REBECCA’S BABY
“Just sign the paper,” said the Reverend
Mother.
“The longer you leave it the harder it will
become. You know that if you don’t sign it you will never return
home and you want to go home don’t you? You are lucky, there
are many girls in here that will never get the chance to return home. Jane
is going back to her flat in east London all on her own.”
Rebecca looked at Jane. Her back
was turned she was pretending to be asleep but Rebecca knew that she was crying
as she had adopted that position for the last three days. She
couldn’t eat; she would only drink because the Nuns insisted that unless she
had something soon, she wouldn’t be allowed to go home. They would have to send
for the doctor for another medical examination. They were always
saying you wouldn’t be allowed home. I will just walk out thought
Rebecca but the pains across her abdomen were at times severe and she still
felt weak. Her uterus was still contracting and it was made worse by
the fact that she was being forced to breast feed.
“Please don’t show me her” shouted Rebecca
immediately after the birth but it was too late. After the baby left
her body and the afterbirth was removed, she glanced across and saw the nurse
holding her baby in a white cloth and she felt she had to ask the nurse to
bring her baby closer.
“Are you sure, it is really not such a good idea
for you to bond with the baby we can bottle feed her if you like it might be
easier that way.”
“Please just bring her to me” said Rebecca
She found it to be perfectly natural to put her
child to her breast. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing she had ever
seen in her life. She had never expected to feel like this, she was
a miniature her! A tiny Rebecca and every part of her felt as
if it was in her child. Her breath, her heart and her blood,
like a miracle she alone had kept her alive for nine whole months and given her
life. She had screamed and yelled and asked for more gas and air but
the pain had turned from agony to a glow of life force, which joined them
together and felt almost sacred. Once that bond was formed she
knew that no one could ever take it away from them so strong was the union of
mother and daughter.
“If I sign my name, will I ever see her again”,
asked Rebecca.
“No” said the Reverend Mother you knew that we did
explain to you from the start that it wouldn’t be easy and you agreed.
“I didn’t know how I would feel”, replied Rebecca
helplessly.
“Feelings, can’t come into it,” said the Reverend
Mother sharply
” We have to put the child’s needs first not
yours.”
“You are unable to look after the child, she
continued. There are families who are much more suitable than you to take care
of her. You do want the best for your child don’t you?”
Rebecca looked over to the doorway to see if she
could catch a glimpse of Bridgette but Bridgette had become a muffled cry along
with all the other twenty or so babies. Bridgette had become a statistic,
Mother unmarried, father unknown.
Rebecca fingered her bus ticket. The bus
jolted her from side to side along the country bends. It was an
hour’s journey to the city from the home. She felt as if she was in
the middle of a bad dream, the worst nightmare she could ever have or would
ever experience in her lifetime. Wrapped tightly in a shawl cradled
in her arms and half leaning on her lap was Bridgette. Bridgette,
why did she call her that? It had been a name she wanted to be called herself
but never was. What will happen to little Bridgette after
today? She could feel the warmth from the baby’s body on her lap and
feel her breathing just ever so slightly. Did anyone know why she
was on this bus the number 46 to Westminster and won’t they all wonder what
happened to the baby if they saw her later on. What happened to my
baby but then they’ll think she isn’t mine I was just looking after her today
but they are wrong because she will always be mine, where ever she goes and
whatever happens to her in the future, she will always be mine. We
have a golden cord, which connects us. No one can see it or
feel it, only us but it is there and it can’t be broken. It was
there from the beginning when she first
breathed life into her lungs and it will still be there when her life is
extinguished.
It started to rain gently on the windows. Rebecca
wanted to trace her fingers along the raindrops like she did when she was a
child. Which one would run the fastest, which one would reach the
bottom of the window and what happened to the others? What happened
to the lost raindrops, the ones that got diverted along the way? The
ones that met up with other raindrops and didn’t make it to the bottom just
didn’t make it. Like me thought Rebecca I’m just not going to
make it I am one of the lost raindrops.
“I want to get off at the next stop please driver,”
she said in the loudest voice she could muster.
“The next stop Miss yeah course.” He replied.
Rebecca waited until the bus stopped before she
struggled off with her heavy bag over one shoulder and the baby clasped firmly
to her by the other arm. The huge step off the bus caused her to jolt and for a
few minutes she almost lost her balance. She became aware of how
weak she still was. She had in fact been in St. Catherine's
Maternity Home for nearly two months. She was admitted late being in
full labour. Some girls went in early the ones who were frightened
of going into labour on their own but Rebecca had gone way beyond that stage,
she thought that if she left it until the last minute, perhaps it might not
happen at all, or she would wake up from this nightmare and there was no longer
a baby inside her. Her mind had just been
playing tricks.
The Streets of London were crowded. Dust
flew up into her face and she kept the shawl firmly wrapped around the
baby. She was unable to look at her watch but she guessed it was
about lunchtime as she could see people entering and leaving cafes. Men
in business suits walking rapidly as if they were late back from business
lunches.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of Big Ben through the houses, quarter past
one. She had quarter of an hour for the short walk to Banbury Street
where the main office of the adoption Society was. She was to be met
by a Social Worker called …she couldn’t remember her name but never mind. Baby
Bridgette started to wake, soon she will be crying and want her bottle thought
Rebecca I better hurry up. She walked briskly and her heart raced
faster. If I get on another bus now I can get away she
thought. I just can’t do this but if I don’t go through with it but
what then? She thought of her parents and her brother, she would
only be allowed back home to Ireland on her own. What would they do if they saw
her with a baby! She knew that she could spend the rest of her life
on her own without her family. Tears began streaming down her face,
this is no good, thought Rebecca, I Just can’t, and I don’t want to, this isn’t
right…
Mrs. Neave stood in the doorway of number 12 Banbury
Street
“You must be Rebecca,” she enquired kindly.
“Yes, Madam” said Rebecca
in a small voice.
“And this is?
“Bridgette” said Rebecca finally finding her voice.
“Bridgette we have a lot of Bridgette’s. Do
come this way dear; we don’t have a lot of time.”
Mrs. Neave led Rebecca into a largish room with an
old leather sofa. Everything in the room smelt of polish, the sofa,
the walls, which were made of panelled wood and the floor, which was black and
white, tiled and highly glossed. There was a copy of the Times on
the edge of the sofa. Who would read that thought Rebecca at a
time like this and she pushed it to one side?
“Now dear, I will take down a last few details as
we have the report on um. Bridgette from the St. Catherine’s and then I can
perhaps hold Bridgette for you whilst you sort out your things. Would that be
alright?” she said in a sympathetic tone.
When there was no reply from Rebecca she continued
to talk not caring whether she replied or not.
“When was the baby last fed?” she asked.
Rebecca’s mind turned over and over her throat-felt
fixated she could hardly talk and she was beginning to find it difficult to
breath and she started to cough repeatedly.
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