It got steadily worse. Contractions became only three minutes apart, each one longer and seeming to hurt more. Once Hugh told her not to use the ropes; he could not see that they helped. Quickly she asked for them and seemed not to have heard him. She did seem slightly less uncomfortable braced against them.
At nine that night there was bleeding. Grace became frantic; she had heard many stories of the dangers of hemorrhage. Hugh assured her that it was normal and showed that the baby would arrive soon. He believed it, as it was not massive and did not continue-and it did not seem possible that birth could be far away.
Grace looked angry and got up; Barbara slipped into the chair she vacated. Hugh hoped that Grace would rest-the women had been taking turns.
But Grace returned a few minutes later. “Hubert,” she said in a high, brittle voice. “Hubert, I’m goi1~g to call a doctor.”
“Do that,” he agreed, his eyes on Karen.
“You listen to me, Hubert Farnham. You should have called a doctor at once. You’re killing her, you hear me? I’m going to call a doctor-and you are not going to stop me.”
“Yes, Grace. The telephone is in there.” He pointed into the other wing. Grace looked puzzled, then turned suddenly and went away. “Duke!”
His son hurried in. “Yes, Dad?”
Hugh said forcefully, “Duke, your mother has decided to telephone for a doctor. You go help her. Do you understand?”
Duke’s eyes widened. “Where are the needles?”
“In the smaller bundle on the table. Don’t touch the large bundle; it’s sterile.”
“Got it. What dosage?”
“Two c.c. Don’t let her see the needle, or she’ll jerk.” Hugh’s head jerked; he realized that he was groggy. “Make that three c.c.; I want her to go out like a light and sleep until morning. She can tolerate it.”
“Right away.” Duke left.
Karen had been lying quiet between contractions, apparently in semi-coma. Now she whispered, “Poor Daddy. Your women give you a lot of grief.”
“Rest, dear.”
“I- Oh, God, here it comes again!”
Then she was saying between screams: “It hurts! Make it stop! Oh, Daddy, I do want a doctor! Please, Daddy! Get me a doctor!”
“Bear down, darling. Bear down.”
It went on and on, far into the night, no respite and getting worse. It stopped being worth while to log contractions; they almost overlapped. Karen no longer could be said to talk; she screamed incoherent demands for relief when she strained, spoke unresponsively or did not answer in the brief periods between contractions.
Around dawn-it seemed to Hugh that the torture had been going on for weeks but his watch showed that Karen had been in labor eighteen hours-Barbara said urgently, “Hugh, she can’t take any more.”
“I know,” he admitted, looking at his daughter. She was at the peak of a pain, face gray and contorted, mouth squared in agony, high sobbing moans coming out between her teeth.
“Well?”
“I suppose she should have had a Caesarean. But I’m no surgeon.”
“I wonder.”
“I don’t. I’m not.”
“You know more about it than the first man who ever did one! You know how to keep it sterile. We have sulfa drugs and you can load her up with Demerol.” She did not try to keep Karen from hearing; their patient was beyond caring.
“Hugh, you must. She’s dying.”
“I know.” He sighed. “But it’s too late for a Caesarean, even ill knew how. To save Karen with one, I mean. We might save her baby.” He blinked and swayed. “Only it would not. Who’s to wet-nurse? You can’t, not yet. And cows we don’t have.”
He took a deep breath, tried to get a grip on himself. “Only one thing left. Try to get it out Eskimo style.”
“What’s that?”
“Get her up and let gravity help. Maybe it’ll work. Call the boys, we’ll need them. I’ve got to scrub again; I might have to do an episiotomy. Oh, God.”
Five minutes and two contractions later they were ready to try it. When Karen lay back exhausted after the second one, Hugh tried to explain what they were going to do. It was hard to get her attention. At last she nodded slightly and whispered, “I don’t care.”