The birth

To be honest, I would give birth on the side of the road without complaint if they would just score me some drugs sharpish. I am brought into a storeroom with a trolley bed .Its private, warm and looks like a hospital room to me. First on the menu is gas and air. I sit back to front on a chair leaning on pillows with my TENS pads on my back and the gas tube clutched firmly in my hand.

The midwife keeps to herself, and seems remarkably busy with some paperwork. From her demeanor, I would hazard a guess that she’s not totally happy in her current job. She probably wanted to be a torture consultant but didn’t make the grade. Being a midwife is clearly a very poor second best.

As the contractions increase I demand the epidural. After much persuasion, I allow the TENS pads to be removed from my back to make room for the epidural patch. I refuse to handover the gas and air tube. ’Its like a terrorist negotiation’ complains the midwife. It feels like a lifetime before the anesthetist arrives. Special Bloke tells me it was 20 minutes tops, but I can’t believe that.

Eventually the pain subsides on one side, before kicking in furiously on the other. It seems I am in that small screaming minority that get patchy relief from the epidural. The midwife breaks my waters and after an eternity of breathing in and out like Darth Vader, I reach the magic 10cm dilation.

7am:Theres a change of shift and our midwife heads home. ‘Have a rest there dear. We’ll start you pushing in an hour’ says Karen our new midwife. Peanut however has no intention of staying put. He moves ever so slowly like a big steam liner down the birth canal. ’Hmmm, seems like babs is keen to get moving’ Karen smiles. Another midwife joins Karen and persuades me to hold my legs in the air while lying on my back with my chin forward. At this stage my rear end feels as though it is being pulled in a tug of war by two opposing teams and is ready to explode.

10am:‘No room here…. this girl is nowhere near ready …we’re not going anywhere fast ‘ the midwife hollers down the corridor, to a colleague. I lose the will to live. I cannot believe I am doing so badly. I sense the midwife’s disgust at my abysmal pushing skills. I want to punch her and berate her for her lack of empathy and lack of suggestions. ‘Come on, we’ll be here all day’ she scolds.’ I respond much better to praise than criticism’ I hiss coldly, through clenched teeth. There is silence and I picture Karen and the other midwife meowing bitchily to each other. Special Bloke loyally kisses me.’ You’re doing great hon.’ he intones wearily but I can tell that his hearts not in it.

I begin to whimper and cry almost silently. My eyes are shut. I am tired and miserable. ‘Are you feeling pain or pressure?’ quizzes the midwife. She repeats the question several times, becoming more frustrated with my silence. She might as well ask me to recite the Iliad. ‘I don’t know’ I spit. ‘Perhaps we could discuss that over a pint, but right now all I can tell you is that it bloody well hurts.?’ Special Bloke continues to gently praise my efforts. In despair she offers me a local anesthetic injection. If she had offered me bleach, vodka or an amputation I would have agreed on the grounds that it might help.

The injection hits the spot. Another midwife suggests using stirrups and hey presto I am in business. It’s the same action you might use on a rowing machine and I become a mad demented Olympic rower. I sense the midwife’s approval, even though my eyes are firmly shut. ‘Get the students in here fast. She’s about to deliver!’ I am so excited and relieved that its nearly over, I forget to voice my horror when 8 giddy student nurses arrive in.

10.56am:Peanut shoots out after one last push and is placed on my tummy. He immediately, expertly suckles at my breast in a very calm, purposeful fashion. Special Bloke cuts the chord. Our lovely baby has a heavy metaller haircut, short at the sides with flowing locks down his neck. He peeks up at me with oriental shaped, puffy eyes and big jowls. He is so vulnerable, despite his muscular arms and back. They put him on the scales and a gasp vibrates around the room. He weighs in at 11lbs 2 ounces!!!! I become known as ‘The Breeder’. My adorable newborn baby boy is squeezed into a newborn baby grow.

11.20am:The Doctor on call arrives to stitch me up. He looks vaguely familiar beneath the surgical mask. He introduces himself and I listen to the familiar voice in disbelief. Oh my God! Bobbing between my legs with a needle in his hand is my new neighbour. I wonder what the etiquette books would suggest. ‘Hello there, I blush. ‘Its Daisy, your neighbour’.