Read Online The Midwife's Here!: The Enchanting True Story of One of Britain's Longest Serving Midwives by Linda Fairley - Free Book Online
Authors: Linda Fairley
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a whole pint of water in record time to lessen the sensation and keep the tube in place long enough for Mr Tate to acknowledge Jo’s work.
I found it surprisingly easy to replicate the process the other way round, and Mr Tate congratulated us on our efforts. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Textbook work.’ He was always succinct in his praise, but it meant a great deal.
Janice and Nessa were paired together, and I noticed they were both very quiet. This wasn’t unusual for Nessa. She was probably the cleverest of us all and was always diligently focused on the job in hand. Janice, however, didn’t look her normal assured self.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked as we sat down later in the canteen.
We each had a plate of unidentifiable meat, grey mashed potato and pellet-like peas. It looked totally unappetising, but we usually managed to eat a huge helping of food at each sitting, followed by a steaming pudding with lumpy custard you could stand your spoon up in. No matter what it looked like we tucked in, knowing we needed all the energy we could get through the day.
‘Fine, I suppose,’ Janice replied as she forked her food into her mouth robotically and stared into space. There was a moment of silence before she added, ‘To tell the truth, I’m not sure this is the career for me.’ Pushing her half-eaten meal away she shrugged her shoulders and asked, ‘How about you?’
‘A bit the same, I suppose,’ I found myself reluctantly admitting. ‘When I did my first placement at the eye unit, I thought I was fine. The worst thing I ever saw was someone’s eyeball dangling on their cheek. The rest of it was all putting on eye patches, administering eye drops, sterilising needles, taking people to the toilet, helping them into the bath. They weren’t ill, not physically ill. Now it’s all gangrene and vomit and pain and suffering, I’m finding it hard.’
Janice surveyed me. ‘I think we’re different,’ she said. ‘You’re a naturally caring person, Linda. You’ve got what it takes. I can’t even stomach helping people have a bath or go to the loo. How can you touch their bodies and wipe their behinds? I just can’t do it.’
I had never seen a man naked until I worked in the eye unit. Even Graham’s body remained something of a mystery to me, though we’d been together for well over a year by now. A bit of hanky-panky was allowed but nice girls waited until they were married before having sex; that’s how I was brought up. Despite living such a sheltered life, naked bodies didn’t alarmme in the slightest, and it had never occurred to me to be squeamish about bodily functions. I had taken it in my stride and focused on what I could do to help the patients, not how I felt to see them with no clothes on.
Perhaps Janice was right, I considered. Perhaps I did have what it took to be a real nurse, but I think I still needed some convincing.
Back on the surgical ward the following week, I was relieved to be given the mundane task of tidying and wiping down lockers, disposing of wilting flowers and filling up water jugs. This gave me the chance to chat to some of the patients.
Mercifully, Mrs Roache was lying in what appeared to be a comfortable slumber, though how she managed it with that enormous splint on her leg I never knew. Mrs Pearlman, however, was wide awake in the next bed.
‘How are you, my dear?’ she asked me kindly. ‘You girls do work so very hard. We’re lucky to have such angels as you to care for us.’
Mrs Pearlman was a wonderful old lady. Well into her seventies, she lived alone after being widowed many years earlier, and had fallen down the stairs of her old miner’s cottage in Hazel Grove. Her pelvis was fractured in several places and she had been in hospital for weeks on end. She never had many visitors and I was amazed at how she remained so positive.
‘I’m very well, Mrs Pearlman,’ I replied. ‘How are you today?’
‘Fine, dear, just fine. I think the care I’m
I found it surprisingly easy to replicate the process the other way round, and Mr Tate congratulated us on our efforts. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘Textbook work.’ He was always succinct in his praise, but it meant a great deal.
Janice and Nessa were paired together, and I noticed they were both very quiet. This wasn’t unusual for Nessa. She was probably the cleverest of us all and was always diligently focused on the job in hand. Janice, however, didn’t look her normal assured self.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked as we sat down later in the canteen.
We each had a plate of unidentifiable meat, grey mashed potato and pellet-like peas. It looked totally unappetising, but we usually managed to eat a huge helping of food at each sitting, followed by a steaming pudding with lumpy custard you could stand your spoon up in. No matter what it looked like we tucked in, knowing we needed all the energy we could get through the day.
‘Fine, I suppose,’ Janice replied as she forked her food into her mouth robotically and stared into space. There was a moment of silence before she added, ‘To tell the truth, I’m not sure this is the career for me.’ Pushing her half-eaten meal away she shrugged her shoulders and asked, ‘How about you?’
‘A bit the same, I suppose,’ I found myself reluctantly admitting. ‘When I did my first placement at the eye unit, I thought I was fine. The worst thing I ever saw was someone’s eyeball dangling on their cheek. The rest of it was all putting on eye patches, administering eye drops, sterilising needles, taking people to the toilet, helping them into the bath. They weren’t ill, not physically ill. Now it’s all gangrene and vomit and pain and suffering, I’m finding it hard.’
Janice surveyed me. ‘I think we’re different,’ she said. ‘You’re a naturally caring person, Linda. You’ve got what it takes. I can’t even stomach helping people have a bath or go to the loo. How can you touch their bodies and wipe their behinds? I just can’t do it.’
I had never seen a man naked until I worked in the eye unit. Even Graham’s body remained something of a mystery to me, though we’d been together for well over a year by now. A bit of hanky-panky was allowed but nice girls waited until they were married before having sex; that’s how I was brought up. Despite living such a sheltered life, naked bodies didn’t alarmme in the slightest, and it had never occurred to me to be squeamish about bodily functions. I had taken it in my stride and focused on what I could do to help the patients, not how I felt to see them with no clothes on.
Perhaps Janice was right, I considered. Perhaps I did have what it took to be a real nurse, but I think I still needed some convincing.
Back on the surgical ward the following week, I was relieved to be given the mundane task of tidying and wiping down lockers, disposing of wilting flowers and filling up water jugs. This gave me the chance to chat to some of the patients.
Mercifully, Mrs Roache was lying in what appeared to be a comfortable slumber, though how she managed it with that enormous splint on her leg I never knew. Mrs Pearlman, however, was wide awake in the next bed.
‘How are you, my dear?’ she asked me kindly. ‘You girls do work so very hard. We’re lucky to have such angels as you to care for us.’
Mrs Pearlman was a wonderful old lady. Well into her seventies, she lived alone after being widowed many years earlier, and had fallen down the stairs of her old miner’s cottage in Hazel Grove. Her pelvis was fractured in several places and she had been in hospital for weeks on end. She never had many visitors and I was amazed at how she remained so positive.
‘I’m very well, Mrs Pearlman,’ I replied. ‘How are you today?’
‘Fine, dear, just fine. I think the care I’m
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