Shopaholic & Baby

As she hurries out, I crumple up my Kit Kat wrapper and throw it in the bin, frustrated. This is stupid. Venetia’s not coming, is she? They’re never going to page her. And I’m not even in the mood for seeing her anymore. I think I’ll go home.

“She’s in here!” The door is flung open and a whole crowd of young midwives floods into the room, led by Paula. “This is Rebecca Brandon,” she addresses the group in an undertone. “She’s four centimeters dilated and is using yoga to help deal with the pain. Because she’s a Scientologist she’s keeping very quiet and calm. You’d barely know she was having contractions!”

They’re all gawping at me as though I’m an extinct animal. I’m almost sorry to let them down.

“Actually, I think it might be a false alarm.” I pick up my bag and shrug on my coat. “I’m going home now. Thanks very much for all your help—”

“You can’t go home!” says Paula with a little laugh. She consults my chart and nods. “I thought so. Rebecca, your water has broken. You’ll run the risk of infection!” She pulls off my coat and takes my bag. “You’re staying here till that baby’s out!”

“Oh,” I say, stymied.

What do I do now? Should I tell them I made up that my water has broken?

No. They’ll think I’m a total loony. What I’ll do is wait till they leave me alone and then sneak out. Yes. Good plan.

“She could be in transition,” one of the student midwives is saying knowledgeably to another. “They often want to go home at that stage. They get quite irrational.”

“Rebecca, you really need to put on a hospital gown.” Paula is surveying me with anxiety. “The baby could be well on the way. How are the contractions feeling? Are they coming quicker? Can I examine you?”

“She’s requested minimal monitoring and examination,” chips in another student midwife, looking at my chart. “She wants everything natural. I think we should get a senior midwife in here, Paula.”

“No, don’t!” I say hurriedly. “I mean…I’d like to be left alone for a while. If that’s OK.”

“You’re very stoic, Rebecca,” says Paula, resting a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “But we can’t leave you alone! You don’t even have a birth partner!”

“I’ll be fine, honestly.” I try to sound casual. “Just for a few minutes. It’s…it’s part of my beliefs. The woman in labor needs to be on her own every hour to say a special chant.”

Go on. I’m willing them silently. Just leave me alone….

“Well, I guess we should respect your beliefs,” Paula says uncertainly. “OK. We’ll pop out for a while, but if you feel anything moving on, just press the buzzer.”

“I will! Thanks!”

The door closes and I subside in relief. Thank God. I’m out of this place as soon as the coast is clear. I grab my bag and coat and open the door a chink — but two midwives are still standing right by the door. Hastily I close it again, trying not to make any noise. I’ll have to wait a few moments more. They’re bound to move away soon, and I’ll make a dash for it.

I can’t believe I’m in this situation. I should never have said I was in labor, I should never have pretended my water had broken. God, it’s a lesson. I am never doing that again, ever.

After a little more time I check my watch. Three minutes have gone by. Maybe I’ll check the corridor again. I pick up my coat, but before I can creep forward, the door bursts open.

“Oh my God, Bex!” Suze bursts in in a flurry of blond hair and Miu Miu embroidered coat. “Are you OK? I came as soon as I heard….”

“Suze?” I stare at her, poleaxed. “What—”

“Your mum’s just coming,” she says breathlessly, throwing off her coat to reveal Danny’s “Yummy Mummy” T-shirt. “We were all together in a taxi when we got the news. Janice is getting some magazines and drinks and Kelly says she’s going to wait down in reception….”

“But how…”

I don’t understand. Is Suze psychic or something?

“I rang your mobile and the woman who answered told me it was the Cavendish ward.” Suze is babbling in excitement. “She said you’d left your phone in reception and you were in labor! We all freaked! So we told the taxi driver to turn round straightaway and I’ve canceled this dinner party we were throwing—” She stops abruptly as she notices my appearance. “Hey, Bex, why are you holding your coat? Is everything OK?”