Page 25 of Christmas at the Movies

Sarah spent the early hours of the morning pacing the maternity ward’s corridors. Every time a contraction came, she stopped and clutched James’s arm until it passed.

‘You’re doing brilliantly,’ he said.

‘If I knew it was going to take this long, I would have stayed to watch the end of the movie.’

Long after the sun had risen, Sarah was fully dilated. It was time to push, but the baby was in no rush to make an appearance.

‘Are you sure you don’t want an epidural?’ the midwife asked, after Sarah had been pushing for several hours.

Sarah shook her head, sucking down another lungful of gas and air.

When the baby still failed to make an appearance, Angelica called in a doctor. They listened to the baby’s heartbeat on the monitor and frowned.

‘Is something wrong?’ asked James.

‘The heart rate is too low,’ said the doctor. ‘Your baby is in distress – we need to move things along.’

‘Oh, God,’ whimpered Sarah. Fear gripped her more tightly than any contraction. ‘Please help my baby.’

‘Sarah, we’re going to use forceps,’ Angelica explained calmly. ‘Hopefully, this will help get baby out. If that doesn’t work, we’ll perform an emergency caesarean.’

Sarah nodded, her eyes wide with fear. She saw James’s lips moving silently and knew he was praying.

‘Push, Sarah,’ said the midwife when her next contraction started. ‘Push as hard as you can.’

Exhausted though she was, Sarah bore down with all her might. Then, she felt a searing pain, as if she had been sliced right open.

‘It hurts,’ she wailed.

‘Good girl,’ said the midwife. ‘You’re crowning – I just need you to give me one more big push.’

‘I can’t,’ cried Sarah.

‘You can,’ said James, pushing sweaty hair off her face.

Another contraction seized her. Sarah gripped her husband’s hand and pushed as hard as she could. Then came the most wonderful sound she had ever heard – the reedy cry of a newborn.

‘Congratulations, Mum,’ said Angelica, smiling. ‘You have a little girl.’

James cut the umbilical cord, then the midwife whisked the baby off to an examining table to check her over.

‘Is she OK?’ asked Sarah, watching woozily. The baby’s eyes were scrunched shut, her face was red, and she was covered in white goo; she was so beautiful, it made Sarah feel light-headed. Her husband and midwife undulated before her in hazy waves. None of the books had mentioned this …

‘She’s absolutely perfect,’ said Angelica, beaming. She wrapped the baby in a blanket. ‘Nine pounds, three ounces – no wonder you had such a job getting her out.’

The midwife handed James the baby and checked on Sarah again. Suddenly, her smiling face became serious. She pressed an alarm bell.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked James, cradling the baby.

‘Sarah is losing a lot of blood,’ said Angelica.

They sounded miles away. Sarah tried to tell James she was fine but couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. She felt like she was floating.

A doctor came running in and helped Angelica set up an IV drip.

‘What are you doing?’ asked James.

‘It’s oxytocin,’ explained the midwife as she massaged Sarah’s uterus. ‘It will help the uterus contract and stop the postpartum haemorrhaging.’

The last thing Sarah remembered, before she passed out, was someone putting an oxygen mask over her face.

When Sarah opened her eyes a few hours later, she found herself in a sunny hospital room.

James stood by Sarah’s side, cradling a little bundle in his arms. ‘Your mummy’s awake,’ he crooned to the baby.

‘I thought we were going to lose her,’ said Sarah, reaching for her daughter.

‘I thought we were going to lose you,’ James said, placing their baby in her arms. ‘You both gave me quite a scare.’

The baby let out a cry and flailed her little fists. There was a plastic bracelet around one of them which read Daughter of Sarah O’Hara, 1/12/07.

‘I think she’s telling us that she’s a fighter.’ James smiled at Sarah. ‘Just like her mama.’

Sarah stroked her daughter’s soft cheek and the baby’s blue eyes blinked at her. ‘Hello, little stranger,’ she whispered to the tiny bundle in her arms.

Sarah placed her daughter on her breast. The baby rooted around, until her tiny rosebud mouth clamped instinctively around her nipple, and she began to drink her first precious drops of milk.

‘She’s got your eyes,’ Sarah said, stroking the baby’s dark tufts. She could not stop staring in amazement at her perfect daughter. ‘And your nose.’

James perched gently on the edge of the bed. He stroked the baby’s tiny nose. ‘Hey, give me my nose back.’

Angelica, the midwife, came in to check on them. ‘How are you feeling, Mum?’

Sarah felt sore all over, her hair was matted and sweaty from the exertions of labour, her swollen stomach still looked pregnant, and she was on a drip.

‘So, so happy,’ she said.

The baby stopped feeding, so Sarah placed her gently over her shoulder and rubbed her back until the baby let out a tiny burp.

James gazed at his wife in admiration. ‘You’re a superhero.’

‘No, I’m just a mum,’ said Sarah.

Mum. She loved how that sounded.

‘Same difference,’ said the midwife, smiling at them. ‘I’ll go and make you a cup of tea and a snack.’

The baby opened her blue eyes and gazed up at her mother in wonder. Sarah held out her finger and the baby gripped onto it.

That’s right, little one, thought Sarah. I’m here for you – and always will be.