A/N: The next chapter, which is just chock full of some good stuff- if I may say so myself. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You are all too kind!
-Hannanball13 (drown-out-the-crazies)
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As a midwife, no one finds it necessary to give you advice on babies, or delivery, or birth. This is quite flawed, as a pregnant midwife needs the same constant reassurances as the housewife does. We know of the process, we've seen other women fall ridden with it hundreds of times, and we know how a baby comes screaming into this world. But, our bodies, although we have this knowledge, are still unfamiliar with a child growing inside.
In labor, one forgets most of what they've learned and relies on nature and instinct. Our Chummy found this out in the most difficult of ways, being the first in Nonnatus House to experience motherhood first hand. She was forced to find out on her own that her skills of midwifery meant nearly nothing when it came to the birth of her own child. Chummy was much more sensitive to the condition now that Baby Fred had entered this world, and who that benefited the most, was Shelagh Turner.
Question after question, insecurities, and fears were thrown at the new mother, as Shelagh became closer and closer to her day. She used her time with Chummy to receive the reassurances Doctor Turner could not give her. There was a special bond being created, one none of us could see with our eyes, rather, it was one we could feel with our hearts.
Shelagh was growing. In more ways than just the obvious- and as we all would, she'd struggle. She'd seek guidance, and she'd find it from few. But, we all were around to help, and enjoyed it, even though we all knew it was Patrick who she needed help from most of all.
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"Do you think- Not to pry," Shelagh promised, rubbing some dust off of her uniform with nonchalance, "that you and Peter will ever have another?" she smiled brilliantly, fiddling gently with Baby Fred's socked foot as his eyes were aflutter with sleep, and he slurped upon his fingers.
Chummy laughed, "Oh goodness, I don't quite know!" She pondered nervously, "Perhaps one day…" Apprehension ravaged her tone, for she still couldn't remember his debut without developing a case of the all-out chills. "I think we have enough excitement planned for the next few months…" she nodded to Shelagh's ever-expanding tum as she folded a knitted bonnet in half, and placed it on her bed atop the two others.
Shelagh chuckled, but then her eyes grew brooding, afraid, "Was it… frightening, Chummy?" she wondered lowly, as if she were just realizing the question was much too heavy for flippant conversation, or even that Baby Fred was much too near to hear what came next.
Chummy stopped to close her eyes, and let the garment she'd been handling fall from her grasp in the process. Those ice-like jabs overtook her spine, and she needed very much to stay still for a few moments, if only to hear in the silence of it, the lovely breathing of her son. Whenever the broken memories became undeniably vivid within her mind, she needed some assurance everything was as it was, and she hadn't been lost in that Operating Theater. She basked in this feeling of maternity. She basked in Baby Fred's giggles, and wails. She loved him so much, and she couldn't bare thinking she'd be without him, or he be without her. "It was," Chummy lost her voice for that moment, and when she regained it, it was nothing like her usual posh inflection, "terrifying."
Shelagh even shuddered, never to remember that terrible day as everyone else did. She and Patrick had not been very aware of the situation until it was well-controlled in hospital. The night had turned to dawn before Patrick had brought the news to her. She had worried, but not as long as everyone else had to, and she felt guilty for such a thing. She felt the guilt even more so now, and fear that she might be downtrodden with this kind of crippling unfortunate unlikelihood when it came her time.
Chummy gripped the pram, as she found her mind again. "But, I assure you, I was well cared for. And you, Shelagh, being a near daughter to Sister Julienne, and married now to Doctor, will receive the utmost vigilance from all of us here. We know the form, it will all be well when your time comes."
She gave a sigh of relief, as the taller of the women's words were most sincere, and reassuring. "Thank you, Chummy—
And before she could speak another word, the ringing of the phone blared from its place on the bannister rooms away, beckoning for them, and shouting for an answer. Chummy was first on-call today, and Shelagh was last. Cynthia was in the sitting room, and mentioned how she wouldn't mind seeing to Baby Fred if this situation did present itself, so his mother began to shuffle a few things together for however long they may be. She set them on her dresser- bottles, nappies, and extra clothes, easily accessible, and at the ready. Shelagh kicked the brake of the Pram, and routinely, Chummy took the handle and pushed off toward the phone. By the time they were both at the attention of the mechanism, Cynthia had already jotted down the needed information, and hung up.
She greeted them with the mouthful, "Mrs. Peverley, down Leyland street, just a few blocks- it's her second, first one was breech, but this baby has turned as per her last appointment at clinic," Cynthia handed them the papers they needed. "I'll just take Baby Fred here."
Chummy let go of the pram's handle, and let the kind, brown haired girl take it from her. As the child was rolled away, she and Shelagh scurried off to find their bags.
xxx
The shouts could be heard even three floors down. Chummy was bouncing up two steps at a time, while Shelagh was breathless holding onto the railing, still becoming used to the extra body she'd been endowed with the past few months. She was heavy in all the right places, even more beautiful than she had been. Everyone was noticing of it, Doctor Turner had turned more affectionate toward her, and Timothy had become somewhat more protective of his new mother, which no one found incomprehensible. They were widely known in Poplar now.
Chummy halted at the top of the flight, looking down the few stairs with a reassuring smirk, "Oh don't worry, Shelagh, there aren't too many more of these dastardly steps."
The color of her cheeks were flushed red, similar to a rose with dew dribbling down its petal, perspiration fell down her face. Her glasses were on the edge of her nose, and she stopped for a breath. Chummy was not worried, for she'd been there, even getting herself onto a train or bus had been a hassle. Peter would inevitably have had to grip her shoulder with all his might, and hoist. It had put a real damper on her independence. After all, she needed lifts from chairs, the bed, and she even had difficulty swinging her leg over her bicycle. Although becoming quite rotund, Shelagh was not nearly as large as Chummy had been cycling down the street. She would find the real peeves of pregnancy were not these creaking staircases.
"If good ol' Mrs. Peverley can get to her floor, then so shall I," Shelagh joked.
Chummy switched her bag to her other hand, and then reached down, wiggling her fingers at the breathless lady, "I say, let me give you a hand!" Her ears twitched at the resounding wails of the laboring mother to-be doors down, and she was very much ashamed to show she was in a rush, but Shelagh seemed to understand.
Shelagh reluctantly took the lent appendage, curling her fingers into Chummy's and ascending a little more quickly. They called at the door, knuckles to wood, and in a few short seconds, a panicky looking Brent Peverley opened it wide. "It's the midwives!" he hollered over his shoulder wiping his mouth, "they've come for you, Mare!" He stepped aside, "Come right in 'ere, she's in 'er bed!" he gesticulated nervously to the opposite room.
"Very good, Mr. Peverley," Shelagh nodded with fist dug into her own aching back. "Let us take it from here!"
He shook his head, "'Er mum is outta town! And I don't got much know-how when it comes to these babies. Me neighbor 'as got little James, and will take 'im for the rest of the evenin'!"
Chummy was trying to soothe him, "How lucky of you to find someone to keep watch of him! Well, don't you worry now! Settle down, and put the kettle on."
"Sure…" he shuddered "jus' please, don't let 'er 'urt as bad as the last one."
Another shout pierced the air, and the two turned their heads to the sound. "We shall do our best," Shelagh assured, as Chummy went ahead of her into the cracked doorway.
Mare Peverley was a tall woman, in better shape than most were in Poplar. She had curls of orange, multiple freckles to match, and spoke without pronunciation. Every word she said was mumbled, and she had only some confidence. She was not nearly as obnoxious as her East End peers, but her hollers were always more gut-wrenching. She squirmed between sweaty sheets, her toes were curled upward, and she groaned through a pain only imaginable to Chummy.
"Thanks for comin'—ooohh," she swiped her arm across her forehead covered in sweat, "me waters 'ave broken, but I couldn't move…" she admitted feebly.
Shelagh snapped a pair of gloves on, as did Chummy. "I'll get you rolled over, then!" the tallest said softly, "Shelagh could you pull those wet pads up for us?"
She happily obliged with a nod, realizing her friend was attempting to take on the heaviest of the duties after her escapade with the stairwell. She nudged the paper from underneath Mare Peverley with ease, working around her own belly. Chummy looked on at the adorable scene, feeling much more mature, when in actuality it seemed they were at the very same checkpoints, experiencing the very same things.
"I understand your mother's away… but you mustn't worry," said Chummy. "The both of us know what needs to be done! As you can plainly see the bags under these old eyes of mine, I have a little bean at home, and Nurse Turner here is a mummy to be! We've surely seen it all, haven't we?" she chuckled, finishing their task by helping her onto her back.
Shelagh felt a jab to her side, but calmed the movement with a little rub as she disposed of the soaked papers. "We certainly have," she added, heading back in time to watch Chummy begin adjusting the sheets that needed straightening, and creating a clearer path to and from the birth canal.
With a towel that had been set out on the nightstand (most likely, this morning at the start of it all), Shelagh dabbed daintily at the big droplets forming on Mare Peverley's hairline, as Chummy moved her nightie so that it was folded over her thighs, "We'll just have a quick look now," she narrated, doing exactly that. The woman's freckled nose scrunched, as she bit her lip.
"How is it looking, Nurse Noakes?" Shelagh asked routinely, still dabbing at the moisture, with her own bottom on Mare's bed.
Mare took a deeper breath, "This one sure is givin' me a nasty ride…" She sat up a little straighter, and Shelagh's arm was brushed aside. Mrs. Peverley curled around herself, letting out one of the most mind boggling shouts, one which startled Shelagh so much, she jumped to her feet. Chummy snickered at her fellow nurse's recently uncharacteristic swiftness, before tending further to their patient.
"No matter, you are getting along very well. It won't be long now, because baby is where he should be!" the tallest encouraged, taking a quicker peek to ensure herself there really was more work to be done in the next hour.
Both Shelagh and Chummy had a similar means of going about a delivery. They only suggested specific ways of pain management, never enforced it. They did not poke around if unnecessary. They oft struck up conversation with the laboring lady if a topic presented itself. They checked for the heartbeat at the highest peaks of pain, and also if pain seemed much too slow. Their strategy was effective, and they were compatible therefore making any of birth they teamed for, smooth.
Once Shelagh had gotten her bearings, she bent over as painlessly as possible, and pressed her ear to the pinard horn, to listen intently. "Baby is sounding entirely perfect," she grinned, relieved.
There were always moments of relief in midwifery, although, situations rarely ever heightened to high levels of apprehension. For this reason exactly, it was especially comforting during these small triumphs, as it meant everything was to nature, and needn't the intervention women, and midwives very much dreaded. Shelagh scooted to her feet, and stuffed the instrument in its place back in her baggage.
"Do you require me to tie your robes?" Chummy wondered as her friend began tugging them from her case, gearing up for the grittiness of delivery a few moments earlier than she.
Shelagh broke a sweat doing the smallest of tasks, and it wasn't due to the strain of them, it was the way eyes watched her, waiting for her to call for help. Chummy was of course attempting to be wholly helpful, not unnerving, so she seldom became frustrated with her. But, when Doctor Turner insisted on tying her shoes in the morning before he left for rounds, or when Fred moved chairs from her path when they weren't even blocking her way, she couldn't feel any more inept. She knew it was all good-heartedness that was the culprit for these little doings, but it did not change the sensitivity she had toward these supposedly subconscious and sort of insignificant gestures.
She shook her head politely, putting in both arms, and then pulled the strings so the garment fit tightly around her bulge, but she was faced with a dilemma she didn't expect. No matter the amount she had grown, or how many times she had-had to go to Chummy to let out her clothing, she could never be unsurprised when it became obvious her shape was ballooning, and the simple gestures she disfavored were warranted. It was in moments so slight like climbing those stairs, pulling on her tights, and exactly now- not being able to go around her entire self with a tie string that fit just yesterday- that it all became somewhat overwhelming, and very real.
A longer groan came from Mare Peverley, and Shelagh was rocketed out of her momentary stubborn, self-absorbedness to accept the help from her friend who had already pulled a white cap on her own head, and been ready before she could even grasp the idea of looking so helpless in front of a patient. She almost didn't remember, Mare Peverley most likely didn't care, and even if she had, would probably forget the moment she held the child currently making his or her debut. Chummy did a loop, one her long fingers had to learn months ago while Baby Fred still resided within her now svelte tum, "Just a little trick I picked up those few weeks around Poplar before Freddie's birthday. You'll have a tad bit more time to learn it…"
And with a pat to her friend's shoulder, Chummy turned, "Alright, Mrs. Pevereley, shall we get you on your side? Nurse Turner, would you be so kind as to assist her keeping her left knee close to her chin, while I have the catch?"
"Don't make 'er 'old up me leg, it's right 'eavier than you'd think!" Mare's voice quaked, as she cringed through another bout of discomfort while she moved onto her side on her lonesome. More fluids flooded the bed, and both midwives saw this as a sign to hop to it. You could see Mare was ready to grit her teeth and get on with it.
Shelagh was quick on her feet, ready to take on the task more than before, to show she wasn't as fragile as the woman assumed. Even someone in a worse state than herself, was still trying to be overly gentle. She went round to the opposite side of the bed, and locked elbows with the Mare's thin, bony crook of her knee, leaning back to the woman's point of near inflexibility.
She pushed before instructed, but Chummy didn't mind as she was at the ready, and so was the baby.
"Right, excellent!" she commented reaching, "the little thing should be here shortly, granted, Mrs. Peverley, you can conjure up one more push or two…" But, there was no need to ask, but more a need to control, "Not too hard now, though, we don't want any unneeded injury!" Chummy ordered, noticing how quickly her gloved hands turned crimson.
Shelagh shifted the slightest, but it made no difference to either of them, determination drove each in every birth.
You could feel some of the exertion make way from her body, but not all, and mother's instinct turned out to be correct. Shelagh watched from her position as baby's head slid quite easily into Chummy's grasp. "Very good, Mrs. Peverley," the supporting midwife enthused. Excitement heightened Shelagh's inflection.
"Now, Dear, I'd say one more, mighty push may have me holding onto your new addition!" Chummy urged, brow arched in the positive fervor.
She had it true. After a grunt and howl, there came tiny cries- cries of the sweetest looking girl, with already noticeable ginger hair. Shelagh let down her leg, so she could rest for the after birth. Chummy clipped the cord, and laid her upon a very ready chest to be warmed by her mother. Mare Peverley released a grateful sob that it was all over, "th-thank you nurses."
But, neither of them needed thanking. This is what they did, and they'd done it yet again.
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Shelagh lay with her legs crossed, her hands resting over her blanketed middle. She looked perturbed, and had acted so after Timothy had gone off to bed. Patrick had noticed, but failed to mention anything during their meal, because he didn't wish for their son to hear of any discrepancies that could send him improperly upset.
So, gently he approached her. "Darling" he began. "Has there been some trouble, today?" The doctor slid himself onto the bed with ease, directly beside her, he placed his left hand atop of hers.
"No, no trouble," Shelagh replied, "Mare Peverley was blessed with a baby girl, today."
"Well, isn't that splendid news?" he asked with an upward curl to his lips.
"It is." She eyed him, understanding he may never give in, she let out a sigh, "I know you're still apprehensive—
He snorted, "I am not," he defended weakly. "I have swallowed my fears. And even so, I've sensed quite a range of more important emotions from you. What seems to be on your mind?"
It was quite abrupt how she said it, "I do very much dislike it when you tie my shoes, especially when it makes you late for your morning rounds…" Her expression was oddly stern.
Even with the utter seriousness in her face, the smile crept up on him, and a laugh made way from deep in his belly until the sound of his joy bounced off the walls. Patrick covered his mouth with his palm, trying to muffle them, but it did nothing. Shelagh looked unimpressed.
"I'm being honest, Patrick!" she grumbled.
But, away he went again, until he could spout out in between, "Well, then, I don't have to— unfortunately, there was no avail to his giddiness. Finally, he rolled onto his left to face her as he bit his lip, "Then, I don't have to tie your shoes…." He shook his head in disbelief, "is that really what's been on your mind?"
She crossed her arms, "I don't find it at all funny," Shelagh pouted.
Patrick sat up, and got closer to take her hand in his own. He kissed her knuckles like he had hundreds of times before, "I apologize, but my darling, what else can I do for a woman who can nearly do as I? You're a midwife, so I know I can't say anything…"
She pursed her lips, "But, there is much you can say!" Shelagh admitted angrily.
He frowned, stroking her cheek, "What do you need? I'll do anything." Patrick supplied truthfully.
"I shouldn't have to tell you!" There were tears in her eyes, threatening to fall.
He held her then, not wanting her to cry again because of him, "I love you very much." Patrick told her. "And that's one thing I know I will never stop telling you."
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to stop this. He wanted terribly to say the right things. But, the truth was, he couldn't. Patrick Turner kissed her mouth, twirling a lock of her hair in between his fingertips, and she didn't pull away. He moved slowly, to make it so the bed didn't whine underneath him, and straddled her in a way that put no strain against her body. Again, she didn't pull away.
Shelagh felt the fine stubble on his cheeks that was always present this time of night. She burned for him. She couldn't pull away.
Patrick realized then, maybe he didn't have to always say the right thing.
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