Stephen - 28 September 1969 - Lady Chancellor Maternity Home, Salisbury, Rhodesia.
I picked up the telephone excitedly. The sister had asked me to ring after 10.30 am for the results of my pregnancy test and I was bursting with anticipation. I had only been married for just over one month and hadn't planned on having a child for a few years yet, nevertheless the idea of being pregnant was thrilling. The sister's voice came over the line "Oh hello" she said and added very matter of factly "Your test results were negative. If nothing happens, send in another specimen in about two weeks time, love". I was dreadfully disappointed but I reminded myself that after all, the doctor had told me that it could just be the result of having suddenly stopped taking the pill when I had glandular fever and constrictive yellow jaundice as a result, shortly after returning from honeymoon.
A week later, I could wait no longer - and sent in a second specimen for testing. This time, the results were positive. I was elated and it wasn't too long before I had informed all my family and friends and was knitting frantically for the anticipated arrival.
Things didn't go too smoothly, however. I suffered dreadful nausea, especially mornings and evenings, but sometimes even throughout the day. Perhaps this was due to my recent ill health, which I had not had time to recover from. In fact, my doctor was rather worried about my kidneys and the high blood pressure I had developed. But after three or four months, I started feeling better and gained weight rather rapidly. Ante-natal classes were started, but I found them ineffective during labour. The tutor had never had a baby, in fact, she wasn't even married! It didn't worry me though, I was quite sure that everything would go smoothly and relatively, painlessly.
The days went by. I marked each day off on the calendar. It seemed an endless wait. Soon all the things were ready for the baby's arrival. Everything was neatly in place, all given by wonderful friends and the family at a baby shower given by the church we attended - the Assembly of God. Almost everything was baby blue - even a blue potty.
I stopped work three weeks before the anticipated date, which was 21 September 1969. A few days before the date, the doctor said that, as everything was in place, I could take some caster oil if the baby had not arrived by Monday. I tasted the stuff - it was quite revolting! I decided to wait for things to happen naturally instead - even though at this stage, every day seemed like another week of waiting! I was extremely large and uncomfortable and the novelty of being pregnant had worn thin.
On the evening of the 25th, we went to visit some friends, came home and went to sleep uneventfully. Just a few hours later, I woke up to go to the toilet and on getting back into bed, felt a twinge of cramping. It was 1 a.m. I tried to get back to sleep, but felt more twinges and realised that this could be the start of my labour. which it was. By morning, things had not changed so I got my husband to drop me off at my sister's house to ensure that I wouldn't be alone (he had to go to work). Soon after arriving at 7.30 am at my sister's, I had a show and knew for certain that I was actually in labour. The contractions became a little stronger and I felt a fear of the unknown rise up in me. I was only 17 years of age.
I had an appointment to see my doctor that morning anyway, so after plenty of walking to keep labour going, my sister and I drove off to see him. The sister (the doctor's wife) greeted me "STILL here?" I was very proud to tell her that I was in early labour. The doctor gave me an internal examination and confirmed this, saying I was doing quite well. He told me to go to the nursing home after lunchtime but there was no hurry and I was to take my time. To tell this to someone after 9 long months of waiting? It was the last thing I was going to do. My sister and I rushed through lunch and fetched my husband from work and drove to the nursing home. I soon began to feel nervous and vulnerable not knowing what lay ahead. In those days, there were no "hospital tours" to become acquainted with things and everything was totally strange. My husband and I were shown into a tiny reception office and after a long wait, a sister appeared and entered my particulars on a form. Finally, my husband and I said our goodbyes and I was taken upstairs to the labour wards by the sister (no fathers allowed then for the birth).
I was shown into a small bleak room with a bed on one side along the wall and in the centre of the floor, a very old-fashioned rust-stained bath. I noticed the bell by the bed and a trolley covered with green sterile cloth. Very clinical. I was frightened. I was given a shave, enema and bath. I had never had an enema before and when it was all over I certainly hoped it would be my last! After my lovely bath the sister examined me and pronounced that I was already a few fingers dilated, doing well and that I would certainly not have a long drawn-out labour. Ironic words.
After these preliminaries, I was taken to another room - single, front-facing - in which I was to go through the first stage of my labour. I was handed a pile of magazines to pass the time and left alone. Tired after my broken night's sleep and deciding to take a quick nap, I climbed onto the bed. At that moment a very stern (in fact, bullying) sister appeard at the door, asked me what I thought i was doing on the bed, ordered me off the bed and back onto the easy-chair. She told me that the bed was for 'later" when I "needed" it. When she left I wondered how long I would have to wait to lie on the bed! I felt uncomfortable, alone and out of place in this clinical and harsh place. When the same bullying sister came into my room again, she found me fast asleep, upright in the chair. Softening just a tad, she said "You may sleep on the bed now, if you like".
Supper was brought in on a tray, but I had no appetite. My husband came to visit during the visiting hour (strictly kept!). We heard a woman scream from the next room. I could not believe that it would be necessary to scream so - could things really become that bad? Later that night, I found it impossible to sleep and asked for something for pain. The shot (possibly Pethidine) I received left me so groggy afterwards that I had to be helped to the toilet during the night.
The next day - Saturday 27th , followed the same pattern as the first. The contractions were beginning to wear me out but sleep would not come while I was having them. No epidurals in those days. My doctor came to see me late that afternoon and found me in tears. The bullying sister accompanied him. "Whatever is the matter?" my doctor asked me so very kindly. I didn't have time to respond for the bullying sister answered for me "She's crying because she thinks its taking too long - you know what FIRST babies are like!". She had scoffed at me. I had been in labour for nearly two days and she had absolutely no compassion for me. How much more did I have to bear? Two days of contractions! My doctor was kind. He examined me, but volunteered no results and I, cowed by the bullying sister's presence, was too afraid to ask.
During the evening visiting hour that Saturday night, my husband was sent home early and I was once again given something to make me sleep as it was apparent that I was becoming exhausted. The stork was busy and I had to vacate my room and comfortable bed for someone else. I was wheeled into a theatre, where I spent the night on the hard, narrow theatre bed. I was afraid of falling off with my big tummy and could only lie on my back (not the best position for pregnant women). I noticed a tiny green crib in the corner and once again I began to cry, thinking that my baby would never arrive, never survive this long and harrowing labour. The contractions were very strong and frequent by this time. The strong medication which I had been given had the advantage of making me sleep between contractions, but the disadvantage was that I would awake when the contraction was at its height, in pain, terror and alone. I was aware of screaming many times throughout the night, all control having long since left me. My thoughts never turned to that woman whose screams we had heard the night before. Now it was MY turn. The night nurse was very, very kind and would come and sit by me and comfort me and hold my hand with the contractions, but each time I awoke, I would find her gone until she again responded to my cries of agony. That night was the longest of my life. It seemed as if it would never end and it changed my thoughts forever. Before this, I somehow imagined that you would pass out if pain was too severe under any circumstances and I found out this just was not so!
Morning broke on Sunday 28th. It was a clear, beautiful day. I awoke feeling utterly exhausted though thankfully free of pain, my contractions had stopped for the first time since they had begun.
At 5 am the nursing sister who had helped me through the night helped me to take a lovely hot bath, settled me back into my former labour room, refreshed and in a soft bed again. But - I was not going to sleep. I was given ergometrine tablets which I was to place under my upper lip one by one at regular intervals to start my labour again. It did not take long before I was in steady labour again. This time my husband was permitted to stay a while with me while the doctor and gynaecologist were called. The doctor came to see how I was progressing and not long after, the gynaecologist was shown into my room. He examined me thoroughly and then went outside to my husband who was waiting in the corridor. I could hear their voices and the gynaecologist saying something about the baby lying posterior, was very big and that they would have no option but to use instruments to deliver it. By this time, I was beyond caring what they were going to do, as long as it was going to be over with soon.
I was soon left alone again with my labour. By late afternoon, contractions were progressing very nicely. They were strong and frequent and I was given a gas mask and shown how to use it with contractions, to ease the pain. I was told that my baby would be born that night. It seemed an endless journey.
At long last, I was wheeled into the delivery room. By now, it was late in the evening. I had been in labour for three days. The doctor and gynaecologist had been called and were waiting for me. Everything was ready and prepared. Instruments gleaming on the trolley, stirrups and the tiny green crib. By this time, I felt ready to give birth. The doctor said I could bear down which I did without producing any result. The anesthetist walked in and immediately got to work. As I stretched out my arm for him, I was more than thankful to sink into a state of complete oblivion.
I awoke in a haze in the delivery room and vaguely recall the doctor excitedly telling me that I had a son , a beautiful, huge baby. I awoke a second time, looked to my left and saw the little crib. This time, there was movement coming from it. I felt my tummy. Yes, I had indeed had my baby! I was still very drugged and fell asleep again. When I woke a third time, I tried desperately to recover my senses. A sister was lifting my baby up for me to see. She asked me if I was glad it was all over and then she muttered some comment that I would come back again this time next year and she wondered what in hell was wrong with woman for going through all this. I did not care about what she said for I only cared about my gorgeous son. I fell fast asleep, feeling a sense of immense pride. I was a MOTHER! It was wonderful to be free of pain at last. I slept as I had never slept before and wasn't even aware of being moved sometime during the night to the general wards.
The next morning I was greeted by a cheerful sister who had written the birth weight on the inner hem of her uniform. 9lb 12oz! The biggest baby in the nursery! "Whose baby weighed THAT?" I asked, still a little confused. She replied "YOUR baby and he is beautiful and so FAT". He had been born at exactly ten minutes before midnight.
We named him Stephen. It was a name I had found in the Bible and had waiting for him even though without scans in those days, I somehow knew it was a baby boy. I was not allowed to see him for 48 hours after his birth, due to being a high-forceps delivery. But no-one told me this was routine after difficult deliveries and therefore I began to worry about him. Seeing my concern, they wheeled Stephen into the ward in his little blue crib and placed him beside my bed for over an hour. I was not allowed to touch him, as he was being "cot-nursed". I was only supposed to look. However, I could not resist pulling back his blankets to see if he was normal, which of course he was, in every way.
Recovery was slow and problematic as a lot of mechanical damage had been done. Stephen was contented and easy, making up for everything. The staff used him in a demonstration to show mothers how to bath a baby. I was sitting there on my sponge ring, with a catheter I couldn't seem to get rid of. The other mums were all amazed at his size. As I held my baby close to me, I knew that despite what I had been through, he would not be my last. The pain forgotten, all that mattered was that he was alive, well and perfect. I could not have hoped for more!
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