A Midlife Baby (The Midlife Trilogy Book 2) by Hansson Cary J

Author:Hansson , Cary J [Hansson , Cary J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hansson Publishing
Published: 2022-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

There was no need to ask for directions. No need to stop any of the blue scrubbed doctors or nurses, or stand and try to decipher which way the yellow arrows on the polished hospital floor might lead. Oh no. Helen could hear Libby the moment she stepped through the doors.

‘Mum, Mum, MUM!’

She was in the room and by her daughter's side, squeezing her hand, and easing Libby's sweat drenched hair back from her forehead in moments. And despite the mounting terror that stirred and crawled inside her like a furry black spider, somehow Helen managed to keep her voice steady and her face calm.

‘Libby,’ she whispered. ‘You’re—’

Another contraction exploded, silencing Helen and wrenching her daughter’s body apart, and in the face of it, Helen felt herself slipping into the jaws of fear. Her hand on Libby’s went limp. Nausea balled in her throat. Paralysed and helium-light she floated, and for a brief helpless moment the awesome terror of childbirth, the unnatural meta-physicality of it, struck her hopelessly dumb.

Until Libby moaned her name, Mum.

And Helen came to her senses.

Once again, she grabbed her daughter’s hand, a strength back in her limbs, warmed by love. This was her baby. Her child, and there wasn’t anything in this world, or the worlds above, that could stop her from fulfilling her maternal role. The pain of childbirth may have been God-sent, but the ability to endure it was a woman’s creation. She could get Libby through this, she would get Libby through this.

‘I have to push,’ Libby panted.

‘Not yet, dear.’ The midwife, who had been taking notes on the other side of the bed, put her hand on Libby’s shoulder. ‘Baby’s not ready yet.’ She peered down at her watch and as she did her face drained.

‘I’m pushing.’ Libby was scrabbling at the bedcovers. ‘Help me, Mum.’ And before Helen could get to her feet, Libby had twisted herself onto her side, was on her knees, and grabbing at the bedrail, head down, teeth bared.

In a flurry of movement, the midwife lifted the back of Libby’s gown and bent to look. ‘Baby’s crowning,’ she said, turning to Helen, with as much surprise in her voice as if she’d been offered full-fat rather than semi-skimmed in her tea.

‘Should she push?’ Helen asked.

‘I have to push,’ Libby cried.

‘Push,’ the midwife demanded.

‘Push,’ Helen urged, bending low. ‘Libby. Push.’ Everything felt outside of her now, even her heart, which was so huge and so loud it couldn’t still be inside her chest. This was it then. They were, all of them, past the point of no return.

But in response Libby twisted her head and whispered, ‘I can’t do this, Mum. I can’t…’

‘Push, Libby.’ Was all she said. ‘You have to push. Now. push. Push. Push…’

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