Scary Times At An Evacuated Hospital

I had a text message from my girl yesterday while she was working at home and I was at my dayjob. She told me she had been having pains and to be warned that we may have to go to hospital. As I work two minutes' walk away from where we currently live, I rushed home at the first available opportunity to check on her. She was in a lot of pain and was feeling sick, but had talked to NHS direct and a midwife and was apparently going through a normal part of the third trimester.

If the pain persisted or got worse, we were to go to hospital and get it checked out. I kissed her and hugged her and returned to work, only to get a phone call half an hour later from her, very distraught, as the pain had indeed increased. I rushed home again, and good friends of ours jumped in with an offer of a lift to hospital.

While our friends were on their way with the car (as we don't currently have one), we hurriedly got ready for a hospital visit, even going so far as to take the birthing bag we had already assembled for just such emergencies (birthing bags are a great idea folks – look them up and what you should take for when it happens to you – they're essential). Soon we were whisked away to the hospital we have chosen to be our son's birthplace to get my lady and our wriggling offspring checked out.

Upon arrival at the hospital, we discovered a bizarre welcome party – about two hundred people rammed up against each other outside the hospital entrance. A fire alarm had been triggered, and everyone was waiting for the all-clear to be sounded. Thankfully, there were medical staff on hand who were very helpful in rushing us and our precious cargo through the crowd and into the building so we could head to Antenatal Triage and have my lady tested to see if she was in labour.

The hospital was deserted, and me being a fan of horror movies, my thoughts turned to Halloween II and Resident Evil. It was more than creepy, and our rushed footsteps matched our thunderous heartbeats in volume as we went deeper into its labyrinthine corridors.

As we made our way to triage, we both prayed that we weren't about to meet our son just yet, as there's two months to go! Once we were seen by a doctor and a nurse, tests began. We held hands tightly and I tried to reassure my lady through her pain and the waves of sickness, and we both waited with concern for the doctor's findings.

Thankfully, those findings were that my girl is suffering from Braxton-Hicks, i.e. practice contractions. Baby is still where he should be and there are no signs of him attempting to make an entrance just yet. This is most reassuring, as his premature arrival is one of our biggest fears. It's too early. Too much is going on. It's not time yet. There is so much still to prepare.

We are most grateful to the doctor and the nurse who tended to us, and hope it's a good long while before we have to see them for the real thing. On the upside, it meant that we knew roughly how long it would take to get to hospital and to where we needed to be when the time does come. Since this happened, my girl has still been very unwell, with sickness and discomfort, but we are told this will pass. I'm glad all is relatively well, but am approaching the coming weeks and months with caution. I'm not afraid to admit that I am scared. I want it known. I want people to know how much I care. I want all to be well. Yesterday was scary, but necessary.

A Filling And A Realisation

I had my first ever filling on Friday, which is quite an achievement considering I'm 33 and consume vast quantities of carbonated soft drinks. It was a weird experience, doing something so normal that I've never needed to have done before, but it made me realise something else entirely. While my lady's baby bump continues to grow in size and our son continues to kick and wriggle and make his presence felt, we are becoming the people he will remember when he looks back at his childhood in years to come.

To him, I will always have had this filling. To him, his mummy's hair will have always been the length it is now, and not the oceans of long black tresses that greeted me when I met her for the first time. He will remember the people we are starting to become now. Both myself and my lady are dressing a little more conservative than we once did, with our days as denizens of the alternative clubbing scene and its associated fashions giving way to a somewhat more subdued (but still suitably 'us') style of attire.

To our son, we will have always written for magazines and had books out, I will always have been a grumpy sci-fi and comic geek who harps on about how good things used to be, and his mummy will always have been a columnist for a top crafting publication. My collection of vintage genre VHS tapes will become the antiques that he will have no interest in but will accept as part of what dad likes. To him, I will have always been balding.

Our whole lives up to now will become the strange netherworld that is the Pre-Child era we find so odd about our own parents. I find that very strange, but also exciting.

You see, with such a momentous occasion hurtling towards us as such an alarming speed, I am finding this final stage of my child-free life winding down in a most pleasant fashion. Big things are taking place around me and involving me that will help to define the person that my son will know me as. All I hope over everything else is that I can be a good dad for him and hope that he loves me. I worry. I'm a parent now. That's what we do, isn't it?