I found this chapter quite difficult to write. Apologies for any medical inaccuracies; I have tried to research everything to make sure that it is correct, but there may be some errors in there. Again, I hope that you enjoy and all reviews and suggestions are received very gratefully!
Poplar was barely recognisable. The deluge from above had inundated the streets and scoured the pavements. Slates had been ripped from the roofs, and lay about the floor, shattered into tiny daggers. Metal rubbish bins and flowerboxes had been lifted and hurled across the roads and against walls.
The rainwater had reduced visibility to a few feet, and Patsy had to seize Delia's hand to ensure that she was still by her side. They made the decision to leave the bicycles at Nonnatus House; cycling in this weather would be nearly impossible, and both women felt safer on foot.
Struggling against the wind, Patsy and Delia made it into a street facing away from the direction of the fierce onslaught. They stood back, resting against the brickwork, soaked to the skin and out of breath.
"How much further?" Delia shouted.
Patsy shook her head to get the water out of her fringe and eyes.
"It's not too far. They live near the top of the next street,"
They both knew that getting into the next street required them to leave their temporary shelter and face the full force of the storm again, and they took a moment to gather themselves and prepare to carry on. Patsy opened the top of her bag slightly to check that the instruments inside were still dry, and miraculously, they were.
"Right, let's go," she yelled, but as she made to move, Delia grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
A roof tile the size of a book hit the cobblestones right in front of her with an almighty crash. Had she been standing two feet further forward, it would have knocked her to the ground. Patsy gave a sharp intake of breath, her heart pumping away rapidly within her chest.
"Thank you," she gasped, turning to see her own fear and relief etched on Delia's pale face.
"We need to get indoors,"
They half ran, slipping and sliding on the wet stones, up into the next road, bent double against the horizontal rain, and hammered against the door of the Gates' house.
"Midwife!"
From the window above came a wail and then the sound of heavy footfall on the stairs. The front door was wrenched open and a man with dark hair and weather-beaten skin stood back to let them in.
"I'm so glad that you're 'ere," he said, pushing his hands through his hair, the lines beneath his eyes speaking of his sleep-deprivation and worry, "She's not 'erself and I can't get 'er to settle down at all. All she does is cry and scream, and then sometimes she starts moaning things, like she's speaking to someone who ain't there,"
"I think we'd better go through and see to her,"
Patsy and Delia picked their way through piles of laundry and crates that were littered around the narrow hallway. The only light came from the glass window over the front door and it smelt damp, which added to the overall feeling of claustrophobia. Making their way up the stairs, they heard another howl from the bedroom as, yet again, a clap of thunder echoed out over London.
When they made it into the bedroom, they saw Mrs Gates sat up against the headboard, knees drawn up to her bulging stomach, fingers picking away at the sheets. She jumped at their arrival, but as soon as she had noted their presence, she turned away again, stare fixed on the window.
Patsy was a little shocked at the difference in the woman since she had seen her just one week ago. At the clinic, she had seemed so fearless and proud. Her features had glowed with her zest for life and the joy of pregnancy, but now her cheeks looked hollowed and the radiance had vanished.
"Mrs Gates?"
She recoiled a little when she heard her name, but did not look towards them. Even from a distance, they could see that she was trembling. Then, quite suddenly, she leant over and cried out in pain.
Patsy leant over to Delia, "Count that as a contraction, and time it from now until the next one,"
Delia nodded, checking her watch quickly. Patsy walked slowly towards the bed, and sat down cautiously on the edge, so as not to frighten her.
"Mrs Gates, do you think that you would be able to lie down for me? I need to examine you and I want you to be as comfortable as possible,"
There was no response, and Patsy stared hopelessly around the dingy room, searching for some sort of inspiration as to where she could go from here. Mrs Gates was now rocking back and forth, murmuring slightly, her arms now wrapped tightly around her shins. On her right forearm, Patsy noticed a scar, about two inches long and ivory in colour. She had never seen it before, on account of Mrs Gates usually wearing long-sleeved cardigans over floral dresses. Reaching out, she made to touch it, but Mrs Gates snatched her arm away, in a sudden show of responsiveness, before leaning over and groaning again.
"That's four minutes Patsy," Delia called, checking her watch again.
"She won't lie down, there's nothing I can do," Patsy muttered, "I don't know what the matter is,"
The room was thrown into stark white light as a bolt of lightning flashed out across the inky darkness.
"Please! No! Stop!"
Mrs Gates had thrown herself onto her side and was thumping the mattress, crying hysterically and clutching her stomach with one hand.
Patsy made to run towards her, to try to restrain her, but Delia prevented her.
"I've seen this before, Pats," she whispered, pulling Patsy back into the corner of the room, "It was in the London a few years ago. I didn't recognise it until now, but the way she's clutching her stomach and talking to herself; it's just like a patient that we had on male surgical. He was in his mid-thirties… a war veteran, and he'd come in to have his appendix taken out, or something routine like that. Every night, he would wake up shouting and bellowing and try to crawl out of the ward, clutching his right thigh. They use to have to have him sedated; it was a nasty business, but it came out later that he had a sort of war neurosis, brought on by his time in military service, and that being in a hospital environment had triggered it,"
"Do you think that's what this is?"
"Potentially,"
At that moment, Mr Gates knocked gently on the bedroom door, and Patsy went out to see him.
"Is everything alright in there?" he asked timidly.
"We're struggling to get her to respond to us," Patsy admitted, "We think that she is having some sort of reaction to the storm. Do you know of any reason why your wife would be afraid of thunder?"
"Thunder?" he shook his head, "I can't imagine that Mary's got a problem with that. The only thing that I can think of is…" he trailed off, brow furrowed in thought.
"Anything that you can think of could be really important," Patsy encouraged.
"Obviously it was before I knew 'er, but her home got hit by one of those doodlebugs in the war. Blew the place to smithereens, by all accounts,"
"That's very helpful, thank you, Mr Gates,"
"It's Derick, nurse, no need for formalities in this house,"
When Patsy returned to the bedroom, she found that Delia had managed to coax Mrs Gates into lying down during a lull in the storm, and so she took the opportunity to quickly examine her.
"The baby's head is almost crowning," she confirmed, "But this is going to be very difficult unless she cooperates,"
"Did you find out what the problem might be?"
Patsy nodded, and lowered her voice so that she was out of earshot of Mrs Gates.
"Her husband says that her home got hit by a V1 rocket during the war. She would have only been a child, but it's not something that she would be likely to forget,"
Delia clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.
"The poor thing!"
"When you mentioned your patient at the hospital, I realised that I'd seen the symptoms before too, at the camp. I didn't remember it until now, but seeing her reminds me of the way some of the people would be after a long time in imprisonment. They used to have nightmares, and wake up with their eyes all glassy… like they could see right through you."
"Oh, Patsy!"
Delia never failed to feel utterly horrified whenever Patsy mentioned a word about the camps. She wanted to reach over and hug her, as if she might be able to alleviate some of the pain that she had once been caused, but she dared not, still uncertain of where she stood with her beloved.
"Some of the people in the hospital there, who had lost family members, used to talk as if they were there with them, even though they were long dead. It was as if their brain could not quite comprehend what was really happening any longer," Patsy explained, "I'm certain that this is similar to that. Reliving those moments in life when you felt so terrified can have strange effects on your state of mind and begin to make you afraid of things that aren't really there,"
"So what do you suggest?"
"I think that we need to drown out the sound of the thunder. Now,"