She nodded with a slight wince. “Fine. A few Braxton Hicks, that’s all.”
She toddled out, and when she was gone, I raised my eyebrows at Mom, a question of sorts.
“She’s got herself into quite the situation,” Mom said. There was something playful in her expression. “Reminds me of someone else I know.”
I laughed. “She reminds you of me? Ha.”
“More and more lately.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“Too late. I heard.”
Neva stood in the entrance to the sitting room, her legs slightly apart. A wet stain darkened the leg of her sweatpants. “My water just broke.”
I leapt to my feet. It was a month early, not dangerously early, but early. I eyed the patch again. Was it possible that it was something else? Many women had trouble with their pelvic floor in the late stages of pregnancy, perhaps—
“I felt the pop, and there was a good volume of liquid, so yes, I’m certain,” she said. “And it was followed immediately by a contraction I couldn’t talk through.”
Mom, sensing the urgency, rose to her feet.
“And you said you’d been having some Braxton Hicks?” I asked. “How often and for how long?”
Before she could answer, Neva doubled over, breathing the slow familiar pant of a woman in progressed labor. Mom and I exchanged a horrified look.
“They were irregular until about an hour ago,” she said once the contraction ceased. “Since then, I don’t know. About every five minutes or so? I wasn’t paying close attention. I didn’t think it was labor.”
I concentrated on keeping my face calm, but I was already a step ahead, and my observations were grim. The snow outside was approaching knee-deep. The only road to the hospital was closed. And even though I could deliver a baby at home with my eyes closed, this baby was four weeks premature. My own clients who went into labor this early would be referred to a hospital.
Neva moved about the room, robotically collecting her phone, her coat, her keys.
“What are you doing, darling?”
“I’m getting my stuff together. We need to get to the hospital.” Another contraction started. Her face contorted.
“Beavertail Road is closed, Neva. Besides, it’s carnage out there. I wouldn’t put my worst enemy on that road.”
“Well, what do you suggest?” she said once another contraction had ceased. “That we deliver a breech baby right here?”
My blood iced in my veins. Somehow, with everything else going on, I’d forgotten Neva’s baby was breech. Now that fact pinned me to the spot. If anything went wrong, the baby, and Neva, would—
“I’ll call the ambulance!” I yelled. “Mom, can you examine her? I need to know the baby’s position, dilation, everything.”
I snatched the receiver off the cradle and stabbed the numbers into the phone. The few seconds it took to connect felt like an eternity. All I could hear was my heartbeat. I began to pace.
“Emergency Services, how may I direct your call?”
I stopped short. “I need an ambulance. My daughter is in labor with a breech baby—thirty-six weeks gestation. Her water has broken and her contractions are rapidly becoming more painful and frequent. She needs to go to the hospital, but the road is closed and we’re stuck here.”
“Where are you located, ma’am?”
“Conanicut Island. Southern tip, near Hull Cove.”
Long nails tapped against a keyboard.
“She’s five centimeters dilated, Grace,” Mom called from the other room.
“And your daughter is in labor?” the woman on the phone asked. “How far progressed—is she pushing?”
“No! She’s not pushing. She’s five centimeters dilated, and the last two contractions were about three minutes apart. Her water has broken. It’s a breech baby,” I repeated. “It needs to be delivered in a hospital.”
“And she’s full term?”
I bit back my urge to scream. “No. She’s thirty-six weeks gestation.”
“Okay.” Tap. Tap. Tap. “Hold the line please, ma’am.”
I began pacing again. In the sitting room, Neva lay on a pillow on the floor, battling through another contraction. Mom knelt beside her, a tough position for a woman in her eighties, but she looked at ease. Almost like it was no big deal, delivering a breech baby at home.…
Of course. I’d completely forgotten. Mom had delivered breech babies during her midwifery training in England, in circumstances far more challenging than these. It was some comfort, but still I didn’t plan for us to be delivering it here tonight.
“Are you there, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“I have requested a helicopter for your daughter, but there are a number of emergencies this evening with this weather, and it might not be soon enough. I will get an ob-gyn on standby to talk you through it over the phone, just in case. In the meantime, I’m going to need your full name, address, and two contact phone numbers.”
Neva started moaning again. I felt ill to my core. It couldn’t have been longer than two minutes since the last contraction. This baby was coming, and fast. And they were going to give me an ob-gyn over the phone?
“I need someone here. I need medical equipment. I’ve never delivered a breech baby.”
There was a pause. “Have you ever delivered a baby?”
I screamed internally. “Of course! I’m a midwife. I’ve delivered hundreds of babies. But this is my daughter’s baby. Its breech and four weeks premature. We cannot deliver it here. We need an ambulance!”
“Just calm down, ma’am.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. “I need you to stay in control, for your daughter’s sake. I’ve requested a helicopter ambulance, but we need to plan for the worst-case scenario. If you are an experienced midwife, the worst-case scenario isn’t as bad as it could be.”
I dropped my head into my hand. This wasn’t happening. This. Was. Not. Happening. Not Neva. I’d take the charge against me from the Board of Nursing. I’d settle for a boring, sexless marriage with a husband who hated my guts. I’d forfeit any notion of a close relationship with Neva forever. I’d forget about her baby’s father. But I wouldn’t lose my daughter.
A high-pitched, broken wail pulled me from my thoughts and sent me running to the sitting room. Neva was on her hands and knees on the floor, stripped from the waist down. Her face was mangled in pain. Mom knelt beside her.
“They’re sending a helicopter ambulance as soon as they can,” I said.
“They’re not going to make it, Grace,” Mom said. “The baby is coming now.”