Chez Moi

Couple of weekends back, hubby and I decided to go on the hospital’s birthing unit tour. We did this the last time around too and though it scared the pants off us, it was useful to get a mental picture of where we (er, I) might end up. Dropping P off at a friend’s place, on we went, to join a crowd of expectant parents waiting in the Maternity Unit’s lounge for the tour to begin. It was unnerving, to say the least, to be amongst a gazillion women in different stages of pregnancy. Brought it home to you, the whole deal and what lay in store.

Soon enough, a pretty midwife named Laura joined us and led us around. Unbeknown, the phrase “lambs to slaughter” entered my feeble brain and as I turned to catch the eye of one of the other mums-to-be, I could see a similar expression of panic writ large on her face. Somehow that calmed me and I followed Laura in a steadier frame of mind. First we visited the midwife-led unit. As I am keen to deliver here, I asked hubby to concentrate. The midwives run the show here, in the “low risk ward”, and there are only gas & air (Entonox - laughing gas) and pethidine injections available here for pain relief. Anything stronger, you’ll be taken to the higher risk zone.

We walked around the ward - the brightly lit lounge with a flat screen telly and lots of comfortable chairs and the odd birthing ball or two. Even here the walls had the protruding gas & air nozzles, which made all of us breathe a big sigh of relief though none could envision us sat here in this calm area on D-Day.

Next came the labour room - it was tiny, to say the least. We all peeked in as there wasn’t enough space for the whole lot of us to troop in. For the first time, I realised what it means to say “no space to swing a cat in”. Well, cat swinging aside, the room had a reclining heavy-duty bed, gas & air nozzle, monitoring equipment, bassinet, a telly and a spare armchair, for the birth partner to pass out in. That was it.

As we were standing outside, peering in, Laura chirpily asked us if we had any questions. Deciding to test SilentOne’s claim that she was home six hours after giving birth, I asked L if that was so. L went “no no…”, and before I could finish thinking “gotcha, SilentO…”, the midwife continued, “… you could leave in four hours if you want. As long as there are no complications with you or the baby and you are happy, you could just go after four hours.” It was time for me to test another of famous english phrases - slack jawed. ‘Cos that is exactly how I felt. Go home a mere four hours after giving birth*?! Wow!

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Next we went down the stairs to the regular labour ward. All the wards follow the same layout, we were told. Good thing too as by the time we had finished wandering around the place, hubby was well and truly lost. As we were following L, he whispered, “maybe we should leave a breadcrumb trail or something.” Knowing his penchant for going around in circles (especially around the roundabouts), I sincerely wish he was joking!

The high risk ward was pretty much the same - the labour rooms had more high tech gizmos to monitor mum and baby and other nameless machines. As the rooms were larger, we could all troop in to one. As we all formed a ring around a bed, every face registered mild to severe panic. I am sure everyone’s thought bubble read the same as mine: “next time we are here, we’ll be on the bed - screaming!” Only Hubby seemed unconcerned and quite chilled out. Well why wouldn’t he be?

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Once we got home, I went online to update my friends on what I had been upto that morning. When I mentioned the back-home-in-4 deal to my friends, I got a whole wide spectrum of feedback. Boo, Mags, (I stand corrected!) however, took the cake for the best quip:

“Imagine, DG, you could drop P at school, go to the hospital, give birth and be back at the school gates by home time!” Jokers, every single one of them.