“I’ve read about that technique, but it was different from anything I’ve seen,” Nora said quietly.
“Some women, like Mrs. Roland, will find the position their babe needs by themselves,” Ruth said.
“It does work against gravity.” Nora pursed her lips. “The baby was coming out uphill.”
“But less swelling after—in the nethers.” Ruth scrambled for her recently collected knowledge. “The vulva.”
Nora nodded. It made sense. Less continuous force against the perineum. “There’s something about it,” she mused, gathering her thoughts, “that’s a bit medieval. Like a squatting stool.”
“Medieval?” Ruth frowned. “You sound like those ignorant doctors. Squatting is one of the best ways to give birth.”
The carriage jarred with a quick stop, and Nora tightened her grip on the vaporizer beside her. “Squatting and bottom up?”
“If Dr. Adams had attended that birth, he’d have kept her flat on her back in agony,” Ruth pointed out. “Some even hold women down. I’m just glad they sent for you and me.”
Nora swallowed guiltily. She’d have turned Mrs. Roland to her side but never allowed her out of bed.
“It would have kept all the weight and irritation right on her back, and she’d have been too frightened to push when the pains came.” Ruth shook her head. “I’ve seen it. Women refusing to push when the pain is too unbearable. It can have terrible effects.”
“I always roll them to the side.” Nora’s voice dropped. “But I’ve never encouraged crouching or kneeling.” Or permitted it, either.
“You pushed on her back. That was well done.”
A sop. Like when she was sixteen and fearful, but needed by Horace to help some patient with something.
Ruth inhaled. “I don’t have the things you have. Vaporizers and such. But I do know how to help in a case like this. You must let the baby drop away from the spine completely. Otherwise—”
“The nerves remain compressed,” Nora finished, the anatomical picture forming in her mind, like a landscape coming into focus as the fog lifts.
When Mrs. Roland dropped to the ground, the child had swung forward. And when Mrs. Roland had lowered her head and leaned on her arms with her bottom in the air, the childhad shifted even farther from the spine. “That makes excellent sense.” She smiled at Ruth and fanned the heavy summer air. “When we get home, I can show you what happened inside her body after you let her get on the floor.”
Ruth’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I already know what happened—”
“I mean the medical explanation. When you can see the actual nerves and spinal structure, you’ll be even more impressed with yourself and be able to explain the process more convincingly.” Nora was already selecting which anatomy books she’d pull off the shelf. Only three blocks from home, and she nearly sat on her hands in impatience.
“Who would I need to convince?” Ruth asked.
Nora gave a tight-lipped smile. “All those doctors who are too pompous to sit beside you in a lecture, so proud of their degrees and Latin. They have a lot of learning to do.” Her lips softened. “So do I.”
Ruth shook her head. “I can’t tell them. They’d never listen.”
Nora frowned. “Maybe not.” She tapped her fingers against her opposite wrist, remembering Dr. Adams stalking out of her lecture, chin high, nose almost scraping the ceiling. “But I can.”
This was an intriguing case. She’d write it up and submit it to her favorite publication, theProvincial Medical & Surgical Journal. She’d had letters and papers published in there before. It would give her colleagues something to talk about. Perhaps even change a few minds.
Chapter 10
Nora stirred and reluctantly pulled herself from bed, her mind a confused blur of the twins she and Mrs. Howell had delivered the night before. Working alongside Ruth, and now also Mrs. Howell, she’d attended five births these past two weeks.
Last night’s, though… The blur was fading, and the case, unfortunately, was the kind that was hard to forget.
A living child behind a dead one. Not a rare anomaly, but Nora had never been able to simply keep on when a life expired before it even began. These infants sat in her thoughts for days, and even once they faded, they’d reappear in her memories years after. She’d breathed for this baby just as Ruth taught her—tried to rub animation into her back and limbs, only giving up when her hands cramped, leaving Mrs. Howell to bring out the other child.
Nausea crept over her chilled skin, but that was probably just this elixir of grief and failure and fatigue. She stumbled to her washstand and splashed her hands and wondered what particular brand of crisis had kept Daniel out of their bed. By the time she’d returned last night, he was gone.
The door creaked behind her.
“I missed you. How was—” Halfway into her turn, she stopped. It wasn’t Daniel. It was Mrs. Phipps, bearing a traywith toast and eggs. “Breakfast? On a tray?” Nora asked.
