Page 49 of Heartbreak for the Irish Midwife

‘Seven months.’ Pain was in her eyes. ‘A wee boy.’

‘Ach, I’m sorry.’ Maisie laid a hand on Mrs Duffy’s arm.

‘I’m near the full nine months this time, but I keep worrying that this one will be born dead too.’

Great. Finally, the woman had said it aloud – her fear. That meant she was beginning to trust Maisie.

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Duffy. The worry must be desprit. But you’ve made it well past seven months – you’re basically due, and you’re in labour. Would it help if I listen to the heartbeat more regularly?’ Maisie bit her lip. Was that a bad thing to say? Would Mrs Duffy tense up every time Maisie was listening?

But Mrs Duffy disagreed. Grabbing both Maisie’s hands she squeezed them, saying, ‘That would be brilliant, Maisie. Exactly what I need. Whether it’s alive or dead I just want to know.’

‘Right then. Let me get my Pinard.’

The Pinard stethoscope was a simple horn-shaped object made of wood. Like an ear trumpet, it was designed to gather and amplify the tiny sound of an unborn baby’s heartbeat. Maisie took it from the side table in the corner where the midwifery supplies had been laid out.

‘Do you want me to get on the bed?’

‘God no. You stay where you’re comfortable, Mrs Duffy. I’ll kneel down here.’ She knelt, pressing the wide part of the Pinard to the woman’s abdomen, and putting her ear to the narrow end.

Nothing.

She shifted the Pinard about, keeping to the correct general area. Left, right, down. Nothing. Trying to remain calm, she slid the stethoscope up a little – and there it was; the gentle lub-dub, lub-dub sound of the baby’s heart.

‘Ba-dum,’ she said, ‘ba-dum, ba-dum. Heart beating away nicely in there.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ said Mrs Duffy, closing her eyes. ‘Thank the good God for that.’

Relief was also flooding through Maisie. The last thing she wanted was to have to break bad news to Mrs Duffy, who had been through so much already.

But well she knew that just because the baby was alive now, it did not mean it would survive the labour and birth. Stillbirth during labour was rare, she reminded herself. No reason to think it would happen today.

No reason except the woman’s obstetric history. Maybe someday scientists would discover why some women were so unlucky. For now, though, all Maisie could do was support the woman, and pray for a good outcome.

15

Sister Higgins, the labour ward sister, gave Alex and Dan a brief summary. ‘We’ve five women in labour – unusual to have so many at once. And there’s not even a full moon!’ She laughed. ‘I’ve been given a midwife from the clinic – though she’s newly qualified – and two of the district midwives are coming in shortly in case more women arrive. In the meantime I have a woman to look after myself. What I need from you two is to check in on all the midwives regularly in case they need help. Mr Russell is in theatre all day today – he has his own gynae cases booked in. Dr McMullen and Dr Marron are doing the clinic. The second theatre is being held for any obstetric emergencies. Mr Fenton has been checking in but says he’s quite busy. He’s based here today but is on his rounds at the minute.’

Aye, busy doing nothing, was Alex’s immediate thought. The man was probably reading the newspaper in the consultants’ sitting room.

‘Here’s the list, with summary notes.’ She handed Dan a clipboard. ‘Any questions?’

‘No. Thanks, Sister.’

‘We’re also going to need postnatal beds when these babies do arrive. How many free beds in A Ward, do you know?’

Alex thought for a moment. ‘At least three. And we have a couple of women who are due to go home tomorrow or the next day.’

‘Well, they might need to be discharged early,’ said Sister grimly. ‘Somebody needs to speak to Sister Campbell about it.’

‘There’ll be a side room later today as well,’ said Alex, thinking of poor Mrs Lennon.

‘Good! One of these women might get the royal treatment then!’ She turned to go. ‘Right. I’m away back to room 3. See yous later!’

Together, Alex and Dan perused the patient list. Without any shame whatsoever, Alex began by scanning the column containing the name of the midwife attending each woman. There! Room 4, Midwife Canavan. He read the details. Consultant – Fenton. Name – Mrs Duffy. Age 27 . . . Lord! The woman had a terrible history. Four baby losses!

‘I’d be a bit worried about that lady,’ he said, frowning. ‘Three children at home, then four losses including a stillbirth.’

‘Aye.’ Dan read the details. ‘And this one too.’ He pointed to another name. ‘Blood pressure high, diabetes. No headache or swelling reported earlier, but I think I should check on her. Room 2.’