Her due date was February 15th, but she hung in there an extra two weeks just for kicks. Finally, the contractions began and by this point I. Was. Ready. I’d had my previous two children naturally without drugs and with a midwife, my preferred method, but it HURT. And I’m gonna be real honest here – I HATED the actual birthing process. Still do. SO THANKFUL I never have to do that again. P. coming late was a blessing, I was past the point of fearing the pain and at the This Needs To Happen stage.
So, whoopdeedo, February 28th rolled around and I was ready to go at last. I called my doctor to let her know I was coming in and, you guessed it, here comes the wrench in the plan, the hospital lady who sleeps next to the phone at night informed me that my doctor was in Mumbai for the weekend. And just like that, I was doctor-less and had nowhere to go.
By eleven o’clock at night my husband had driven to six maternity hospitals in the city, one by one. No one would take me. I wasn’t their patient, why should they? I get it. I can now relate to Mary in Bethlehem. No doctor in the hospital? Won’t take new patients? No room in the Inn? Been there. All I really wanted was to find a place to squeeze this baby out and a person to catch her at the other end. A stable makes perfect sense.
After several phone calls from my husband on the road informing me there was nowhere to go, I finally said, (I honestly said this) “Go to the slums, find a midwife and bring her to the house. We’ll do it here.” I was totally serious.
In the end, a family friend, who was a nurse and used to work for an OB/GYN interceded for us. My husband caught the doctor in his parking lot leaving his hospital at midnight and convinced him to admit me. This is where the fun began.