Preparing for birth: rest as much as possible; try to relax

On Friday evening, late, my mother arrived by ferry and train from Dun Laoghaire. On Saturday we all went into town to fetch a wheelchair and give the invalid (me) an outing. On Sunday we rested and Rob took to his bed in the afternoon with a slightly queasy stomach.

On Sunday night we called a friend to take Rob to A&E as he was vomiting uncontrollably and his temperature was dropping faster than we liked. Early Monday morning he came back, and I started vomiting. Later Monday morning Rob was in bed, pale and wan, and Linnea was being babysat by a neighbour while my mother took me to hospital. I was attached to monitors which I had to detach in a nurry to rush to the loo, and later a doctor came in and asked "Are you ok?" as I spewed into a cardboard bowl. I wasn't in a position to retort anything witty, unfortunately.

They took some blood, and as the baby was apparently fine, said it was ok to come back in the following morning for the section, but that Rob needed to be asymptomatic for at least 12 hours, preferably 24, to be allowed in.

We found someone else to care for Linnea after I got home, and I lay on the library floor while Rob lay in the master bedroom, both sick as parrots, trying hard to rehydrate. Late in the afternoon Rob managed to eat a fair bit of toast, and Linnea came home. We decided he was well enough to attend the section.

So on Sunday night I got less then three hours sleep, between Rob being sick and my being sick, interrupted by Linnea being woken by the commotion. And on Monday night I got about four hours, between pre-op nerves and alarms set so that I could take my pre-op antacids.

However, come Tuesday morning, I was wide awake and cheerful - optimistic even - and I even made Rob drink something before we set off. Linnea woke in time to be kissed goodbye too.

Birth

We arrived in the hospital in plenty of time, and queued up to be dealt with. The officiating midwife (Gina) came and took my notes, then led us to the waiting room, where I was given a fetching hospital gown (ankle-length on me, and would go around me at least twice) and Rob was given scrubs but told not to change into them until about 8:30. We sent My Lovely Midwife (Fiona) a text message to let her know that we were both (a) not vomiting and (b) at the hospital, and she responded that she was getting her kids off to their various childcare placements and she'd be with us shortly.

So Rob went to find himself a cup of tea, and we broke out the Scrabble. I thrashed him, of course, while Gina took my blood pressure and found my notes and took my pulse and my temperature (she forgot to turn the thermometer on, at first, ditzy lady) and went to hunt down my blood test results and so on. Fiona arrived, left her jacket with us for safekeeping (things in the pockets) and went to change into her scrubs; Rob changed into his, too.

Then it was time to go. Gina pushed my wheelchair to theatre, while Fiona pushed a Marks and Spencers trolley with the day-clothes and wallets. We got to the theatre and I was instructed to sit up on the table. People introduced themselves to me by job title, rather than by name, but they almost all addressed me and Rob by name. Everyone was very cheerful and calm; Rob and I were almost capable of making jokes, though all I did was refuse to have music playing, because the things I wanted playing would put the surgeons off. Then came all the nudey bits; I was covered in front, where Rob was, and exposed entirely behind, where a bunch of total strangers were. ( Medical stuff )

There was some pulling strong enough that my back was partially lifted from the table. That was weird. Then the baby was born; Fiona told Rob he could stand up to take a picture, so he did, and sat down again in a hurry because he was shaking. Someone asked whether it was a boy or a girl, and someone said "It's a girl!" and I said "Of course it is!"

Then the obstetrician said "She just weed on me," and I said "Good girl!"

She was taken to the resuscitaire and Fiona manouvred things so that I could see her almost continuously while they dried her off, nappied her, and wrapped her up. I managed not to cry, but couldn't stop my hand reaching out towards her; she seemed so far away. She was put across my chest at a funny angle, because the screen was still in the way, and I was able to sort of hold her. Then Gina asked if we wanted her dressed now or later, and I was much affronted. I said something like "She's been messed around enough, poor thing."

They stitched me up, and we got from theatre to recovery somehow. I was in a proper room for that, too, with a real door. They left us with Fiona to be tired and happy.