It was around a quarter past seven yesterday evening when we hurried to the hospital.
Within an hour of arriving, we were in a delivery room. More than six weeks before we expected to be.
I could only stand beside the still empty Perspex baby cot and watch, as the assistant peeled the wrapping from various rubber tubing, plastic bits and pieces, and rolled a set of scissor-like instruments out onto the bed.
ET grimaced as it was explained what they would be used for, all the while hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
We were nervous, more nervous than we had been since the IUI itself. Nervous, and excited.
Just like the 10 other couples beside us.
The expectation was almost tangible among the parents-to-be at the hospital’s open night last night.
Met with tea & coffee, we listened to a handful of speakers talk us through how the hospital runs their obstetrics department. Relaxed and efficient is the only way I can describe it.
Now, I’m not the one about to have my crotch mutate in such a way as to facilitate the emergence of another human from my gut, but if I was, I’d be very happy about doing it there.
They were clear and concise about when to call, where to park, the fact you can have free lemonade but not cola, and having an epidural can delay your going home by an hour or two.
There are 5 fully equipped private delivery rooms with all the trimmings, TV and music, baths and showers to help with the pain management, and drugs on tap should they be required. ET can even have some if she wants.
They spoke about the practicalities of getting there, various pain reliefs, they had a lactation specialist there to support with and advise on breastfeeding, they even show you how to install the bloody car seat.
With every convenience on hand, the focus was still on letting it be as natural an event as it can be, with a very real possibility that we will end up with a baby without having seen an actual doctor since just after the IUI.
They were confident and relaxed, and best of all, contagious.
6 weeks exactly.