Three people, one of whom was a nurse, walked right past
us, ignoring our predicament. Finally, a middle-aged lady asked
if we needed assistance, and subsequently fetched Anne a
wheelchair.
The scheduled curette was still required, even after this mishap.
We had to try again.
When this type of tragedy occurs, you tend to discover that
many others have been through a similar ordeal. This knowledge
made the grief a little easier to bear.
Just over a year later, on October 16 1985, in alrnost total
darkness, I sat staring at the clock on the wall. It had been thirteen
hours since they had induced Anne's labour, and now she was
in theatre having a caesarian section to deliver our child.
I had asked the nurse how long the operation would take,
and she had suggested about twenty-five minutes. It had been
forty-five minutes already. My mind was racing. What disaster
had occurred in that sterile room?
Again I blamed the treatment. In my solitude I prepared myself
for bad news, and prayed that Anne at least, had come through
unscathed. The time could not have passed more slowly.
They wheeled the trolley out into my view, at a snail's pace,
then turned towards my seat. It had been fifty minutes since
they began the operation. I had expected the howling of my child
signalling the celebration of a birth. Instead a quiet whimper,
and some tired eyes. I prepared myself for bad news.
But all was well. Both Anne and Daughter No.1 were going to be
all right.
She was a beautiful baby of 8 lb 7 oz.
As I spent the next twenty minutes, with my daughter in my
arms, I took the time to appreciate just how fortunate I had
been. I wanted to see Anne as soon as possible, to share the
excitement.
My girl has grown into a most loveable young lady.
A very special child.
I now have three beautiful daughters aged 21, 19 and 16.
MORE CHAPTERS TO FOLLOW
