The Longest Day - Part Two

I went to University to get a degree in Physics. I went on to get a Postgraduate Diploma in Radiation Physics. I learnt all sorts of weird and wonderful stuff, most of it forgotten within months, but nowhere do I remember learning that time runs slower in hospitals. It must have something to do with that fact that you're more aware of time passing. Every. Single. Minute of it.

So it was that most of the day passed by uneventfully, with me taking some photos of the easterly view over Brighton Marina, and Michele lying there watching daytime television. From time to time, Anna came in to check the traces from the machine.

The baby continued to pump out a good strong heartbeat, but there were very few contractions. Several times, Michele was advised to get up and have a walk about, so we walked around the the level, passing other rooms and wards where other women were having babies. There was a drinks machine near our room so I could keep us both supplied with tea and chocolate, and Michele also had some lunch when the NHS dinner ladies came round. I can't remember if they offered me anything, but I'd guess not as I wasn't the patient.

Anna had explained what was to happen that day. First, the Prostaglandin pessary would be inserted, then Michele would be monitored for contractions. If nothing had happened by about 6pm, there would be a second pessary inserted. If that didn't get things going, Michele would be hooked up to a drip of Oxytocin (another hormone). And, if after that, the waters still hadn't broken, she would have a procedure called an ARM - Artificially Ruptured Membrane - which would entail a long hook being inserted to physically burst the amniotic sack.

I hope you weren't eating while you read that last paragraph...

Well, we paced the room but nothing happened until, at roughly 6pm, Anna came in to put in the second pessary. I went to leave but was told that it was up to Michele , and this time I stayed. I did turn the other way though.

Time passed as the world darkened outside our window, and still the baby showed no signs of leaving it's comfy home... until, sometime between 8.30 and 8.45pm (I couldn't be sure of the exact time as I was watching Big Brother) , Michele thought that her waters had broken. I called the midwife to our room to check things out - it was a different lady as Anna had finished her shift - but she thought it was only a "hind break" - when the amniotic sack bursts slightly right up inside instead of near the cervix. Only a small amount of fluid would get through because of the pressure.

Finally, within the next hour, the pessaries started to have an effect, and Michele was up and about pacing the floor of the room like a caged animal, groaning with discomfort. The contractions, albeit small ones, had started. One minute Michele was ok, the next she was leaning against the window sill gritting her teeth and moaning as things started moving.

I, as husband and birth partner, could only stand about awkwardly and keep out of her way. During the respites between contractions, I put my own ante-natal training into use - giving Michele massages and saying reassuring things to help ease her.

The contractions came faster and the groans became louder. Michele stopped smiling and wore an almost constant look of discomfort, unlike anything she had experienced before (which, to be fair, she hadn't). I stayed out of her way one moment, then comforted her the next.

Around this time, Michele had a small "show" - a small smattering of blood - signalling that things were taking a turn for the more serious, and usually preceded the waters breaking. Level 12, the delivery suite, were phoned and someone was on their way to take us up.

Any sense of fun had gone as I watched Michele hop about groaning and after over ten hours of waiting around, things were definately moving. The outside world vanished as all I could think about and concentrate on were in the here and now - my wife in distress.



And it would get a lot, lot worse before it got better.