Selfie on her birth day

‘Terry, I think the baby’s coming!’ cried Marina, clasping her hands urgently across her big belly and gasping. Terry jerked the wheel to the left and pulled up in the safety lane.

‘What? Now? It’s not due for eight weeks!’

Marina burst into tears. ‘She can’t be born yet, she’s too small.’

‘What exactly is happening?’

‘I just had a big painful contraction,’ Marina explained tearfully. ‘I know it’s too early. I must ring Dr Shelley.’

Terry took charge, calmed his sobbing wife and got out his phone.

Dr Shelley answered promptly. He also said it was too soon for Marina to go into labour.

‘Get your watch out and count the contractions. If they fall into a pattern and get closer together, phone me back. I don’t really want Marina to go to hospital yet. There is a COVID case in the Gynaecology ward and it’s not the place for a pregnant lady.’

‘OK Dr Shelley, thanks. I’ll phone again later.’

The clear instructions helped to settle Marina’s distress. She suddenly gasped again. Another contraction!

‘Check your watch, Marina. That’s two isn’t it, and maybe fifteen minutes apart. It could be those Braxton-Hicks contractions you know.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. It was such a shock Terry. Let’s go home.’

It was Saturday afternoon, and they were going to the supermarket for their weekly shopping. Marina had made a list and Terry would go into Coles and collect everything. She had ordered online and the shopping would be ready at 3.

‘I’ll duck in and get the shopping while you keep watching the timing.’

‘OK sighed Marina and eased back into the car seat.

The door opened, Terry popped the boot, and the tall dark-skinned attendant loaded the parcels into the car. Half his face was hidden by a mask, but Terry could tell he was smiling as his eyes twinkled and his forehead wrinkled happily.

‘Thanks mate,’ cried Terry. ‘OK let’s head home.’

It was their weekly outing and with COVID rampant in the city, Terry was working from home. The stress of COVID isolation was taking its toll on Marina. This was her first pregnancy, and she hadn’t even met Dr Shelley yet. After her positive pregnancy test, she rang her GP and he emailed her blood request to the pathology laboratory. Wearing her mask, Marina had waited in the car until the phlebotomist called her in to take blood.

Dr Shelley was the Obstetrician her GP had recommended. Once a month Marina rang him, told him her BP and weight, and the urine test result. She had her own bottle of testing strips and until she was 28 weeks the urinalysis was normal her weight was going up slowly and her BP was satisfactory.

With COVID restrictions, there were no antenatal classes where pregnant mothers could get together and exchange notes, and a midwife would explain things and answer their questions. Marina’s mother was in Melbourne, and she tried to be helpful, and Marina would phone her friend Gaby for reassurance.

At 30 weeks her BP jumped to 150/90 and Dr Shelley insisted she phone him weekly and rest at home.

‘Whatever can I do, except rest.’ Snapped Marina. The isolation at home and the lack of face-to-face appointments made her annoyed and anxious. She tried to alarm or irritate Terry, but she knew Dr Shelley was worried about her blood pressure and her mind went into overdrive with worry.

Terry hugged her tightly and tried his best to reassure her but secretly he was also concerned about the potential problems Dr Shelley had discussed. Problems like something called pre-eclampsia and premature delivery. And now it seemed Marina might be in labour at 32 weeks.

At home after shopping, he packed away the groceries and made them both a cup of tea.

Marina’s contractions were irregular. She had only had four over the period of an hour since that first one. Her initial panic had settled. Dr Shelley seemed to think that Braxton-Hicks contractions was the explanation. By 4:30 they stopped. Marina fell into a peaceful sleep in front of the TV and Terry started preparing their dinner.

Apart from the weekly outing to collect groceries, Terry took their little spaniel Jessie for an afternoon walk each day. They both looked forward to it, even in the rain. And then Terry’s mask got wet. He really couldn’t understand mask wearing in the outdoors when he was unlikely to meet anyone else, and even if he did, they both stepped far to the left and waved a greeting as they passed. COVID seemed to make strangers more friendly, from a distance.

He was cooking cauliflower, carrots and peas, and frying onions and steak when he heard Marina cry out from the living room. He turned off the gas and ran to her.

‘What’s the matter honey? Is it another contraction?’

‘Yes, and here’s another one, only 2 minutes apart.’

Terry held her hand and they waited, watching the clock.

The contractions settled into a pattern of 5 minutes apart and Terry phoned Dr Shelley.

‘You’d better come in.’

Marina seemed calm now. She collected her hospital bag and Terry put the frypan and saucepan in the fridge and went out to the car. He shivered and pulled his coat together and looked across at Marina, rugged up in a tracksuit and jacket.

‘Are you warm enough honey?’

It was mid-June, and this was the coldest day so far, with a maximum temperature of only 11 degrees. It had been unseasonably warm, with temperatures in the high teens, and over 22 degrees one day in the early afternoon, after cold morning temperatures of 8 to 10 degrees. No-one knew what to wear.

Nature was confused too. As they drove, they noticed some wattle blooming, and Geraldton Wax as well. The weather was like Spring.

Rain was beating on the car roof as they drove. It obscured the surroundings like a grey blanket and Terry turned up the heater in the car. He drove carefully on the slippery road and they reached the Mater Emergency Department in 10 minutes.

Marina’s contractions were still coming every 5 minutes. Everyone was wearing masks and it gave an other-worldly atmosphere. Terry explained the situation to the midwife and she examined Marina before phoning Dr Shelley.

‘Yes, you are in early labour,’ she announced, ‘But your BP is too high. We’ll try and slow things down and get you resting comfortably.

Marina was not reassured by the midwife’s gentle tone, and she clung to Terry’s hand and Terry tried to squeeze it reassuringly.

‘Don’t worry Marina, these people all know what they’re doing and have done this sort to thing hundreds of times. Just try to relax.’

But Marina could not relax and her BP was now 180/100. Dr Shelley ordered a sedative and said he would come in and see her.

As she calmed down, the contractions slowed and her BP settled to 150/90.

‘This is Dr Shelley, dear,’ said the midwife. A tall grey-haired fatherly figure smiled around his mask and took Marina’s hand.

‘Let’s examine you,’ he said and he sent Terry out to go and make himself a coffee at the ward’s little kitchenette. Terry looked around at the empty visitors’ room, stripped bare of magazines, and chairs spaced out 2 metres apart. Even the coffee machine had a sign asking visitors to use the disinfectant wipe after they touched the machine.

He and Marina had been so excited about this pregnancy, but COVID’s isolation demands had dampened their excitement and replaced it with fear and worry. In about fifteen minutes a nurse came to fetch Terry.

‘The safest thing now is a Caesarian section- safest for both mother and baby.’

Marina was drowsy but resigned. Terry held her hand and asked Dr Shelley if he could stay.

‘Sure, you stay up that end with Marina, and the Sister and I will be at the business end.’ He smiled.

Twenty minutes later a tiny but healthy baby girl was in a humidicrib before she was whisked off to the Intensive Care Nursery. Terry should there shaking, but snapped a quick selfie with Msrina.