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Helena Wells-Quinzel is H.G. Wells (indelibleink) wrote in makebelievelog,

"You are already far ahead of my knowledge of what to expect when I was at your stage of pregnancy." Helena's mother had not told her anything on the matter, apparently content to let her figure it out for herself by trial and error. And, well, the details of pregnancy were not considered appropriate conversation topics in Victorian England. "It is certainly a life-changing experience, as you obviously already are aware of. Though I do give you warning, my own pregnancy was not an easy one. I will try to spare details that might frighten you, unless you wish to be aware of them." She was going to leave that up to Padmé to decide. Helena's labor had been the worst part. It had dragged on for a full twenty-four hours with the only "pain killer" having been chloroform. She'd been lucky to have even had a proper doctor there for the birth. Typically only nurses had been present for births in Helena's day, but her father had ensured his daughter had proper care. Thankfully.

"It is, though given social constraints of the day, history remembers my brother as being H.G. Wells, not me. He always did enjoy basking in my glory." Helena rolled her eyes. Charles had always enjoyed the attention from women because of Helena's work. Though she'd always taken great pains in reminding him that the stories were the work of a genius, which Charles most certainly wasn't. Helena was the genius of her family. There were times she was certain her IQ was higher than that of her mother and three siblings combined. "It is always better to err on the side of caution, I believe. So what have you taken to doing to occupy yourself when you can't do some physical activities you otherwise would?"