First Person - About a week before my beloved flatmate went into hospital to deliver her baby, we went to visit the midwife, so I could ask all the questions I had.
"Look, all I know about childbirth is from popular culture, so I am expecting a lot of screaming, and somehow ripped up sheets, and hot water."
The midwife informed us that there was no point talking about a "birth plan" - there is a preference, and then there's what happens in the room. Every delivery is different, we were reminded repeatedly, and the most important thing is the health and safety of the mother and the baby.
There was a lot of waiting. "We instagrammed photos of the fancy pastries we'd brought with us" Photo: RNZ / Megan Whelan
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Michelle and I agreed that my role in the room - as one of three people there as support - was to make sure she was okay, advocate on her behalf with the medical professionals, and provide comic relief.
In preparation, I baked snacks - good for us, but also to bribe those medical professionals. (I am not sure what I thought bribery was necessary for - a sweet delivery suite? The really good drugs?) We made a playlist - lots of pop bangers, and Semisonic's 'Closing Time' for the big moment.
Michelle was admitted at an ungodly hour of the morning, and relatively quickly was induced. We took the time to go for a walk and get coffee. We wandered about a bit. Then we went back to the hospital.
A good dog. Photo: RNZ / Megan Whelan
And then, we sat about for a really long time, punctuated by flurries of medical stuff. Michelle was the surrogate for friends, so as well as the delightful midwife, we had the two dads as company.
At one point, one of them came back from a coffee run, and exclaimed that down the hall in the family room there was a guide dog - so we all suddenly needed to stretch our legs.
In my "hospital bag," I had packed several chargers and battery packs for my phone. (Sidenote: all the advice I could find on the internet for what to pack was heavily directed at expectant dads, so a short checklist: snacks, books and/or media, batteries, slippers, toiletries, and a change of clothing. You'll likely not use any of it.)
I was on my phone a lot. We did a Facebook live video early on, as we had joked about streaming the birth live. We instagrammed photos of the fancy pastries we'd brought with us to the hospital.
I was on leave, but I was answering work emails, and people kept replying "um, don't you have more important things to do right now?"
Boredom makes Snapchat and its filters fascinating. Photo: RNZ / Megan Whelan
I did, of course, have better things to do. But Michelle was mostly fine, hooked up to a foetal heart rate monitor, which we'd watch rise and fall every time she had a contraction. Twelve hours of sitting around in a room chatting, with very little to actually do - frankly, I was a little bored.
As the caregiver, you're largely incidental to the process. It's an important role, making sure that the labouring woman has everything, holding her hand, monitoring the music volume, mopping things up you don't ever want to talk about again.
But there's not much you can actually do, but wait, watch, and crack inappropriate jokes in front of the midwife.
In the end, Michelle had an emergency caesarean section 12 or so hours after we arrived at the hospital. I spent a stressful 60 minutes or so cuddling the aforementioned guide dog in the family room, and then there was a baby. A beautiful, delightful baby.
If I learned anything in those 12 hours, it's that what the midwife said was true - everyone's experience is different. But also that childbirth is risky - watching that foetal heart monitor rise and fall showed how easy it would be for everything to get really serious really quickly. Watching the medical staff snap into action when they decided Michelle needed a C section made it even more clear
That, and that women are amazing, and 24 chocolate chip cookies is far too many for a 12-hour labour involving four people.
