wood for the trees

The shocking warm gush of blood as it blossoms out of you onto the fresh hospital sheets. Press the bell, the bounce of the floor boards, the rush of the midwives. And the world shrinks to a pin prick. You don’t even need to mind your own body anymore.

Someone checks the bleed, your arm goes out for the B.P. cuff, the other for a line in a vein. Someone taps in to that space-like frontier inside your contracting belly to broadcast the little mites heartbeat. You just have to lie very still and let them carry you on the wave of whatever your body has in store this time round.

So far, mercifully, the tiny 800g, 26 week old human in your belly seems unfazed by these dramas. S/he kicks, hiccups, flips, hides. Oblivious. The thunder of its heart beat 138/142/141/129/137/142/144/135/142 saying I’m fine. Good on you.