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Listen to STILL IMPROVING CHAPTER 10 by Nick Eades MP3 song. STILL IMPROVING CHAPTER 10 song from Nick Eades is available on Audio.com. The duration of song is 18:00. This high-quality MP3 track has 891.604 kbps bitrate and was uploaded on 24 Apr 2024. Stream and download STILL IMPROVING CHAPTER 10 by Nick Eades for free on Audio.com – your ultimate destination for MP3 music.
The narrator, a pilot, is on a flight when they receive a message that a pregnant woman on board is showing signs of going into labor. They reassure the woman and her husband that they will land in time for the birth. The pilot suggests moving the couple to first-class beds for more comfort. Later, they receive another call that the woman is in extreme pain and lying on the floor. The pilot prepares for a possible diversion to the nearest airfield. CHAPTER X A SILENT NIGHT MIRACLE Three hours into the flight, and it appeared we were the only aircraft in the sky. There was nothing but the Atlantic Ocean between us and our departure and destination airports. All we could hear on our headsets was the occasional crackle of static from far-away thunderstorms. There were no other aircraft within a hundred miles of us, and apart from checking in with air-traffic control every hour, there was little for the three of us on the flight deck to do. The engineer monitored all of the aircraft's complicated systems, carried out routine fuel checks, and tried to stay awake. The captain was on his scheduled rest period, and had his seat pushed back, and a gentle snore was the only indication that he was still alive. Liz would occasionally pop her head into the flight deck to make sure at least two of us were awake. When it was my break I would take over baby duties to allow Liz to get some rest. The whole scene was almost surreal as the 747 continued to power its way through what remained of Christmas night. I stared out of the window at the stars, trying to work out which one had guided the three wise men all those centuries ago. All was peaceful, all was quiet, but not for much longer. The first sign that all was not well was when a little blue light illuminated on the overhead panel, accompanied by a muffled bell. This meant that one of the crew was trying to contact us from the main deck. Whilst this in itself was not an indication that something was wrong, usually the crew came into the flight deck if they needed to speak to us. If there was a problem in the cabin, such as an unruly passenger, the crew would use this interphone system to keep us updated. I was not unduly concerned if that was the case, as we pretty much had the passengers outnumbered. Let them try anything if they dared was my idle thinking as I answered the phone. Being young and relatively immature, I would often answer a call to the flight deck with the following greeting. Thank you for calling the flight deck. Your call is very important to us. I am sorry there is no one here at the moment to take your call, but if you like to leave your name and number we will get back to you as soon as we can. It amused me, and, believe it or not, a few of the crew actually did leave a message before I could no longer contain my laughter. Tonight was not a good night for such frolics. Don't be so bloody stupid! got my immediate attention, and I realised that this was not a social call after all. I sat bolt upright and listened intently. The cabin service director, Alain Stavniki, the head of the cabin crew, was fast asleep in the crew bunks. Deputy explained precisely what was taking place. A young Irish couple had boarded the aircraft in Barbados, the wife clearly pregnant. There is a rule that a pregnant woman is not allowed to fly after thirty-two weeks due to the risk to her and her unborn baby. The couple confirmed that the wife was in the permitted time frame, and so, of course, they had been allowed to board the aircraft. The purser explained that this lady was now showing early signs that the baby had decided that Christmas night would be an excellent time to make an appearance. Nobody, then, would have excuse for getting their birthday. I could see the baby's point of view. We were now in the middle of the Atlantic, Barbados three hours behind us and Ireland was another three hours in front of us. There was nothing else but ocean in between. I was a new father. I had been at my own son's birth just a few weeks earlier, so I knew a thing or two about babies being born. Why, I was nearly an expert at the whole business, or so I imagined. I did know for sure that the entire process from the first signs of contractions to the actual birth takes ages and ages—days and days, if you are really unlucky. With this reassuring knowledge to hand I relayed the words of perceived wisdom to the purser. She was not entirely convinced, and asked if one of us could come down to reassure the expectant mother, as she was beginning to panic. No problem, I thought to myself. A few wise words from me should do the trick. I informed her that I would be down in a minute, but before I could leave the flight-deck I had a captain to wake up. As I was about to find out, captains do not like being woken up in the middle of their rest-period. After a couple of gentle shakes of his shoulder one of his eyes suddenly opened, his mouth moved, and I was greeted with the words, This had better be bloody important. I hoped that a pregnant woman, apparently going to premature labour, made it onto his list of essential things. Luckily for me it did. Our captain belonged to the generation of fathers who, at the first signs of anything to do with the arrival of their offspring, would literally hop off somewhere, anywhere else. I, however, was made of much sterner stuff. I had accompanied my wife to as many prenatal clinics as I could manage—well, to be fair, as many as I could not avoid. I had learned what to do and what not to do at the actual birth process. The most important thing, though, I took away from these lectures was not fainting and not getting in the way. I had, indeed, been at my wife's side for the whole long drawn-out procedure. I knew from my first-hand experience that these things took time—a lot of time. With this knowledge firmly at the forefront of my mind I set off to reassure our soon-to-be mum. I thought before going downstairs I would see how my own offspring was doing, and of course to check up on my wife Liz. Both looked very relaxed, and James—bless him!—was fast asleep in his mother's arms. Best not to disturb my thought, and so I set off in search of a passenger with a big tummy. As there were only twenty-five passengers to choose from, this didn't take me long. My main difficulty was finding any passengers at all. The 747 is such a large aircraft, and with so few people on board we could have stayed hide-and-seek without anybody winning. Luckily one of the crew guided me through the semi-darkness to the very back of the aircraft, where I found a very anxious couple. The strange thing about being in uniform, especially a pilot's uniform, is that everybody immediately listens to you. They generally accept whatever you have to say without question. Had I been in jeans and a T-shirt I would not have been given the time of day. At one of the most stressful times of their lives the couple were looking at me and hanging on my every word. I realised that I would definitely need to choose my words very carefully. I gently explained that we could not land immediately, which would involve all of us getting very wet. I went on to explain that we were three hours from any airport. I reassured them this presented no problem, even if labour had already started. We would be on the ground in plenty of time to get to hospital in time for the baby's birth. I remembered to ask them the time of the contractions, and let the cabin crew know if there was any change in her condition. Fortunately for all involved, one of the crew had previously been a nurse, and she volunteered to look after the couple. I reassured them that we would monitor the situation and increase the aircraft's speed if we needed to get anywhere quickly. The young couple visibly relaxed, and the situation suddenly seemed a lot less stressful for all concerned. Now, it's not often that I have a very good idea, and when one eventually does come along it's a precious thing and it needs to be cherished. Tonight I had a good idea. The couple were sitting in the economy section of the aircraft with limited space, even with a near-empty aircraft. I therefore suggested that we all move to the front of the aircraft, where there were empty first-class beds. The couple could then lie down and sleep for the remainder of the flight. I returned to the flight-deck, with that organised, intending to let the old one-eyed sleepyhead captain return to the Land of Nod. I felt satisfied that I handled the situation pretty well. Another quick stop to check on Liz and the baby, and I returned to staring out at the stars once again, listening to the gentle snoring from the captain's seat. Another twenty minutes passed quietly. I made our alley-call to Piako Radio, checked our fuels and settled down, as Christmas Day slowly drew to a close. I was idly reflecting on our first Christmas with James, and how we would never forget this trip, and how right I was. The tranquillity was shattered once again, as that little blue light and chimes brought me back to our present predicament. With a healthy amount of trepidation I answered the call. No silly messages this time. The person informed me that the passengers were now lying on the floor. She was by one of the doors and was in extreme pain. Can I please come down immediately? There was no gentle shaking of the captain's shoulder this time. He was rudely awakened by a very heavy-handed engineer. After a quick update the captain asked me to assess the situation whilst he was going to prepare for a possible diversion to the nearest suitable airfield. I felt the power increase on our four giant Rolls-Royce engines as I left the flight-deck. Before we were going we were going there in a hurry. Entering the upper-deck cabin I saw that Liz was now awake and chatting to one of the crew. James was also awake and doing his best to keep them both amused with his antics. Remembering that Liz had also been present at James's birth, I had another of my light-bold moments. Asking the crew-member if she could look after James for a short time, I grabbed Liz's hand and asked her to help me with a small problem downstairs. Poor Liz's Christmas was about to take a turn for the worse. As we both ascended the circular staircase, at the bottom we found a scene that more resembled a hospital than an aircraft. Our poor pregnant passenger was lying down covered up by a blanket, in obvious distress and great pain. Her husband was in total panic, and the crew surrounding them were also doing their best to calm him down. I turned to Liz and asked her to please sort out this mess and tell me when it was all over. With that I turned around and went back to the flight-deck. Well, that was my first instinct. Instead I thought I'd better assess the situation and see how long we had before the baby made its arrival. Our nurse was doing a great job of calming the passenger, who had now turned into our patient. After a quick discussion we discovered that I was the only one who had actually been at the business end of a birth. So I was volunteered to assist in that department. Liz began to time the contractions, and the nurse went off to collect the aircraft's medical kit. Now without going into graphic detail, I had closely monitored James's birth, and the midwife had been very kind and talked me through the whole delivery. I had always been fascinated by all things medical. Indeed, if I had been better at Latin and a lot more intelligent, I would have loved to have gone into medicine as a career. Instead, all I could offer this poor woman was a very nervous pilot about to deliver her baby. I did know that the cervix had to be fully dilated to allow the baby to be born. During James's birth this process had taken a few hours. I had been shown how to check the process of dilation. We needed to know how much time we had before the baby arrived. The aircraft was still over two hours from any airport. Making sure that the soon-to-be mum and dad were happy for me to intervene, I took the plunge and began my very amateurish diagnosis. At least I could pass the latest information back to the captain, enabling him to make a more informed decision as to where and when we would need to divert. Gently lifting the blanket with Liz at my side, I began to reassure the patient. I had expected to see no more than the very beginning of the birth process. The nurse had now returned and counted the contractions, advising the mum not to push. It was far too early for that. As I looked down, I could not quite believe what I was seeing. I immediately forgot all about dilation, counting contractions, or any other of the processes I had witnessed only weeks before. Instead, I was met with a baby's head about to make its entrance into the world. I could hear the nurse telling the mum not to push. I popped my head up from under the blankets, and I said, "'No, no! Please! Push! Push!' The nurse gave me a quizzical look. Then, seeing my expression, she quickly changed her advice and began telling the mum, "'Push! Push!' A few moments later I was holding the smallest baby I had ever seen in the palm of my hands. Liz next to me, helping as best she could, drawing on my limited experience of these matters, I immediately realised that all was not as it should be. When James had made his arrival he did it with aplomb, announcing his introduction into the world with a very healthy pair of lungs. After his birth the doctor had tied and cut the umbilical cord and delivered all of the placenta, very clinical and straightforward. Here I had a tiny human being in my hands that showed absolutely no interest in her surroundings. There was no crying, no movement, and instead of a healthy pink her colour was a very pale blue. This was the worst possible scenario. The baby had been deprived of oxygen. We had a very short time-frame in which to act, or the consequences would be devastating for mother and baby. The cabin crew nurse wanted to cut the umbilical cord, which of course is standard practice. I am not sure what warned us, but I thought this would not be a good idea. This cord had been supplying the baby with oxygen for the past seven months. Maybe there was a chance it was still providing even the smallest amount. Rightly or wrongly we decided to leave mother and baby attached. The next most pressing problem was that the baby was not only quiet but her mouth was not open. Again, remembering the antenatal classes, I asked the nurse if there was a mucus extractor in the medical kit. Good old British Airways, of course there was, and it was produced. This device fits into the baby's mouth and clears the airway of anything that should not be there with a gentle suction. Unfortunately there was still no response from the baby. Turning her over onto her tummy I gently rubbed her back, just in case anything was obstructing her airway. Still nothing. The only other procedure we could think of was CPR. As part of our initial training in British Airways we had to attend an entire medical course. We learned how to perform CPR, recognise and treat heart attacks and many other medical emergencies. Our knowledge and practical skills were checked every year. That training saved the baby's life that night. Sadly Flight Crew no longer receive this training. It is reserved for Cabin Crew only. This, in my humble opinion, was a great mistake. The accountants in the company should hang their heads in shame. Luckily for all concerned we were thoroughly trained in CPR, although I had only practised on an adult-sized dummy. Still, what could be so different, I thought? Using just a finger instead of both hands I gently pressed on the baby's chest. Every few moments I used a mucus extractor to gently breathe air into her lungs. In the classroom, after a minute or two, the instructor would declare that Annie, as we all affectionately called the dummy, had recovered. In real life things were very different. After two minutes there was no miraculous recovery. The baby still showed no signs of life. Her colour was still a pale blue and she was not breathing unaided. However, the baby had other ideas. It was still Christmas Day, well on Barbados time it was, and a Christmas miracle was about to happen before our very eyes. The first thing I noticed was that the baby's colour had begun to change from a very pale blue to a very pale pink. The colour then began to deepen until I was holding a very pink baby. Oxygen was finally getting into her bloodstream, an excellent sign. Continuing with the CPR I saw that the baby was trying to breathe by herself, taking in small gulps of air between my breaths. She then began to wiggle and wriggle, slowly at first, then more pronounced, and with each breath her movements increased. Suddenly she started the most enormous wailing. Even James would be proud of that volume. Her eyes opened and the crying became even louder. No doubt seeing such an ugly face as mine in front of her did not help. The baby had truly arrived. I laid her on her mum's tummy and her father returned to complete the scene. We decided to leave the umbilical cord still attached. Hopefully it could do no harm. We thought mother and baby had been through enough for one night. Liz stayed with the crew, looking after the new family. We were now in the latter stages of our approach into Shannon, and I hurriedly mounted the stairs to return to the flight-deck. I briefly stopped to check on James. True to form, he had been behaving perfectly and had charmed his carer. As new parents we could not have been more proud of him. Thirty-three years later we still feel exactly the same about James.
