Birth Report: Child was born in ambulance

Mama has a stomach ache because the little boy in her belly wants to be born. The mother already has two children and knows that the contractions drag on for hours. This time she doesn’t want to be haunting the hospital and “killing” the time somehow. It’s more comfortable at home and it’s easier to distract yourself. For example, you can still bake a delicious bread. Huh, when you open the oven and it comes out so hot, then the contractions really get going . But the little daughter scratches the back to help, and then it’s all right again very quickly. “Scha-hatz, take my suitcase into the car, then not all the neighbors will see so clearly that we are about to march in the direction of the hospital,” I call out. The saying should make some laughing muscles ring!

Contractions… well, getting a bit more now. Quickly got the bread out of the oven – and then mom remembered the various baby magazines that said: “If you don’t know if the contractions are ‘serious’, get in a hot tub. If the distances get significantly shorter, then it’s time for the hospital.” So get in the tub. Was that cozy? contractions? No special occurrences. So we still have all the time in the world. Finally I ran up the stairs again to say goodbye to the older children. When I was back down, I could already feel the little head. But was it serious? I still stuttered, now we should start driving. Not being able to get into our car normally, I wedged myself in the back seat screaming, so the door wouldn’t close. I lay there like a half-dead whale, nothing worked anymore.

Born in the ambulance

So my husband called the ambulance. But the guy on the phone understood that I wanted to be driven to the hospital lying down for the birth (maybe the day after tomorrow?) and so nothing happened at first. So one more call – “say that right now”. The whale in the back seat howled. Oh, how liberating it was when FINALLY the Tatütata came closer and closer … in four variants, four cars built up “inconspicuously” in front of our house. In the meantime, I was quite angry, despite my rather limited attention: Because the next hospital was not approached, but that of the “right” district town. Official stuff, where you go and stand (and lie). The hospital in question was far too far away, my foggy mind told me that too clearly. So – the birth was already underway. Under an ugly concrete bridge (which we always greet when we pass since then). My husband had to follow in his car and was only “allowed” to take a look through the frosted glass panes of the RTW. Meanwhile, I noticed: The somewhat harsh pediatrician (“Didn’t you learn that inPreparation course ?!”) and the kind-hearted internist didn’t necessarily supervise a birth every day, but thank God they had their basic medical knowledge.

In the hospital

And then there was the little boy. I still remember the “aluminum foil” it was wrapped in. And it was a very uplifting feeling later to be rolled through the hospital lying down. I was still hopeful that I would be welcomed with a lot of fanfare and maybe champagne. But this air bubble burst: A stern doctor scowled at the paper she had put in my hand and mumbled: “But you’re not the youngest anymore.” Class reception. And the laughter got stuck in my throat as I had to spend, believe it or not, three hours in the hallway. They didn’t know what to do with me, or maybe it was also the punishment for the fact that I was now badly accounted for. I will NEVER forget these bizarre hours: I was lying in bed (as I said: in the hospital corridor), all around me a lot of people and patients coming and going. Whenever I caught a white coat, I asked about my child. “Yes, I’ll let you know”. But that only happened when I made such a riot that I almost felt insane. It was Friday the 13th. My disrespect for that date had come to an abrupt end.