The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1076 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Call the police as well,” I shouted after her. My brain began to work again, time was of the essence–this woman could die and so could her baby.

I ran outside to the window, it had bars on it, on the outside and even if I could remove them, there was a lock on the inside of the quarter-light. Bugger, this was getting worse. Entry had to be via the door, how else could we do it? The door was solid, a proper wooden one. The floor was solid, the ceiling?

I tried to visualise what was directly above our cloakroom, the top of the stairs. I ran back out and grabbed a hammer and cold chisel, a wide one called a feathersplitter and designed for lifting things like floor boards. I remembered my dad lifting floorboards when he wired in something like a light. I rushed upstairs and by this time Julie had realised something was up.

Julie somehow understood my garbled message and helped me tear up the landing carpet, we ripped it back and began bashing the chisel with the hammer lifting up the ancient boards. The first was the hardest and by the time we had a second up we were getting the hang of it. Underneath, the ceiling was made of lath and plaster stuck on with horrible black mortar. I knocked a hole through and could see we were at least in the right place. I then smashed away for all I was worth, knocking a hole big enough for me to drop through. The mess down below was dreadful and Tom would have a fit when he came home.

Then finally, ruining a pair of CK pants and top, I wriggled through the hole feet first and lowered myself down on to the toilet cistern and then, via the pan to the floor. I wasn’t sure if Maria was breathing or not, and she was covered in the horrid black dust from the ceiling.

Moving her in the small space was going to be a challenge and I was trying not to hurt her then thought, what the hell, and yanked her leg out of the way, pulled open the door and, with Julie’s help, manhandled her out into the hall.

At this point several of the girls appeared to see what all the noise was. “Keep them away,” I shouted and Julie shooed them back into the lounge where they’d been playing. Stella went in with them, picking up Daisy and taking her with them despite her protests and screams for her mother.

We laid Maria on her back and I tried to see if she was breathing, there was vomit all down the front of her, so I really hoped she was. I asked Julie to get a cloth and some towels and she hared off faster than I’ve ever seen her run. She was back as I decided Maria had stopped breathing. I asked Julie to clean up her face and mouth, while I began chest compressions–apparently that’s what you do these days.

At this point the paramedic arrived, a single one on a motorbike, an ambulance was apparently on its way, stuck in traffic. With a stomach that really didn’t want me to touch her mouth, I held her nose and blew twice into her mouth, I saw the chest rise and fall.

I started the compressions again as the paramedic pulled out his scissors and began cutting open her dress, then her bra and I had to stop while he placed electrodes over various bits of her body and plugged them into his defibrillator. He urged me to continue, so I did, compressing her ribs and praying I wasn’t hurting the baby.

The machine decided it wasn’t ready to shock, and the young paramedic took over the compressions, really bashing them in, he pressed the machine again and after an electronic voice said, ‘analysing’ he continued. Then it told him to administer a shock, we stood clear and her body jolted with the force of the surge of energy.

He continued his compressions, and handed me a mask to put over her mouth and nose which had a bag attached, to breathe for her. I compressed the bag and I think I saw her chest rise. The machine suggested we had some heart activity and told us to stop. Her heart was beating and I felt such relief. I was tired and filthy dirty and had ruined goodness knows how much clothing, when the paramedic shouted at me to continue with the bag I nearly burst into tears.

The ambulance finally arrived and they loaded her up and drove off within moments, with words like Caesarean being mentioned. I sat in a heap and sobbed.

“Is she gonna make it?” asked Julie.

I shrugged, I had no idea–nor about the baby.

I called Maureen and asked her to come asap to examine the mess I’d made, and I went upstairs to shower–I felt so dirty. I also cleaned my teeth and used a mouthwash. My hair still damp, I dressed and went down to see to Daisy.

It’s so difficult explaining to a six year old what had happened; made more difficult by not knowing if either her mother or new sibling would survive the ordeal.

Using Maria’s mobile we managed to get hold of Paul and told him what had happened, he was in Northumberland and would take hours to get home. I told him to see about flying down from Newcastle to Southampton and someone would collect him. He told me he’d call me back on her mobile.

I took Daisy into the hospital to see if there was any news about her mother. The roads were as clogged, I suppose the kids were on holiday and every parent with a car was using it to block the roads. I’d have been quicker cycling but couldn’t have taken Daisy with me.

Whilst the reception staff were sympathetic, they couldn’t seem to get any news other than someone had been rushed into theatre who had come in by ambulance. We sat and waited.

When Paul phoned to say he could get a flight and be down around six in the evening, I told him Tom would collect him. I then phoned Tom and told him briefly what had happened. He immediately agreed to collect Paul and bring him to the hospital.

It seemed I only met Maria on emergencies, last time she’d crashed her car, and my bike had been wrecked. Back at home, Maureen had come, cleaned up the mess and relaid the floor boards. Apparently, the whole ceiling would need to come down and be replaced. She would do it next week but would need to speak with Tom first; or so Stella told us later.

We waited, cuddling together hoping that Maria and the baby would be okay. I was praying, but I’m not sure to who or what. Finally after we’d been there an hour or more, probably longer, I was called and led to an interview room. We walked hand in hand and I felt Daisy’s nails cutting into my skin, she was gripping so tightly.

We were taken into a small consulting room. “You are?” asked a man in blue scrubs.

“I’m Cathy Cameron, and this is Daisy, Maria Drummond’s daughter.”

“You’re a friend, I take it?”

“Yes, she was taken ill at my house, I had to smash in through the ceiling to get her out of my cloakroom, she’d fallen across the door.”

“Ah, that would explain why she was covered in black dust–lath and plaster I take it?”

I nodded, “Her husband’s in Northumberland but gets back to Southampton airport at about six, my father is going to collect him.”

He nodded, “Okay, the state of play is this–we have a very sick new born, who may or may not make it, and we have a very sick mother, who may or may not make it. It’s in the lap of the gods, I’m afraid. They’re both in intensive care. I’m sorry, but we’ve done what we can.”

“Can we see them?”

“You can see the mother, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for the young un, she’s pretty sick.”

“She’s dealt with it before, her mother had a nasty accident a year or so ago and ended up in the neurological unit at Southampton, Daisy was quite badly injured herself, weren’t you, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Auntie Cathy fixed my legs and helped Mummy, didn’t you?”

I blushed by way of an answer.

“This is the young lady whose legs spontaneously healed and she walked about a short while later?”

Blushing still, I nodded again.

“Are you the one who has done a few minor miracles here?”

“I wouldn’t say I did anything, but it seems to happen near me.”

“Right, young woman–Nurse, take her up to see Mrs Drumond and also to the baby if she can. I have to go, another emergency–do what you can, eh?”