This time last year: 22nd December

Date: 22 December 2005 11:28:00

Well. I'd had three doses of hormone. Nothing, that's NOTHING, had happened. I'd been on the bed with monitors attached to The Bump for what felt like about 8 years. The lack of a tv or any other entertainment in the room we were in was commented on.

[An interlude while we consider mr birdie's role in this symphony of boredom.]
To say mr birdie felt like an interloper on the ward would be an understatement. It was okay during visiting hours, when there were other dads and family around, but most of the time there was no-one other than the midwives and mothers in various stages of being about to give/just given birth. Plus, technically I was the patient, so only I could use the patients' facilities (tea & coffee making, loos, showers, dining room). I had to smuggle him tea and coffee, he had to go off the ward to use the loo, and to the hospital cafe while I had my meals in the ward dining room. This morning, I had asked one of the midwives about the possibility of him having a shower. She wasn't encouraging. While I was having breakfast, a healthcare assistant sidled up to me, and murmered "are you the induction in 7b?" "yes" "we've just put your husband in the shower." "righto."
[/interlude]

So, anyway, I had breakfast, mr birdie had a shower, and we waited for my consultant to arrive. I'd had three doses of hormone, but they can't give you any more than that without the consultant's go-ahead. He eventually turned up, and examined me, and then frightened the living daylights out of me by saying:
"I think if we got someone really skilled to do it, we could just about break your waters."
What, as opposed to just getting someone in off the street?!?!?

When he examined me, he also did a sweep*. I'd had a sweep every time I had a dose of hormone but he was fairly.. vigorous, and I blame him entirely for what happened next!

While I was pregnant, mr birdie and I had, naturally enough, discussed the whole labour & being in pain question. We had been reassuring ourselves that labour starts slowly and builds, so your body can deal with it better as it all beuild up over hours. As we said, it's not like you're suddenly in a room of agony when a minute ago you were fine.

So we toddled off to the lift to go down to the delivery suite for the next bit. Walked into the lift: fine. Down in the lift: fine. Out of the lift: fine. Healthcare assistant goes off to find midwife: fine. By the time midwife arrives: Room Of Agony. Went from zip, nada, nothing to full strength contractions every few minutes. (About 9.30am).

Then a lovely man called Simon came and stuck a huge needle in my back and it was all okay!

Labour progressed as mr birdie, the midwife and I did a crossword, and commented that, bizarrely, this room did have a tv.

Then at 4.30pm this little person arrived and was whisked off to SCBU:

(You'll notice I've skipped over signing the consent form for an emergency c-section, being trundled into theatre and finally delivering with the aid of a pair of salad servers. Everso considerate, me.)

As if that wasn't enough for one day that evening the neurosurgeon visited and we had to sign the consent forms allowing them to do the surgery for the spina bifida. That felt REALLY grown up. We'd only been parents for 6 hours.

Then I had the best night's sleep I'd had in months!

*If you don't know what this means, can I suggest that ignorance is bliss?