The kindness of strangers.

Aside

On Saturday morning we drove westwards to Instow in grey rainy weather and in just over 24 hours we were driving eastwards home. When we left our hotel the weather had improved with faint sunshine but when we hit the moor we were enveloped in thick fog. Why did we come home after only one night?

Eager beavers that we were, we had arrived early but our impeccable room was ready, so we dumped the luggage and went to have a light lunch in the bar. Once I had unpacked, feeling smug that I had managed with one suit-case instead of the usual two, we chilled and read the papers until it was time to get ready for dinner. The weather precluded a walk on the beach.

After a leisurely dinner the hotel owner/manager who I will call S, said he would take our coffee to the lounge. Just as we were going to leave the table MTL said he thought he would go to our room and I noticed his colour had changed and he looked unwell. Almost immediately a woman introduced herself, she was the daughter of the golden wedding party that the hotel was hosting, she was a doctor and as MTL was in her eye-line had noticed his change in colour. S appeared and we decided to take MTL to our room with the help of the doctor’s mother’s wheelchair. Fortunately we were on the ground floor.

S thought MTL had just got too hot and opened the French windows. I told the doctor that MTL had atrial fibrillation and the same thing had happened three years ago. She said she could ring for an ambulance if we agreed, and we decided it was safer to get him checked over. Within a very short time two paramedics were with us and shortly afterwards another one turned up having seen the ambulance, to see if he could be of further assistance. They decided to get MTL in the ambulance and give him further checks before deciding whether to take him to Barnstaple hospital or not.

I changed into trousers and an anorak and as I walked to the ambulance S gave me a card with his telephone number and said he would come and pick us up if we were coming back that night. I said we could get a taxi but he insisted it was no trouble. By now it was between 9pm and 9.30pm. After various tests it was decided to take us in to hospital. It’s really weird riding in an ambulance as you have no idea where you are.

When we reached the hospital the paramedics asked me to book MTL in and I noticed the receptionist was protected by thick glass with microphones you could speak into. When that was done I found MTL, ensconced in a cubicle, on a trolley propped up with pillows and wearing an oxygen mask. His colour was back to normal and he said he was alright now. We said good- bye to the cheery paramedics and were very grateful for their efficient help and support.

Then MTL was surrounded by female nurses in their dark blue trousers and smock tops – so different from the crisp uniforms we used to wear - but perhaps more comfortable and practical? When they had completed their tasks, another nurse came and started asking MTL questions - presumably to establish how confused he was: what was his name, what year was it, what day was it. When MTL said Saturday she said ‘NO!’

‘YES!’ we chorused. A welcome moment of levity.

MTL – when we were alone – said there would probably be a few drunks around as it was getting near closing time on a Saturday night – but fortunately we were spared that. Eventually a young doctor appeared and introduced himself. There didn’t appear to be anything to distinguish him from the nurses. After his examination and reading the charts he thought we may be able to go home but was just awaiting some results. Later he said he’d like MTL to stay, so the consultant could see him in the morning. I asked if it were possible for the consultant to see him now, he said no but then he phoned the consultant who apparently said we could go, dependent on one final result.

Then to my delighted surprise S appeared to see how we were getting on and insisted on waiting to take us back to the hotel. Finally at midnight we were allowed to go, with a letter and all the results for our GP, who we were told to see on Monday. We had already decided that after a night’s sleep we would pack up and go home. On the drive back S told us about his late father; we had met him on our first visit, and the family were devastated when he died after a gallant battle with cancer.

S delivered us to the night porter telling him to see us safely to our room. I couldn’t find words to thank him, so gave him a grateful kiss. We had a reasonable night’s sleep and when I rang the desk to tell the receptionist we would leave that day she asked if we would like breakfast in our room, which was a great comfort.

‘What a good job we didn’t unpack,’ said MTL.

‘Oh but I did.’

I had managed to keep it together until I went to the desk to pay the bill, and found they had only charged us for one night and none of the extras. I tried to say we expected to pay for the whole holiday but I couldn’t speak Later MTL went and paid them more as he said if they didn’t let the room they would lose out. You see why it is such a special hotel and why we go back.

On Monday we saw our doctor with all the results. After scanning them he reassured us that all was well and we should carry on as normal. We decided to take it easy for a while and yet again have cancelled our trip to see my younger son this week-end. In to every life a little rain must fall, and we are thankful for the kindness of strangers and our good fortune.

Getting back in shape

Story contd.

My new son soon got bored with staring at his new Mum and just wanted to nod off so I put him back in his cot. What now? I was too excited to sleep so I wrote to everybody I knew, to tell them the news. As the morning wore on I was taken with baby to join about eight other mothers and babies in the maternity ward. I quickly bonded with a tall lanky girl whose amazing feat had been to increase her weight by no more than the weight of the baby and could have concealed her pregnancy right up to the birth had she wished.

We noticed that all of us would have alternate days when we would be on top of the world one day and down in the depths the next. If one of the babies needed to be examined, the staff would remove all the babies from the ward, so that instead of one mother being upset and worried, we all were.

I became inundated with bouquets of flowers from friends and family and the nurses piled them round my bed like a flowery bower. This was embarrassing so I asked Sister to spread them round the ward. It was lovely getting the flowers but I now had dozens of thank you letters to write. I was very upset when I received a bunch of red and white flowers from the Aunts. What were they thinking of? In my nursing days, red and white flowers on a ward meant a death – I suppose associated with blood and bandages. I begged Sister to get rid of them and she said she wasn’t superstitious and she would be happy to have them for her room. Phew!
We had always, in my training, removed all flowers from the ward at night as they were supposed to suck the oxygen from the air; I still don’t know if there is any truth in this.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly and baby was putting on weight so after a few days I was told I could go home. I asked William to bring my black and white tweed suit - expecting to be able to get into it - but not a chance. The nurses told me it would be eighteen months before I got my shape back but they were wrong. One of the best ways to get back in shape is breast –feeding ; you can actually feel the pull on your uterus as the baby sucks (particularly when you have cat- gut stitches like I had.).

The other slimming factor was the benign, happy Pat had become a stressed, nervous wreck who fretted when baby cried and prodded him when he was asleep to make sure he was OK. I had a bad case of post natal depression - which wasn’t recognised in those days and made me feel even worse. I wondered if I was going mad.

The health visitor came one day and, realising I was in a nervous state, told me to put all the ornaments away and not worry about house-work. That wasn’t a problem – I had an excellent daily help and probably if I had had more to do I would have had less time to fret. Her kindness reduced me to tears; it was a relief to have someone who seemed to understand how I was feeling. She introduced me to two mothers with babies (boys) around the same age, who lived close by, and that saved my bacon. Every night, after the six pm feed (when breast milk is at its weakest) my son would yell his head off – sometimes till midnight and it was driving me demented. When he was four months old the girls finally persuaded me to have a night off: I left William in charge and we went to the pictures to see ‘High Society‘with Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby. For the first time since the birth I laughed and had fun. Back home William said our son had slept soundly all night and from then on things improved. Baby thrived and I got back in shape physically and mentally. God bless those girls; our trio of friendship survives to this day and I still have the LP of the film music.

William and I had decided we would not name our children after anyone we knew. Years later I realised I had given both boys Scottish names with the same initial as MTL. Make of that what you will.
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And Baby makes three.

Story contd.

Thank goodness for Aunt Rose! She was the spinster sister of Dodie, William’s mother and William had always been her favourite nephew. She used to drive an Austin 7, on the crown of the road, at a steady 15 miles an hour, yelling ‘Road Hog!’ at every car that overtook her. Settled now in Worthing she acknowledged that her driving days were over and had given the car to us. William started teaching me to drive but I got so tired of him hanging out of the car window, apologising for me, that we decided to leave my driving on the back burner until it was a more suitable time.

Off we went to Epsom hospital - William driving very carefully as I explained the baby no longer had that great cushion of water to protect it. At the hospital William was told to go home and that he could phone in the morning. I realise that mothers now want a ‘birthing partner’ to support them during the birth but it was unheard of then, and all I wanted was a nurse who knew what she was about; I had a job to do and I didn’t want any distractions.

I was put in a quite a pleasant room and told to get into bed. Then I was left alone and was aware that, from time to time, people looked through the glass panel on the door. Every time I got a contraction I could feel my face flushing with discomfort. This went on for some time with me stolidly deep breathing, and trying to relax in between. Eventually a nurse came in, examined me and was surprised to find I was fully dilated. She said she seen me lying peacefully (as she thought) on the bed and assumed I was a long way off giving birth. I was rushed down to the labour ward where a doctor had just delivered a baby and was ready to go home. Tough!

Throughout the birth he and the nurse were chatting, in a playful way to each other, except when they gave me instructions. Finally when my baby was born I was so exhausted that I sank back when I had meant to look at the baby emerging. My relief was short-lived when the doctor said I was torn and he would have to put some sutures in. There was just time to get a fleeting glimpse of my son and then he was whisked away.

‘We won’t bother with a local – she’ll be numb down there.’

I had been so proud of myself and now this arrogant clot of a doctor put me through what I can only describe as medieval torture and I screamed and sobbed. I have been wary of male doctors ever since and will always choose to have a woman if possible. The anger is still there although I no longer imagine attacking his nether regions with a large cutting needle to see if he was ‘numb down there’

At last I was back in the room with my son in a cot beside me. I took him in my arms and gazed at him. It was instant, deep, everlasting, unconditional love. He was long and skinny, pink and white with a silken down on his little head the colour of golden treacle toffee. We stared at each other. Such a serious little face with navy blue eyes. I expected they would change, and he did eventually have a deeper version of William’s eyes instead of my green ones. He clamped onto the breast to the manner born – no problems there.

When daylight came I looked out of the window and there below, on the forecourt, was William. His face lit up when he saw me and he waved violently so I could tell he knew the good news. The nurse told me in a disapproving manner, that he had phoned three or four times during the night. And why not? Now he had to wait for visiting time in the evening to see our son.

I went back to bed and my favourite occupation; staring at our # 1 son. This little scrap had changed my whole life and I was supposed after six months, to leave him in the care of somebody else? Not bloody likely!