We went into hospital on Friday.  Wee Man arrived early Monday morning.  That is a LONG story short.  Now for the long bit.

On Friday Mummy McMumface (MM) was to be induced.  That is where they pop a thingy somewhere and this encourages the body to go into labour.  This was needed due to Wee Man being enormous and if he was left to go full term there may have been some kind of low budget remake of Aliens.

On Saturday all the workings had stopped, Mummy McMumface was just about ready to have her waters broken but nobody seemed to want to do it.  I was willing but apparently it is a serious procedure and not a case of sticking a pin in her stomach.

Roll on another long and uncomfortable night, then on Sunday a midwife appeared and broke MM’s waters by herself.  The midwife immediately regretted this; “In 20 years of midwifery I have never seen so much water come out of one person”  I was asleep on the our sofa (grandparents had the wee girl, don’t judge me too harshly I had had a tough time on those hospital chairs…) when I received THE text:

Tamraffoc is infact “traffic”.  Our hospital is 40 minutes away on a good run.

When I arrived MM had been moved to the labour ward and indeed her own private room.  There was even a room service button!  Turns out it wasn’t room service but an angry midwife service but still…impressive.

Next was “the drip” the fabled drip that would absolutely, positively, guarantee MM would go into labour sooner rather than later.  “We will start you on setting 1”  I asked the midwife if she was a betting woman would she bet on Wee Man coming today.  She said it could happen but if she was to put money on it, then no, it would be tomorrow.  MM ended up on setting 20.  Then shit got real.

Now this is where, as a father, your preparation better have been good.  When Wee Girl was coming two years ago, in summer, I made the mistake of wearing a plastic based flip flop.  Ah! A flip flop! Sole protection whilst allowing your feet to remain cool and sweat free.

Bullshit.  I could have filled a large salt water fish aquarium with the water that was pouring out of my feet.  Every time I stood up to move I was like Bambi on ice and several times I nearly tripped over something important.  So this time I was prepared; socks and shoes, infact trainers.  Feet prepared I was ready for anything!

My only regret was the sock choice, matching yes, but thick and very warm.

I failed miserably in food and drink preparation.  I ate mass produced sandwiches and drank energy drinks.  I put another half a stone on top of the stone I put on 2 years ago when Wee Girl was born.  And I am the worst kind of fat, I am skinny fat.  You won’t want to but make those sandwiches, pack that fruit, Jesus that yoghurt will last an hour in hospital heat.

Anyway…this as I said was when shit started to get real.  MM was in incredible pain during each contraction, seemingly much worse than the first time round.  Gas and air was the only drug on hand.  I was commanded to go and get the nurse and demand more drugs.  I shot up and went for the door.  My order was instantly revoked “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!?! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME!!!!!”

I sat back down and pushed the angry midwife button.  Stronger drugs were politely requested.  They were politely denied.  At least until an examination was done.

Two minutes later, and crucially all drugs still denied, MM was being told to push.  We were informed that any drug use now would affect the baby so it was time to crack on.

You know what doesn’t take the edge off pushing out a massive baby? Gas and air thats what.

20 minutes later and his head was emerging.

Midwife “do you want to come and see?”

Me “…yes”

Then the world went mad.  An alarm went off.  7 more people flooded into the room and I remember hiding my sobs by pretending to kiss MM’s head.

There was a lot of shouting.  The head midwife and lead doctor said repeatedly for MM only to listen to them.  God knows how she did but she did.  The bottom of the bed was detached and there was a small team working on MM and Wee Man.  It was not gentle.  It was not calm.  It was violent and loud.  People kept asking me if I was ok.  I felt guilty that they were even asking, oh you kind souls thinking about me at a time like this.  On reflection they were probably asking me to get my shit together for MM.

This went on for what felt like hours, but it was likely only minutes.

Then he was out…

Wee man was blue, head, legs and arms pulled down by gravity.  At this point I was sobbing without breath.  Again people asked me “Are you OK YES???” The doctor cut through the cord like a Z list celebrity opening a supermarket whilst having severe diarrhoea. 

Wee Man was passed as quickly through the team without actually throwing him onto some kind of table/light machine.  He wasn’t moving.  There was a lot of chest rubbing and general jiggling.  Nothing.

Then a small, unassuming man*, white shirt, no tie, stethoscope drifts in, puts an oxygen mask over Wee Man’s face…and after a few seconds Wee Man moved a little.  Then he cried.  Then I cried more.

Then it was straight back onto MM for the passing of placenta etc…I think we both zoned out then.  After a minute Wee Man was placed crying onto MM’s chest and all was right in the world.

He had stopped breathing for two minutes but his heart rate hadn’t dropped according to the monitor.

I cannot say how calm and professional the whole team were.  The lead doctor left 3 minutes later saying “Very handsome boy you’ve got there, you’ve done brilliantly!” and a thumbs up.

It wasn’t until the next day when the lead midwife came to see MM.  She said they all had to have 5 minutes after they left the room after he was born to stop shaking.  One more minute and things wouldn’t have gone well. Apparently there is two alarms and we got the “everyone in here now” one.  We have never been more grateful and thankful for their care and skill.  We are over the moon with our newest addition.  

*He was a head doctor, thank goodness eh? Not a doctor of the head, but an important doctor.   Well all doctors are equally important aren’t they? Senior doctor? We’ll go with that.  



Instagram: Twokidsadogandacaravan

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Two-Kids-a-Dog-and-a-Caravan-316364695398962/?ref=bookmarks