a drawer was emptied, lined and made ready for the newborn.. The contractions were at their most painful now. An internal examination revealed that the birth was imminent. Minutes later, a particularly strong contraction, and a sustained effort from the mother brought a wee boy out in a rush. He was in good voice, his cry deafening. The fists that he would later use to defend himself were already clenched as he brandished them in our faces. Tired though she was, worn out by successive pregnancies over a short period of time, Mrs Muir, as she held her wee boy for the first time, had on her face an expression of such tenderness, such love that I turned away, feeling like an intruder, on this very private moment. Mother and baby were washed and settled, recommendations made, the other children brought back to admire their wee brother and off I went. To the next case. For Duncan and Grace, this, her first pregnancy, was a source of wonder. They were going to be parents! And of course nothing but the best would do for their little one. They had been able to buy their own home, a spacious house in its own grounds. Duncan had spent many hours painting and decorating but had taken particular care over the colour scheme for the nursery. Grace had had such fun choosing all that would be needed - and much that wouldn’t - to make the room even more welcoming for the baby. They were determined to have the baby at home even although that wasn’t recommended for a first child. A spare bedroom had been transformed into an ideal delivery room. Perfectly ironed clothes had been made ready for the newborn’s arrival. All that was needed now was for the labour pains to begin and the midwife to make her appearance. Finally that moment had arrived. Labour pains had begun. A phone call had brought the information that help would soon be on its way. The midwife bustled in: “Just come from another case”. I must have appeared a bit dazed as they took me on a tour of inspection. “Would this room be alright for the birth? Had they forgotten anything?” “Will the baby be alright in the nursery on its own?” “We’ve put out a selection of wee garments. We’ll let you choose which will suit best” Labour pains intensified, but didn’t appear to be effective. Periods of rest and activity alternated, throughout the night. Progress was slow. Duncan’s nails were bitten to the quick. Numerous cups of coffee later, when I had decided to call an ambulance for a transfer to hospital, the contractions gained strength and shortly afterwards, a weary Grâce, with one last push, gave birth to her first born son. Duncan’s expression was one of awe. Grâce, her eyes bright with tears, gazed at the tiny form in her arms, and felt that her heart couldn’t contain the love she felt for him. While I had been washing and making mother and baby comfortable, Duncan had been busy in the kitchen. Delicious smells wafted up the stairs. “Couldn’t let you go without a bite to eat after all your hard work!” As I tucked into an impressive and succulent mixed grill, I thought about the next day’s visit to check up on Mrs Muir and her wee boy. There wouldn’t be a mixed grill, served on Limoges china but her hospitality would be just as generous. I could almost certainly look forward to a creamy cake from the local baker’s and a hot cup of tea and sense her pleasure as I ate and drank. I thought too about the two wee boys I had just delivered. People could and would say that they hadn’t had an equal start in life. On a material level that was true. But both of them had the best start any son can have , a mother who loves him. Catriona Charenton-le-pont le 28 décembre 2005