Forget Me Not. Isabel Wolff

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      ‘And is your head still hurting?’

      ‘It’s hell.’

      Then the obstetrician on duty came in, introduced herself, checked my reflexes and blood pressure and went away. Fifteen minutes later she returned, checked both again, this time her expression darkening slightly.

      ‘What is it now?’ I asked her as the armband deflated with a wheezy sigh.

      ‘Not so good,’ she replied. ‘It’s 150 over 120.’ She held up her hand. ‘Do you have any double vision, Anna?’

      ‘I’m not sure.’ I’d been crying and everything was blurred. ‘But my head,’ I whimpered. ‘It’s such … agony.’

      ‘Well, that’s going to get better very soon.’

      ‘How? Are you going to guillotine me?’

      ‘No.’ She gave me a lovely smile and pulled up a chair next to me. ‘We’re going to deliver the baby.’

      I felt a wave of fear. ‘When?’

      ‘I’d say now’s as good a time as any.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said faintly. ‘I see.’

      ‘You have pre-eclampsia,’ she explained. I felt a flutter of panic. ‘And the cure for that is to give birth. But we need to get you gowned up in this fetching little green number ready for theatre, OK?’

      I nodded bleakly. I had never felt more alone. Amity began to help me undress and as I was taking off my shirt I heard my phone ring. She passed me my bag and I fished out the mobile with my left hand.

      ‘Anna? Hi! I’m just ringing to ask how your exams went.’

      ‘Oh. Fine, thanks, Sue … I think. I can’t really remember to be honest … It’s all a blur you see, I …’ my voice trailed away.

      ‘Anna – are you feeling all right?’

      ‘Not really. In fact I’m at … birth’s door.’ I explained what was happening.

      ‘Have you got anyone with you?’

      ‘No.’ I felt my throat constrict. ‘I’m alone.’

      ‘Would you like me to come? I’ve had two kids after all – plus I feel partly responsible for your being pregnant in the first place – it’s the least I can do.’

      I looked at the clock. It was a quarter past four. ‘Well … I’d love that,’ I replied. ‘Just to have a friend with me – but you’d never get here in time.’

      I heard Sue’s footsteps tapping across a stone floor. ‘I’m not at home. I’m at Tate Britain …’ I heard her breathing speed up. ‘With my sister. But I’m going to leave … for the hospital right … now. Chelsea and Westminster, isn’t it? I’ll jump in … a cab. I’ll call you later, Lisa,’ I heard her add. ‘Anna’s having the baby.’ Then I heard her running down the steps. ‘Which ward … are you on?’ she asked, raising her voice above the roar of the traffic on the Embankment. ‘TAXI!!! Give me twenty minutes … tops. I’ll be there.’

      The lights were so dazzling as I was wheeled into the theatre a short while later that I had to shield my eyes from the glare. As I sat on the operating table, the anaesthetist explained that he would give me an epidural, for which I had to sit stone still. As I watched him fill the syringe with the anaesthetic I suddenly heard Sue’s voice.

      ‘I’m here, Anna!’ I heard her call. ‘I’m just being gowned up but I’ll be with you in two seconds, OK?’ Then the door opened and there she was, in a green gown and hat and white overshoes. She stroked my shoulder. ‘You’re going to be fine. This is the happiest day of your life …’

      I nodded, then a large tear plopped on to my lap, staining the pale green almost to black. In the background the doctor, in her surgical gown and mask, was conferring with the theatre nurses as they laid out the instruments.

      Sue stroked my arm as the needle for the epidural was pushed into my lower spine.

      ‘Hold absolutely still,’ said the anaesthetist quietly. I focused on the large clock on the wall, watching the second hand click forward fifteen times. ‘Well done,’ I heard him say. ‘Now,’ he said after five minutes or so. ‘Let’s see if it’s working. Can you feel this cold spray?’ I saw him squirt something from a small aerosol on to my shins.

      ‘No,’ I replied ‘I can’t.’

      ‘What about this?’ He did the same to my thigh.

      ‘No.’

      ‘And this?’ He sprayed the top of my bump.

      ‘I might as well be a slab of sirloin.’

      ‘Then you’re ready to go. Let’s get you lying down.’

      A nurse lifted my legs on to the bed, then a blue sheet was erected at mid level, shielding my lower half from view. Sue sat on a chair by my head while the scalpel went in. As she held my hand she told me all about the exhibition she’d just been to, as though she were having a nice cappuccino with me, rather than watching me being eviscerated.

      ‘Beautiful watercolours …’ I heard her say. ‘Still lifes and landscapes … and some gorgeous flower paintings …’ From time to time she’d glance nervously at the other side of the screen. ‘You’d have loved it, Anna.’

      ‘It’s going very well,’ the doctor said. ‘Now you’ll feel a little pressure …’

      I felt an odd sensation as she rummaged around in my insides as though she were doing the washing up. ‘And a little more pressure …’ I was dimly aware of a pulling feeling. Then there was an odd, sucking sound, like a retreating wave. I looked up to see the screen being lowered, and now I saw the doctor’s gloved hands raise up this … alien creature, its body the colour of raw liver, its head coated in a bluish white, its arms outflung, its tiny fingers splayed, its filmy eyes squinting into the glaring lights.

      ‘There’s your baby,’ Sue said, her voice catching.

      ‘Yes,’ I heard the doctor say. ‘She’s here.’

      ‘A girl …?’ I felt a twinge of relief.

      ‘A gorgeous girl,’ Sue said. ‘She’s lovely, Anna.’ She squeezed my hand.

      I felt tears trickle down the sides of my face. The baby opened her mouth and emitted a piercing cry; then she was whisked to one side, where I saw her being wiped, then weighed, then gently laid in a resuscitator.

      I glanced at the clock. The time was five past six. But what was the date? Of course. It was the eighth of June.

      I’ve got the peculiar feeling that I was meant to meet you.

      It was the first anniversary of my mother’s death.

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