I got married somewhere in the year 2000 and since then, I had left Singapore for France. It took me a year to conceive my first baby and the day when the gynaecologist confirmed that I was three weeks pregnant, I was swelling with pride and bursting with joy, but my husband and I decided to keep it all low just to “make sure that things were more certain”. So, we only broke the news to everyone at my fourth month.
In France, scans are not done during every check-up. Rather, the first ultrasound is done at six to 10 weeks of the pregnancy, just to confirm and date the pregnancy. And thereafter, scans are done at every trimester – which means that, it will be a total of four scans throughout the whole pregnancy process. I was both excited and lost during the monthly check-ups. Excited because it was my first pregnancy and lost, because I barely spoke French then. All the medical jargons bewildered me. Fortunately, my husband was always present during each check-up and was patient enough to translate for me. He did a thorough explanation when we reached home too.
All was well until I entered my seventh month. I had some minor contractions on and off and one day, while doing the household chores, I could feel the “ploop” sensation coming from “down under”. Somehow I felt strange. I felt as if the baby was coming out! We didn’t call the gynae nor run to the emergency. Instead, we waited till our next appointment on the following week to inform her about this feeling.
When I told her about what I felt, she laughed it off. “C’est impossible, madame!” (“It’s impossible, ma’am”), she exclaimed. Nevertheless, she did a check on me and YES! To our horror, she said “aux urgences!” She had sent me to the emergency department because at seven months, my cervix was already dilated at three centimeters and my gynae claimed that she could “feel” the baby’s head already!
My husband had to call-in his office to take an urgent half day off. Once at the emergency department, I showed the “sage femmes” (midwives) the letter that my gynae had written, explaining my situation. In French hospitals, midwives are given the authority to handle deliveries, miscarriage cases and even pregnancy follow-ups.
After reading the letter and checking on me, they decided to hospitalize me for three days to monitor my condition. I was given medicines to “stop the baby from popping out” (that was what they claimed). After being discharged, I was ordered to a complete bed rest for a month or risk giving birth to a premature baby. I could only leave the bed on my 37th week.
While I was hospitalised, my mom got worried in Singapore. She decided to book her ticket and get into France immediately. She came at the right time to fuss over me. She cooked all the meals and made all the kueh that I had been craving for. She did the housework while I became like a real queen all that while, staying and lying in bed – only to get up to go to the toilet and for quick showers.
The contractions came and went. I was counting days to get over the restriction set by the hospital. I felt guilty that my mom had to be confined indoors to care for me on her first visit to France. So, when that day eventually came, I was overjoyed and took my mom out for shopping!
The next day after the outing with my mom, I had a routine check-up at the hospital. Time check was 2.40pm on a lazy Thursday working afternoon. When it was my turn to be called in, I got a student nurse. Oh, how I hated it! I mean, why couldn’t they just give me a “real, proper” doctor? What was so difficult?
The student nurse did the routine check for my temperature and blood pressure and then said “tout va bien” (“all’s well”) but I didn’t feel at all well inside. Somehow, I felt that something isn’t right and asked her to check on my baby – which she agreed. Just less than five minutes after, she said, “Oh, you’re giving birth this afternoon; latest by tonight!” My cervix was already dilated at seven cm. My heart skipped a beat. I was only into my 37th week – three weeks earlier than my guns prediction, but the midwives assured me that by French medical practice, a pregnancy that’s between 37 to 42 weeks are considered full term.
In spilt seconds, I was ordered to change into the hospital maternity wear. I soon found myself in the labour ward. By now, the contractions were so intense. The midwives came and checked on me every now and then and were amazed that I refused the epidural. They kept saying I was “very brave”. I managed some weak smiles, but silently, I was screaming “just leave me alone!”
Almost four hours of labour and I thought I couldn’t make it. Soon after, the midwives came and stayed permanently. All four of them gathered around my bed. They did the last check and confirmed that my cervix was already dilated at 10 cm. I was given the nod to start pushing. I gave it all out. Around six to seven mighty hard pushes, Baby L popped out at 11.50pm on a Thursday night. Everyone cheered in the room. I was blushing like a new bride. The minute Baby L was put on top of my chest for the first time, I told myself, “Hey, I am a mother now. Welcome to the world, darling”. It was unbelievable!
That was 11 years ago, but nothing has escaped my mind nor my memory box. Baby L is a big sis now. Perhaps 15 years from now, Baby L will be expecting her own baby and it will be her turn to relate her own birth story. Would it be the same like mine? Would I be able to take care of her devotedly like my mom did? Only time will tell.
Do you have an interesting birth story to share too? Write in to us at admin@thenewageparents.com
By Noreen Yek Boussetta
