Another appointment at the hospital. The baby is now four days past its due date and, apart from a couple of twinges in the night, the little fella seems happy kicking about in Lynne’s belly. There is still room to move in there, for now. The midwife checks Lynne’s blood pressure and we listen to the heartbeat. It sounds like a train. Healthy. Spontaneous labour could start at any time.
The midwife offers Lynne a membrane sweep to hurry things along. Lynne politely declines and the midwife agrees that she would probably leave it too. It is only effective 35-40% of the time and if Lynne is still comfortable and we are in no rush.... However, if spontaneous labour doesn’t start in the next week or so then somebody is going to have to go in and get the baby. Thank Christ that I’m a guy; my bits are simple, I don’t have to put up with all the indignities and minor infections that come with a furry front bum. Men are only required to show their tackle to medical staff in extreme cases of absolute fucking disaster. Have a look at this picture, detailing the measurement of fundal height during pregnancy:
See? Awful. I think you will agree there is something disturbingly callous about this open-palmed insertion. The words 'full bladder' also seem particularly unsympathetic. I think this diagram comes from more primitive times, when women were thrown on their backs, had their muffs shaved and their feet shoved into stirrups, while a doctor yanked the baby out with a cruelly gleaming pair of forceps. Ahhhh, the 70s. Those were the days.
Lynne has escaped such horrors so far, but the baby needs to move fast if she is going to get away unscathed.
Lynne has escaped such horrors so far, but the baby needs to move fast if she is going to get away unscathed.
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