I claim no right to anything affiliated with Doc Martin. Doc Martin and its characters belong to Buffalo Pictures Ltd. I like taking them out to play.

Chapter 18

My eyes grow big and round, Louisa can see the fear in them. She groans and steps over to the bed, and she leans over to do her breathing exercise as the contraction grips her body. Slowly it eases and she can breathe good full breaths. Louisa looks over at me; I am relaxing a bit now, my medical mind kicking in. We look at the bedside clock together; I turn and walk out of the room towards the hall, opening the linen closet to pull out a few towels and a sheet. I place them on the bed, and I walk over to take her wrist checking her pulse.

"Louisa, we should go to the hospital now."

"It can't be labor, I'm not due for almost three weeks maybe it's a Braxton-Hicks contraction. My water hasn't broke."

"No, remember when we were reading on pre-labor, Braxton-Hick's were categorized as practice contractions; irregular in intensity, more uncomfortable than painful. I don't like seeing you in pain. If we are told by your consultant at the hospital that I was premature on the idea of labor, then we can come back home."

"But I'm not due for a couple more weeks."

"Our child has decided to come early. Where is your case?"

"In the cabinet next to my shoes in the spare room."

"Let me help you downstairs to the sofa and you can sit there while I load the car with the seat, your case and cover the seat with the towels in case your waters break on the way."

I take careful hold of Louisa, holding her as we descend the stairs; I sit her down and ensure she is fine, I run back upstairs grabbing the stack of linen and her case then head downstairs to grab my keys off the table and go out the kitchen door to the car. I cover the seat with the towels and put her case and baby seat in the boot, I head back in to find Louisa is having another contraction. I check my watch, ten minutes since the last. I turn the lock to the back door, and walk over to Louisa and wait till the contraction ends to help her stand; taking her hand, I kiss her cheek,

"Everything is in the car, let's go."

She smiles at my caring face. I lead her by way of the front door out to the Lexus. I settle Louisa on her side of the car before getting in. I pull out and drive through the village to Truro. I am driving faster than I normally would, especially when Louisa has a contraction, which are now eight minutes apart. Each time she has a contraction I breathe through it with her, calming myself. As we cross the bridge at Wadebridge, it must have been a signal as her waters break. Luckily, there is light traffic with mild congestion, and we make good time. Louisa's contractions stay steady at eight minutes. Nearly fifty minutes later I pull into the hospital, parking the Lexus in the expectant parent's carpark. I jump out to retrieve a wheelchair, and bring it alongside her door. I am nervous as I help Louisa out of the car; I cover her wet clothing with the sheet. I am searching for a nurse to help us as we enter and continue to push Louisa up to the check-in counter of the reception area. Louisa places a hand over mine hoping I will look at her, I lean over to see what she needs,

"Martin let me check in, I don't want you has my doctor now and you are going to get everyone upset if you're not happy," she says with her eyes pleading with me.

"Yes, mmm …. Yes go ahead."

"Louisa Glasson. I am under Doctor Rawle's supervision," she announces. The nurse looks her up on the computer while asking the standard check-in questions; contraction how far apart, due date ….

Louisa can see I am getting tense, as a doctor, I do not understand the delay. She squeezes my hand hoping to reassure me that she is fine. I pull out my phone, sliding my fingers across the different screens; I then put the phone to my ear. I speak quickly to the person on the other end, agreeing and then hanging up. A few moments later, a door down the hall opens, with medical personnel coming out. One comes our way and walks up to us, and looks at the check-in receptionist with a questioning expression,

"Miss Glasson, I will be handling your arrangement in the labor room until Doctor Rawle arrives. I am Judy Fudrow, a midwife on his team." She looks over at Martin, giving him a small smile, "Doctor Ellingham are you wheeling Miss Glasson or am I?"

"I will. Just lead us to her room."

Before I can proceed, Louisa has another contraction, stronger than previous. I kneel to take Louisa's' hands and look into her eyes, mirroring her breathing, working with her in unison to ease her fear and bring her through this contraction. When the contraction ebbs, I stand taking hold of the wheel chair and nod that we should proceed and notice that my hands are shaking. The midwife walks quickly to the door, scans her badge to gain access, and holds the door for us; I wheel Louisa down the hallway and into her appointed room. I help her change out of her clothing into a hospital gown and up onto the delivery couch. The midwife does a quick examination, she announces Louisa isn't dilated fully, "We have time for Doctor Rawle to arrive."

Thirty minutes later Doctor Rawle walks into the room; Louisa is the midst of another contraction with me breathing with her through it and massaging her back.

"Miss Glasson has our little one decided to come a bit early?" he asks. After examining her, he announces everything is progressing. "Your baby is settled into position and you should be delivering soon."

Louisa is moaning in agony with each new contraction, holding my hand so hard but I do not complain. Instead, I offer Louisa the gas oxygen mixture for her pain; I am having difficulty seeing Louisa is so much pain. I continue to do the massages recommended that I have practiced this past month and the combination of the two seem to help. Louisa leans back into me, I kiss her sweaty brow and I whisper in her ear, "You are doing wonderful."

An hour or so later, "Ok now" Doctor Rawle announces, "I can see your little one's head, with the next contraction I want you to push."

I get into the supporting position providing my body weight to Louisa as she pushes and I help by encouraging her. Time seems to drag on and with each contraction, Louisa pushes. I offer her ice chips to keep her hydrated and wipe the sweat from her face. I can see she is tiring, and I whisper encouragement to push even when she is too tired. Finally, after her fourth try to deliver our child, Doctor Rawle is able to maneuver our child's shoulders out and Louisa delivers. Louisa leans back into me and I can see her exhaustion but also the thrill at the arrival of our child. I kiss her cheek, forehead and finally her lips trying express my love. It is important for her to know what she just went through because of me, with my failure to prevent this pregnancy, is a special gift between us.

"Well done, relax now Miss Glasson. You are the proud parents of a baby boy."

Holding the baby up as he wipes the excess blood off, he clears out his nose and mouth. Doctor Rawle lays our baby on Louisa's lower chest, clamping the umbilical cord then handing me the medical scissors to use to cut the cord. I look first at Louisa, and then my son, shaking a bit as I cut the cord. The nurse picks up the baby wrapping him up in a blanket and lays him in Louisa's arms. I have tears in my eyes; a small smile crosses my lips as I stare at Louisa holding my son. 'I have a son!' I wrap my arms around my new family and tears of joy roll down my cheeks.

xXxXx

I am sitting quietly in Louisa's room watching the interaction of Louisa and the midwife, as they work through breast-feeding our child. 'My son, what a lucky child he is having Louisa has his mother.' My thoughts drift back to a conversation with Doctor Hayes many months ago 'my mum didn't want me to touch her; I can remember once when I did touch her dress, she pushed my hand off and called me a dirty little nuisance. I ended up in the cupboard under the stairs until the nanny found me at tea time.' I notice Louisa looking at me with a confused look on her face; not sure, of the problem, I stand and walk to the end of her bed. Realizing that her breast is uncovered, seeing it from this vantage point, embarrassed I look up towards the ceiling,

"Louisa is there a problem? Is he having difficulty latching on; does he understand the concept of feeding? There shouldn't be a worry yet," I prattle on unsure where to look and finally look her directly into those beautiful eyes.

"No Martin, he is fine," she softly says.

Louisa looks as if she wants to ask a question but with the midwife in the room next to her, she seems hesitant. The room grows quiet; the only noise is the suckling sound of my son, hungrily clamped onto his mother's breast. The midwife is satisfied that all is fine; she looks at each of us and asks if we have any questions. At our declines, she leaves us.

"Martin, I noticed your sad face as you sat across the room, are you having seconds thoughts about us?"

"No … no, this is a happy day. I look at you and think that my … our son is very lucky having you as his mother. I also recalled a memory of my mother, but I don't want to think about her ever again."

Louisa smiles, gesturing with her head for me to join them on the bed. 'I am still embarrassed to look at her exposed breast, a feeling I do not understand as I adore her breasts, having kissed every part of them often.' Louisa breaks into my musing,

"Please take our son and wind him."

I look at her as if she spoke Yiddish. Seeing my confusion, she explains

"Take that cloth, lay it over your shoulder towards you neck. It will keep any spit up off your suit jacket and shirt collar."

I do has she says.

"Now take your son and lay him onto your chest up towards your shoulder."

I carefully lift my son from his mothers' arms, making sure to support his neck, head and spine and place his head above the transverse plane of my pectoral region just above my clavicle. Supporting my sons' bottom and head, I stand looking at Louisa. I know somewhere in the depths of my mind what I am required to do but at this moment my mind is blank. I am afraid.

Smiling at my bewildered face she says, "Gently rub his back to work out the extra air he sucked in during his feed."

I work my hand into a slow, but rhythmic rhythm and surprisingly receive a loud eructation. "Sounds like the idiotic fishermen down at the pub," I quip.

Louisa laughs at the joke, "When were you last in the pub to hear our belching fishermen?"

"Mid-January, they were having quiz night, when Mrs. Turnaround fell off her stool and hit her head on the edge of the bar, cutting her forehead. I took her up to a room, cleaned and stitched her up. When we came down she went into the bar to retrieve her husband, with everyone in the pub thanking me with a serious of belches."

"Mrs. Turnaround?" Louisa questions.

"The woman that works at the bakery."

"Anita Turnbout." Once again, Louisa realizes Martin will never remember a villager by name. Louisa looks at me rubbing and cuddling my son with a relaxed expression; 'she realizes once again that she was wrong in believing Martin didn't like babies. Our son relaxes Martin so much that he has a very small smile twitch upon his face, her inquisitive young Martin expression', she calls it. Louisa senses his armour is down and the 'boy Martin' trusting his son to unconditionally love him.

"Louisa, umm … he … he is sucking on my neck."

She giggles and quickly closes her nursing bra cup on the side he was on and opens the other side. "Give him here, I'll let him finish then you can wind him again," she says with a grin.

Our son soon loses interest in eating, falling asleep with her nipple in his mouth. "Martin take him and wind him, and then you can place him in the cot."

"Why don't you try to sleep while he is sleeping? I will watch him," I suggest.

Louisa finishes tying the ribbon onto her bra strap before hooking up the nursing cup, adjusting her gown, and pulls the blanket up. "Yes, I will, I am tired. Are you sure you are fine alone with the baby?"

I look stunned, "I am not alone here in the hospital which is full of nurses that can help. I read up on newborns and want to help you as much as possible. Of course, I cannot feed him, but I can help in other ways to ensure you recover and provide nutrition to our child." I sound positive in my speech, but I am scared to death of my son waking up and dealing with whatever may emerge before Louisa awakens. I carefully lay him in the cot, and pick up the chair I occupied earlier, I walk over and I turn off the overhead light. I place the chair near the cot and close to Louisa; sit down, now I am ready to protect my new family. Louisa reaches out to take my hand, entwining our fingers as she falls asleep.

I wonder if my father ever took the time to sit near my cot and watch over me after I was born. Something tells me he did not. More than likely, he was out drinking with his surgeon mates. There are so many memories racing through my mind as I try to remember just one time my father took any time to be with me. I cannot remember a one. 'I make a vow to my son, I will not be like my father and my son will not be like me.' I will ask Doctor Hayes for his help.

Two hours later, I have not moved my hand that Louisa intertwined with mine, my attention changes over to my son, as he starts to whimper and starts moving, becoming awake. I quickly release her hand causing Louisa to wake up. Our son whimpers grow louder as both parents prepare for the new routine. Louisa sits up pulling her legs over the side of her bed, as I look at my son with fear in my eyes on what to do next; once again, all my medical training has vanished. Louisa touches my arm,

"Please, can you get me a nappy, wipes and cream out of the cabinet over there and bring them to the changing table." She picks up her squirming son and walks over to the table awaiting the supplies from me. Louisa talks "baby talk" to our son, I stop and stare at her,

"Humm … I'm m… what are you doing?" I ask as I hand her the items she requested.

She turns to look at me, "Talking to him. Stimulating him to his environment. I have spoken to our son since the day I found out I was pregnant. He and I have had many discussions about you."

I stand there stunned at Louisa's announcement, "I have spoken to my son also since you returned, not baby talk but on decisions I wanted help with."

"When were these discussions held, remember I was there all the time and don't recall them?" she says with a teasing smile. She pulls open the wet nappy, while I closely watch; using the wipe, she cleans him up, putting on his cream and replaces with a clean fresh nappy. Looking at me she says, "Please put his booties back on and bring him over to the bed while I wash my hands, and you haven't said when your conversations were held."

'Why do I have to announce my talks with him, she will think I went Bodmin.' I take my time putting the socks on, stalling, but my son has different ideas and loudly starts to cry and squirm, more than ready to eat. I pick him up, cuddling him close and talk softly to him; my son settles as I bring him over to Louisa waiting on the bed and place him meticulously into her arms. Immediately our son is rooting for her nipple, latching on when he finds it. I look on, becoming conscious of Louisa looking at me, and instantly look away feeling caught as a voyeur. Slowly my eyes return to my son feeding, and I marvel at the simple beauty of Louisa feeding my child. Louisa smiles understanding her prudish Martin,

"Could you get one of the baby blankets out of my bag, I'll cover myself with it in case someone comes in unexpectedly."

I walk over to the cabinet, root through and find a blanket in the bag; I bring it back to drape it over her exposed breast. "There that is better. Now Martin when did you talk to your son?" she asks.

"In bed each night as you slept. I would place my hand on your belly, he would be kicking and I wanted you to rest, so I would talk and he would settle down the longer I talked. I told him how beautiful his mother is, and that she has the most dazzling smile. We talked about the need to move to a larger home, a bigger room for him with a view over the cliffs towards the village, as the surgery exposed him to many germs. I let him know that I have no idea what a father should be like, if he could allow me a grace period to learn because I know his mother would help me to become a good father."

"I remember waking up to use the loo; you had your hand on my bump like most nights, with a contented smile on your face. Exact spot of your hand our little one was kicking away. You were a good father before he was born; you were explaining his new world with him," she says with a smile.

I lean over kiss the top of her head and then do the same to my son. She finishes feeding the baby and hands him to me to burp. After another loud belch, I return him for the second side of his feed. Soon I can see my son is not interested in feeding and reach down to pick him up and wind him again,

"Louisa get some sleep I'll take care of him now," I say with a little more confidence than last time.

I place the cloth over my shoulder again, receiving once again a loud burp but this time there is a bit of spit up and a rumble down below in his nappy. I expeditiously walk over to the cabinet for a new nappy, fearing what I will find. I lay my son down on the changing table; I pull the cloth with spit up gently off my shoulder and wipe my son's mouth,

"You were a little piggy with your meal tonight. Slow down so you don't fill up so quickly and fill up with so much air."

As I talk I am unhooking the nappy fasteners, pulling the front down looking for the results of the rumble, when my son lets a fountain of urine flow, wetting my tie and shirt before I can cover him with the burping cloth.

"Son, we need to discuss your manners," I say with a mildly irascible voice.

Louisa tries not to laugh aloud as she listens to this conversation.

"Let's see what else you wish to give me." Pulling open the nappy front again, I am surprised there isn't anything there, and I realize he just passed gas. I clean up his bottom, apply the nappy cream, and put on a clean nappy. Picking up him up, I fetch another cloth from the bag placing it over my shoulder cuddling him to my chest near my heart. Within minutes, my son is sound asleep. I place him in the cot, then I head to the bathroom, removing my tie and jacket, washing my hands and wetting a towel to clean my urine stained shirt. I need to remember to keep him covered during a nappy change. Thinking of something better I could invest in to protect my clothes, I recall the perfect solution, the rubber apron we had in medical school.

Like clockwork our son awakens a few hours later and we repeat our new routine but this time I ask Louisa to care for our child as it was nearing six in the morning and Joan would be up feeding the chickens,

"I want to call to give her the good news," I announce. Remembering how Auntie Joan learned of our engagement, we could not have a repeat.

I return to the room a short time later, I find them both asleep in their beds. I know I have a short bit of time before the nurses, Doctor Rawle and Paediatrician will be making their rounds so I sit down in the chair and close my eyes for a short nap. If everything goes well this morning with the procedure, we might be able to go home late this afternoon. I wake an hour later, refreshed but hungry, and upon leaving, I inform the nursing staff that if I am needed to page me in the canteen. I enter the lift heading for the canteen for breakfast, I am embarrassed that hospital staff will see me unsuitably dressed, luckily nobody I know sees me. I look over my options and select porridge, adding honey and raisins, then choose tea instead of my usual coffee, and I sit at a table in the corner hoping to eat quickly and head back to my family before they wake, but just as I finish Chris Parsons walks in.

"Congratulation Mart," Chris says as he walks over and slaps me on the shoulder. "I came in this morning and your news is all around the hospital, I went upstairs to maternity and the nurse told me you came down here. Have you been here all night?"

"Yes, of course. I rushed Louisa here last night; my son was born a few hours later. I wanted to make sure Louisa and my son were taken care of; he is more than two weeks early, there can be problems, but he seems to feed well and this morning he'll have his procedure."

Chris frowns at my statement regarding the care provided at his hospital.

"I would like to take them home later today if he is well enough. Louisa seems to be fine, but I do want her tested for her anemia, and I know I can provide good care for them at home."

Chris sees that I look very happy, "I am glad everything is working out for you Mart. Can I walk with you to visit Louisa and see your son?"

"That would be good, just don't say anything to Louisa about his misshapen head. She was quite upset with me in the delivery room last night when I mentioned it."

Chris smiles and shakes his head, "She does understand that you were only speaking medically?"

"Yes, I explained the whole birth process, but she was still angry with me." I pick up my tray, and walking over and placing it onto the rotating dishwashing rack, Chris and I walk through the hospital to the lifts; and as the doors close behind us, Chris mentions,

"You do know that you smell like urine and your shirt is stained", then Chris grins at me. "Don't worry you'll get the hang of it after a month or two. Has he had a bowel movement yet?"

I show no sign of a smile, just look at my friend straight faced and say,

"He belches in my ear, urinates on my tie, spits up on my shoulder and breaks wind in my arms. I have already had an appropriate manners conversation with him and it is less than a day," I then smile at my friend just as the lift doors open.

We enter Louisa's room; the Paediatrician is checking on the baby and my son is not happy, loudly protesting the intrusion to his sleep. Louisa seems upset with the baby crying, turning around towards us. She smiles at Chris, "Good morning Chris, I see you found Martin?"

I walk over to her and our son, to watch the doctor examine him, the Doctor notices me,

"Your son has a set of very healthy lungs on him even if he is premature. I can't find a thing wrong with him so I would like to do his circumcision about nine and without any issues I'll sign his release."

"Thank you that would be good." I look at Louisa as she puts his nappy on then carries him over to the chair, cuddling him trying to calm his cries. Our son is upset, Louisa looks to me for help; I walk over to her taking the burping cloth with me, and placing it over my stained shirt. Louisa hands me my son, I place him on my chest with his head near my heart and slowly rub his back and talk to him. His crying becomes whimpers and slowly he quiets; I look at Louisa, "Why don't you try feeding him now."

She climbs into bed placing the baby blanket over one side of her body to prepare to feed him. I place him into her arms, ensuring I block her exposed breast until she covers herself again. "Chris came by to see how you and the baby are," I say as I turn towards Chris.

"Louisa, you look wonderful, I can't wait to tell Tracy. She will want to visit and see how you are." Chris turns to Martin, "As your friend, well done. How long are you closing the surgery, and do I need to find a locum?"

"I planned for two weeks, but Louisa and I discussed moving to a new house and I may need more time, can I talk to you later today?"

"Sure, just let me know," he says.

I smile as I realize how much my life changed in the last twenty-four hours. Louisa said she would marry me, provided me with a son and agreed to move to a larger house. I am very happy, turning I look at Louisa again; "Are you happy?" I ask her.

Her dazzling smile makes my heart skips a beat, 'technically it really didn't but I felt like it did', nodding her head for me to come to her, she reaches up with a free hand to caress my cheek, and expresses, "Martin I am very happy."

Chris realizing he is in the way excuses himself and closes the door behind him as he leaves. He walks into his office and pulls his mobile out, he dials home and relays the birth of Mart's son and mentions to Tracy that he has never seen Martin as happy as he is today.

End of Chapter

Yes, I used a silly name again for a villager. We know DM has a hard time remembering names and I like to play with them.