end of the bed.
The instructions in her little booklet played over and over in her head, giving her a clear plan of action. How close? Julie had no clue. She couldn’t see the baby yet but, with the power of these contractions, it surely wouldn’t be long before she did.
She felt useless, but at the other end of the bed Rob was a lot more help.
‘Come on, Amina, you can do this. Every contraction brings your baby closer. You’re being terrific. Did anyone ever teach you how to breathe? You do it like this between contractions...’ And he proceeded to demonstrate puffing as he’d learned years before in Julie’s antenatal classes. ‘It really works. Julie said so.’
Julie had said no such thing, she thought. She’d said a whole lot of things during her long labour but she couldn’t remember saying anything complimentary about anything.
And Amina was in a similar mood. When Rob waited until the next contraction passed and then encouraged Amina to puff again, he got told where he could put his puffing.
‘And it’s breech,’ she gasped. ‘Julie doesn’t know about breech.’
‘Julie knows everything,’ Rob declared. ‘Memory like a bull elephant, my Julie. Tell us the King of Spain in 1703, Jules.’
‘Philip Five,’ Julie said absently.
‘Name a deadly mushroom?’
‘Conocybe? Death caps? How many do you want?’
‘And tell me what’s different about breech?’
‘I might have to do a little rotating as the baby comes out,’ Julie said, trying to sound as if it was no big deal.
‘There you go, then,’ Rob approved as Amina disappeared into another contraction. ‘She knows it all. This’ll be a piece of cake for our Julie.’
Only it wasn’t. Rob had managed to calm Amina; there no longer seemed to be terror behind the pain, but there was certainly a fair bit of terror behind Julie’s façade of competence.
One line in the little book stood out. If the baby’s presenting face up then there’s no choice; it must be a Caesarean.
Any minute now she’d know. Dear God...
Her mind was flying off at tangents as she waited. Was there any other option? They couldn’t go for help. They couldn’t ring anyone. For heaven’s sake, they couldn’t even light a fire and send out smoke signals. If it was face up...
‘And my Julie always stays calm,’ Rob said, and his voice was suddenly stern, cutting across the series of yelps Amina was making. ‘That’s what I love about her. That’s why you’re in such good hands, Amina. Are you sure you don’t want to puff?’
Amina swore and slapped at his hand and a memory came back to Julie—she’d done exactly the same thing. She’d even bruised him. The day after the twins were born she’d looked at a blackening bruise on her husband’s arm, and she’d also seen marks on his palm where her nails had dug in.
Her eyes met his and he smiled, a faint gentle smile that had her thinking...memories can be good. The remembrance of Rob’s comfort. Her first sight of her babies.
The love...
Surely that love still deserved to live. Surely it shouldn’t be put away for ever in the dusty recesses of her mind, locked away because letting it out hurt?
Surely Rob was right to relive those memories. To let them make him smile...
But then Amina gasped and struggled and Rob supported her as she tried to rise. She grasped her knees and she pushed.
Stage two. Stage two, stage two, stage two.
Face up, face down. Please, please, please...
There was a long, loaded pause and Amina actually puffed. But still she held her knees while the whole world seemed to hold its breath.
Another contraction. Another push.
Julie could see it. She could see...what? What?
A backside. A tiny bottom.
Face down. Oh, God, face down. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She glanced up at Rob and her relief must have shown in her face. He gave her a fast thumbs-up and then went back to holding, encouraging, being...Rob.
She loved him. She loved him with all her heart but now wasn’t the time to get corny. Now was the time to try and deliver this baby.
Hands off. That was what the book said. Breech babies will often deliver totally on their own.
Please...
But they’d been lucky once. They couldn’t ask for twice. Amina pushed, the baby’s bottom slid out so far but as the contraction receded, so did the baby.
Over and over.
Exhaustion was starting to set in. Time for Dr Julie to take a hand? Did she dare?
Another glance at Rob, and his face was stern. He’d read the book over her shoulder, seen the pictures, figured what was expected now. His face said: do it.
So do it.
She’d set out what she’d need. Actually, she’d set out what she had. The book said if the head didn’t come, then forceps might be required. She didn’t actually have forceps or anything that could be usefully used instead.
Please don’t let them be needed. It was a silent prayer said over and over.
Don’t think forward. One step at a time. First she had to deliver the legs.
Dot-point number one. Carefully, she lubricated her fingers. One leg at a time. One leg...
Remember the pictures.
‘Jules is about to help your baby out,’ Rob said, his voice steady, calm, settling. ‘Next push, Amina, go as far as you can and then hold. Puff, just like I said. Keep the pressure on.’
Next contraction... The baby’s back slid out again. Deep breath and Julie felt along the tiny leg. What did the book say? Manoeuvre your finger behind the knee and gently push upward. This causes the knee to flex. Hold the femur, splint it gently with your finger to prevent it breaking. This should allow the leg to...
It did! It flopped out. Oh, my...
Calm. Next. Dot-point number two.
The other leg was easier. Now the baby could no longer recede. Manoeuvre to the right position. Flex.
Two legs delivered. She was almost delirious with hope. Please...
Dot-point number three. Gently rotate the baby into the side position to allow delivery of the right arm. Easier said than done but the illustrations had been clear. If only her hands weren’t so slippery, but they
