Thanks for your continued support (and patience!) Just a note to say I've tried to be vaguely accurate on the midwifery front, but I don't pretend to have a clue what I'm talking about :P
"One last push for me Mrs Harvey, just keep squeezing Nurse Noakes' hand." The rest of the tenement block were tucked up in their beds, but in this dingy fifth-floor bedroom it was all go, and spirits were wound up to that point of near fever when a difficult delivery had reached the final leg. When Chummy attended the mother's call at nearly two in the morning it had soon become clear the baby was presenting in the wrong position, and, having no experience in turning a baby, the nurse decided it was best to call on someone who had become famous at Nonnatus for her aptitude in this area; Shelagh had raced in half an hour later, her husband hot on her heels. It was certainly handy for her and the doctor to be living together in situations like this when every second was vital.
Now, at twenty past three, Mrs Harvey's baby was almost delivered. Doctor Turner watched the proceedings from his chair in the corner of the room, finding himself, as he so often did, focused not on the birth but on Nurse Turner's every move. She was applying sideways pressure on the mother's abdomen, her brow creased in concentration and her eyes flickering with fervent prayer. At the same time a flow of encouragement never ceased to pour from her lips, her soft Scottish lilt smoothing the nerves of every person in the room and offering strength not just to the mother but to her colleagues in their final push too. The Doctor, in the knowledge that the mother was in flawlessly competent hands, succumbed once more to memories of all those times he had attended deliveries and felt this burning wonder and respect for the unassuming midwife, thanking his lucky stars as he did every day that the confusion and guilt that followed the past times were now gone forever, revelling in the pride that flooded his every cell now she was his.
"Doctor?" came a rather more insistent appeal from the woman in question, falling on deaf ears as her husband continued to drift in a haze of admiration and reminiscence. "Doctor?" she repeated, this time as urgently as she felt she could be without causing unnecessary unease for the mother. Shelagh momentarily caught Chummy's eye, sighing and flushing in exasperation. "Patrick!"
Doctor Turner leapt to his feet in an instant, throwing his wife and Chummy an apologetic glance and pulling on gloves as Shelagh explained what help she needed. "I've turned the baby but the cord has prolapsed, we need as many hands as we can get. I need Nurse Noakes to keep Mrs Harvey in position, but if you could help me to get the head engaged..." An anxious ten minutes passed, then, to everyone's great relief the baby was born - but it soon became apparent that something was not right. "Why isn't my baby crying?" whispered Mrs Harvey, clutching at Shelagh's arm. "Nurse?"
"Not to worry Mrs Harvey," reassured the ever gentle Chummy as she saw to the last stages of delivery. "Baby just needs a bit of encouragement that's all, it's all perfectly normal, we do it almost every day, and you couldn't be in more experienced hands than Nurse Turner's." Shelagh's eyes flicked momentarily to the doctor's as she cut the cord and scooped up the tiny little boy, wordlessly receiving the towel he passed to her to wrap the child in. She began to flick the baby's soles and blow gently in his face, but there was no reaction, just a haunting silence, all the more stifling after the clamour of the birth itself. After a while even breathless Shelagh fell silent in grave concentration, swanlike in her capacity for outwards composure in even the most drastic of moments. She held him briefly upside down by his ankles to clear his airways. The baby still lay motionless in her arms, and still Shelagh worked, reaching for a mucous catheter, never once halting the fervent appeals to God that burned within her heart: they had come so far, skirting complications at every stage, don't let him die now.
After more seconds of heart-stopping silence a ragged whimper inadvertently escaped her, hardly audible to the others, but to a man so helplessly sensitive to her every breath it was a sound so filled with desperation and fatigue Patrick couldn't help but come behind his wife and reach to give her all the help he could. Just as he did so there was a minute splutter, then the miraculous sound of a child's first cry pierced the stillness. The whole episode had only lasted a couple of seconds, but in the moment had seemed like an eternity. A collective laugh of relief filled the room, slicing through the smog of unease that weighed heavy in the atmosphere. "Well done," murmured Chummy as Shelagh thanked the Lord with all the strength she had left. Patrick's hand fell to rest on his wife's shoulder and they were entranced for a moment, grinning at every squirm and snuffle of the child in Shelagh's arms. The little boy was light and delicate-featured; he reached out a flower-like hand and clutched at Shelagh's finger. The nurse laughed gently in response and felt her husband's breath catch against her ear as he watched both the child and the natural responses of his wife.
"I hate to break up such a perfectly endearing picture, but is baby ready for mother yet Doctor?" Both Chummy and the elated mother bit back their amusement as Patrick whipped his hand away from Shelagh's arm and smiled bashfully. "Of course, Mrs Harvey, you should be very proud, you have a delightful baby boy." His eyes continued to be fixed on his wife as she handed the child over and smoothed down her delivery gown, a pretty flush of exhaustion colouring her cheeks.
"Well you can't keep him I'm afraid love, you'll have to have your own," smirked Mrs Harvey, not unkindly, as Shelagh relinquished the baby with a subconscious sigh. The nurse hesitated, flushing even more, almost to the maroon of her cardigan (the cuffs of which were peeking out from underneath the delivery gown, the garment being just a tad too big for the tiny nurse). "But you'll have plenty of time for that sort of thing later, enjoy each other while you can. I started with the baby thing far too young and I feel I missed out. And you've got a lot of catching up to do, haven't you, eh doc?" Shelagh was more used to giving out family planning advice rather than receiving it. She smiled curtly, resolutely not making eye contact with her husband, who was packing his things away, and was evidently trying not to laugh, perhaps more in response to Chummy's mortified reaction and chastisement of the good-natured mother to the comment itself. He was no longer prone to getting embarrassed over the jibing of Poplar's shrewd residents, although just one look at his wife's crimson complexion and tightly pursed lips told him Shelagh was not so blasé about it. Perhaps she never would be - but his heart glowed in the knowledge he would always be near to throw her a covert gaze of reassurance.
While Chummy took care of bathing he baby and cleaning up Mrs Harvey, together Shelagh and Patrick saw to the important task of examining the placenta. Weariness was beginning to make its inevitable appearance known through heavy eyelids and stifled yawns; they had been late to bed the previous evening, so were both running on a measly three hours sleep and a giddy reserve of pure adrenaline. Each felt a fresh wave of affection and protectiveness for the other as they observed each other's post-delivery joyful, if somewhat dishevelled, appearances, but it was "Doctor" and "Nurse Turner" right up to the moment they left Mrs Harvey's apartment, as it always was, and always would be where work was concerned. Now, as Chummy disappeared into the night on her bicycle, and the Turners clambered into their car, the informality and reassuring closeness the couple had been yearning for over the last trying hours was finally theirs. "Well done Shelagh," the doctor smiled, squeezing his wife's hand as he started the engine. "Another life. Another all-nighter, and we live to fight another day."
"Thank you Sergeant," she smirked back. "I don't know, complications happen almost every day, but that one was terrifying, what with the turning and breathing delay for good measure. Oh, and the notes are going to be lengthy too!"
"Don't think about it yet, we'll do it in the later, it's nearly five thirty."
"Five thirty already!" Shelagh exclaimed, rubbing her eyes and sighing deeply. "No wonder I'm so tired."
"Well there's no point going to bed now, we might as well stop off at the docks and watch the sun come up."
"Yes darling, I'd like that."
Patrick smiled silently to himself; he loved it when she called him darling. To other couples petty terms of endearment were inconsequential, but to the Turners they held an utmost importance and presented a thrill of excitement and disbelief each time they were shared. How many times had they wanted to call each other 'darling' or 'my love' and known it was simply out of the question?
"Come on then," he chuckled, pulling away from the tenements and towards the fresh open space of the river. All thoughts of delivery complications and imminent paperwork were far from their minds for the moment, if only for the next few hours 'til breakfasts and school uniform and lost homework logs started the upheaval of a new working day...
To be continued...
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