For those interested in such things (and I did hesitate from posting this in case I ended up in Mordant's "eeeeugh" thread, Mrs Sax has finally had babby number two. And once again, it wasn't without its drama - only about tenfold, this time.
So the contractions started at about 3.30am on Sunday morning. Given that Charlie (Zoot) had to be induced two weeks after the due date, Mrs S was quite pleased that things had begun naturally. After much supportive hand-holding and brow-stroking from me we went into the hospital at about 7am.
Cue the gas and air, contractions coming thick and fast and the kind of internal examinations which were quite suited to the delivery suite, because the room did have more than a passing resemblance to a prison cell.
So an epidural is inserted into Mrs S's spine because the pain's getting bad. The cervix is about three centimetres dilated (it has to go to ten) and everyone is confident that it's going to be a fairly quick labour because things seem to be moving along well.
So noon comes and goes and no baby. Two, three, four pm. Nothing. Contractions still coming. Another examination, and we find out that the baby is a posterior position, ie with back to back with the mother rather than back to belly. It needs to turn around if it's going to come out. It ain't turning.
By six pm things are getting a bit desperate for Mrs S. She's bored, uncomfortable and disheartened. By seven pm the doctor's in and talking about a section. Mrs S not too keen for various reasons - the main one being she can't drive for six weeks and that raises issues with Charlie's childcare.
By eight we decide to let the saline drip which is supposed to aid contractions run its course for another two hours and then make a decision.
Ten pm. Mrs S decides to go for the caesarian. We're wheeled down to theatre and I'm dressed in blue surgical gear. I fight the urge to wander down the corridor and examine expectant mums.
The tent affair is set up to hide the business end from Mrs Sax, and she's administered with a raft of drugs. I assume the hand-holding, brow stroking position, but once the action's underway I really can't resist popping down to have a look, just as the baby's head is being pulled out.
Big mistake. Like a cross between Alien, V and The Evil Dead. Lots of blood. But a head! A baby's head! Emerging from a stomach, MacDuff-stylee.
And what a big head. There are appreciative whistles from the doctors. One shoulder is free but the other one's not budging. Then one of the doctors grabs the baby by the head and neck and starts to haul it out. Can this be the right way to treat a newborn baby? I wonder. I'm assured it is by an anaesthetist who looks like Alan Titchmarsh.
The baby's out. It's a girl, she's called Alice Mae. She's a whopping 10lb 13oz. That's big. Zoot was a normal baby at 7lb 13oz. If Mrs S had tried to deliver her "normally" it would have caused huge, huge problems.
And then the fun starts. While she's being stitched up, Mrs S starts shaking and shivering like someone with hypothermia. Then she can't open her eyes. Then she goes bright red. Like, really bright red, redder than someone with the worst sunburn ever. She can barely speak, but she manages to say she can't breathe. Her throat's constricting. Then she vomits. And then her arms and chest come up in hives and boils, like something from The Exorcist.
She has, I am conversationally told, gone into anaphylactic shock. The sort that can kill people. Apparently, she's had some kind of allergic reaction to one of the drugs, possibly a penicillin-related one. Cue loads of medical staff materialising from the walls, lots of organised chaos (to my eyes, standing to one side holding the baby and wondering if I'll ever see Mrs S alive again), and then, in a really fab Pulp Fiction moment, a massive administration of adrenaline, which slowly brings Mrs S back to normality.
And now everything's okay. Mother and baby doing fine, etc. But a little more excitement than was really necessary.
So join me, if you will, in raising a glass of Boddington's bitter to Sax's impressively powerful sperm, Mrs Sax's bravery and the entire medical knowledge of the 21st Century. |