Farewell To The East End

concern, and pethidine in its bloodstream would be an additional hazard.
    A contraction was coming, and Kirsty groaned with pain. She threw her head around and tried to move her legs up to her body. ‘Whatever happens, don’t roll out of that position, Kirsty. It’s perfect,’ said Chummy.
    ‘I must try to replace the cord before the next contraction,’ she thought. The time between each would soon be only five minutes. The contraction passed, and Chummy said a quiet prayer for what she was about to do. She had never seen it done before and had received only one lecture on the subject, but it had to be enough, and with God’s help it would be.
    ‘I’m going to push you around a bit, Kirsty. Hook your knees over the edge of the bed, and hold on, so that you don’t slip backwards with the pressure.’
    Chummy slipped her gloved hand into the vagina. There was no perineal resistance, something she knew she could be thankful for. She felt the partly dilated cervix again, the forewaters protruding and the pulsation of the cord within. With her forefingers she felt around the baby’s head – there must be no pressure on the fontanelle, she thought, because that could kill the baby at once. Her fingers were placed ready to push when the ship moved, causing them to slip. She had to find the correct position a second time. When she thought her fingers were rightly placed she pushed hard, but the head did not move. She felt the sweat running down her face and neck. ‘It’s got to,’ she thought, ‘it’s got to go back.’ So she pushed again. This time the head retreated slightly but not enough for the cord to be replaced behind it.
    After the second unsuccessful attempt Chummy paused, trembling.
    ‘Pressure, that is the only thing I’ve got to help me, massive pressure, and God be with me that I do no harm.’
    Shaking all over, she leaned her head on the soft cushion of Kirsty’s enormous thigh, trying to think clearly. The wind groaned outside, and the ship moved in sympathy. Her fingers slipped, and she withdrew her hand. If the amniotic sac broke, that would be the end: nothing could save the baby. Only the fact that the cord was still floating freely in the amniotic fluid made replacement a possibility.
    Another contraction came. ‘Five or six minutes can’t have passed,’ she thought. ‘I can’t have spent all that time achieving nothing.’ She looked at her watch – it had been five minutes. Contractions were getting closer, and time was rapidly running out.
    She saw the uterus heave with the muscular pressure of the contraction, and a plan formed in her mind. Looking at the uterus, her instinct told her that, if she applied reverse pressure externally, and internal pressure on the baby’s head, she might be able to move it sufficiently to replace the cord. It was not a procedure that had been taught in the classroom, but something told her that it might work. With only five minutes, perhaps four, before the next contraction, she had to be successful, or the baby would surely die. The ship lurched as a great gust of wind hit the side, and Chummy prayed for calm during the next few minutes.
    When the contraction passed Chummy said, ‘Kirsty, I want you to listen carefully. Grip your knees over the edge of the bed again, and hold on. Just concentrate on holding your body still, because I am going to push hard, and you must not allow me to push you downwards.’
    ‘I’ll do my best, nurse. I have to be strong in my job. I don’t suppose you can push any harder than a fifteen-stone first mate. I’ll be all right.’
    Chummy took her at her word. She inverted her left hand over the upturned uterus, just above the pubic bone. Being able to insert her whole hand into the vagina was a huge advantage. She cupped the palm of her right hand over the baby’s head, stood up and took a deep breath.
    ‘Hold on, Kirsty, don’t let yourself slip. I’m going to push – now.’
    Chummy was tall and strong. She exerted massive downward pressure internally and externally. The baby shifted two or three inches from her internal hand, but still she kept up the external pressure on the uterus. When she felt it was enough, she relaxed.
    ‘That was hard! I don’t know if I’ve had it harder than that. But I didn’t move, did I?’ said Kirsty.
    Chummy did not reply. Her job was not done. She still had to replace the cord into the uterus. She felt for the cord, but it was not there. She stretched her