It Shouldn't Happen to a Midwife! by Jane Yeadon Page B

impressed.
    â€˜Does that all the time.’
    Diligently I recorded strong 1–3, meaning any minute now . Before I took her pulse, I discreetly checked mine, ashamed when I found it beat hers.
    But an unaware Denise was warming to her hen theme. ‘Now Rhode Island Reds, they’re great layers. The first batch were coming on great – eggs everywhere – lovely colour of yolks, and a nice bit of pin money for me too so I was planning more when this came along.’ She pointed to her bump, her shoulders drooped and she sounded defeated.
    â€˜Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re a whizz on the tractor.’
    Denise sat up, throwing back her hair as if it were blowing in the wind and she were a rally driver. ‘I really like the driving, especially now that we’ve got a new one. I chose the colour but it’s William’s pride and joy. He says he doesn’t really like me on it. Says I go too fast, but I just tell him the quicker the better.’ Her eyes sparkled and she had such colour in her cheeks I just hoped her blood pressure hadn’t noticed.
    I tried for a big sister approach. ‘Tell that to that baby of yours and, for what it’s worth, Denise, it sounds to me that you’re coping pretty well already. Not many people can say they’ve become a tractor man, hen wife, farmer, wife as well as an about-to-be mother. And what about William then? Is he excited about becoming a father?’
    â€˜Oh sure – but then he didn’t have to carry it.’
    â€˜No, but he can after it’s born.’
    Denise looked thoughtful. ‘I never really thought about that.’ She giggled, putting her hand in front of her mouth as if to stifle such an unnatural sound. ‘So when it comes to pushing he’ll get his chance with the pram.’
    â€˜Too much laughter in here!’ Sister Flynn whirled in.
    I imagined that if people had clockwork for brains Sister Flynn’s would run like a trade union clock, its wheels whirring away in well- oiled precision. You could almost hear them ticking as she checked the progress charts on which I had so toiled.
    â€˜Hmm.’ With nursing skill and a plumber’s confidence, she tweaked the valve of Denise’s labour-inducing intravenous drip to ramp up her contractions.
    â€˜Ow!’ squeaked Denise.
    â€˜Ah! That’s better. Let’s be getting a move on. That baby’s a dozy wee thing.’ She bumped her hand over Denise’s belly. ‘Uh-huh! Contractions getting stronger. Good good.’ Sucking her teeth over the record sheets, she dashed out again.
    â€˜That woman gives me a sore head,’ Denise said, putting a hand to her forehead, ‘as well as makes me dizzy.’ She clutched her stomach and gave a little moan. ‘I think I need a bedpan.’
    I looked at her closely. ‘You’re not feeling like pushing?’
    â€˜No! But hurry.’
    â€˜Trust me. I’ve helped many a princess onto her silver throne but don’t you be having that baby whilst I’m away getting it. I’ll only be a minute.’
    â€˜Sure, having babies takes a little longer than that, they tell me,’ she said, squirming.
    â€˜Goodness – did I hear light-hearted talk? That’s great. So how’s things doing?’ Lisa asked, joining Oliver who, in the absence of anything better to do, had been loitering at the sluice door in time to watch my return, bedpan in hand. ‘Bet you’re nervous, first delivery and all that, though you seem to be getting on grand.’ She looked at Oliver. ‘I thought you were staying to help?’
    Oliver waved a careless hand. ‘Thought I’d give Denise a bit of space – she’s been seen by so many, I thought it best.’ He shrugged and looked at his watch. ‘So maybe this is a chance for me to nip off and have a coffee before the action starts and maybe a wee word of advice,