Rivals In Practice. Alison Roberts
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weather. As I explained to you yesterday, the position your baby is in is likely to make the first stage of labour quite a lot longer than usual. The backache you’re getting is the other major disadvantage.’
Liz sighed heavily. ‘Trust Peter’s child to be difficult before it’s even born. Like father, like son—or daughter,’ she added.
‘Have you heard from Peter again?’
‘He rang half an hour ago. The airport at Dunedin is closed because of the weather. There’s no chance of him getting back tonight. I hope it is another false alarm.’
‘How’s your back feeling?’
‘Sore, but no worse than it’s been since I came in yesterday morning. What was it you called the position?’
‘It’s called a right occiputo posterior position. It means that the baby’s facing the front. The most normal presentation is when the back of the head is pressing on the abdominal wall. The back of your baby’s head is pressing against your sacrum.’ Jennifer smiled wryly. ‘Commonly known as ‘‘backache labour’’, I’m afraid.’
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘The baby will most likely turn itself around at the very end of the first stage or the beginning of the second and then things will go a lot more smoothly and quickly.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘I can’t say,’ Jennifer apologised. ‘You’re still only three centimetres dilated so we can’t even be sure whether labour is established yet or not. Try moving around as much as you can for the moment. If you stay upright, it will tip the baby down and might ease the pressure on the small of your back. Kneeling, being on your hands and knees and lying on your side, curled up, might help the pain and encourage the rotation of the baby. We’ll give you a hot pack, and ask Wendy for a massage any time you like.’ Jennifer turned to her nurse. ‘Why don’t you put the kettle on first, Wendy? I think we could all use a cup of tea. I’m just going to pop up to the office and give Saskia a ring. She should be back from collecting the children by now.’
The wide, wood-panelled hallway and the impressive height of the ceiling could have graced a stately home. The small hospital had been built in an era when function and budgets couldn’t overrule aesthetic considerations. More recent additions were modern, and Jennifer was proud of their maternity suite, treatment and consulting rooms but she loved the older part of the hospital. The rooms were spacious, most opened onto verandahs that were more than welcome in the hot, summer months and the marginal plumbing could be forgiven because they were never stretched to use their entire ten-bed capacity.
The hospital office was near the front of the old weatherboard building and the room was large enough to accommodate Jennifer, her older partner, Dr Brian Wallace, and the secretary who worked weekday mornings. The ancient carpet was still thick enough to muffle the sound of Jennifer’s approach and she stopped in the doorway with a small groan of dismay. The room had enough windows to give a clear view of the worsening storm and the impressive pile of debris from the willow tree could be seen covering the driveway, but Jennifer wasn’t looking outside. Her dismay was directed at the man sitting in front of a computer screen.
‘How bad is it, Brian?’
Brian Wallace shoved a desk drawer shut with a startled bang. ‘Bloody awful,’ he growled. ‘I’ve lost the report I’d just finished because of some power disruption and the damned thing’s vanished. I’m sure I saved it.’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’ Jennifer crossed the room quickly. ‘I saw you drop your spray into the drawer. Why didn’t you tell me you had your angina back again?’
The older man sighed with resignation. ‘I didn’t want to worry you, Jen.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘It’s not so bad—really.’
‘And it came on while you were sitting here quietly at the computer?’
‘It came on thanks to the stress these infernal machines are capable of generating. I’ve spent a week on that report. We should never have tried to get so modern. We did just fine in my day before technology started to take over. I want my typewriter back.’
‘Oh, sure.’ Jennifer grinned. ‘You use the Internet more than any of us do. You’d be totally lost without it.’ Her smile faded. Jennifer wasn’t going to allow complete distraction. ‘Come with me. I want to do a twelve-lead ECG.’
Brian scowled. ‘Let me have another go at finding this report first. I’ll reboot the computer and see if that helps.’
Another loud crack outside made Jennifer flinch. The lights in the office flickered, went out for several seconds, then came on again with slightly diminished strength. The menu on the screen in front of Brian vanished.
‘Shut down,’ Jennifer advised firmly. ‘It looks like our emergency generator has kicked in and the less power we use, the better. The computer’s out of bounds.’
‘So’s the ECG machine, then.’
‘It’s battery-powered,’ Jennifer reminded her partner crisply. Her expression softened. ‘Please, Brian, let me check you over.’
The older doctor complied reluctantly and Jennifer’s smile was sympathetic as she led the way down the dark hallway towards the consulting room. Brian Wallace was well into his sixties and probably should have retired two years ago after suffering his first heart attack. Like herself, Brian had been born and raised on the peninsula but it had been his first choice of career to come back here to practise medicine and become an integral part of the small community.
Jennifer’s return hadn’t been entirely voluntary and her time here as a doctor couldn’t begin to compare with Brian’s years of service, yet she could already feel the strands of the web the ties created. And they weren’t unpleasant ties. The bond was protective as well as demanding. She was a part of so many people’s lives. A piece of the fabric of this old building and an equal partner of this GP who had been her friend and mentor for as long as she could remember.
The ECG was reassuring. ‘There’s no sign of any ST depression or other changes.’ Jennifer showed the trace to Brian. ‘How’s the chest pain at the moment?’
‘Gone.’
‘Did it feel the same as your previous angina?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Any associated symptoms?’
‘No.’
‘Have you had your aspirin today?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ Brian smiled at Jennifer. ‘Can I go now?’
‘No. I want to take your blood pressure and listen to your chest. If they’re OK then you can go. Home—for a rest.’
‘It’s only three p.m.’
‘It’s dark enough to be six p.m. and I want you safely home before this storm gets any worse.’ Jennifer wrapped the blood-pressure cuff around her colleague’s arm.
‘We might get extra work.’
‘If we do, Wendy and I will cope.’ Jennifer reached for the stethoscope hanging around her neck. ‘We’ve only got the two inpatients and Lizzie’s labour could well be another false alarm.’
‘Well, Wendy’s an excellent nurse and I have complete faith in you to cope with anything that needs a doctor.’ Brian looked thoughtful. ‘And I did promise to check on Jack Currie’s ulcer on the way home.’
Jennifer sighed. ‘And how many other house calls did you promise to make?’ She released the valve on the bulb. ‘Your blood pressure’s fine. One-forty over ninety.’ She placed the disc of the stethoscope on Brian’s chest. ‘Take a few deep breaths for me.’
The pot of tea was cold by the time Jennifer arrived in the hospital kitchen. She threw a teabag into a mug and waited