This documentary, following the maternity ward of the Princess Anne hospital, Southampton was of great comfort to me during the final trimester of my second pregnancy. It reassured me in the weeks leading up to the arrival of our second daughter that no matter how tiring, troublesome or painful delivering this baby was going to be, I would not turn into one of those weeping, wailing women that make maternity wards sound like a field hospital during the Crimean.
I knew this because . . .
a) I have already delivered a 8lb 15 oz baby with no more than gas and air and a bottle of contraband orange squash (granted a hour or so before she was delivered I told the midwife to come back tomorrow as I needed some sleep)
b) I knew I had the full support of the eager father to be who will not spend my entire labour texting on his phone or eating a bag of chips.
c) My chosen mode of transport to hospital was a retired police officer with over 25 years of pursuit driving experience.
Although the naivete of some people never ceases to disturb me, I wonder what these women were expecting. It's a baby, it's head is going to be the size of a grapefruit (if you're lucky) and it's coming out the way it got in. It can't stay in there indefinately and no amount of screaming is going to hurry up either the baby or the midwife on standby with a heavier painkiller.
Women have been giving birth since we emerged from the trees and ran accross the savannah, medicine may have advanced, survival rates for complicated births has risen dramatically but we as a specie have learned nothing.
Our daughter was born on saturday afternoon, at 9 lbs 1 oz, just in time for tea. If I was relatively calm for the birth of my first daughter, I was even calmer for this one. In fact the midwives were ready to send me home, unconvinced that a woman who was calm and intelligible was actually in full blown labour.
The primary midwife assigned to me was newly qualified, she sent me a thank you note.
