This time sixteen years ago, I was sitting in hospital twiddling my thumbs. Eldest had been making it clear all night that he intended to make his way into the world sometime in the very near future, albeit a week early. But as soon as I got to the hospital, he decided to wait a while. Too late. He’d already made it imperative that he come that day. So the doctor promised me that if he’d not decided to come by lunchtime, he’d give me something to help him along. Meanwhile I just sat, listening to the cries of the baby of the other woman who had arrived at the same time as me and wishing this kid would get a move on.
The injection certainly got things moving. I won’t go into all the details. Suffice it to say, it didn’t go quite as anyone anticipated and I ended up relying on the expertise of a lot of people. First there was the poor midwife who stayed calm and efficient despite the fact that she’d only ever had to deal with the problem once before and it hadn’t had a happy ending. Then there was the doctor who seemed to arrive in Superman time after the ‘we need you at the hospital now’ call. He was very proud of his fastest ever caesarean – all of seven minutes. By my side the whole time of course, was my husband, even scrubbing up to go into the operating theatre. And he didn’t faint! My hero.
Also worthy of a mention was the male midwife on duty that night who was empathic enough to realise that I really wasn’t coping well with the fact that I hadn’t even got to hold the child I’d been waiting for all those years, before they hurried him off to a humidicrib. He managed to persuade the doctor that half an hour of cuddling and feeding would do us both the world of good. Then he sat in my room and chatted to me all the way through the pethidine-induced insomnia that lasted all night.
Sixteen years on and I have a strapping son, nearly six feet tall with deep blue eyes and a head of curls his female barber loves to tease him about. Hard to believe he once caused so much trouble (though I still seem to spend a lot of time wishing this kid would get a move on).
Happy Birthday, Eldest.
The injection certainly got things moving. I won’t go into all the details. Suffice it to say, it didn’t go quite as anyone anticipated and I ended up relying on the expertise of a lot of people. First there was the poor midwife who stayed calm and efficient despite the fact that she’d only ever had to deal with the problem once before and it hadn’t had a happy ending. Then there was the doctor who seemed to arrive in Superman time after the ‘we need you at the hospital now’ call. He was very proud of his fastest ever caesarean – all of seven minutes. By my side the whole time of course, was my husband, even scrubbing up to go into the operating theatre. And he didn’t faint! My hero.
Also worthy of a mention was the male midwife on duty that night who was empathic enough to realise that I really wasn’t coping well with the fact that I hadn’t even got to hold the child I’d been waiting for all those years, before they hurried him off to a humidicrib. He managed to persuade the doctor that half an hour of cuddling and feeding would do us both the world of good. Then he sat in my room and chatted to me all the way through the pethidine-induced insomnia that lasted all night.
Sixteen years on and I have a strapping son, nearly six feet tall with deep blue eyes and a head of curls his female barber loves to tease him about. Hard to believe he once caused so much trouble (though I still seem to spend a lot of time wishing this kid would get a move on).
Happy Birthday, Eldest.
2 comments:
I hope he had a great b-day!
What a sweet post!
Thanks, Christie. Yes, I think he did have a good day.
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