Admission - It has begun!

When we reached the hospital at 9am, I was well versed with the routine – change of clothes, general monitoring of vital signs and an enema. I was ushered into a room and hooked up to a cardiotocogram on bed 13. Unfortunately, the hospital is still way behind times and not father-friendly. I was left alone lying on my side, strapped to a machine, staring at the sterile walls, feeling every contraction and trying desperately to distract myself, knowing this would last at least several hours.

Finally, the specialist-on-call came and attended to me – a doctor I had never met in my life! My usual Obstetrician was away on sick leave, so I had little choice but to accept whoever was available. A quick assessment showed I was truly in early labour, dilated to 3cm. An offer of epidural was made at this stage, but I had decided early on to accept as little medical intervention as possible. Not only did I refuse an epidural, I also refused sedative pain relief injections. Ironically, I had spent the last two years of my career in Anaesthesia performing, among other things, epidurals and spinal anaesthesia for patients in labour!

My next assessment was planned in 4 hours time, so I was allowed to walk out of the labour room to speak to Chris and my mom. It was close to lunch time, but I had a sinking feeling I would be forced to fast till delivery. After meeting the friends my mom had made in the waiting room (extended families of two Malay ladies!), I quickly gulped down a few biscuits (Chris’ emergency supply) and spent the rest of the time chatting and discussing what Chris should do next.

No Husbands Allowed!

There was no way Chris would be allowed into my delivery suite. Occasionally, exceptions were made, but it was just unfortunate my suite was a shared unit with another lady. Although Chris was ‘smuggled’ in during a previous admission, we knew this time I’d have to face the labour pains alone.

The estimated time of delivery was in 7 hours’ time, and the midwife advised Chris and my mom to go home for a quick meal and rest before coming back in a few hours. Although I was a little reluctant to see them leave, I knew there was little they could do in the uncomfortable waiting room. To make matters worse, I was not allowed to bring in my mobile phone! Chris could call the hospital, they said, to check on my progress.

All Alone

Meanwhile, I insisted on bringing in the day’s newspaper to read. As I lay in bed and watched the midwife strap on the CTG yet again, I was informed that the monitoring would be continuous, which meant I had no chance of leaving the bed for the next few hours! This translates to no toilet trips, no visitors, and only pure, undistracted pain. For a hospital that is linked to the top university in the country, I was more than a little disappointed that they still practice such conservative management. After all, friends in the UK reading this would be familiar with home births, warm baths in labour, walking epidurals and definitely the presence of a comforting husband! So much for birth plans and choosing birth positions. Here, I had to do as I was told. The labour suite felt like a torture chamber.

So, my next few hours were spent reading the Sunday Star and doing breathing exercises during contractions. My only distraction was the midwife who came intermittently, and an enthusiastic medical student who spent a considerable amount of time taking a detailed history from me. The contractions were getting stronger and longer, but still bearable. I prayed that my next assessment would show some sort of progress and that this would not end up in another false labour or an augmented labour (using medication to increase the intensity of contractions).