No One Wants You (20 page)

I also asked if Professor Trussell, my gynaecologist, was going to deliver the baby himself. The midwifery staff were unable to tell me there and then, who would be the overall consultant for my delivery. I was somewhat nervous under the circumstances and because of my history, I became extremely agitated at the lack of clarity regarding my case.

Kit tried to reassure me with, ‘Don’t worry Craythur, shure won’t you have it all over with shortly.’

This just made me feel more aggressive.

At this stage Harry took control. He must have recognised my aggression from some previous encounter and realised that I was best left alone to deal with it. He swept Kit and Tony out through the door of the ward, so fast that they never had a chance to say goodbye. Harry said that he would be back later.

An anaesthetist appeared. After speaking with him, I calmed down. He offered me a range of options for my anaesthetic. We agreed that it would not be a general anaesthetic, unless complications arose. A spinal epidural was agreed on, mutually. As I lay there in bed, I prayed to God that everything would work out well for the following day.

As I was about to fall off to sleep, a head with two glaring eyes popped through the door. The eyes moved from side to side, checking out the immediate area, as if they belonged to someone in a detective movie. Then the rest of Harry’s body came crashing through the double doors of the ward, with the sound of Kit’s admonishing voice following closely behind, ‘Would ya get in there, and don’t be actin’ the eejit.’

They brought Anthony in as well. We talked for a little while. I kissed Anthony goodnight and then they all left.

When they were gone, I once again felt all alone in the world. I burst into floods of tears.

On a practical level, I was happy that the technicalities involved in the delivery were sorted out. On an emotional level, I cried all the time. Even though they had all been in to visit me, I felt that I was on my own again, left to cope by myself. I wanted my mother to be with me! At difficult times in my life, my mother was never there for me. I always imagined that my mother could make things right. I wanted somebody strong to ask the questions that I felt fearful or intimidated about asking.

As with Anthony’s birth, my next baby’s time of arrival into the world was also predetermined. With the lower half
of
my body numbing up, I was wheeled into theatre at 9.30 am, on the dot. A baby son was delivered alive and healthy by Caesarean section by 9.35 am. Somewhere in the five-minute interim as I was awake, I heard one of the theatre staff, a colleague that I knew well, say jokingly, ‘Celine wants a daughter, so if it is a boy, stuff him back in.’

I even muttered back to her, ‘That is not true. I do not care as long as the baby is alive and well.’

I was aware of them lifting something out of my uterus and in one fell swoop they landed a baby boy on my chest. As I was looking at him, the nurse in me took over, ‘He looks as blue as a bluebird, he must be cyanosed. He needs oxygen.’

As a result of the nurse’s joking comment, I felt a really strong urge to protect my baby, whatever its sex. They then separated our umbilical cord. I do not recall any sense of pain, either physical or emotional, on separation. I do remember a sense of relief and spiritual gratitude that my baby had arrived safely.

The staff then took him away to be checked out by the paediatrician. With that, the surgeon announced to the staff, ‘That’s it.’

Then a porter wheeled me back to my room. I felt that it had all taken just a matter of minutes. My baby was brought back to me in my room after about 30 minutes. A nurse said, ‘You have a normal healthy baby boy and he weighs 7lb. 3oz.’

I was elated. I was so happy to have a normal healthy son. I thought he was so beautiful. He had a head of dark hair. I thought that he looked like a ‘real little individual’, with Harry’s colouring. I checked him out myself. I began to count his toes. I checked the number of fingers. I checked all digits to make sure he had the correct number. The numerical audit revealed that all were present and correct. I hugged and kissed him and welcomed him to my world. I
promised
him that I would always take care of him and love him.

I named my new son Ronan Gerard. While I received lots of congratulations and cards when Anthony was born, I was virtually deluged with gifts and cards when Ronan was born.

Kit brought Anthony in to the hospital to see his new baby brother and me. Anthony was wearing a red T-shirt that I had bought him weeks earlier. It had the words ‘I want I want’ emblazoned across his chest. I remember saying to him as soon as I saw it, ‘You’ve got, you’ve got.’ Harry came with them to see Ronan for the first time. He looked at him and smiled. I was a bit disappointed by his reaction. He seemed totally nonplussed by the fact that he was the father of a second son.

Ronan and I remained at the hospital for seven days. Those seven days are a blur of so many friends and other people’s relatives coming to visit me. The time in hospital also included the usual instruction of ‘how to bath a baby’ which I went along with for the sake of peace and quiet.

All my time was spent bonding with Ronan. Of course I cried at the ‘drop of a hat’, once again. I found it so emotional. His little cradle was right by my bed. I attached two or three religious artefacts to his cradle, which I believed would protect my son. I was scared stiff that any harm might befall him so I felt that I needed all the help I could get, whether human or spiritual. I had waited so long for him. I felt that I really was blessed to be given another child. If any harm came to him, I could never forgive myself.

Finally, the day came when we were discharged from St George’s. Before we left, the paediatrician gave Ronan a final check-over. ‘He will be a brain surgeon or a pianist, because he has such long and delicate fingers,’ were his parting words.

As we were standing by the lift, on our way out, Ronan joined his hands, as if in prayer, and I remember thinking, ‘He will be a priest.’

Harry drove us home. When we arrived, many of our neighbours were there to see my new son. I was pleased to be home. Kit took over and did everything for me in the house. She really mothered me for the next few weeks and over that time the household routine returned to normal. It was a great change but I still couldn’t help wishing that I had my own mother there. When Kit saw that things were running fine, she and Tony returned home to Ireland.

I went back to work six weeks after Ronan was born. Before I started back, I advertised for a childminder to come to our house for three days a week. I chose a mature lady called Margaret, who was in her sixties, from a group of four interviewees, as the most suitable. She used to come from 10 am to 3 pm because I was working night duties. When she arrived at 10 am, I would have Ronan bathed and ready for her. Then I would go to bed until 2 pm.

Even though another person was looking after him, I felt I was with him, because we were in the same house. If he was crying, I would wake up. I would go down to him and investigate the reason.

When Margaret left at 3 pm, I used to take Ronan with me to collect Anthony from school. We all came home from school together, and I prepared dinner for the four of us. We ate dinner when Harry arrived home from work. I would bath both sons and prepare them for bed. Then all four of us were loaded into Harry’s old Ford Escort and the whole family drove me to work at the hospital for 8.15 pm. I would work the night duty until 7.45 am. I took a bus home in the mornings. I usually arrived home about 8.30 am. As soon as I arrived in, Harry would leave for work. I would then wrap Ronan up in his pram and we would take Anthony to school. We used to say our morning prayers on
the
way to school. As soon as I had safely dispatched Anthony at the school, Ronan and I turned on our heels and returned home, to be on time for Margaret. I headed for bed for a well-earned, if short sleep, and the daily cycle began once more. I worked the night shift four nights, on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday each week, on a full-time basis, for ten years, without a pause. Sometimes it was very hard but I still loved nursing, as it gave me a sense of purpose and the friendships I had made there meant a lot to me.

On November 14, 1980, we held a christening for Ronan. He was baptised into the Catholic faith, at a 6 pm mass at St Bartholomew’s Church in Norbury, south-west London. I employed a folk-singing choir for music and hymns. Anthony’s class at his school were preparing for First Communion. They were encouraged to attend any religious ceremonies, as part of their preparations. So Anthony arranged for them all to come to Ronan’s christening. They had a ball. They thought it was one big party. After the service, we held a christening party at our home in Glencairn Road. At least 80 people were squashed into our house for the celebrations. There was a bar set up in the breakfast room. It was fully stocked with bottles of all kinds of spirits. While pregnant, I used to amuse myself by buying all sorts of strange and different kinds of bottles of spirits. I knew we would need them for a christening party. But instead of looking for a person’s favourite tipple, I would base my alcoholic purchase on the pretty colours of the liqueurs. Also, every time my friends went abroad, I would give them money to bring me back some duty-free alcohol, for my baby’s christening party. My friends had really been good to me and I had ‘oceans of booze’ for the party.

Anthony had two goldfish called Starsky and Hutch, who lived in a glass bowl, on the mantelpiece, in the breakfast room. When the bar was being set up for the party,
Anthony
saw that Starsky and Hutch had been moved about from one room to another. As the furniture and carpets were moved he felt that the fish were becoming agitated. He insisted that they be left precisely where they had always lived. He got his way. They were installed in their usual home, on the mantelpiece.

It turned out to be a great party, which I enjoyed immensely, as Ronan was the centre of attention. Quite a few people became drunk, due to the plentiful supply of booze. At some stage, the music volume was increased and dancing started. The party did not end until 3 am. After the last person had left, everyone went to bed.

Next morning I was awoken early to hear the screams of an angry Anthony. He was baying for blood. ‘My goldfish, Mum, they are both dead.’ I jumped out of the bed and ran downstairs, only to find Starsky and Hutch floating belly-up in their bowl. We never did find out exactly what killed the goldfish, but, during Anthony’s subsequent investigations, somebody told him that his uncle, Paddy Roberts, had given them a ‘drop of brandy’ to see if the fish would get drunk. I do not know if Anthony directly accused his uncle of the murder of his pets, but for years after the goldfish incident, Anthony was very wary of Paddy Roberts’ behaviour at our house, and he always watched him carefully from a distance.

For many years after that party, I had a collection of bottles of alcohol of many different colours, which I could not throw out or find anybody who could bring themselves to drink them!

THIRTEEN

Maternal Woes

A NEW YEAR
, 1981, and I had pains in my tummy. They performed an ultra-sound scan on me. The scan indicated a possible cancerous growth. I was taken to theatre directly from the scanning department, for explorative surgery. When the surgeon operated, he found the cause of my pain to be an ovarian cyst. He removed the cyst. He also removed my appendix. This all happened under a general anaesthetic. I felt ashamed. I was on night duty when it happened and my boss was ringing home from 2 am to 7 am, when Harry finally woke up to go to work. He came in to see me later that day. It was a help but I was in bad form. I was sick of having operations.

The surgeon told me that he had removed my appendix as a precaution. He said that he did not want me to be unnecessarily anaesthetised any more, and that he was concerned at having to reopen the old scar tissue too often. He jokingly suggested that because my stomach had been opened so often, I should probably have a zip inserted!

Later that year I found that I couldn’t maintain my balance while standing. Many checks were carried out on me. They discovered that I had damage to the bone structure of my inner ear. This damaged bone structure was infected and this is what triggered my lack of balance. They
treated
the infection with antibiotics. I was allowed home from hospital, with an arrangement to return for the surgical removal of the damaged and decayed bone in my ear. Three weeks later, I returned to St Thomas’s Hospital for my ear surgery. The correct name for my ear operation is called a tympanic graft.

The system at home was being held together with the help of many of my friends. This operation turned out to be a painful, uncomfortable and totally unpleasant experience from start to finish. It brought back painful memories from my childhood, particularly when the surgeon asked, ‘Did your parents never take you to a doctor for treatment to your ears as a child?’

I untruthfully answered, ‘Yes, of course they did.’

He wasn’t convinced and asked, ‘How could any doctor have missed something as serious as this?’

I jokingly replied as best I could, ‘He was an old doctor in the country.’

But deep within myself I was angry that this entire surgery was unnecessary and could have been avoided. It was due to neglect.

I was discharged after two weeks. This time I was told to return for reconstruction surgery on my ear, about six months later. This further surgery was to replace the now missing bone with synthetic plastic bone. Their aim was to restore some hearing to my damaged right ear. Hearing loss was 100 per cent in this ear after the surgery.

I was at home, but I was feeling shattered both mentally and physically. I went to my GP feeling extremely low and depressed. My head was reeling. I could not understand why I was having so much trouble with my body. Was I still being punished for being bad or any one of the other negative attributes showered on me, by other superior people over the years? I had many memories coming back to me, haunting me, from my childhood. I remembered once going into the
school
and my ear was full of pus. The nun simply turned my head sideways and let it pour out on to the desk. She didn’t do anything else. I even had to clean it up.