Page 17 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘I’m sure!’ he replied sympathetically. ‘Now, I understand your milk is coming in?’

‘Aye.’ Carefully, she pressed a hand and arm across her bosom – testing, then wincing. ‘Hard as rocks they are, and burning hot!’

‘Well, we don’t want you getting mastitis, do we? An infection, I mean.’ Ironically, keeping the baby away would increase the chances of his mother suffering a blocked milk duct, which could quickly become infected.

‘Aye, milk fever bees terrible. My sister had it with her second and was lucky to get through it alive.’

‘Is this your fourth baby?’ he asked, trying to remember what he had read in her notes.

‘No, my fifth.’

‘And you fed the others yourself?’

‘I did, aye.’ She grimaced. ‘Never tried to do it with a scar on me stomach, though.’

‘How is your scar doing?’

‘The big doctor checked me yesterday. Said everything was all right.’

The ‘big doctor’ would be Russell, he guessed. Big in status, not size. He suppressed a chuckle as a brief image of Russell as a giant crossed his mind. ‘Good. And you haven’t had the shivers, or felt hot?’ As he spoke, he laid a hand on her brow. Normal.

‘No, not once, Doctor.’

‘Right then. But be aware, your baby has been on bottles the past couple of days, so it might take him a wee while to get used to the breast.’

‘Never you worry about that, Doctor, I know what I’m at. When will they bring him to me?’

‘I’m not sure exactly. Soon, though.’

‘That’s great news, Doctor. Thank you.’

‘No worries.’ There was a lightness in his step as he left the ward, making for delivery suite. It was good to feel he could make a difference.

* * *

Finally it was lunchtime. This morning’s clinic had been busier than ever, with three new white-card registrations on top of the review appointments. Maisie had done all right, though. She hadn’t made any mistakes, and was starting to get used to the routine tasks here. Making her way to the canteen, she was conscious of a strong sense of relief.

‘Maisie!’ It was Peggy, coming down the narrow stone stairs opposite the canteen. ‘I timed that well!’ she declared, and Maisie sent her a puzzled look.

‘I asked when the morning clinic usually finishes, and I tried to get my break at the same time.’

‘Nice one!’ A warm feeling went through Maisie. She liked Peggy, and here was evidence that the liking was mutual. As they tucked in to spuds and carrots and roast chicken – Maisie still inwardly amazed at how often rich people ate meat – they chatted lightly about their jobs and training, and about the midwives they were working with.

‘I can’t wait to go out on the district,’ declared Peggy. ‘That’s real midwifery.’ She flushed slightly. ‘Not that this isn’t, but – you know what I mean!’

‘I do,’ Maisie nodded. ‘Being with a woman in her own home, the hours and hours of sitting with her and encouraging her . . . It’s the best.’

Peggy said shyly, ‘I’m lucky. They’re starting me on some district work later this week.’

‘Ah, no way! That’s class!’ Maisie frowned in confusion. ‘How come they’re letting you do that so soon? They said they’d only move us to delivery suite once they’re sure we know what’s what. And only after we’ve proven ourselves in delivery suite would we be allowed to go out on the district.’

‘Oh, did you not hear what happened last week?’

‘No?’ Maisie was intrigued.

‘Before I trained as a midwife, I was a handywoman. I hadn’t told anybody, but it all came out at the fancy reception last Wednesday.’

‘Oh!’ Maisie put a hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t know.’