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| Baby Doesn't Want To Come Out |
By this time Lilith was vomiting liberally and was unable to stand up, sit down or do much other than lie in a heap on the floor. After much experimentation, we finally discovered that if Lilith lay on top of me on the bed with her full body weight bearing down on my right shoulder, she was able to stop vomiting and give her full attention to screaming.
In this way the next ten hours passed. Every so often a nurse popped in to see how we were getting on. She would let us know how many Czech women had successfully given birth since her last visit, tut at our lack of progress and chant 'No drugs now. Drugs later,' before leaving. The only variation in this routine was when after six hours the nurse told us, 'No drugs now. The anaesthetist, he go home,' before she exited the room, oblivious to the storm of English abuse following her out of the door.
Finally the nurse, despairing of any action, summoned a doctor. He took one look at what was left of Lilith and told me in good English, 'Your wife can't have any drugs now, the anaesthetist has gone home. Perhaps I can find some gas for her.' I hoped he meant oxygen,
Suddenly the room became crowded. Hundreds of midwives appeared. Apparently the hospital was running a training course and no one wanted to miss out on the chance to witness a foreigner giving birth. They formed a line at the end of the bed, in their white trousers and jackets looking bizarrely like a row of slip fielders. The head nurse was even holding a towel over her hands, making her look exactly like a wicketkeeper, I thought. I began to realize that I was in serious need of a drink.
Progress was cricket-like, too. Nothing happened. Our baby just refused to move. Lilith and the doctor exchanged pleasantries. 'Push Missts,' he requested. 'I am fucking pushing,' Lilith assured him, the veins popping on her forehead. After a fruitless half hour, the doctor decided to take the bull by the horns. If nature couldn't shift our son, perhaps brute force would. To this end, he lay on Lilith's stomach and pushed. Hard.
Throughout her pregnancy Lilith had spent hours staring worriedly at my head. It is fair to say that I take a generous size in hats. Her worries were about to prove well founded.
Suddenly there was a hundred per cent increase in the number of people in the room screaming. Forced rudely into the world, our son joined Lilith in her chorus of disapproval. The head midwife held him up triumphantly. 'How weird,' I thought to myself, 'he's got large purple feet.' The midwife then passed him down the line of waiting midwives in a manner that immediately made me think of a scrum-half passing out the ball to the wings. I half expected the final midwife to charge off with our baby and drop him between two imaginary posts. I was now desperate for a drink.
The doctor handed me our son. 'Congratulations, you have a son,' he told me, pointlessly. Turning to my wife, he smiled and said, 'I'm afraid your vagina has been destroyed,' while reaching for his needle and thread. It was a memorable end to a memorable day.
Lilith was kept in hospital for eleven days while she recovered from the joys of childbirth Czech-style. It took considerably longer for her to be fully fit again. Our son is an only child. To find out more, you can check out Baby Doesn't Want To Come Out.