This week’s Dispatches from New Motherhood offering is THE ASSASSIN by Charlie Wakefield. Charlie’s powerful piece opens on a playful note, but goes on to capture all of the uncertainty and vulnerability that she felt around the birth of her daughter. As the author explains, the framing of her account is testament to the many benefits of creativity when reflecting on experience.
Charlie says, ‘It probably sounds like quite an unusual title to describe the birth of my daughter. I was scared at this point and writing about it in this way helped me to deal with and overcome this experience. Plus, to have this moment captured and published turned it into a positive.’
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The Assassin
Charlie Wakefield
The assassin shifted in his black shoes. They were embroidered with his initials: SJ. He flicked the vial and a small droplet of liquid dribbled off the syringe end. He tapped his foot, and sighed irritably as he waited to kill me. For him it was just another day and just another victim.
OK, so he wasn’t really an assassin, he was the anaesthetist. He could equally have been seen as my saviour, a knight in hospital scrubs armour: the pain instantly being relieved by his administration of the epidural. But to me he was cold, impatient and had seen this all before. Plus, I was scared.
Flashback to 10pm on the Thursday – four days earlier. I believe my waters have broken and I naively think that this is it: my baby will be here shortly. I’m being asked for the first time on the journey to the assassin, ‘Is it ok if I touch you?’ How polite, yet strange, I think. I answer ‘yes’ while wondering if you don’t touch me how the hell is this baby ever going to get out? For the next four days we yo-yo from the hospital to home.
Jump forward to Monday. Now I have to make a decision: to sign and confirm it’s OK for him to stick a needle into my spine whilst I’m effectively being held down by midwives. My partner, who has a love of reading critical thinking books, can’t stay with me; the laminated handout given to him presenting the odds is just too much if this goes wrong. I read blindly, sign and effectively agree. I’m so exhausted I don’t even notice my partner leave the room. The assassin mobilises. He administers the epidural and is gone.
The hours roll by. At some point Monday turns to Tuesday. I am now relaxed and no longer scared. I have a surreal conversation around 3am with my midwife about our cycle trip along the west coast of California. My partner who has been awake with me since Thursday finally gets some sleep beside me on the hard floor. But then in a blur of bright lights I’m being wheeled into theatre. The assassin is back. Tears stream down my face: I’m scared again. We've been here five days, and now I'm being told I'll be having my baby in three minutes – by emergency caesarean.
Fast forward to Friday 3pm. Finally, we are leaving with our baby. I am so relieved. As I stand waiting for my partner, I see a very pregnant bridesmaid emerging from a car. She's followed by the rest of the bridal party, tops and tails flapping. I have a flashback: I wonder whether she will meet the assassin too – or if for her, he will be her saviour, her knight. Either way he will be waiting. I breathe a sigh of relief and look at my baby. It’s time to leave, and start the next chapter together.
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The Assassin by Charlie Wakefield appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.