Our Country Nurse: Can East End Nurse Sarah find a new life caring for babies in the country?. Sarah Beeson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and pink cheeks. She gave me a weak smile but she looked exhausted – I suspected she was anaemic and in desperate need of sustenance and sleep. In her arms was a very robust and lengthy newborn baby; he must have been at least 10 pounds so no wonder she was finding feeding him a challenge, poor girl.

      ‘Hello, Mrs Rudcliff?’ I enquired. She nodded. ‘I’m Sarah Hill, the health visitor you spoke to on the telephone.’

      ‘Come in, Nurse,’ she said. ‘He only stopped crying about five minutes ago.’

      I followed her down the dark hallway into the huge square kitchen. An elongated rectangular wooden table stood in its centre. At one end were bowls, spoons, a set of scales and bags of flour, all manner of ingredients, some ramekins and a fresh loaf of bread cooling on a wire rack. At the other end of the table was a heap of crumpled laundry amongst a few folded piles and two ironed shirts on hangers. An ironing board with a half-ironed shirt stood accusingly next to the table and on the floor was a basket filled with wet baby clothes, nappies, blankets and cloth squares, some of which had made it onto a clotheshorse to dry. The large butler sink in front of the kitchen window was sparklingly clean but a mountain of cups, plates and cutlery glared at us, waiting to be washed up. An enormous range stood in the hearth and before it was a button-backed tangerine sofa with an avocado throw hanging over the top.

      Mrs Rudcliff looked about her in dismay. ‘It was neat as a new pin a fortnight ago and now as soon as I start one job the baby needs something and nothing gets finished.’

      ‘That’s how it is for everyone,’ I say softly.

      ‘Is it?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Between me and you, if I arrived at a house with a newborn baby that was spotless then I’d be concerned.’

      She laughed a little in relief. ‘Sit yourself down, Nurse. I’ll make us some tea.’

      ‘Would you let me make it? Take the weight off your feet for five minutes,’ I gently suggested.

      ‘Are you sure?’ I nodded and she flopped onto the sofa and closed her eyes for a few minutes with the baby lying happily across her chest while I put the kettle on. I brought over the tea with a large glass of water and a plate of biscuits I’d seen on the side.

      ‘Would you let me have a hold of baby Craig?’ I asked as I set down the tea things on a small side table.

      ‘Be my guest,’ replied Mrs Rudcliff, handing over her whopper of a baby. The tea, water and biscuits had all vanished within minutes and it gave me the chance to give the baby a quick once-over. ‘I’m always hungry at the moment,’ she told me, flicking crumbs off her shirt.

      ‘It’s the breastfeeding,’ I acknowledged. ‘You need plenty of good food and lots to drink to sustain both you and the baby.’

      She sighed. ‘I only get the chance to grab a quick piece of toast these days and a cold cup of tea if I’m lucky. As soon as I put the dinner on the table the baby cries and by the time I come back it’s either stone cold or Joe’s given it to the dog.’

      ‘I bet you have a job just making the dinner,’ I said, pouring her another cup of tea and refilling the biscuits.

      ‘I do, I do. I can barely get myself washed and dressed by lunchtime. And the men expect a hot meal at breakfast, lunch and dinner.’

      ‘It’s you who needs a good dinner three times a day and snacks in between.’

      ‘Do you think so?’

      ‘Absolutely. Also try and have a glass of water next to you while you’re feeding and have a glass to sip throughout the day and night.’

      ‘I’ll try. It’s so hard to get everything together when he’s crying for a feed.’

      ‘I know it seems like a lot but you need all those little drinks and snacks to make the milk. It’ll do him no harm to wait two minutes while you get a cuppa and a snack and pop to the loo. You’ll be able to feed better for it.’

      ‘I can’t tell you how many times I’m been bursting to go to the loo during a feed. I’ve near wet myself at least twice this morning. I thought it would make me a bad mum if I didn’t run to him straight away. When he cries my heart pounds like crazy.’

      ‘That’s perfectly normal. You have some basic needs too; it’s not asking much that you get the chance to eat, drink and wash, is it?’

      ‘I guess not.’

      ‘Try and stick to two or three cups of tea or coffee a day, as the caffeine can make the baby restless. If you have a nice milky malted drink before bedtime it might help him doze off a little easier.’

      ‘Right. I hadn’t thought of that. I was drinking all that tea and coffee to help me stay awake – I didn’t realise it would have the same effect on him.’

      ‘Not to worry. I can’t think straight in the morning until I’ve had a cup of tea and I don’t have a newborn baby keeping me up.’

      ‘Or a husband snoring in your ear when the baby goes down and you get a chance for forty winks?’ she said, giggling.

      ‘No,’ I agreed, with a chuckle. ‘Fortunately not. Do you think Mr Rudcliff could help with the housework and cooking a bit?’ I suggested.

      She looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘No, Nurse. He’s a male chauvinist pig farmer,’ and we both burst out laughing for at least a minute.

      ‘Do you have any family nearby who could help?’ I asked.

      ‘My mum’s in Cheltenham. I don’t like to bother her.’

      ‘Has she offered to help?’

      ‘Lots of times but I don’t want her to think I can’t cope. I want her to be proud of me; she always had everything immaculate when I was little and look at this place!’ she said, casting her eyes round the farmhouse kitchen in dismay.

      ‘Housework always needs doing. I don’t see the harm in letting things slide for a little while.’

      ‘Oh! My mother-in-law said you’d be coming to see I kept the place clean and tidy or you’d report me.’

      ‘Not at all,’ I told her. ‘Are your husband’s family able to lend a hand?’

      ‘His parents live in the bungalow. Did you see it on your way in?’

      ‘Yes, up on the mound?’

      ‘Ghastly, isn’t it? I wouldn’t ask his mother to help me in a month of Sundays. She’d love nothing better than to get back into the farmhouse kitchen and shove me out. I won’t have it,’ she told me, getting quite worked up. Baby Craig started crying again.

      ‘I’ve only just fed him. Really I have,’ she said, her voice fading and her eyes glazing over.

      ‘Long babies can be difficult to feed,’ I explained.

      ‘Can they?’

      ‘Yes, and he was 10 pounds and six ounces when he was born and I can see from his discharge papers he’s nearly made his birth СКАЧАТЬ