She placed her saddlebag on the chest of drawers, just as the sound of Mr. Tatum’s heavy boots clunked down the hall, and he stepped into the room. He stared at his moaning wife, hands hanging helpless at his sides.
“Hot water. Lots of it. Towels, clean ones. Now, scoot!” Annie washed her hands in the basin and pitcher that sat atop the chest of drawers and tied on her apron. At least this family had a standard of cleanliness. She’d seen a thousand times worse.
“Are your pains often?” She dried her hands with the coarse towel and laid out her supplies atop the bureau. String to tie off the cord. Surgical scissors to cut it. Binding sheet for bandaging the cord stump. Remedies like castor oil and a tin of specially concocted herbal tea.
Helen didn’t answer, her features contorting as she gasped, panting. Fetal stethoscope in hand, Annie waited until the contraction passed. She bent low, moving the instrument across the woman’s distended middle, ears straining to locate the fetal heartbeat.
Her own breath quickened, pulse hammering. Annie laid aside the stethoscope and gently probed Helen’s abdomen.
No. It couldn’t be. Her first case as the midwife of Hartville, and the baby was presenting breech. A scenario she’d only seen twice. Twice!
God, please. Protect this woman and her unborn child. Give me strength and knowledge.
She couldn’t, in good conscience, deliver this baby without a doctor’s supervision. Had they been miles from medical help, she would have done her best. But Hartville was only half an hour away. What if forceps were needed? Only doctors were trained in the use of the instrument, something she and Mrs. Campbell, the midwife she had worked with in Galveston, thought ridiculous.
More boots clomping. Mr. Tatum entered with an armload of towels—far more than needed.
Annie explained the situation in a few quiet words, passing lightly over the possible dangers so as not to alarm the man overmuch. He listened, jaw tense with anxiety, then bolted down the hall to fetch the doctor, like a racehorse at the final stretch. The slam of the front door reverberated through the house.
She returned to Helen’s bedside, performing an internal examination, which only confirmed the breech presentation.
“Everything all right?” Helen shifted on the bed.
Annie gave a quick smile. “There’s nothing you need be alarmed about. But your baby is presenting breech, which means we’re going to have to move you a bit.”
“You mean my baby’s coming out wrong end first?” Helen bit her lip, sucking in a breath.
She nodded. “I’m afraid so. We’re doing this together, Helen. I’m going to work with you every second of the way. Now, I’m going to help you scoot down to the end of the bed, with your legs hanging off just a little. That will help when it comes time to push this baby out. Ready?” Annie supported Helen’s shoulders, the woman’s weight making her own back ache.
After Helen was in the proper position, Annie did another examination. Between contractions, Helen gasped out that her waters had broken two hours ago.
Annie’s throat went dry. This baby wasn’t about to wait for any doctor. The buttocks were already in sight.
Helen’s shrill cries smote the air like gunfire. Writhing and moaning, the woman obviously wanted to push.
“Slow pushes, Helen. Not too hard. On your next contraction, I’m going to hook my fingers under the baby’s legs and bring them out. I need you to remain completely still and try to relax.” Annie’s voice shook as she positioned her hands in time for the next contraction. Perspiration dripping down her face, she reached inside the birth canal, carefully sliding out first one leg, then the other.
Helen wailed. “Make it go away! Please, just make it go away.”
Annie gave an encouraging smile. Helen’s pain was no doubt a good deal worse than a normal third-time delivery. Poor woman. “You’re doing wonderfully, Helen. In just a few more minutes, your baby will be born. Pant now.”
Footsteps came up behind her. Annie scarcely heeded them. Another couple of pushes and the rest of the body emerged. Only the shoulders and head remained inside the birth canal.
Someone handed her a towel. She took it, not bothering to see whether it was Mr. Tatum or the doctor. The latter, probably. Mr. Tatum likely didn’t know the first thing about the importance of these next moments, the risk of asphyxiation if the baby gasped due to an onslaught of cold air.
“Nearly over now. You’ll get to hold your baby, Helen. Keep thinking about that.” Midwives could produce encouraging smiles on command, and Mrs. Campbell had trained Annie well.
Helen only groaned as Annie turned the baby a quarter circle. On the next contraction, the shoulders slipped out.
It seemed to take an eternity for another contraction to arrive. It came, finally. Annie grasped the towel-wrapped baby as the head was born.