Motherhood

Motherhood

To hate or be ambivalent to your new born child, is abnormal and
unacceptable, but to her, it was inevitable, in-spite of her initial
expectations and her mother's reassurances and her mother-laws
scepticism

She was disappointed that she did not seem to have the same maternal
feelings that she had been lead to believe were normal, but the books
she had read had reassured her that "The Blues" were usual, they would
pass in four or five days.

The National Childbirth group's philosophy gave her expectations.
There were possibilities of pain free birth with the possibility of hot
spars, herbal treatments and breathing techniques.

There would be slight discomfort, the video had explained but that
would be negated by the joy of the birth. It was only like expelling a
soft melon, if managed correctly. Natural birth was virtually pain
free, if you meditated or at least thought about the environment. The
new God was environmental. Yoghurt was a panacea, it could be utilised
in different orifices with an equally beneficial effect, depending on
the nature of the problem.

They practiced techniques and their husbands were occasionally invited
to the group to massage them, easing muscle cramps, being supportive
and making the men feel important or at least useful. The partners were
generally accepting and kept their scepticism for the pub.

Giving birth, they explained, was like baking a new loaf of bread or a
special occasion cake. It was a festivity of nature's magic, to be
celebrated rather than feared. She accepted the ideals because it was
easier than the stories of wrung out t-Towels threaded trough bed head,
which her mother-in-law had explained. Pain which was, inexplicable
soon melted in to the joy.

It might have been a middle-class experience, if she had not been "a
swinger," in terms of blood pressure. Her midwife had tried to explain
but the Houseman did not believe in any thing but text book cases and
dismissed the nurse as an elderly retainer who was in the dark ages, in
terms of diagnosis. The registrar was too busy with the paper work and
his ambitions.

He sent the mother home with the reassurance that, "Every thing was
completely normal." She liked to believe him. She was his mother. The
other female was a problem. (The girl friends had always had been.) She
was no exception, a grand child might make a difference, even if it
wasn't real.
She had woken with an iron headache but was relieved by the release of
a bodily liquid which seemed to help. Only when she saw the thick blood
on the sheet, did she worry.

He was still asleep, she would organise, ring the neighbours to look
after the three year old. She was in control but her nightdress was
soiled. She remembered to remove it but forgot a replacement. The
wrap-a-round dressing gown held her dignity.

The sirens woke him. He was with her in a bodily sense but dazed by
lack of sleep.

The ambulance men discussed whether she should be admitted to the
accident and emergency or maternity. She was very early, probably not
viable; it would be more practical at the A and E.

She still hoped but did not voice an opinion in case they made the
decision.

Her lack of coverage caused the conversation to halt momentarily. The
dressing gown opened exposing her pregnancy, the young attendant
laughed, realising his mistaken mirth, became embarrassed. He covered
his lack of training, with a hand over his mouth; it did not stop the
glimmer of humour held in his eyes.

Friday night at the pub, he would have a story to tell, even if they
did not believe him. He felt he had matured.

She preferred his embarrassment to the previous discussion of her
prognosis. They had not discussed her possible condition with her and
had assumed a lack of knowledge on her part, or maybe a lack of
lucidity.

They were amateurs.

The creased registrar folded into a cubical, he remembered her name,
she was one of his favourite, "Little bleeders." (How many did he have
a choice at twenty two, she wondered, but was not rude enough to ask?
He needed to hold on to his professionalism because he had yet to
attain maturity.

On his rounds the registrar had given her husband a choice. (She was
incapable of response but could hear.) He was not aware of her
understanding, or if he was, ignored it to replace it by clinical
judgements. Occasionally, he included her husband in the debate. It was
something he had been taught to do in the second module of patient
care. Relations needed to feel informed, make reasoned choices. It was
in the third chapter of patient care.

The doctor took her husband outside the door but forgot to close
it.

The registrar explained that the prognosis was not good; they were not
both likely to survive. They had not educated him that the patient
might hear his explanations.

The husband was asked to choose between his prospective child and wife,
should it become necessary. He was unsure and asked for a second
opinion, not his wife's.

Her partner felt his mother's judgement might have been useful at this
point but doubted his wife's acquiescence in normal circumstances and
for the moment he could not remember his home number. He re-entered the
ward.

The doctor asked for a quantative description of the amount of blood
loss. She was not sure whether he meant sanitary, hand or bath towels.
She had not thought to measure it. Premature bleeding had surprised and
panicked her. She wished she had been more prepared, a measuring jug
would have been useful, the Pyrex one was in the cupboard, and it was
useful for gravy.

The house-man told her that he had promised private consultations if
his wife agreed not to take part in The National Child Birth Trust,
which he felt was subversive. His wife would be better cared for by the
establishment, private or the NHS, although he hoped it would not be
the latter.

The "Privates" had consultants who knew patients names and were usually
on call for perceived delivery dates, unless playing golf with an
important superior or subordinate who needed to be cultivated.
Caesareans were popular on Fridays. Sometimes the houseman had to
substitute. (There was normally a registrar, in an emergency.)

Irreverently the private patents were referred to as "The chrome tea
pots brigade." by the nursing staff. They had their meals served last;
the food was deliberately left to cool, as a type of rebellion and
retaliation at their demands for immediate service, however
mundane.

Their perceived problems varied from under-cooked boiled eggs or
slightly soiled linen would normally require the alert button to be
pressed. It was important to maintain their superiority. They served as
a distraction for the nurses; they were the consultants' tax
avoidances.

It was a relief to listen to others, until the fat girl arrived. She
was coupled, as apposed to married. (This made a difference to her
treatment.)

Her nightdress had probably been bought for a previous and long
forgotten honeymoon from Pound Stretchers. The pink satin ribbons and
heavily laced neck were a fifties echo. She did not understand the
effect on the staff. They were naturally sorry for her but did not
explain her"complications". She would not have understood. The fart
girl's physical lack of attributes and intellectual shortness, made her
invisible, if physically large. She was not attractive.

Her baby died. It some ways it was a relief for the staff and her
parents. The social workers had tried to understand, explain the
difficulties to her. It was understandable, especially accepting her
educational problems. Some things were meant. The fat girl did not
understand, she was not expected to.

The parents were not unduly worried. Being, "Born again," they knew
she deserved her punishment. She had been judged and found wanting.
Like Abraham, they knew the sacrifice was necessary. God had
intervened. That was not his way.

The almost child was incinerated but not in the way she believed to be
a carefully constructed cremation, a ceremony that she could remember.
Flowers and friends who would remember.

They tried to reason it was ecologically sound, and she to believe what
the nurse had explained. She had held her hand. Green she had
previously believed had only been a colour. They explained, but she
only grieved and still did not understand the politics of her baby's
death. She cried while those in authority and her parents believed "It"
to be for the best.

The flowers were a comfort. She was not well enough to attend what she
hoped to be a nice ceremony. She liked parties but wakes she did not
know how to behave at, especially this one.

Her partner was too drunk to realise there might have been an occasion
to mark. Later he remembered. Sometimes he was bought drinks on the
strength of his supposed grief. It lasted longer than the child's near
life.

Hospital was a relief to Sue, a way of being needed. There were doctors
who occasionally spoke to patients, as opposed to addressing female
genitalia or their distended abdomen. Doctors generally seemed to have
a patronising misuse of singular and plural, mixing your
thoughts...

"How are we today? What sort of night did we have?"

With the younger ones, it was an interesting fantasy but the patronism
annoyed her. She was an " I" not a "we." The text books said the use of
the plural connected them, gave them empathy.

Consultants, she noted often studied their own shoes, maybe because
they were expensive. They handed the notes to assembled nurses,
especially when national health patients asked questions. They did not
usually know patients names or conditions (They were not paid to
interrogate the general public.) Mostly patients on that ward had asked
for what happened to them. Doctors were professionals and needed to be
believed and paid a reasonable recompense. They did not expect to be
questioned.

Some doctors were text book graduates and had no real understanding,
apart from an apparent essential tick of Biro's clicking, wearing white
coats and insisting on the embellishment of at least two nurses and a
sister.

It seemed a necessity of graduation to consultant and their family's
belief in their prospects, only their own incompetence or tiredness
made them vulnerable. Patients were a risk to their family's hopes.
They needed to succeed.

They were often insecure but determined to reach a social potential.
The job would be lucrative and have the kind of stature their parents
aspired to.

He was a pleasant boy. He knew the woman was not clever, so when she
asked about her baby's heart rate, he said he did not think it was
serious but the difficulties were technical and she did not need to
know the clinical diagnosis.

The tape measurement of probable pregnancy duration had obviously not
been clearly explained. He was using imperial as opposed to metric, the
chart caused him confusion. He changed the date of delivery. The girl
did not like to disagree but wondered how she could be so distended at
four months.

Patient's views were superfluous and occasionally dangerous, especially
if they were educated. In this ward, they were used to compliance. It
was the special care wing. The women had problems.

The students discussed their disquiet in the corridors, whispered to
the housemen and consultants on Mondays and Thursdays, after their
rounds. It was part of their training.

They assumed the patients would not comprehend. They were right
occasionally but doctors generally believed it normal to surmise
stupidity. (Most of them were male.)

The patients were pregnant women; hormones reduced their rationality,
(If they had previously possessed it.) There was much discussion of the
female psyche in the student bars.

The three months were in some ways a relief. The thoughts of death and
disabilities of her possible child were partially dissolved by other
patient's problems, which seemed greater than hers. She hoped they were
or not. She was not sure of the correctness of the belief. She
preferred to be safer than others, but worried about them all.

The bleeding started again, but the heart monitor seemed stable,
mostly, according to her mood, when it fluctuated. She could control
her unborn's stability or so she hoped. This was a responsibility she
had not previously expected or was ready for, the doctors disagreed
that she could have any effect but she knew she could and worried that
her anxiety would have an adverse effect.

The fourteen year old girl was a diversion. Her lack of understanding
had gone unnoticed by the nursing staff. She had been placed on a self
monitoring, input and output chart to measure the liquids drunk and the
amount expelled. The doctors failed to understand the significance of
her outputs and inputs being recorded on the same exact hour. Nothing
was quarter past or on the half hour. The o'clock she understood, but
not the rest of the face. It was difficult for her, half-hours she was
unsure of and minutes past or to, was something she thought she had
once been taught but had not retained.

The girl tried to breast feed, without success, the nurses feigned
interest but she obviously was not going to cope, she might become
attached. They had other priorities.

That weekend, Sue was allowed to go home but returned as a voluntary
patient, she actually had no choice, and the beds were needed. She was
relieved to return. It felt safer.

The second birth was impossibly painless. She should have been
grateful. Her mother-in-law constantly reminded of her of her good
fortune.

On her return the jets aimed for the Falklands frightened her; they
have been misdirected or fail mechanically, drop on them or other
foreign mother's. They were bonded.

Time distended.

Graphs of possibilities in plastic CD's, curled in the warmth of what
she expected, distorted reality became brittle and they could be easily
destroyed.

She believed she should have been grateful. She was told so.

The child was a disappointment to her, but a miracle in terms of her
husband and their parent's perceptions. The baby girl was an unexpected
angel of immortality, but should have been her child, it had nearly
killed her.

Her possible return to work were worried crumbs, she swept up
sometimes, when she remembered, which wasn't often. Her concentration
and morning television blurred. Richard and Judy became friends,
seconds were hours or days. She was disorientated.

The baby, who should by statistics have died, was there, passive,
co-operative and adored by relations.

After Chernobyl, vegetables became a problem, especially organic ones
her father picked, trying to reassure of their normality. The
government would have warned of any possible danger. They did, three
weeks later. She was not surprised

"The miracle." became a complication.

She was a good baby but would die of radiation or wars. Her mother was
convinced of the global prognosis and cried .The baby was perfect and
deserved to be protected. So they told her.

Killing them both became the sensible option, she wouldn't but the
thought became a threat, everything was and wasn't.

There was not anything to hold on to. No reality.

She liked the antique high-chair, it reminded her of her own
childhood, even though she did not quite remember the details anymore,
and things were blurred, blue-bruised.

She stroked the chair to remind herself of being the one looked after.
She cried again but re-arranged herself for her husband's return. He
deserved better.

Her lack of gratefulness was expressed by her mother-in-law.

She had been told of the alleged illness responded that, "Two still
births and a husband at war were reasons for depression, not a perfect
child and an attentive husband, there was some growing up to be
done."

The new mother did not want to or be or decide whether to wash herself
was as important as Milton and bottles.

The cardboard drawings of wars continued on television news, as did her
fear for their future in a global sense. She might vote later.

A day lasted years, elongated space had no capacity. She needed to
protect them but knew she couldn't take on governments.

The world had warmed and she basked in the heat of its own destruction.
She did not care because she had forgotten where shampoo was bought and
she began to realise her own lack of direction.

It was a beginning.

She starting to understand but her employer's did not. "It was either a
ruse for malingering or instability. Both scenarios made her,
realistically unemployable."

The Unions did not see a problem.

Later she became a councillor. It helped some of them to recover maybe,
she hoped. But they were individuals and needed that acceptance
to

Yellow became her favourite colour. She never understood why.

There was a probable recovery. She was not sure. It was an illness,
rather than a personality disorder or so she hoped. She learned later
of hormones and their effects.

The prescription had an immediate

Gradually, she improved, at least in her own eyes. That was
important.

She loved her child unconditionally and her husband mattered.

More importantly, she did.

Now she could be to others, hopefully.