"Newly Qualified"

It occurred to me, as I collapsed in his arms, that I'd helped bring so many babies into the world, but I'd never hold one of my own. I felt my life ebbing away, aware this might be the last thought I ever think.

I'd been so close (so close) to the front door. My fingertips had almost brushed the paintwork when he stepped out of the shadows behind me and-

+

I didn't tell you did I? My name is Ira. On the night I went back to Lucius' townhouse with Viktor, I was a newly qualified midwife. I'd already helped many babies be born by then, always under the watchful eye of someone more experienced.

Let me tell you about my last shift on the labour ward. More specifically, the last birth I attended.

It is always a rush, this job. I love it. I love the way she waddles, a hand to the small of her back, and a frown drawing tighter on her face. The shape and tautness of her belly. Inside it, the whooshing of her blood, and the baby's, and the double thump of their hearts. I love how Time congeals, and miracles happen in the small hours. How gloopy the new person is, how velvety and soft. Perfectly delicious.

Oh don't give me that look! We've all experienced it. I believe the term is cute-aggression, when a baby, or a puppy even, is just so sweet you want to bite them. Nibble their toes, or paws. The newness, the loose little rolls of brand new skin. Of course I resist the urge. To cave would be unprofessional.

I hadn't been very well before that shift. I'd been violently sick, from both ends if you must know. I sweated profusely, racked with a fever. I couldn't keep anything down. Even when I became ravenous, I still couldn't eat.

As suddenly as it descended the mysterious bug lifted off me, like a pantomime curtain. I called into work and told them I felt much better. They assigned me to the night shift.

As usually happens, we fell into a rhythm, she and I. Truly, she and her baby found it, and led the dance. I only shadowed their steps, quiet as a ghost, watching and listening and diligently recording in my notes. If there were any signs that all was not well, I would contact the senior sister on duty, or the doctor. There was no need though. She laboured beautifully...

I help her to eat, to drink, and I keep my face bland when she needs me to walk her to the toilet. I soothe her, rub her back, squeeze her hips, and hold her when she thinks she might break. They all think that.

We are deep into it now. The night is treacly around us, as if a spell has been woven. Her cries try to punctuate it, but are muffled by it instead. I fold them into myself, collecting them as tenderly and meticulously as another might collect stamps. A splash of blood down her leg, bright and obnoxious.

Her sounds change, there is a catch at each peak, now. My attention sharpens. The noises emanating from her become animalistic; she is grunting and shuffling around on the floor like a restless beast. I thicken my love for her, and swaddle her in it; a spell of my own.

She soils herself, but doesn't know it. She is hardly here at all. I clean her up, quick and quiet.

I ready my equipment. These are the things we will need if all is not well. The things look sharp and unfriendly. I lay them out in neat rows out of her line of sight.

There is a distant look in her eyes. That's where she's gone, somewhere distant, to collect her baby. Another world, a distant star. In front of me is a shadow. A wraith, a fetch. Almost less substantial than the smell in the stuffy room, which is a bit like sex, with a copper edge.

The power surging through her body crescendos, and at last a little head emerges. I murmur encouragement, and put a wad of padding between her knees. My hands are steady.

Some women are boldly in their own skin, and they reach down to the little one, and bring him home, to the other side of the heart. Some are still too not-here, and for those women, a midwife's hands must be ready.

It is usually swift once the head is out, and tonight is no exception. She is leaning on her forearms, so I cradle that little crown, and receive the rest of the squishy, blood-streaked parcel as it unfolds out of her.

She sags. After the gargantuan effort to reach this peak, she has nothing left. There's a hush around us, almost as if someone died. I hold it, as carefully as I held that fragile little skull, and we wait together, for the mother to break the spell.

It doesn't take long. She heaves herself up, and peeks down. He peers back up at her, alert already, and the blue tinge of his skin fading, replaced by rosy pink. No doubt all he sees is a fuzzy blob, but something in his bones knows that it's a very important fuzzy blob.

Just as he arrives into himself, she returns from the place where she's been. She solidifies. She sits back on her heels and stares at what she's made. Relief has already draped over her like a cloak, and now joy and wonder settle on her, too, like little birds on a branch. Disbelief did too is it really over, did I do really do it? but doesn't stay. She traces an imaginary rune on his skin, A smile is born on her face. When she gathers him up, it's like a sigh.

She is done, and ready to rest, but there's more.

I heard there was a secret cord

It's fat, and a searing blue colour. I can hardly take my eyes off it. Nearly there, nearly. Iron discipline is necessary for this part, to school my whole Self to patience. I clamp here and here. I offer her the tool to make the cut, and she shakes her head and looks away, back to her baby. He is still gazing back at her, as if he has never seen anything so wonderful and fascinating. I suppose he hasn't. From that distance, he will be able to see her more clearly. His first task in this world is to memorise her face.

I love this part, and I hate it. I cut, the blood wells up, rich and dark red. Unctuous like plum pudding. He finds his voice at last. They always cry. Their blood pressure drops, the little heart beats in confusion. The sharp blood-stink fills the room. I hold myself together. I'm not the fainting sort.

The needle slips into her thigh. I remind her what it's for to make the placenta come, and stop you bleeding and she nods, uncaring, and barely winces when it goes in.

This apple is ripe, and ready to fall from the tree. Sometimes I need to massage the belly, and tug on the flapping remnant of cord, but today I merely ask her to cough, and the juicy treat flumps out of her into the little metal bowl.

I have to make sure it's all there before it's disposed of. At this point all I want to do is run from the room, but I am determined to stay the course and do my job. I try to think of it like inhaling the aroma of a fine cigar before lighting it.

At last, I call a sister to join me. We can wrap this up quicker working together, and I very much want to finish fast.

She scolds me for not calling her in sooner.

"Everything was fine," I reassure her. "If it hadn't been, I'd have pressed the Button. Mum did a fine job."

I let her weigh and measure the infant, and check that he has the right number of toes and so on. Having finished checking the placenta, I complete my notes. My colleague is smushing the baby's head and the mother's breast together with an enormous smile on her face. I tidy everything away.

The spell has long since melted from the room. What had seemed mysterious and sacred an hour ago now seemed washed in mundane daylight, though the sun was hours from rising.

"Has he had Vitamin K?" she asks me.

"Not yet. Would you mind doing it?" I hate that part worst of all, the metal sliding into his flawless skin, his squeal of protest, and the vital flow thrumming under his flesh turning to sludge. Ugh.

"I'll take this," I say, taking the placenta.

Walking down the corridor, I watch for my moment. I must be quick. I might only have seconds-

now!

I slip into a side room, hardly noticing what room I am in, only that it's empty. Leaning against the door, I bring the apple, with its trailing vine, to my mouth.

It's still warm, though barely. I smile for the first time all night. My teeth sink home, the way an aching body sinks into a bath, or a man sinks into a woman. I suck it dry, and dispose of what's left.

Back on the ward, I almost collided with the sister in charge.

"Ah, youth!" she said. "You don't even look like you've been working all night, you're glowing! Maybe it's that red lipstick you're wearing. Where can I get some of that?"

This is what my shifts look like now. Ever since that night at Lucius's house.