Turns out, that was the day life got very real. While for most people it was just a random Friday in October, it was the day our first-born decided the womb wasn’t for him and he wanted to meet the world — a whole four weeks earlier than planned. 

We were 36 weeks and a few days pregnant, busy preparing, planning, and figuring out how exactly we were going to keep another human alive. Just six months earlier we’d got a cocker spaniel puppy. It wasn’t meant to be a trial run for a baby, but looking back, it did prep us in some way for what it’s like when something completely dependent on you to survive enters your life. 

8:15 am, sat in my car (a BMW 3 series at the time), pulled over, hazards on, on a tiny side road in the city centre, causing as much chaos to other morning commuters as this surprise news was to my sanity, rang my boss, said I wasn’t going to be in and performed a 3 point turn akin to a hyperactive puppy chasing its tail in a tiny hallway — sure, it changes direction, but chaos reigns, I cleared the city, and fully lived up to the reputation of a BMW driver.  

Lewis Hamilton had nothing on me for those 20 miles back from the city centre. If the police had have stopped me I reckon there would have been a chase of epic proportions because there was no way on this earth I was stopping until Vick was at the hospital! 

Vick is type 1 diabetic, dealt a cruel hand, diagnosed in her early 20’s, we were very closely monitored all the way through pregnancy, we were no strangers to the hospital and the route there, id planned for this drive secretly in my head over a thousand times so knew exactly where to go and how long it would take.  

We were at North Manchester hospital shortly after 9:20am.  

Because Vick is type 1 diabetic and due to the marvel of modern medicine, coupled with the fantastic care of the NHS midwives and doctors, we were warned very early on that the baby was going to be a chonk, tracking on the 95^th centile for weight and size and may well have to come early via induction as to, well let’s say ease Vicks burden during birth.  

Vick had a dedicated diabetic midwife who had worked with my step mum for many a year, we actually had an appointment the following week where she was supposed to draw up a birthing plan etc so we could be prepared.  

As we entered the maternity ward, we happened to pass Vicks midwife, shocked and with a face like she had just turned up to a black-tie dinner party in fancy dress, asked why we were there, we delivered the news we think Vicks water had broken and we were her to be checked over. Queue super midwife! I hope we didn’t put any other pregnant ladies out that day because she didn’t leave our side until well into delivery……more on that soon. 

Vick was whisked into a cubicle, monitors attached for her and baby and awaited a doctor. Thankfully the ward was not busy, and we were seen pretty sharp-ish, then came the hammer blow, you are 5cm dilated and you best bet your mortgage this baby is coming….TODAY  

That’s when the panic set in for Vick, she is a hyper planner and has to have everything organised, this threw her way off, we thought we’d get a look over and sent on our way, it was too early for him to come, we didn’t even have a hospital bag packed! Let alone with us. 

5 cm dilation, wow he’s coming soon I thought, with Vick in safe hands and being moved to delivery suite I thought it best I should let close family know what’s going on! Each phone call greeting with as much surprise as the last, each ending with a good luck and let me know when you know more information. 

5cm, 5cm!! this will be done by lunch, and we can get back for countdown I thought, oh how wrong was I. 

 Vick quickly progressed through labour up to the push bit, I’ve got a pretty strong constitution and not one of these to bury his head in the sand, I know where babies come from and the stork definitely doesn’t drop them off in the night! Fully expecting a scene from a gruesome war movie with blood sweat and tears I knew that I couldn’t do anything to help just be there and offer whatever support Vick needed…..and yes its very much like a war film down there. 

Vick was an absolute trooper pushing for 6 hours with no pain relief, not even gas and air, claimed it made her feel “funny”, I’m sure that’s the point but I’m not arguing with a lady who has been trying to push a watermelon sized object out of her body for longer than the running time for the original star wars trilogy. 

As you’d expect after such a long time Vick and baby were getting tired, monitor alarms started beeping and he needed out, turns out he was twisted at a jaunty angle, he was never coming out by himself. 

With that decision, Vick was prepped for theatre, originally with the view he was coming out of the sunroof, the surgeon decided that an episiotomy would do the trick, my zero years of medical education told me exactly what that was, trusty google however came to the rescue, a quick chop here, a slice there and in we go with some forceps….I’m paraphrasing but you get the picture. 

The next 20 mins were a bit of a blur, Vick was wheeled into theatre, and I got to dress in a very flattering blue number with matching hair net, think it was Hugo Boss, but I may have been mistaken. 

From there it was like clockwork, doctors and nurses working like a well-oiled machine, each person with an assigned task and purpose, like a simple 1, 2, 3…..Spinal block in……..doctorly things happen ….….baby out.