Warning: Snarky review ahead. Please feel free to eye-roll and scroll. In fact, I'd much prefer that you do.
Still here? Fine. Imagine you could ask one writer on God's green earth one question. Who would it be? What would you ask? Take your time to think about it. I don't need to. I would love to ask the authors of The Midwife Murders this: Why, oh why, did the protagonist feel the need to drag her patient into the shower to give birth? I've pondered that question for 24 hours and am no closer to an answer.
Picture this: a loony, loose-cannon midwife called Lucy skids into a delivery room, still sweaty after her run. Her even-sweatier patient is a first-time mom. The poor girl is shackled to the bed (don't ask), a drug addict, and about to have twins. Vaginally, despite the fact that Twin 2 is known to be breech. Trust me, this is, well, unlikely in this day and age. Don't get me wrong, I am a passionate supporter of natural birth and midwives. I think water births are the bomb. And I am all for trying imaginative tricks to support fearful, hurting moms-to-be and to coax reluctant babies into the world. I used to be a doula; I can tell you some stories. (None quite as entertaining as this one, I fear.)
So after a bit of yelling, Lucy's preferred mode of communication, the unfortunate patient is unshackled. Well, maybe she isn't that unfortunate, since her first baby promptly slides out like "a Snickers bar from a candy machine." Ready for the unfortunate bit? Mom starts bleeding. Twin 2 clings to the walls of the womb. Lucy's assistant, Troy, a 300-pound male midwife (should I call him a mid-hubby or perhaps a delivery boy?) suggests a C-section. Sounds wise, even to to natural-birth-loving me.
But Lucy's gut has a better plan. For some unfathomable reason, it drags the mom bleeding and cursing into a hot, steamy, slippery shower. Baby's body appears, but her head gets stuck. Once again, Troy urges a C-section. Which doesn't sound quite as wise anymore. You know how new sleeping bags and tents never wanna fit back into the bags in which you bought them? The same pretty much goes for babies and their shoulders, except they don't much care for being manhandled back in where they came from. The birth canal was designed as a one-way street.
Meanwhile, Lucy's other assistant, Tracy, has her phone in her hand, ready to call the OR. That's what Lucy thinks, anyway. I suspect Tracy is videotaping the whole circus. The malpractice lawyer sure is gonna love footage of that newborn being dropped onto her downy little head...
"And then it happens..." I'm quoting, in case you haven't noticed. "The baby popped out like a cork from a bottle of champagne." Great catch, Lucy! All is well that ends well, right? (Teeny tiny spoiler alert: the baby dies in NICU a little later, most likely from non-shower-related causes. Lucy takes the time to cry in Dr. McCreepy's arms, but not to go comfort her patient. In fact, she seems to forget about her completely until they run into each other days later.)
I'll stop now. If you're looking for an entertainingly ridiculous read, look no further. Lucy is fun company. She is to midwifery what Homeland's Carrie Mathison is to the CIA - when Carrie is off her meds and snorting coffee and smack-bang in the middle of a bipolar episode. Lucy has more maternal instinct, to be fair. Worse taste in men though, in my humble --
OMG, I think I figured out the answer to my question!!! That often happens to me when I write about things I don't understand. Perhaps the shower birth had nothing to do with the birth. Perhaps Lucy's gut simply wanted to get clean after that run. With the handsome Dr. McCreepy in the vicinity, who can blame it? Guts work in mysterious ways, after all.