Unlucky Caul

My name is Petunia Evans Dursley and this is not a happy tale I am about relate to you. No, in fact it is one of the most harrowing and heart wrenching experiences I have had to endure. This unfortunate story is of my first and only daughter. Now, this also involves my older sister, Lily, whom I couldn’t despise any more than I already do. She was the favorite of the family and she was the only witch. I never would have actually thought her repulsive abnormality would be of any use. But I was proved wrong. I fled to her in my greatest time of need, begging for help and she had none to give. I had always been weary of her, the golden child, but after what happened with my child, I’ve never be able to forgive her.

* * *

“Well Mrs. Dursley, I’m going to need you to go to St. Victoria Hospital for another ultrasound,” Dr. Ferguson instructed me on the 12th of August in 1976.

“Why? Is something wrong?” I questioned nervously, not liking the tone of his voice.

“Well I’m not sure. They have better technology than we do here and I’d like a second opinion,” he answered firmly.

My gaze darted over to my husband, Vernon. He sat still as a rock in the chair by my side. His face generally conveyed little emotion, unless he was angered and this was one of those times. His plump face resembled that of a red grape. His eyes began to grow wide in fury at the doctor.

“Are you telling me that you can’t bloody do your job?” Vernon bellowed.

“Please. It’s only in the best interest of your wife and daughter,” Ferguson replied curtly.

“Vernon. Let’s just get it over with alright,” I begged, reaching out my hand and grasped his wrist.

He merely nodded at me and helped me up from the bed. I quickly redressed and we left the hospital and walked to our car. The ride into London was quiet, only punctuated by Vernon’s periodic huffs and grumbles. I was in too much shock to speak. My mind raced through endless possibilities of what could have gone amiss. We had done everything right.

“Petunia, we’re here,” Vernon muttered gruffly, pulling me from my daze.

We got out and walked into the pristine white lobby. As we entered, we were hit with a rush of over-heated, damp air. I shuttered as I felt the putrid compound brush past my skin. Briskly, we walked to the reception desk and waited as the young man talked on the telephone. After several minutes, he hung up and looked at my husband and I. His warm caramel eyes offset his dark chocolate skin and midnight black locks that were in pulled into thin plaits on his head. The name plate that sat squarely on his desk read Jackson Banks.

“Good day sir. May I help you?” he asked politely.

“Dr. Bradley Ferguson sent us for an ultrasound,” Vernon grunted, the vien in his forehead just starting to become visible under his plum colored visage.

“Your last name sir,” he answered, opening up an appointment book.

“Dursley,” I piped, placing my left hand on Vernon’s shoulder.

“Ah. Dr. Magnor is waiting for you in radiology. Take the hall on your left and it will be the second corridor on the right,” Jackson stated, gesturing in the direction of which he was speaking.

“Thank you,” I answered quietly as Vernon led the way down the corridor.

We arrived at the radiology department and one of the nurses immediately ushered us into a vacant room. Apparently, Jackson had phoned down and informed them of our pending arrival. The middle-aged brunette instructed me to undress and cover up with the linen gown that lay on the chair. After doing so, I took a seat on the cushioned examination bed while Vernon squeezed his bulky form into the chair adjacent to me at the right.

“Vernon…you’ve been awfully quiet. Please say something,” I begged with not only eyes but with my voice.

“All of this radiation better not bring a risk to our daughter Petunia. Bloody idiots don’t know what they’re doing,” he grumbled angrily just as Dr. Maureen Magnor entered the room.

“Good afternoon Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,” she blonde stated pleasantly.

“Please lay back and try to relax Mrs. Dursley,” Maureen continued as she prepared for the ultrasound.

Within ten minutes, the ultrasound was underway and Dr. Magnor looked none too pleased. Her brow was wrinkled in worry as she finished the examination. Taking a deep breath, she spoke.

“Well Mrs. Dursley, I’m afraid this baby needs to be born today…as soon as possible,” she stated calmly.

I stared at the woman in utter disbelief. In fact, I was speechless. Vernon later told me that I gawked at her, my jaw agape for a full five minutes without knowing it. Vernon, however was not stunned into silence this time.

“Today! It is entirely too early. She’s not due til December!” he protested, looking frightened.

“It has to be done Mr. Dursley…or else we may very well lose your child,” Dr. Magnor stated sternly,

“I…I can’t believe this is happening,” I breathed, finally regaining my ability to speak.

“If you’ll come with me, we’ll prep you for surgery,” the female obstetrician ordered in a congenial tone.

“Surgery!” Vernon exclaimed in protestation.

“We’ll have to perform a cesarean section in order to get the baby out in time sir,” Maureen explained as I rose from the couch and gathered my clothes.

What happened next was somewhat of a blur. I recall being rushed through various corridors in a wheel chair, Vernon loping along at my side. Around 8:30, I was given an epidural to numb me from the waist down. As the operating team began putting up the blue plastic curtains, I remember hearing one of the resident doctors questioning my husband on whether he wished to be present during our daughter’s birth.

“Of course I want to. What kind of bloody question is that?” he replied tersely.

Then the surgery began and I made the mistake of wanting to stay awake. It was dreadful. While the lower half of my body was numbed, I could still feel slight tingling sensations as they cut into my abdomen and uterus. The whirr of the suction device grated on my nerves as they sucked out excess blood and liquid. Then, the most glorious moment occurred. At 9:07 pm on August 12th, 1976, I heard the feverish clatter and chatter that signified my daughter had been brought into the world.

How I longed to hold her and see her. I ached to smile at her and whisper to her, to establish that crucial mother-child bond. But I could not. They rushed her off to the intensive care unit, shouting to one another about hooking her to this machine and that. Tears rolled down my paled cheeks as Dr. Magnor came to stand between my husband and myself.

“She’s alive. She was a caul baby, very lucky for a twenty-seven weeker,” she said, looking at us as if we were supposed to know what she meant.

“Caul?” I questioned in a rasp as I tried to rush air to my burning lungs.

“She was born still inside the amniotic sac,” Maureen explained as she reached for an official looking document.

“Now, what’s her name?” the doctor inquired with a warm smile.

“Colleen Rose Dursley,” I said with a smile at my clever play on words.

“I need to go check her stats. Mrs. Dursley, I’ll have one of the residents bring you to your room so you can rest,” she added as she exited the operating room.

One of the resident student doctors rolled me to a private room near the intensive care unit as Dr. Magnor had requested. The last thing I remember of that night was seeing Vernon pacing by the window, looking distraught and overjoyed all at once.

The following morning, after being thoroughly checked by one of the nurses, I received the ‘ok’ to get out of bed. Vernon and I were allowed, once we were garbed in sterilized outfits, to see our baby girl for the first time. It was a most devastating sight to behold. She was extremely tiny. One of the nurses reported that she was only 453 grams and was only 22.86 centimeters. The child we saw was not a child at all. All that was visible beneath the massive array of tubes and blankets was her head. Her skin was of a dark reddish hue and her eyes were dark, almost onyx colored.

“Hi baby,” I cooed through the incubator as she slowly turned her head at the sound of my voice.

I blew her a kiss as she stared at me, her gaze somewhat unfixed. I began to cry as I beheld the child I had worked so hard to nurture. Vernon gazed at her over my shoulder as he pressed the tip of his right index finger to the glass.

“She is so small,” he murmured, gentleness I hadn’t heard in his voice since the previous week.

I could only nod in affirmation as I closed my eyes to ward off the onslaught of tears I knew was coming. I was still contemplating what could have gone wrong when Vernon nudged me and we made the trek back to my room for lunch. We passed our meal in silence. I could only pick at the hospital prepared meal, my stomach was still unsettled by the scene I had witnessed that morning. My child, my first-born was so helpless and there was nothing I could do. I could not nourish her with milk from my own bosom, nor could I console her in my arms when she became distraught. The rest of that first day of her life ran together in a blur. Soon, the morning’s rays were filtering into my room through the window and Vernon was rousing me from sleep.

“You have a visitor,” he muttered, assuming the tone that he used when he spoke of something or someone he detested greatly.

I looked up to see my older sister, Lily, walk into the room. I expected her to be accompanied by that abomination of a fiancé but she was not. She wore straight-legged blue jeans and a paisley blouse. Her strawberry hair was pulled back into a hasty knot at the nape of her neck, which somehow seemed to look elegant none-the-less.

“How are you feeling Petunia?” my older sibling inquired softly as she came to stand by my bedside.

“I’ve been better. Why have you come?” I questioned harshly, after all I could not stand my sister.

“Well mum called me and told me that the baby was born so I rushed over as soon as I got off work,” she explained, nervously glancing at Vernon.

“Oh…well thank you for coming,” I responded, pushing myself up to a sitting position.

“Vernon, could we have a minute?” I asked, shifting my gaze to my husband.

He nodded and exited the room. After he was gone, I left out a heavy sigh. I turned my dark gaze upon my sister and a small smile graced them. She was now resting her arms on the side rail of the bed, taking in the stark and bare surroundings of the room.

“What’d you end up naming her?” Lily queried pleasantly.

“Colleen…Colleen Rose,” I answered, proud of my tiny treasure.

“It’s beautiful, Petunia,” she breathed.

“Thank you…” I muttered as an idea snuck into the forefront of my mind.

“I never thought I’d say this…but I need your help,” I mumbled, through tightly pursed lips.

“Help? What kind of help?” she questioned back.

“She’s very sick…I want you to make her better…you know, with your way,” I said, beginning to mentally berate myself for sinking as low as to ask help from that freak.

“Petunia…I don’t know…I’m still in training,” she stammered, looking at me with her wide emerald eyes.

“Please Lily! I swear I’ll never ask you for anything else…just this once,” I begged, grabbing hold of her wrists to emphasize my point.

“Alright. I’ll try,” she answered as she pulled herself free of my grasp.

“Thank you,” I said as I pulled her into an unceremonious embrace.

With that we made our way to the intensive care unit. We were given sterile clothing to put on. Once garbed in the starched, crisp white material we entered and stood before my child. Upon laying her gaze on my daughter for the first time, Lily gasped. I’m not sure if it was in surprise or horror.

“My god,” she breathed, pulling out the length of slender wood she always kept with her.

I glanced at the thing wearily as she closed her eyes, concentrating hard. After several long, painfully silent minutes, her eyes fluttered open again and she pointed the object at Colleen’s small form through the opening in the side of the incubator.

“Respirum vivas,” she whispered, her hand shaking slightly as she made a movement her magical paraphernalia.

“What was that? What did it do?” I begged, locking our gazes.

“She’s got a lot of fluid in her lungs. I tried to clear some of it out,” she replied, turning her focus and energy back to the sickly infant in front of her.

“Occulexit apexis,” she breathed and made a sweeping motion over her face.

“And that?” I begged, nervousness coursing through every nerve in my frame.

“I’m trying to focus her optic nerve…she won’t focus her eyes on anything,” Lily replied, looking upset.

“Well try something else,” I demanded, growing angry at her for putting in such a pathetic effort.

“Petunia…there is something wrong, I can’t fix it all…I don’t know where to begin, or what to focus on. Hell, I’m not even sure if I know all the spells necessary to heal her,” she protested.

I stared at her in awe and disbelief. How could she just give up like that? She was supposed to be perfect and capable of doing anything and when I needed her most, she couldn’t come through.

“Try again,” I ordered viscously as Colleen began to look distraught.

“She’s not breathing,” Lily gasped frantically. “Respirum vivas,” she said again, but to no avail.

“Petunia, there is nothing more I can do. Let the doctors do their job,” Lily murmured before stowing that cursed instrument of abnormality away.

She turned and left me standing there, my mouth agape after her. I turned to my baby, fighting for every breath and I knew, deep in my heart that Lily had tried her hardest. But I couldn’t admit that to myself. Not yet and I prayed not ever. Oh how easy it is to bestow the guilt and blame on someone else when we are hurt so very much. With one last look at my baby, I trudged back to my hospital room, vowing to tell no one of what had happened. My friends would think me crazy and my husband would disown me. That night, I cried myself to sleep.

“Petunia wake up!” Vernon shouted, his voice craggy and high-pitched.

I opened my eyes to see my portly husband shaking like a leaf, his skin pale as snow. I looked to the doorway to see Dr. Magnor, looking very upset, tears running silently down her face.

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Dursley…there was nothing we could do,” the young female stated as calmly as she could.

“What? What happened?” I shouted, consumed by an irrational delirium.

“Colleen…died,” the doctor choked.

“What? How? When?” I babbled, my vision darkening dangerously around the edges.

“She had too much fluid in her lungs, causing her to in a sense, dry drown. Time of death was fifteen minutes ago,” the medical professional answered solemnly.

I looked at the clock, which read 11:09. My precious baby had died at 10:54. I cursed myself for even thinking of letting my sister try and save my baby. It was her fault. Whatever voodoo talk she’d muttered had done something to hurt her baby, not help her.

I could nothing but cry. Nothing, not even my husband could console me. We held the funeral for her a week later. Lily did not show up and I was thankful. I would not have been able to stand seeing her, knowing she had been the cause of my sweet Colleen’s downfall. From that moment forward, I swore to myself that would never again trust my older sibling.

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A/N: The majority of this one-shot is based on my birth. Dates have been changed as have length and weight at birth. Level of prematurity in this story is two weeks higher than mine (I was 29 weeks). I ask that you take these facts into consideration. Thank you.