Thursday 26th June 2014, 78 hours into that great biological magic trick, natural labour. That’s right: 78 hours and counting.
For my wife and I, the process of getting our son into the world began at 34 weeks. The pregnancy had been textbook up until that point. Strong heartbeat, steady growth, and a — relatively — happy and healthy mother. But that all changed one night when Sal, in bed beside me, complained of itchy hands and feet. Being a ‘high-maintenance’ sort of wife with a talent for things ‘hurting’, I assumed it was nothing but, to her credit, she knew something was wrong. The next morning we went to the hospital for some checks. The midwife chastised us for not coming right away, but assured us that it would likely be nothing. Sal was a healthy mother and the baby’s vitals were all fine. No problem, just a quick bloodtest and we’ll give you a call later, Mrs Wright.
We went home. Continue Reading →