An Untimely Birth

By Alison M. Tomlinson

An Untimely Birth is a Christian fiction novel for adult readers. It tells the amazing story of nineteen-year-old Beckie, who learns from her newly converted Christian boyfriend that she might be HIV-positive while she is pregnant. As Beckie is moved into surgery for a C-section, she finds herself transported back in time to Classical Greece into a community of third-century Christians in the early church. As Beckie struggles to get back to modern-day London, she travels through time to the future of 2067. In the end, An Untimely Birth is a story of redemption and faith in addition to adventure, historical fiction, time travel, and fantasy. Will Beckie follow Jesus Christ, or will she reject Him once and for all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alison M. Tomlinson
• Release date: Jun 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463644928

Alison M. Tomlinson

I was born in Yorkshire, England in 1959, and I was in ill-health from day one. At the age of twenty-three, I gave birth to my son, Timothy, who was born severely handicapped and died at the age of nine. I continued to struggle with my health. By the time I was fifty-three, I was in crisis. I was bent over to the left, I could barely walk and I was in constant pain. My left leg was almost useless. I couldn’t bend my ankle or toes, and the muscles on my left thigh looked like those of a ninety- year-old. Life was daily trauma, and I wanted to die.I prayed and, for the first time, I started to see my health struggle as a spiritual battle. I searched my King James Bible and started to call on the Lord Jesus Christ to deliver me from the destructive schemes of the enemy. After months of this, I felt God tell me that I had broken through, and I would now find the answer.Then I discovered Dr Joel Wallach and started his nutrition and diet programme. I took the ‘Mighty 90’, the ninety essential nutrients our body needs to maintain optimal health. Within five days I knew I’d found the answer to health. Within six months, I was standing straight and was substantially out of pain. After being on the programme for a couple of years, I was walking 95% better, and I felt well for the first time in my life.So, what was I to do with my new lease of life? I still couldn’t run a marathon, but I now had margin. I could do more than just survive. I had my brain back. I could concentrate, think, analyze, reason, create.So, I started writing novels.My first novel is I’m Sorry, Oliver. The protagonist, Sylvia Keighley follows my own health story.My second novel is An Untimely Birth. My aim is to examine the spiritual roots of modern medicine through an exciting adventure story.I have plans for more novels and short stories. I hope you enjoy reading my books. Please feel free to contact me.God bless you.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

You cheated on me?

I couldn’t believe it. There I was, sitting in a hospital bed about to produce his baby, and my goodie-goodie, butter-wouldn’t-melt in-his-mouth boyfriend was telling me he’d been cavorting with a hooker?

Julian hung his head and averted his eyes. I’m sorry, I—

You’re sorry? I’m lying here with doctors and nurses running around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to find out what the hell’s wrong with me, and you go let some scrubber show you a good time. And you’re sorry? Well that’s OK then, isn’t it? As long as you’re sorry.

It was months ago when you said you were going to abort our beautiful Daisy. I was out of my mind. I couldn’t bare it. I had a bit too much John Smith’s and I—

You’ve sat on this confession for months, and you think now is was the best time to tell me? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m stressed out, every muscle aches, I’m running to the little girl’s room every thirty minutes, this rash makes me look like badly mixed strawberry mousse, and I feel like I’ve been hit over the head with a welding mallet. Sure, just the right time to spring this on me.

Julian steeled himself. Beckie, listen to me, please. I love you and our baby, and I know you’re having a tough time, but I had to tell you for two reasons. Firstly, I’m a Christian now—

Don’t start that again. If it makes you happy, go put on a purple dress and join my mum and dad singing The Magnificat in Latin every week, but leave me out of it. When you told me about your Road to Damascus experience, I started getting cold feet about this pathetic excuse for a love affair. Well, this settles it. You can get out of my life. I’ll move back in with my parents. At least that way, Daisy won’t have to live on fish and chips, or grow up with the shame of having a postman for a father.

Despite feeling like death warmed up, anger exploded within me. Even so, I couldn’t stop my heart melting just a little as I watched Julian’s big muscular frame sag and large tear drops begin to run silently down his cheeks.

God forgive me, he muttered under his breath.

God might forgive you, but I won’t. Get out

He stood up, and he seemed to fill the tiny room. He ran his hands over his almost shaved head, screwed up his face and pursed his lips. He looked like Harry Potter mustering the courage to face Lord Voldermort in the graveyard.

You’ve got to listen. You haven’t heard the worst yet, he said.

Come on then, spit it out. What’s worse than cheating on your pregnant girlfriend?

Oh God, forgive me, he repeated.

Come on, Julian, you’re scaring me.

He took several deep breaths, then forced himself to look me in the eye. When you started to get ill a few weeks ago, I was desperate to find out what was wrong. Then I remembered my . . . And I thought, just to me sure, just to rule it out, I should go for an . . .

Oh my God. You’re HIV positive.

He nodded. The first test has come back positive, but they’ll have to do confirmatory tests to be sure.

I froze.

My brain filled with white noise like an untuned TV set. I felt like I was falling, and I clung onto the sides of the bed. My huge belly rose and fell as I struggled to breathe.

Then it hit me. My baby was doomed. Her life was blotted out before it even began.

You’ve killed Daisy. Get out, I said quietly.

Beckie, I love—

GET OUT! I grabbed the nearest thing that came to hand, a glass paper weight, and slung it at him. He ducked, and it went through the observation window to the surgical ward beyond. Julian was caught in a shower of glass, and blood started to drip from a gash in his forehead.

I heard shouts, and screams, and people running towards us.

Call security, the staff nurse bellowed behind her as she opened the door. And keep the patients away from the glass, and sweep it up, and call maintenance.

She stepped into the room, What’s going on here? she barked at Julian. Then, seeing the cut on his face, shouted out the door, And bring a basic wound-cleaning pack.

She obviously assumed Julian was the guilty party, and I understood why. I’d heaved my five foot two, slight-framed but heavily pregnant body off the bed and was standing next to my hulk of an ex-boyfriend. In a fight, Julian was the odds-on favourite.

Before he could open his mouth to answer, I interjected, I need to see my doctor right now.

As soon as this is sorted, I’ll send someone to the maternity ward. They can also check if any beds are available yet. She sighed. I was the most troublesome patient she’d ever had the misfortune to deal with, and she couldn’t wait to be shot of me.

You don’t understand. I need a doctor NOW!

Please get back into bed, Miss Baxter, and calm down.

I didn’t move.

She turned back to Julian. No more unscheduled early morning visits. This is no way to behave on a hospital ward.

But I didn’t— Julian started to protest, but at that moment a security guard walked in. If Julian was six foot one, this guy had to be six three. The name tag on his bullet-proof vest read ‘Tony Romani’. He was speaking into a radio. Looks like something got thrown through an internal window.

The cramped room was now full to bursting, and Tony waved us out into the ward. Several patients were sitting up in bed glaring at us. An auxiliary nurse was busy sweeping up broken glass.

Tony squared up to Julian and said, What’s the problem here?

I tried again. I need to see a doctor right away.

The staff nurse ignored me as she pulled up a chair, sat Julian in it, donned latex gloves, and started to examine his wounded forehead.

Why do you need a doctor, Miss? Have you been injured? Tony asked looking suspiciously at Julian.

No, I’ve just found out that my moron of an ex-boyfriend is HIV positive.

There was a split second pause as this news was digested.

Then the staff nurse backed away from Julian, looking at the blooded piece of gauze she now held in her hand.

One of the patients jumped out of bed and ran out the door.

Don’t move. Stay right there, the staff nurse instructed Julian.

But I want him out of here, I said.

Call infection control, she yelled at a nurse down the ward. She carefully placed the gauze in a plastic bag, removed the gloves and put them in the same bag then placed the bag on the floor next to Julian. She leaned sideways to look into the side room and said, There’s blood on the floor. As she took her shoes off, she turned to Tony she said, Did you stand in it?

I don’t know.

Take your shoes off and step away from the contaminated area.

What?

You heard.

He reluctantly obeyed.

She then instructed me to take off my slippers, step behind a nearby curtain, and remove all my clothes while she fetched a clean bed gown.

But I need to see a doctor.

Her tone had softened, Yes dear, I understand. We’ll call a doctor as soon as possible.

A few minutes later, I looked behind me as I followed her down the ward to a small sitting room where I was to wait. I saw Julian obediently sitting on his chair, with his head in his hands, sobbing his heart out.

CHAPTER 2

Think, Beckie, think.

But I couldn’t think. I just sat in the sitting room waiting for the doctor, with random thoughts tap-dancing around my brain. I wasn’t a thinker, I was a reactor. Julian was the thinker. For a split second I wished he were there. Then I remembered I never wanted to lay eyes on him again.

Had he given me AIDs? Was I going to die? Was Daisy going to die? Surely the doctors could save us. This wasn’t the 1980’s. They’d had thirty years to learn how to deal with HIV. It would be all right. Just take some deep breaths, Beckie, and calm down.

Anyway, I was jumping the gun. Julian had said they would do confirmatory tests to be sure he was HIV positive, and even if he was, that didn’t automatically mean Daisy and I were. There again, it would explain my symptoms, the night sweats, the swollen glands. They’d been trying to find out what was wrong for weeks. This must be it.

If it turned out Julian had it but Daisy and I didn’t, I’ve have to dump him for Daisy’s sake. I had to protect her. I’d have to move back in with my parents as soon as I left the hospital. What a depressing thought. Sure, my parents loved me, and their house meant security, but I was nineteen and I longed for freedom, for independence.

If I were honest, I’d have to admit I only took up with Julian to get back at my parents. He wasn’t their idea of a perfect match for their only daughter. They’d have preferred a doctor or lawyer who played golf at weekends to a postman who devoted his time to home carpentry. Anyway, I showed them I was going to do life my way. Then I got pregnant. Then I got trapped.

The idea of having a baby had grown on me, and I’d reconciled myself to living with Julian, though I steadfastly resisted his constant pleas to marry him. But now look at the mess we were in. I put my hands on my enormous belly and said, I’m sorry, Daisy. I’ve really mucked things up. I know it’s not fair on you. You didn’t ask for this. I love you, and I’ll do everything I can for you.

As I thought of my love for Daisy, I couldn’t help thinking of Julian’s love for her too. Did I really have the right to take her out of his life? I’d used him to rebel against mum and dad, and now I was going to cast him off. I hadn’t been fair to him, had I?

But then I thought about his new found religion. I couldn’t bare it. I’d grown up being told to be good like Jesus. I’d had enough of being preached at.

I supposed I should call my parents and tell them what was happening. But I imagined the looks of horror on their faces and the ‘told you so’ lectures. No, I decided to wait and see what the doctors said, and then call them.

At that moment the door opened, and Helen walked in.

Did they tell you? Is this why I’m sick? Is my baby going to die?

House officer, Dr Helen Atkinson, sat down on the end of a nearby sofa, and took my hand.

Surely you shouldn’t touch me without protective gloves, I said.

Ignoring this, Helen said calmly, Beckie, I’ve heard your boyfriend might be HIV positive, but we don’t know the full situation, and it isn’t time to panic yet.

But this explains why I’m feeling lousy, right?

Maybe.

What are the early signs of HIV infection?

Well, fatigue . . .

Check.

Muscle aches . . .

Check.

Night sweats . . .

Check.

Rash . . .

Check

Swollen glands . . .

Check.

But none of those things is exclusive to HIV. There are hundreds of other possibilities.

But you’ve been looking for other explanations for weeks. This has to be it. Is Daisy going to die?

Beckie, please try to calm down. We have to take this one step at a time.

I liked Helen. She was just a few years older than me. She had confidence mingled with a healthy sense of fun. I liked the simple way she wore her naturally blond hair (no dark roots) back in a ponytail, and didn’t try to cover up her slightly spotty face with heavy makeup. Yes, I liked her, but at that moment being told to calm down was infuriating.

Calm down? I might be dying.

Helen opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment the door opened, and in walked Dr George Petropoulos. As registrar, I normally only saw him very briefly and rarely. But this time he walked over to the sofa and sat down close to Helen. Too close. She stood up and moved to a high back chair on my other side.

What are you going to do? Can you save us? I demanded of Dr Petropoulos as he shuffled into the place Helen had just vacated.

Miss Baxter, I’m just here to make sure we have all the necessary information. Then I’ll speak to Dr Basil when he comes out of theatre.

You’re passing the buck? I was used to Dr Petropoulos strutting around, barking orders at all and sundry, and acting like he was God’s gift to medicine (as well as God’s gift to women). I’d never seen him look so frazzled.

Dr Petropoulos looked flushed as he replied, It’s normal with unusual and potentially dangerous cases for the consultant to take charge.

I’m an unusual and potentially dangerous case, am I?

Helen glared at Dr Petropoulos, Beckie, you’re not a ‘case’, you’re a concerned mother, and we need to get you the best medical care possible. Dr Basil has a lot of experience with HIV in pregnancy.

So, it’s still quite common?

About two and a half women in every thousand– began Dr Petropoulos.

You treat half-women, do you?

—are HIV positive.

And what happens to them?

We treat them with ARV, antiretroviral therapy, and—

I didn’t ask how you treat them. I asked what happens to them. Do they die? Do their babies die?

Beckie, said Helen, we don’t even know if you are HIV positive yet.

But I probably am, aren’t I? Millions of people have died from HIV, right?

To date about thirty-five million of the seventy million infected have died. Dr Petropoulos ignored Helen as she closed her eyes and let out a sigh of exasperation. She evidently didn’t think such statistics were helpful at this point.

So half the people with HIV die. A few hours ago, I’d been choosing cute baby clothes online. Now, all of a sudden, Daisy and I had a death sentence hanging over us.

Let me finish, Miss Baxter, said Dr Petropoulos, Most of those who died did not have access to ARV, and were not in a modern western hospital like the West London General.

This is a difficult situation, but you are in the right place, said Helen reassuringly.

CHAPTER 3

The doctors were called away, and I was left to wait in the sitting room. I didn’t like being alone with only my dark, hopeless thoughts for company. Waves of despair and sorrow overwhelmed me, I tried not to yield to them for Daisy’s sake, but within minutes I was sobbing uncontrollably.

Suddenly I was aware of somebody standing next to me. I looked down and saw shiny black dress shoes sticking out from under a long black robe. Startled, I looked up into the face of a man of about fifty with short grey hair and a dog collar.

I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I’m the hospital catholic chaplain. My name is Father Ambrose.

I’m not catholic, I said bluntly, and just to make sure the situation was perfectly clear I added, I’m not Christian. I’m not anything.

Would you like to talk?

I was taken aback. I’d expected a lecture and received a simple question. The honest answer was, Yes, I’d like to talk. But to a catholic priest? I said nothing.

You are obviously in some distress. May I sit down?

I shrugged which he took as assent and lowered himself to the sofa. He sat bolt upright with his hands folded in his lap.

After a few seconds, the silence got to me and I said, I guess you deal a lot with people in crisis.

Are you in a crisis?

You could say that.

He said nothing. So I continued, My idiot boyfriend slept with a prostitute and got HIV. My baby and I have a death sentence hanging over us. Does that count as a crisis?

I would think so.

Pause.

Where is your boyfriend now?

Who cares?

Has he abandoned you?

I told him to go jump off a cliff.

Why did you do that?

What a stupid question. Why was I talking to a fifty year old bachelor? How could he understand romantic relationships?

Why wouldn’t I tell him to take a hike after what he’s done?

Reviews for An Untimely Birth

[Jonathan Eastvold · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Beware, unless you are already inclined toward quackery. If this is a faithful representation of Christian teaching, then I’m the queen of England.