Elaine shares her birth story with us.

Denial held fast until the night our son decided to enter the world. First child, perhaps not wanting to believe it or else tempt fate, plus my lack of big belly – all of these were reasons for the denial. I didn’t have a bump to speak of until month 8, much to my disappointment and irritation. I had been looking forward to waddling around and stroking my bump, even balancing my cup of tea on it. No such luck. In Month 9, when the weather was warming up and winter coats were being sent to storage, only then did a neighbour (whom I’d seen almost daily the previous 8 months) notice I was pregnant. In hindsight, I was lucky. At the time I felt terribly cheated. This was not how I had imagined being pregnant.

When the child did arrive, 3 weeks early, it was a rather different scenario than we’d envisaged. It was the husband’s last night out, his final “drink and be merry” night with his closest friend. A Frenchman. Imagine how much wine was to be enjoyed.

It was 1am. Water broke. More denial. Water only breaks in around 19% of pregnancies, so clearly it wasn’t that. I was supposed to ring the OBGYN’s office. It was late. They were closed. What now? I sat there with a cup of tea and googled “what to do if your OB’s office is closed and your water has maybe but NOT definitely broken” along with “What does it look like when one’s water breaks?” and “Does water break at night more often than during daytime?”. Several sites said to ring the office and I’d get an emergency number. I wasn’t so sure. They say things on the internet aren’t always correct. Apparently everyone knows what to do. Everyone except me. Looking back on it, as I type this – OH THE SHAME.

The Doctor would call me back, said the operator. A doctor I’d never heard of, let alone seen. It was a weekend and everyone in my OB’s practice was off duty. Okey dokey.

After a week of him picking up the phone after barely 1 ring, taking it to the loo with him, keeping it with him on the treadmill - “just in case the baby comes early”, I expected my husband to pick up the phone immediately. Right. As if. The Doctor called me back, told me to get to the hospital within an hour and he’d meet me there. Over the next 45 minutes, I rang my husband a further 15 times or so, only to get voicemail. Rather than get annoyed or stressed (OR FACE REALITY), I put the Moses basket together. At the 50^th minute, I decided to drive myself to the hospital. I couldn’t lift the hospital bag I’d packed, so I kicked it down the stairs and left a note on it “I’m at hospital, please bring this as it’s too heavy for me to carry, gracias”.

After 5 minutes, MIA husband called. Just shy of s***faced. He thought I was joking about driving myself to the hospital. Nothing sobers one up faster than realizing your wife is in fact driving herself to hospital to give birth and IS LOST. Yes. I was lost. No, we’d not done a practice run. We’d not done any kind of practice anything. I had no idea how to get to the hospital. I didn’t even have its address to plug into the GPS. Even worse, I had no idea I could have started contractions at any second. Sometimes it is best to be utterly ignorant. After some negotiation, I sulkily drove home, husband met me there “in a Mexican minute” which is actually 30 (time to have another cup of tea) and we finally got to the hospital. I had to ring up and find out where to go on arrival. CLUELESS. “Go to the ER.” Oh, no, I’m pregnant, not injured. ”GO TO THE ER.” Ok, no need to shout.

The husband’s soberness disappeared once we got there. I’d like to think it was excitement but I suspect it really was the alcohol having a resurgence. I got strapped up to monitors, poked and prodded. The TV was broken. The husband got a pillow and blanket and even the offer of a black coffee. Er, excuse me? I’m the one about to have unspeakable things done to my anatomy and Drunk Boy gets a pillow?? And my tv doesn’t work! Can you hear me? Crickets.

Over the next few (EIGHT) hours, I stayed wide awake. It’s hard to sleep when a blood pressure band crushes your arm every 15 minutes and someone is drunk snoring 5 feet away. I had nothing to throw at him, and shrieking rude epithets fell on deaf and drunk ears. I’d had an epidural so I couldn’t even detach myself from the monitor and go for a walk. No feeling below my chest. I was literally stuck in hell.

Fast forward a few hours, 9am. Doctor came in, took vitals etc and told me that it’d be a “little while before anything happened, have some Petocin to kick things off”. Husband was told to go and freshen up. Off he went.

TWO hours later, my husband appears - freshly shaven, clean clothes and bunch of flowers. Clearly, he’d ventured further than the cafeteria downstairs. He’d gone home, showered, shaved, eaten breakfast. Then he’d watched the first half of the Spanish Grand Prix. I thought him very resourceful, the nurse almost floored him. I looked at her and explained “It’s a cultural thing, the ‘little while’ part was rather lost in translation.”

Anyway, at 1pm, our baby boy arrived. Did we have a name for him? “He has to be named before you can leave the hospital.” Hello Denial, welcome back. We had chosen two names a month or so before and then promptly forgotten about it. It was a moment of “What did we choose/I think we went for X and Y/Are you sure?/Not really, no/Oh shit, do you think we really have to choose today?/They said so three times, so yes/I don’t know if I like those names anymore/REALLY??/Oh.” That is how we came to name our firstborn.

So, as you can see, nothing about the pregnancy or the birth was how I’d envisaged it would be. To date, nothing about motherhood has been how I’d envisaged it either. It’s actually been a lot more fun and hilarity than I’d thought possible. Maybe it’s because I’m older (I’m classed as an AMA, Advanced Maternal Age, effing charming) or maybe it’s because having to think/breathe/exist for a helpless, vulnerable creature finally rid me of my selfishness and (most of) my ego, and has made me see life differently. Perhaps it’s both. Getting older, one tends to give less of a shit about what others think, and that’s most certainly helped a lot.   

 Elaine