London, England

"Now push."

The pain was horrific, nothing like she'd ever experienced before and she was exhausted. She'd been at the hospital for hours and she didn't want to do it anymore.

"I said push." Repeating the words, the midwife's tone felt aggressive to her, a world away from the friendly doctor and midwife she'd seen while in France.

"I am pushing." Answering through gritted teeth, Katherine put as much effort as she could into doing as she was told, in vain it seemed as her exertion did little to move things forward.

"Not hard enough."

Shaking her head, nothing about the woman's demeanour made her feel comfortable, further convincing her she'd made a huge mistake.

"I'm trying."

"Talking is not a good use of your energy. Now, squeeze, like we practiced." Hushing her, the woman indicated once again that she wasn't free to rest again yet.

Taking a deep breath in, she again did as she'd been instructed, holding and then breathing out slowly as she focused on counting through the remaining seconds of her contraction.

Laying her head back on the pillow as the moment passed, she closed her eyes, attempting to rest and regain some energy.

"How much?"

Her mother had told her it would be difficult, but she hadn't imagined that it would be this difficult, and she hadn't prepared herself for the hopelessness she felt. It seemed she was putting in a lot of effort for very little reward, something the midwife's comment confirmed to her.

"We've got a way to go yet."

Feeling the stinging of tears in her eyes, she was overcome by one more thing that felt completely out of her control, soon sobbing, dabbing her eyes with the collar of her hospital gown.

Handing her a box of tissues, her midwife appeared kind for a moment, until she ruined it by opening her mouth again.

"Enough of that, it could've all been over by now if you'd just focus on what you're here to do."

"It hurts." They'd given her something for the pain but it wasn't magic; she could feel everything and it was unbearable.

"I'm not sure what you expected."

"Not this."

"Well, this is life."

Not feeling the least bit comforted, her shaking and shallow breathing increased as her sobs grew louder, slowly morphing into pained groans as her next contraction arrived.

"If you don't want to prolong the experience, push, now."

Addressing her again, her midwife's directness felt different this time, although she couldn't pinpoint why, she didn't have the mental energy to analyse the situation at present.

"Good, now we're getting somewhere."

"Where?"

Assuming she was making progress, that news pleased her, although she didn't enjoy much of anything else that was happening.

"Again."

Noticing the quick gesture the midwife made to someone across the room, she couldn't find the words to ask what was going on again, the overwhelming pain and urgency of her condition leaving her speechless.

Exhaling as she worked through the waves of pain, the pangs of regret began to rise again. She should have been more open to listening to her mother, her words of wisdom from age and experience, and her offers of assistance.

"This is awful."

Surrounded by people, she was all alone, and she truly wished she wasn't.

"You're doing great." Hearing the rare words of encouragement, she took a better look at where they'd come from, because they certainly hadn't come from her midwife.

Studying the woman's face, she vaguely remembered meeting her earlier, although she didn't remember her name or what her role was. Despite her confusion, she liked her, at least more than she did her midwife.

"I can see your beautiful baby, just waiting to meet you."

Nodding, she smiled at the comment, ready to reply when the sharp pain of another contraction knocked the words out of her mind.

"Focus on the movement, downward and outward… good…. now hold…"

Listening, following the instructions, something felt different this time. She'd thought it had been bad earlier, but the agony she was in now was far worse than anything that had come before.

"Can you manage one more?"

Unsure whether she was screaming or just felt like she was, she had no idea what was happening. What she did know was the question would have been laughable had she been able to express anything other than her misery.

"The head and shoulders are nearly out; the worst of it is almost over."

Giving her an update on her progress, the comment was probably supposed to be encouraging, to make her want to get to the halfway point, but really all it made her do was wince at the idea that she hadn't reached the worst part.

Having no control over anything, she didn't want to continue, but nature had other ideas.

For as much as she did consciously, there was more that she did subconsciously in the next few moments, moments she couldn't have accurately measured on a clock even if someone had paid her to.

It had just happened but already her memory was failing her, because one moment the worst was almost over and the next it actually was over.

First, feeling the sudden absence of the immense pressure, she then heard the distinctive cry, and finally, she caught a glimpse.

"Congratulations, it's a boy."

Taking in the information, she felt the stinging of tears returning. She had a son. She was a mother and Bobby was a father again.

Feeling a hand on her abdomen, she suddenly became aware of the extra staff in the room. Some of them had been there the entire time but she didn't think they all had.

"I'm going to need you to push again."

"Why?"

"Best not to ask questions but since you have, it's not over."

Finding the interaction with another midwife jarring, she didn't have much time to think or question anything, so much was going on around her.

It all happened so quickly, the extra pushing, the cord cutting, the next glimpse of her son, the efficient noting of his weight and other details, and then the absolute last thing she wanted to happen.

"Where are you taking him?"

They had him wrapped in a blanket, lying in the tiny bassinet, heading towards the door, all ready to leave her.

"This is an adoption. His parents are waiting anxiously to meet him."

Speaking matter-of-factly, the words from yet another unkind stranger stung.

"No, not yet."

She hadn't held him and had barely even seen his face, they couldn't take him away now without letting her say hello or goodbye.

"I'm just following orders."

"I'm not ready."

Adoption was what she'd chosen, but not like this. She'd come to London to deliver mostly because her conversational French seemed to disappear in high stress situations and she'd worried that it would fail her when she really needed it, but she deeply regretted that decision now. Nothing matched the comforting experience she'd had in Nice and she wished she'd continued her care there instead.

"I know it's difficult, but your chart indicates that you're unwed, brought here by your mother; there's an agreement in place, it's all been arranged."

Showing only the slightest hint of a sympathetic smile, the woman made no move to right the wrongs that were occurring.

"I haven't signed the papers. He's mine until I do and I'd like him back."

"I'll have to have someone check on that."

Sounding helpful, her actions said what her voice didn't. Wheeling the bassinet out the door, she didn't look back.

"No!"

Her vision blurred as the door closed behind the two, and her first instinct was to shout, her second was apparently to kick or at least move suddenly, because the next thing she knew the physical pain was back and the original midwife was addressing her sternly again.

"Stop that, we don't want injuries here."

Reminded that her painful ordeal was incredibly fresh, she stilled except for her stuttered breathing.

"I want to see my son." Expressing her greatest desire at that moment, she wished someone would listen to her and help her, but despite the numerous people in the room, no one did.

"I made this decision on my own, I can take it back. Mama and daddy will help; I know they will, they told me so. Someone, please, go and get them, tell them I've changed my mind." Sobbing, she spoke to no one in particular.

"Miss Wentworth."

Crouching beside her so they were face-to-face on eyelevel, the woman she'd felt kind earlier but was now unsure about directly addressed her.

"I know you're upset. I know what you want and I will see what I can do. I need you to do something for me before that though."

Hopeful that something was changing, she didn't let herself get too excited, and cautiously asked about the condition she had to meet to get what she wanted.

"What?"

"Stay still. There are a few stitches that need doing and it's much more difficult for everyone if you're moving around, even just shaking from crying."

Listening to her speak, she remembered now what she was, a doctor, one who was there in case a higher level of medical intervention was required. The knowledge that she had a doctor assisting her wasn't much use though, the woman was talking but nothing made much sense. All she really knew was nothing had been said about furthering her wishes.

"I want to see my son, I want to see Christopher."

She hadn't signed anything and until she did, he was hers; Christopher James Wentworth. Christopher was a family name, as was James, but from her research she knew James was Bobby's middle name too, so it had a double meaning to her.

"I know..."

"I just want to hold him, they took him so quickly."

She wasn't asking for a lot, just a small kindness, she wanted to meet him before she had to leave him.

"Angela, will you please locate Miss Wentworth's parents and inform them of the situation."

Addressing a younger lady, one dressed in a different uniform to everyone else, the doctor gave her the strongest suggestion yet that all hope was not lost.

"That isn't…"

Protesting, she indicated she was under the same orders as the horrible woman who'd taken Christopher.

"Policies are policies, but we also have some discretion. I would do it myself but I'm sure you'll understand that I cannot leave this room at the moment."

"Yes ma'am, I mean doctor."

Listening and nodding at the command given, the young lady scampered off out the door, hopefully to do exactly as she'd been told.

Her parents had been right, they should have made private arrangements, they should have been the ones giving the orders, not taking them. She was an adult, completely capable of making her own decisions, and had she known what the experience over the last few hours was going to be like she would have made a very different choice.

To be continued…