the epidural

When we arrived at the Hospital I parked in a space I shouldn’t have, so after we got Sicily settled in the room, I went back to move the car. I went out the toll bar and it opened without me needing to pay. As it was after five pm I figured it must now be free to park in the hospital grounds so I turned round to go back in. I pushed for a ticket but nothing happened. I pushed and pushed and nothing came out so I gave up and parked on the road. As I walked past the little toll booth I saw a guy in their taking the exiting cars tickets. I walked over to him and asked why I couldn’t get in. He shrugged his shoulders and said it played up sometimes and said he could open it for me but he was charging people to exit. I said I had exited not more than three minutes ago and it was free. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m charging people now.”
I shrugged my shoulders as well and left it as it was.

When I got back into the room Sicily was propped up in bed, looking quite pale, and holding the nitrous oxide sucky thing. She was still contracting at a regular stage but it had become harder because Bridget had to hook her up to the CTG machine that monitors both contractions and the heartbeat of the baby and looks like something developed with neither the midwife or the contracting woman in mind. It’s the sort of device that works if the woman is flat on her back.

This made things very difficult for Sicily to deal with her contractions, and by her indifference to the gas, it obviously wasn’t helping. For someone who was using her awareness of her body as a tool to deal with the contractions, disembodiment was a distraction.

The next couple of hours are a blur. I remember Sicily hooked up to the CTG and something about it’s impracticability combined with its somehow inherent functional need made me think it was made in the Soviet (Kruschev era) Union. She couldn’t stay on her side without it falling off and on her back was too uncomfortable. There was strange contusions of arms and leads and shuffling bodies against the white of the hospital bed. Bridget's notes read,

“1900: Sicily is requesting an epidural. We have discussed other pain relief options but she is keen to continue with this option.”

Bridget went and organised the epidural. I’ll admit I didn’t want Sicily to have an epidural, but I believe I didn’t want her to for the same reasons she hadn’t wanted an epidural, until now.

Firstly cos yr screwing with the spine and there’s all sorts of stuff going on with the spine, stuff medical science hasn’t figured out yet.

But Sicily needed to rest. I took a few deep breaths (of the nitrous oxide) and sat down on the chair in the delivery suit (a type of lazy boy on wheels) and realised that Sicily knew what she was doing, and that Bridget would keep the potential of a cascade to c section or forceps at bay (unless deemed necessary). That I had nothing to worry about.

The anaesthetist showed at 19:45.

She asked Sicily a whole lot of questions while Sicily was contracting. Sicily asked me to leave the room. I must admit I would have liked to see an epidural be inserted, just not on Sicily, so I left.