Call the Midhusband

1 May

It’s my first midwife appointment and I’m a little nervous. I’ve never met a midwife before. I’ve had my pregnancy doctor’s appointment and my healthcare assistant appointment (not sure why I needed both as they asked me the same questions) but the midwife appointment feels like proper baby territory. She’s a baby nurse who will only see people when they are pregnant. It means it’s really happening. I’m really having a baby.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I have to admit I did have slight romantic notions she would be like Chummy from Call the Midwife. I had visions of being greeted by a 6ft Miranda Hart posho as I walked into the surgery. I do live in East London so didn’t think it was that farfetched. I clearly watch too much television. And live in a fantasy land.

Since becoming pregnant, I spend most days either nervous or excited or a mixture of both. Midwife day was a mixture of both. Nervous because it’s medical and involves a doctor’s surgery and for those who read my blog will know this isn’t a good thing for me. Excited because it’s another first and it’s the day I get my ‘notes’. Now the ‘notes’ are something I’ve heard about from Mum’s and baby books. Everyone refers to your ‘notes’ the things that record your pregnancy and are something you have to keep with you in case you go into labour when you’re far away from home.

Being a control freak I love the idea of the ‘notes’. Everything recorded in one place including scan results and blood results for me to read over and over again no doubt convincing myself something is wrong or they’ve misprinted something and actually I’m dying. Hubby will be pleased.

So I get to the surgery and clock in. Normally once you’ve clocked in you wait until your name appears on screen telling you which room to go to. More often than not you can be waiting for well over an hour after your allotted appointment time. So I sit down, preparing myself for a long stay and just as I get comfy a lovely looking lady who must be the midwife calls my name and tells me to come through.  I’m loving the special pregnant lady treatment! (If you’re a member at my surgery you’d understand).

As I go through lovely midwife lady hands me a urine sample pot. Here we go again. They say babies make you poor, but suddenly I’ve got a lot of pots to piss in. So I pee and into the room I go, but I’m a little taken aback. Lovely midwife is stood by the window and sat at the desk about to ask me a million personal questions about my nether regions is a man. Yes, that’s right BBC, there’s a sequel – Call the Midhusband.

Now I’m not a particularly prudish person, but in all my visions of my first meeting with my Midwife, she was not a man. I’m not averse to a man, but it was the last thing I expected so I was a little surprised. This wouldn’t have happened in the 50’s!

So we go through the pages of very personal questions and I answer them all without blushing. Even the ones about things I Ieast expected to be asked. By the time we’re at the end of the appointment it is to my great relief that I learn lovely midwife woman is the person I am likely to see the most. It’s not that I’ve anything against the midhusband, he was perfectly nice, he was just, well, a man.

So as I leave proudly clutching my notes, I feel one step closer to the reality of having my baby. I’m also really pleased it’s 2012. After hearing about labour and everything that could go wrong I’m greatly relieved that East London maternity has moved on enormously since the 1950’s.

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One Response to “Call the Midhusband”

  1. thevoiceofsarahmiles May 1, 2012 at 9:28 am #

    The midwife who delivered my first baby was a man! He was an urban myth in my NCT group and hey presto! He was there at my nether regions to welcome my little girl into the world. Can’t say I would have chosen a man, but at that point the postman could have been there if they could just get the baby out! He was absolutely lovely. 🙂

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