going on. ‘Debbie?’ she said. ‘Can we turn down the air
conditioning in here? I’m a bit cold.’
Debbie turned and smiled. She was in her fifties, with bleached-blonde hair tied back with a fluffy black hairband. She spun
the squeaking chair around with her toes, jumped down and walked over to the bed. She picked up the remote control for the
air conditioner and changed the temperature. ‘Do you want another blanket?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘OK. I’ll leave this remote here for you.’ She padded back to her desk.
Anna looked at her watch; was it really only 10 a.m.? So much had happened since they came down from the ward. None of it
was in her written birth plan, which she’d given to Debbie when they arrived. There was nothing in there about having needles
in the back of her hand and medications to start contractions. Therewas nothing about having her membranes ruptured by something resembling a large crochet hook, or about the gush of hot liquid
that pulsed and poured from her straight afterwards. She hated that Tony had seen her like that.
Another contraction was building. She put the drink down and closed her eyes, bracing herself. As it strengthened, she swung
her legs over the end of the bed and bent forward, moaning. Tony rubbed her back; she swept his hand away. ‘Don’t!’
Tony stepped away. ‘Sorry.’
She wanted to apologise, but didn’t have the energy.
Debbie turned around again from her station at the desk. ‘The anaesthetist is in the ward – have you considered an epidural?’
Anna shook her head. It was in her birth plan that she didn’t want to be offered pain relief; if she wanted it, she’d ask
for it. Why had she bothered?
‘Why don’t you try it, babe?’ Tony said.
She glared at him. He knew how much she wanted to do this naturally. ‘I’m OK.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to see you in such pain. You don’t need —’
‘I said I’m fine!’
Debbie came over and looked at the screen of the machine attached to the leads on Anna’s belly. ‘Well, it’s entirely your
decision. But it’s early days yet. I’m going to turn up the drip soon to get these contractions going a bit, and things might
get pretty intense quite quickly. Once the anaesthetist is in theatre, I can’t guarantee that he can come straight away when
you need him; it could take an hour or so …’
‘An hour?’ Anna looked over at Tony again. What if she couldn’t cope for an hour?
‘Just get it now, babe,’ he urged her. ‘You’re going to be tired enough, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.’
‘It’s your choice, Anna,’ Debbie said, turning back to her desk.
She looked from Debbie back to Tony. It was obvious that they both wanted her to accept defeat. It didn’t feel like she had
any choice at all.
She’d embraced every part of her pregnancy, good and bad. Even in the early weeks when she was tortured by nausea and pounding
headaches, when she retched and vomited every day, she never complained. It was all part of the experience that she had wanted
for so long; it was her body’s way of bonding her with the life growing in her womb. She knew then that she would do anything
for her baby, and she had wanted to experience every moment of labour, too, to know that she had done the best for her child.
Another contraction was hovering, about to grip her. She held her breath and braced herself, then closed her eyes as it rose
to a crescendo. Every muscle in her body clenched until she was sure her bones would break. She felt light-headed and wanted
to scream. Maybe they were right; maybe she couldn’t do it on her own after all.
‘OK, call the anaesthetist. Let’s do it now,’ she said, gasping, then turned onto her side and drew her knees towards her
chest. Her eyes filled with tears.
Debbie picked up the phone and spoke calmly. ‘I have another epidural here for you.’
Anna heard herself being reduced
conditioning in here? I’m a bit cold.’
Debbie turned and smiled. She was in her fifties, with bleached-blonde hair tied back with a fluffy black hairband. She spun
the squeaking chair around with her toes, jumped down and walked over to the bed. She picked up the remote control for the
air conditioner and changed the temperature. ‘Do you want another blanket?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘OK. I’ll leave this remote here for you.’ She padded back to her desk.
Anna looked at her watch; was it really only 10 a.m.? So much had happened since they came down from the ward. None of it
was in her written birth plan, which she’d given to Debbie when they arrived. There was nothing in there about having needles
in the back of her hand and medications to start contractions. Therewas nothing about having her membranes ruptured by something resembling a large crochet hook, or about the gush of hot liquid
that pulsed and poured from her straight afterwards. She hated that Tony had seen her like that.
Another contraction was building. She put the drink down and closed her eyes, bracing herself. As it strengthened, she swung
her legs over the end of the bed and bent forward, moaning. Tony rubbed her back; she swept his hand away. ‘Don’t!’
Tony stepped away. ‘Sorry.’
She wanted to apologise, but didn’t have the energy.
Debbie turned around again from her station at the desk. ‘The anaesthetist is in the ward – have you considered an epidural?’
Anna shook her head. It was in her birth plan that she didn’t want to be offered pain relief; if she wanted it, she’d ask
for it. Why had she bothered?
‘Why don’t you try it, babe?’ Tony said.
She glared at him. He knew how much she wanted to do this naturally. ‘I’m OK.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to see you in such pain. You don’t need —’
‘I said I’m fine!’
Debbie came over and looked at the screen of the machine attached to the leads on Anna’s belly. ‘Well, it’s entirely your
decision. But it’s early days yet. I’m going to turn up the drip soon to get these contractions going a bit, and things might
get pretty intense quite quickly. Once the anaesthetist is in theatre, I can’t guarantee that he can come straight away when
you need him; it could take an hour or so …’
‘An hour?’ Anna looked over at Tony again. What if she couldn’t cope for an hour?
‘Just get it now, babe,’ he urged her. ‘You’re going to be tired enough, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.’
‘It’s your choice, Anna,’ Debbie said, turning back to her desk.
She looked from Debbie back to Tony. It was obvious that they both wanted her to accept defeat. It didn’t feel like she had
any choice at all.
She’d embraced every part of her pregnancy, good and bad. Even in the early weeks when she was tortured by nausea and pounding
headaches, when she retched and vomited every day, she never complained. It was all part of the experience that she had wanted
for so long; it was her body’s way of bonding her with the life growing in her womb. She knew then that she would do anything
for her baby, and she had wanted to experience every moment of labour, too, to know that she had done the best for her child.
Another contraction was hovering, about to grip her. She held her breath and braced herself, then closed her eyes as it rose
to a crescendo. Every muscle in her body clenched until she was sure her bones would break. She felt light-headed and wanted
to scream. Maybe they were right; maybe she couldn’t do it on her own after all.
‘OK, call the anaesthetist. Let’s do it now,’ she said, gasping, then turned onto her side and drew her knees towards her
chest. Her eyes filled with tears.
Debbie picked up the phone and spoke calmly. ‘I have another epidural here for you.’
Anna heard herself being reduced
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