Expectant, page 15
‘Do I love Paul?
‘Does he love me?
‘Will we last?
‘I’m fucking pregnant.
‘Career and baby?
‘Pregnant woman died.
‘I’m fucking pregnant.
‘It’s gonna hurt.
‘You’re leaving.’
With the last statement I could feel my vision blurring, and I had to turn aside for a moment and examine the leaf structure of the lavender more closely.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘That’s quite some list. I shall dive on in.’ She did that classic interlock fingers, turn them inside out and stretch your arms out thing, readying for action.
‘Yes, he did. Jock was an awesome man and he’d be so proud of you and pissed off he didn’t get to meet his grandchild.
‘Your mum loved your dad and did what she did and does what she does because she cares.
‘Why, yes you are pregnant, isn’t it great?
‘You won’t be a shit mum. And hey, even if you are, you’re still going to be a better mum than your mum. The bar is set low.’
That one elicited a snort-laugh.
‘The next one: do I love Paul? I can’t believe we’re still having to have this conversation. You are a classic commitment-phobe. Get over it. Let yourself love him.
‘He worships the ground you walk on and has done from the moment he met you. I was there when you guys met in Mataura, remember. He still looks at you the same way. Most people would kill for that. And he loves you despite you, so there’s a good sign.’
That comment deserved a thump.
‘Will we last? I refer back to my earlier comment. Why, yes you will, if you let yourself love him, and let yourself be happy. About bloody time you did.
‘What was next?’
‘I believe it was “Fuck I’m pregnant”,’ I said.
‘Why yes you are, Isn’t it awesome?
‘A gazillion women before you have managed to juggle career and a family. No one said it would be easy, but, hey, you’re always up for a challenge. You’ll find a way to make it work. Just don’t try to be a superwoman. That whole “women can do everything” line – load of rubbish. You do you.
‘The woman was murdered. She didn’t die of pregnancy. And you’ll figure this case out. You always do. That is your superpower. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts. Trust your processes, even if others aren’t so confident in them. Fuck them.
‘Next?’
‘I’m fucking pregnant.’
‘Why yes you are, it’s frigging amazing.
‘And I’m sure it’s going to hurt – it’s going to hurt like hell. That bubba is going to have to get out of you one way or another, that’s the way it works, but, at the end of it all you’ll finally get to meet that special little girl, and your life will never be the same, but in a good way. I can’t wait to meet her. Hurry up and have her.’
She took a pause before addressing the last item on my list.
‘I’m leaving your house, but I’m not leaving your life. You don’t get rid of me that easily. It’s going to be a big change for both of us, and I’m struggling with the thought of it too. But the reasons for that change are really positive for both of us. We will be fine. We’ll be better than fine.’
‘I guess we will.’
‘Of course we will. Love you, bestie.’
‘Love you too, Maggs.’
We wrapped each other in a big embrace.
‘Anything need clarification?’
‘No.’
‘Feel better?’
‘Yes.’
‘See, that was easy.’
CHAPTER 38
I clambered up onto Naomi’s examination table. This involved a very inelegant manoeuvre – reversing in, hoisting my butt up first and then swinging my legs up and around. There was nothing graceful about being pregnant.
‘You’re looking very spherical there,’ Naomi said with a grin. ‘On the home stretch now.’
‘Thank God,’ I said.
I was at that awkward stage in pregnancy where I desperately wanted this critter out, because, damn, if she got any bigger I might explode, and everything was getting uncomfortable, but the thought of giving birth, like actually getting something that big out of what was a very small orifice was kind of terrifying. I liked to think I had a pretty reasonable pain threshold, but the anticipation of the pain that might be involved in pushing this gal out had me cowering at the sook end of the bravery spectrum. My hyperactive imagination was not helping.
‘When do you finish work?’ she asked.
‘End of this week. Then life’s going to change a bit.’
‘Just a little.’
Naomi was a young professional woman who juggled what was an unpredictable job and family. One of the things that was concerning me was how I’d handle that work-life juggle when it came time to return to the job.
‘How do women do it?’ I asked. ‘How do they manage going back to work with a baby. I mean, how do you manage it with a child?’
‘Well, women find a way. It depends on your partner and their work situation, how much your family can help out, daycare. Some women go straight back to work, and their partners stay at home and look after baby. It’s a juggle and everyone is different. For me, with my hours, we rely on childcare and family. But best-laid plans can get thrown into disarray, especially if you have a sick kid, so you have to be flexible. Don’t worry, you’ll find a way that works for you both, and you’ve got a while before you have to nut that all out.’
‘You’re right, I guess. Sorry, I probably sound a bit pathetic.’
She shook her head. ‘Sam, you sound like every woman who comes through that door. Self-doubt comes with the territory. Let’s have a listen to her heart and do some measurements.’
Hearing the woosh, woosh, woosh sound that came over the small handheld device made me realise I’d been holding my breath, that a little part of me was worried that something could be wrong. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face, a smile mirrored in Naomi’s.
‘Well that’s a hearty sounding heartbeat,’ she said with a little lift of the eyebrows.
‘Sure is. She gets that from my side of the family. All the good stuff comes from my side.’
‘Naturally. I’m sure Paul’s genes are only responsible for the dodgy stuff and any poor behaviour on her part.’
‘Spoken like a fully signed up, card carrying member of the sisterhood.’ Although if I was being honest, any impulsive or bad behaviour was more likely to come from my side of the family – my personal track record wasn’t exactly angelic.
‘Hey, thanks for recommending your Michael to me about the lab-testing side of things. He was really helpful.’
‘That’s okay. He said he was really happy to help. Let’s just slip the blood-pressure cuff onto your arm, see how it’s doing.’
‘This case is probably not doing my blood pressure any favours.’ She pumped the sleeve up to that point of pain where you felt you were going to have permanent crush injuries, before releasing the valve. That little release sound was a welcome relief and I watched the little bubble on the sphygmomanometer drop, do it’s little uppity dance as I experienced that weird tapping sensation, and then drop some more.
‘That’s looking absolutely perfect.’ She slid the cuff off and then indicated for me to sit up a bit. ‘Just going to have a listen to your heart.’
‘Can I ask you a couple of quick—’ Naomi gave me a little finger wiggle and pointed to the stethoscope ends in her ears.
‘Deep breath in … and out.’ She shifted the blessedly warm stethoscope head elsewhere and repeated the process. ‘In … and out.’ She removed the contraption from her ears and grinned. ‘Bit hard to hear if you’re talking. But that’s all sounding right as rain. What were you going to say?’
‘I was just wanting to ask you a few questions about maternity stuff in general – well, about health information actually.’
‘Is this still for that hideous case?’
‘Yeah. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, that’s fine if I can help you out. How’s it going, anyway?’
‘Slowly. Nothing helpful to go on so far. But like all things, we’ll be systematic and thorough and something will come to light. It always does.’
‘Slow and steady wins the race, as they say.’
‘It’s just a bit too slow for my liking. It would be good to feel like we were really on to something before this little one decides to make an appearance.’
‘Clock’s certainly ticking.’ She started putting things away. ‘So what did you want to know?’
‘It’s around health information. I know it’s all very secure, passcode-protected, etcetera, but who can actually access, say, for example, my records?’
‘Well, there’s a difference between who can and who should.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Obviously your GP and practice nurses can access your information – they’ve probably put most of it on the record. Anyone who needed to treat you if you were admitted to hospital, a specialist. I can because I’m your lead maternity care.’
‘Yeah, makes sense.’
‘But a lot of people have access to the data. Anyone who works in the hospital health system can go in and look up records within that system, but ethically, they can only do so for patients under their care. I can access the system and look up your records, but I shouldn’t look up the records of anyone not under my care – like Paul’s, for instance. That kind of thing could get me struck off the register.’
‘So they actually audit that kind of thing?’
‘Yes. Good example: you remember a number of years back when one of the All Blacks was admitted to hospital? There was a bit of speculation as to why, and a whole group of people got sprung because they’d accessed his health records just to be nosey, when they had nothing to do with his care.’
‘Actually, that does ring a bell. It was in the newspapers, and if I recall correctly a few people lost their jobs over it.’
‘Yes. One of the first things we’re told is to mind our own business and not get tempted to check out what some celebrity starlet of the week got admitted for. And absolutely don’t share anyone’s private information, especially not with the media.’
‘Well, I have to say it’s good to know those safeguards are in place. I sure as hell wouldn’t want people to know what brand of haemorrhoid cream I’d been prescribed.’
‘I’m sure the world is dying to know,’ she said, with a grin.
‘And how hard would it be to change someone’s information?’
‘In what way?’
‘Say, for example, their blood type? Would there be a record of the change?’
‘I honestly don’t know. I’ve never needed to change anything. If there was some kind of amendment needed I’ve always just made it in the patient notes, which also logs the date and time. So can’t help you there, I’m afraid. It would be odd to have to change a blood type – they don’t usually get that wrong. Why would you want to do that?’
‘No reason really, just thinking out loud, trying to get my head around how people would find things out.’
‘Well, like I said, lots of people can get into the patient information management system. But only a specific few can legitimately access someone’s files.’
‘And there isn’t one big national system, is there? Where everyone’s, say, doctor’s records and hospital visits and prescriptions and everything is stored?’
‘No, no such luck. Everyone runs different software, and not all of them are compatable or talk to each other. So it’s not very helpful really.’
‘What about the NHI number? That’s a national thing.’
‘Yes, but NHI numbers are more for identification, and recording demographic rather than health information. They’re so people can access services.’
‘That makes sense. I hope you don’t mind me asking you all these weird questions,’ I said. Sometimes it wasn’t a good thing to be a colleague or friend of a detective. We shamelessly milked everyone for information.
‘No, not at all. It makes a nice change from being quizzed about stretch marks, cervix dilation or pelvic-floor muscles, or that oldie but goodie: how long will labour last?’
At the mention of pelvic floor muscles I realised I’d forgotten to do my exercises today so went into clench and lift mode.
‘Speaking of which, how long can I expect to be in labour?’
‘Haha. How long is a piece of string? We’re midwives, not clairvoyants.’ She clapped her hands together and gave me a big smile. ‘Well, that’s us all done. Everything is looking absolutely perfect. I’ll see you here next week, same time, unless of course someone decides she can’t wait any longer and wants to make a grand appearance.’
‘She bloody well better not. I’m not ready for her quite yet.’
‘Well, experience tells me they run by their own schedule, both before and after the big moment.’
‘And that’s precisely one of the things that terrifies me.’
CHAPTER 39
It was a testament to my levels of frustration and phone-ophobia that going to the morgue was more favourable than picking one up. If I didn’t have to make another phone call in my life, I’d be a happy girl. I was all phoned out, feeling phone deaf, ringing my hands in consternation and ready to call it quits and put my day on hold. Yes, it was so bad that I was even playing pun wars with myself. Sometimes I really did wish my head would shut the fuck up.
I’d texted Alistair ahead and arranged to meet him at 11.00am. Unfortunately I was very familiar with the morgue at the Dunedin hospital. It was one of the hazards of the job. I had attended a few postmortems in my time, and some had been more confronting than others. Overall though, odd as it may seem to some, I viewed the morgue as a comforting place to be. For families it meant that they had experienced a devastating loss, but the postmortem started the process of finding answers for them. If the death was unexpected, they’d find out the cause. If it was as a result of an accident, they’d get some closure. If it was the result of foul play, there’d be evidence that could lead to justice.
I also knew the level of care, respect and professionalism undertaken by Alistair and his associates. People were in good hands.
I descended the stairs to the basement, and sat in the reception area, waiting for him to come and collect me. True to form and exactly to the second, Alistair appeared through the door and waved for me to come on through.
‘You’re looking a lot more rotund than when I saw you last.’
‘Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re looking greyer than when I saw you last.’
‘Touché, but I won’t take that as a compliment.’ Alistair was a few years older than me and reminded me of that actor who played Capote. Throwing shade at each other had been a hobby since our school days.
He led me through to the back. I couldn’t believe how thrilled I was to leave my office, even if it was just to go to someone else’s office. Geography was everything. His was also a shared space, but we were lucky enough to have the place to ourselves.
‘Are you sure you’ve still got three or four weeks to go, because that thing looks huge on you.’
‘So we’re a gynaecologist now, are we?’
‘Haha, no, couldn’t think of anything worse.’ That kind of made sense, because on the farm, back in the day, he’d been squeamish about the animals giving birth, but was perfectly happy prodding the dead things. ‘So what did you actually want to see me about? Because as you well know, maternity things aren’t my forte.’
‘I just wanted to see if you knew much about amniocentesis and the conditions it picks up?’
‘Well only the basics of what I learned on the gyno rotation at med school for the amnio. For the conditions, we occasionally see very young babies here if they have died from a condition that’s the result of a chromosomal or genetic disorder, or from anencephaly.’
‘That’s the one where part of the skull and brain are missing?’
‘Yes. But often for those kinds of cases, because they have a diagnosis for a fatal disorder and they have had regular and ongoing medical care for it, we don’t need to perform an autopsy. The physicians are confident about the cause of death and can sign off the certificate. For something as extreme as anencephaly, it is clear from an external examination and the poor things only survive days, if not hours, if not stillborn.’
I was starting to feel thoroughly depressed by this conversation. Maybe visiting Alistair wasn’t such a good idea after all.
‘Do we get many cases like that in Dunedin?’
‘No, maybe three or four a year, if it’s a bad year.’
‘That must be awful for their families.’ The magnitude of that understatement was not lost on me.
‘Yes.’ Or him. Both of us stared into space for a bit, my mind trying hard not to imagine myself in that position. There was enough to worry about already with bringing a new human into the world without adding that to the clamour in my head.
‘That’s all I can help you with really. An obs-gyno or paediatrician is your best bet if you want detail.’
‘I’ve got that sort of covered. It’s just that sometimes you offer a different take on things. Please take it as a compliment that you’re weird. It can be useful.’
‘Compliment accepted.’
‘Actually, there was something else I wanted to sound you out about, seeing as you’ve probably been thinking about it anyway.’
‘Oh, and what was that?’
‘When I spoke with you about the postmortem results for Aleshia Newman, you dropped the wee bombshell that the perpetrator took the baby, placenta and all. We’d flippantly commented that maybe they were in a rush, so just grabbed the kit and caboodle and ran.’
‘Hmmmm,’ he said with an almost suspicious tone.
‘What if that wasn’t accidental or unplanned? I guess what I’m asking, in its most basic form, is, what could you do with a placenta?’
‘That’s a good question, and it’s wise not to make any assumptions as to why that happened. And by the way, even though you think I’m weird, no, I hadn’t been dwelling on that odd detail.’
