087: The irony of motherhood

*Details have been altered to preserve patient confidentiality
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"Here, put this on!"

She says as she flings a packet of sterile gloves at me. The mother, Eva is on a birthing stool. Red faced, cheeks puffed, pushing. I swear if her eyes could pop out of their sockets, they would have by now. I get on my knees next to Judy, the midwife, whose hands were cupped, beneath the head full of hair, now visible to the world outside the womb. She checks baby's heartbeat. "Eva," she exclaims calmly, "Baby's heart is slowing down. We need you to push with all your might at the next contraction." Eva's mom, clasping Eva's hand, kneeling next to her begins to bawl. She is also shouting in another language, probably in Iranian, I'm guessing she is saying "push". Eva's husband behind her, totally gobsmacked, unsure of what to do or how to help, stays pale and quiet.

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"You won't believe what my daughter did!" Judy exclaims to the two other midwives in the meeting room. "She attempted fraud through the internet using my email!" The other two gasps.

One replies, "No... what did she do?"

"She asked to borrow my phone a few days ago. She said that my phone had a better camera - she wanted to take pictures of her old things so she could sell them on the internet for extra cash. I was like... sure, of course! Little did I know, that piece of shit, took a picture of my phone, and made an advertisement to sell it online for £300. Of course, she never intends to give my phone to the paying customer. She'll take the money and jolt. I only found out because she had the audacity to use my email - I have been getting emails from random people since yesterday."

And here's me thinking - that is one convoluted plan. Flawed, but definitely con-artist material. Why go through all that trouble to then use your mother's email as correspondence? Stupid.

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"Eva, harder, harder, HARDER!"

Judy's fingers are in Eva now, making space for baby's head. Eva's toes lifts off the ground, her knees to her chest as she pushes her weight downwards towards the stool. Looking at her tummy, I wonder how this boulder of a baby is going to fit through this relatively small opening. Labour defies laws of physics. "She might need to be transferred up to the labour ward," says Judy as another midwife, Anna, enters to assist. "Check the heart rate again," Anna orders. She does, as everyone holds their breath.

Heart rate normal, no decelerations.

"Its ok Judy, she can do this."

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"I don't know what you're going to do about this. But when my son f-ed up, I didn't bail him out. I was the person who took him to the police!" replies Anna to Judy's story.

"He stole my car, that good for nothing. Then he got that car impounded. He might have crawled back to me with regret, but my mind was made up as soon as I saw my driveway empty."

The midwives and I are engrossed in Anna's story. So much so, the box of Ferrero Rocher I bought for them as thanks for letting me assist in Eva's labour remained untouched.

Anna continued, "As much as I love my children, I couldn't bring myself to let them get away with the horrid things that they do. Although it breaks my heart every time."

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"I'm dying," Eva said just two hours ago. She was on all fours supported by an exercise ball on the bed. Her baby was in an unusual position. Baby was using Eva's spine as a hammock causing mom a great amount of back pain. Pain that massages from mom and husband did little to alleviate.

But now Eva is at the finishing line. "Put your hands on mine," said Judy as I placed my gloved hands around the baby's head. "Ready?" she looks at Eva. And with one last great push, blood gushes on the floor, baby's head and body wriggle free and a boy is born. Oh God, did I just sort of... deliver a baby?

Husband and wife, now officially dad and mom, burst into tears of happiness. A cord is wrapped around baby's neck, Judy swiftly disentangle him and hand him over to mom. A worthwhile prize in compensation for a long, hard struggle. Pale as a sheet, baby didn't cry for a good minute. Towels were laid on top of him, he was shaken vigorously as stimulation. But only when the cord was clamped did the baby, lungs strong as iron, belted out a solid cry.

Welcome to the world, baby Aidan.

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Hearing Anna's story, Susan, the senior midwife says, "I only put up with my 30-year old daughter now because she has a daughter of her own. If not, I don't think I could take much more of her shenanigans. Do you remember the time, I told you she stole my money and jewellery to pawn off for extra cash? Gosh, the things that she has done to me. How old is your daughter, Judy?"

"She's 17 now. One more year before I can wash my hands clean off her really."

Judy turns to me, and it her sweet midwifery voice says, "Now, you have done nothing of the sort to your parents, right Ayne? You study hard, got into university, nothing close to this kind of drama." I shook my head, because she's right, I have nothing done anything criminally close to what their children have done. But that does not make me an angel. Countless times have I been the cause of my mother's sleepless nights, her worries and her tears.

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The irony is, in this room, seasoned mothers are divulging on how their children have repeatedly scarred them emotionally throughout parenthood. Whilst two doors down, first time mom, Eva is recovering with physical battle scars, stitches in tears where baby's head proved to be too big. Stretch marks up and down her tummy. And the memory of pain for the past 24 hours. Would Eva have pushed as hard as she did if she knew what was in store for her? All the heartaches, the arguments and the disappointments that a child would bring.

Looking at her though, her face now radiating joy and happiness as she nurses her new baby boy, smiling from ear to ear as if she hadn't fought for her life a mere few minutes ago. I would argue that she would have, many times over. And that's what makes every mother a hero.