Author's Note-This is based on my third "Turnadette Tuesday" image, from the "gas and air" montage in CtM episode 2x01.
It was always the usual scene, with a few occasional variations. The woman on the bed, often with her mother or another woman in attendance. The midwife, skilled and confident, running the show. The father, pacing in the hall or sat in the living room with a cup of tea, a cigarette, or both-or down the street at the pub with a pint. Sometimes there were exceptions, but this was the general rule. And he, the doctor, called in only when necessary, as the midwives of Nonnatus House were usually more than capable of doing the job. Now, however, there had been a new innovation: gas and air. The machine was portable enough to carry in the boot of his car. It was heavy, but manageable. And now, he was managing it everywhere.
Racing was the order of the day for Dr. Patrick Turner. Racing around Poplar with the machine. Climbing steps, lugging the heavy equipment from house to house, flat to flat, only to return to his car, hoist the machine back into the boot, and hurry off to wherever the next midwife called him. He was pleased that so many expectant mothers had readily embraced this revolutionary new concept in pain relief, but he had to admit he was in need of some relief himself after all the running, climbing, lifting and racing. It was his job, and he was glad to do it, but some form of respite would be more than welcome. "Pain relief is available at the flick of a switch" he had told patients, and nurses, and anyone who would listen. If only it was always that easy in the rest of his life.
He didn't begrudge the effort. Who wouldn't want pain relief? A simple, effective solution to bring some temporary comfort amidst the most grueling of discomforts-this difficult, sometimes brutal travail that at least would be rewarded with a prize at the end. A slimy, bloody, wailing, mewling, much cherished little prize. He remembered holding his own son when the boy was only minutes old. Patrick had been allowed to be there by the imperious Sister Evangelina only by the happy privilege of being the attending physician. As many births as he had attended, as many screams as he had heard, it had been especially difficult to watch when it was his own wife. When it was Marianne. Still, the time came and the trial ended, only to be rewarded by the much more welcome cries of this brand new person. This person who was now 10 years old and in his own kind of pain, now motherless and left with a father who had often felt powerless in his own grief. There had been no gas and air for them. No immediate comfort. No simple solution.
It had been a year, and Patrick had managed. As best he could, he kept going, kept up that cheerful manner that he knew his patients needed. How would it help them if the doctor couldn't hold himself together? And so he had held himself together. He had gone through the motions, and he had survived. He still missed Marianne, of course, but his greater concern now was for Timothy. Patrick was a grown-up. He could be strong. But what of Timothy, motherless at such a young age and trying so desperately to prove he could manage, too.? He knew the boy needed his father, and as a doctor, Patrick's time was in high demand. Remembering a soothing, reassuring voice from a few weeks ago, he took comfort in the words: "children are more resilient than you think." He hoped those words were true. And hearing them from this kind, always encouraging source, he wanted to believe them.
The midwives and sisters had been regular fixtures in Patrick's life for years. It was the younger ones who made these calls for gas and air. Sister Julienne with her years of wisdom and much tried patience, and Sister Evangelina with her strict rules and set ways never called for gas and air, but the rest of them did. Now, daily, he would bring the machine and he would be standing by as the midwife would work. There was Nurse Lee with her cool competence, Nurse Noakes with her compassion and humor, Nurse Franklin with her determined confidence, or Nurse Miller with her quiet sensitivity. Sometimes he wished Nurse Miller could gain some more confidence in her manner, but all the midwives were skilled and he had no worries working with any of them. There was one face, though, that he was most encouraged to see. One calm, steady voice that always assured him that everything was under control. This was the voice that had comforted him those weeks ago, and it was the voice he was listening to right now, at this moment. This was Sister Bernadette.
"Now just relax, Helen. Breathe it in, " came the words in that steady, soothing tone this midwife maintained so well. Mrs. Ward was young, a first time mother barely married a year, and while physically she was strong, the prospect of childbirth had caused much anguish for her. Watching her take in the gas and seeing her settle down almost instantly, Patrick was glad that she had been attended by this gentle but highly accomplished young sister.
In his mind, Sister Bernadette was the best midwife Nonnatus had, with the possible exception of Sister Julienne. Patrick had every confidence in her abilities, and in her manner. All of the midwives were excellent, but Sister Bernadette seemed to always know what to do. She had the skill and advanced training of the other younger midwives, combined with the cool head and wisdom of the older sisters. He could always count on her to know what to do in any situation that presented itself, and even in difficult cases she could keep her head while never losing that kind, comforting presence. As well, more than the other midwives, she seemed to see him as a person rather than simply the doctor. She was always there with a gentle look or a kind word. She would ask about his day, and about Timothy. In the past few months he'd come to think of her as a trusted ally, even a friend. And now here she was at the gas and air machine, giving him that wide smile and looking at him with those big blue eyes, full of warmth and openness. Her eyes. Had he ever noticed how blue they were before? Her smile, so soothing. He couldn't help but smile back, and for a moment, there wasn't anything else to think about.
"This won't take the pain away," she had said to Mrs. Ward, "but It will take the edge off," and for one small moment, standing here with her looking up at him with those crystal blue eyes, that's how he felt. The sharp edges of pain and weariness fled for a split second, and he could suddenly imagine a life without all the drudgery, or where work was no longer drudgery but was joy again. A joy he could feel in that kind, trusting face. It was almost as if, for one second, he was in a new world.
Then suddenly he was back on Earth. He heard once again the low hiss of the gas, and the steady breathing of their patient , who he now noticed had relaxed to the point where she had been able to remove the mask. Sister Bernadette turned back to adjust the dials on the machine, and Patrick shook his head, looking down at his watch and remembering this was not his last call today. He frowned. He must be worn out, to have lost track of his thoughts like that even for a second. As Sister Bernadette rose from her chair to attend to Mrs. Ward, Patrick stepped forward to assist. Now wasn't the time for daydreams. It was time to be a doctor.