Hospital Cell Block JR

"And this is one of our delivery dungeons..." said the midwife, opening the door to a dimly lit box-room, with no natural light and a low ceiling. "We have a drawer full of implements over here, next to the prison-bed. Gas and air is continously pumped into the room to alleviate some of your pain." The lone spotlight caught a thin smile on her face. The giant clock -- much too big for the size of the room, and positioned so the mother-to-be can see how many hours she has been in agony -- ticked ominously on, counting down to Delivery Day.

"Here we have the birthing pool, for those ladies who are crazy enough to want to give birth in water. To make it look slightly less like a 1960's James Bond villian's lair, we have painted sea creatures -- including a giant man-eating octopus -- on the walls in soothing bright orange."

"After the birth you shall be housed on these wards. Curfew is between the hours of 12 noon and 3 p.m.: the lights will be switched off and there well be no talking or visitors."

We were less than impressed with the JR facilities last night. It was like being back at school: the place looked tired and stank of nasty dinners. Vic's been asking friends who have delivered at the JR what it's really like and I've tried to remind her we are not going into hospital to enjoy the decor, but going for the medical skills.


Dinner With New Friends

We're off to dinner at James and Rachel's tonight. They are our "new friends" from ante-natal classes, and seem to be really cool people. Being a complete food snob, I'm praying their tastes are similar to ours. I'm also hoping we don't have too many uncomfortable silences.


911 Disturbance

Another fight from our next door neighbours kicked off at 10 last night, spilling out into the street, with at least one solid punch thrown. They sounded as if they were coming through the walls, with internal doors banged repeatedly and the sounds of screaming, shouting and breakages resonating. When the thug boyfriend shut his 6 year old daughter outside -- so she wouldn't have to see her father abusing her new "mum" -- and she was left crying "please don't fight... Daddy, please open the door!", I was ready to phone the police. Then he left. We feared for her safety.

For her sake, I hope he doesn't return. If she lets him back into her life, she's a fool. That was the fourth or fifth time they've had a fight in as many months. Why put yourself through that?

This morning we found a note pushed through the letterbox from her saying "I want to apologise for the disturbance tonight."

Her handwriting was completely stressed.