Eleanor

The doctor pressed his stethoscope slowly and firmly into Ana's belly over and over and over again,  then unhooked it from his ears, hung it around his neck, straightened up away from the examination couch and let out a long slow sigh. The room became silent. After what seemed forever he said

“I can't hear a heart beat”. Ana went numb and cold. “Have you felt much movement lately?”

“I haven't felt anything for a week now”. The midwife replied to the doctor:

“If there has been no movement for twenty-four hours you are able to refer the patient straight away to prenatal”. She looked at him and their eyes passed unsaid messages.

“Go and sit in the waiting room Ana. I need to make a phone call then I will call you back in.” Ana's legs took her to the waiting room but she wasn't controlling them.

He called her back in.

“I have phoned prenatal and you are to go straight there now. They are expecting you and will put you on a better monitor than my stethoscope. Sometimes the baby moves into an awkward position, which probably has happened with you and the monitor will be able to pick up a weaker heartbeat. You have nothing to worry about, it happens a lot.” Ana felt numb and confused, found it hard to talk, even think. This was new territory. She managed an “OK”, put her coat on and walked out of the surgery to where her husband Ian was sitting waiting for her in their car. She got in, faced him and started to loudly sob, burying her head in her lap.

“What's happened?” he said stonily. After a few minutes she composed herself enough to get out her words.

They can't hear the baby's heart beat. I have to go to the hospital to be put on a monitor. Sometimes the baby moves and it's difficult to hear the heart without a closer listen”.

“Right now?”

“Right now”.

“But this is my week off, I wanted to go to the coast”.

“We need to go now”.

“Ah, I am sure its OK, they will pick up the beat, then we can go somewhere nice.”

“Yes, I'm sure we can.”

The drive to the hospital was silent and grey. Ana was in a fog and he said nothing. The nurse at the hospital strapped some probes around her belly and switched the machine on. They could hear Ana's heartbeat, the flow of the amniotic fluid and other grainy background noises.  On other side of the machine a graph printed out. The nurse didn't say anything. She ripped off the print out and left the room and came back after what seemed a long time with a senior midwife who informed her that:

“The graph isn't clear enough. We think there is still a heart beat but it isn't showing. Just to be sure we want to give you an ultrasound and keep you in overnight. We have a bed ready for you. Where is your overnight bag? I can't see it with you.”

“I didn't bring an overnight bag. I came straight from the ante-natal surgery at the Doctor's. I didn't think that I would be kept in.”

“That's OK, we can lend you a gown, and perhaps you, Ian, can drive back home and collect a few things for Ana, a nightdress, dressing gown, toiletries, hairbrush, maybe a book or some magazines?

“How long are you going to keep her in for if she need all that?” he replied incredulously, a cynical laugh in his voice.

The nurse wheeled her to a four bedded ward in prenatal section where she changed into a hospital gown. It was a faded pink from many washings and printed with silly little springs of pink roses, repeated monotonously all over, had an opening  that flapped freely at the back. Ian remarked that the gown was meant for old ladies with incontinence and this wasn't how he expected to spend his holiday, and why is she being kept in if there is a heartbeat? She could come home and perhaps be seen tomorrow?

“I don't know Ian, I don't know.” Ian drove back to their house with the arrangement he would be back for the visiting time of 7pm with an overnight bag for her.

“But I find this odd, I wanted a nice holiday.”

With her hospital gown wrapped round her she was taken in a wheelchair to the Ultrasound department, and she lay on the couch. The technician moved the paddle slowly around her body, taking measurements and photographs. There was a grainy, grey, still image on the screen; Anna asked no questions, the technician said nothing. She switched the machine off, wiped the paddles and gave a long slow sigh. A porter wheeled Ana back to the ward.

Mid afternoon came and the Obstetrician did his general ward round with his entourage. When he reached her bed they pulled the curtains round. He asked her if she had had any headaches in the last week. She said yes, she had a really bad one about a week ago, so bad that she had to go bed because of the pain. He nodded wisely in agreement. Then the really bad news came. He had something sad to tell her. He didn't know why, it was not known why, they never knew why these things happened, but the umbilical cord had separated from the placenta, and we had, in fact, lost the baby. Stunned, she immediately collapsed into the bed and buried her face in the pillow, her sobbing could be heard all over the ward. Where her face touched the pillow it became soaked. She felt much pain inside, a black twisting, a cloud of grief, her brain was sore and swollen, and her body was sliced and ripped by a sharp paring knife.

“We are going to find you a quiet side room on the delivery ward and start it off tomorrow.” She nodded, not really knowing what “start it off” meant, but logic and instinct told her an induced labour, a labour without a live baby, a horror she still had to endure.

Ian appeared at 7pm and she saw through the open ward door that he was intercepted by a midwife in the corridor who said something to him and he nodded in response. He walked over to her bed and they collapsed together in grief. The midwife pulled the curtains round.

The next morning she was in her quiet side room with an intravenous drip attached to her arm. They gave her some pethidine and she lay drifting in and out of this world. She was in a beautiful, sunny park with paths between flower beds and singing birds.  A man and woman holding hands were walking towards her smiling, saying hello, she recognised them as relatives that had now died. They were relaxed, tall, healthy and happy, strong and young. The woman had on a purple, pleated dress that she had seen her wear years ago when she was a child and they were still alive. She tried to say hello back but as her mouth said the words she said them in the real world and it woke her up. Ian said yes? Are you OK? And there she was, back in her side room.

A few hours passed and nothing was happening. The midwife said she was going to puncture her membrane and asked Ian to leave. She then produced a large crochet hook from a sterile pack and asked Ana to lie with legs wide apart. She then felt up Ana, deep inside and Ana became scared at the new sensation of having her insides ripped out from within.

“Now, now, Ana, this is just going to feel odd, there's no need to be scared.” But Ana was scared and she yelled out in fear at the unpleasant, painful feeling. There was a ripping sensation within her like lightning shooting sharply through the sky, and then a hot warm feeling as the amniotic fluid poured out onto the pad underneath her. The midwife probed round a bit further with the hook and some more fluid poured out.

“There, that should do it” and she withdrew the hook. I hope so, thought Ana, grateful that she had stopped.

After that the contractions started quite quickly, gentle at first but growing exponentially until there was a sharp strong burning feeling all over her belly. It was very painful and she grimaced as each wave of contraction started, continued for a bit, before falling off. It hurt. Then she felt a big tightening as what felt like the baby 's head pass lower down inside her.

“Ian, call the midwife please”. She was put on a trolley wheeled into the labour ward. The whole delivery team, masks, gloves, gowns were waiting for her.

They lay her down, covered her middle with a large scrunched up green cloth so she couldn't see what was happening; the midwife stood in front of her between her leg.

“You are ready to go now Ana, as each contraction comes I want you to push down hard while the contraction lasts.” Ana did her best as quietly as she could, but it wasn't easy and the head didn't come out. She couldn't feel when one contraction finished and the next one started. It was all one big panic.

“Just one more push Ana”, so Ana pushed as hard as she could and when she thought she couldn't push any harder, the midwife slashed swiftly and sharply down with a scalpel. Ana screamed with the pain and shock and her right leg kicked out in reflex. The midwife stood back quickly so as not to be kicked, but not quick enough, as Ana's foot engaged with her belly. Red blood splattered on the white sheet.

“Why did you have to do that?”

“It was to make the labour easier for you Anna. Now be a good girl and we will start again with the pushing”. Ana pushed again, again and again, it was all one big pain. Then they told her that the head had crowned and this was it. She gave one almighty push, grunted from within and felt the head come out, there was some tugging and some fiddling from the other side of the sheet, some weird sensations and then she was told it was over.

“The baby is out?”

“Yes, the baby is out”

“What was it?”

“What do you mean, what was it?”

“A boy or a girl?”

“I didn't look, wait", she fiddled around a bit with the green sheet, "oh, girl”.  Ana froze; this was what had happened in her dream four months ago, a case of deja vu.

“Can I hold her? Can I see her?” The midwife laughed at her.

“Of course not, don't be so silly, she's not for you to see.” Ana looked at Ian who had been standing by her side all through this, she thought he had seen, I had not seen. The placenta was delivered manually and the midwife pressed down hard on her belly to get every bit out. There was a lot of squeezing.  It hurt a lot. She was pleading

“Please stop, it hurts, please stop, I can't take any more”. 
"We have to do it, we have to get everything out." Ana lay back and let them do what they wanted; she had had enough.

They wheeled her to a private ward with a name plate on the door, her name written on it and next to it was a large red star drawn with a thick felt tip pen. From here she could here the newborn babies crying from the nursery. Her contractions were still going on and the pain was sharp. There was a big bunch of flowers delivered. She looked at Ian: “Did you send these?”

“No. I am just as much a part of it as you. I wouldn't send flowers." He was now sobbing into her shoulder.
" I saw her, I just saw my dead daughter. She had black hair".