By David Lennon
12 November 2009
“I think it would be good if you can come now. Penny is ready,” it was Assaf.
It was shortly after 3am when the phone rang beside the bed, a day before the dreaded Friday the 13th when my daughter–in-law Penny was due to have her second baby.
We had agreed earlier in the night, when the contractions began, that he would call us when he wanted us to come over to look after our 2 and a half year old granddaughter Hannah and stay with her while they went to the hospital. Hannah had been briefed and prepared to wake up and find grandparents there, instead of Mummy and Daddy.
“Okay, we are on our way,” I said as I began to climb out of sleep and the bed. Vicky was moving too.
“By the way, could one of you take us to the hospital, or shall I call a taxi,” asked Assaf. I paused, somewhat taken aback particularly as I knew the contractions had been going on for some hours. Hearing the hesitation in my voice, he said he would talk to Penny. I told Vicky what he said, she speed-dialled back: “We will take you to the hospital, one of us will stay with Hannah and the other will drive you”.
So, that’s settled then. Crisis decision making is one of Vicky’s strong points.
A fast brush of the hair and teeth, clothes and shoes quickly pulled on and by 3.25 we are downstairs getting into the car. Its surprising how much traffic there is on the road at that time of the morning, especially when you are in a hurry to get your arriving grandchild to hospital. And why is every traffic light red?
We arrive at Sumatra Road at 3.40am. Both sides of the road are lined with parked cars, so we pull up in the middle of the road outside their house. I am behind the wheel as the elected “driver to the hospital”. Vicky goes in to get the by now very-expectant parents.
(As I wait for them to come out my mind begins to run riot. Oh please, don’t give birth in the car, I mutter to myself, and then begin to wonder if a baby born in the car is entitled to a free Toyota for life…)
After what seems like an eternity Assaf comes out with a huge bag which we manage to cram into the boot. Then Penny emerges, walking very slowly. In the few meters from the house to the car she has to stop while undergoing a contraction. (Oh my god, how soon is she due, I wonder, as I begin to picture myself actually assisting in the delivery.)
As Penny lowers herself very gingerly into the back seat, a milk van arrives behind us, is there symbolism in this, I wonder. Anyway the early morning milkman has to wait until Penny can settle herself, we can close the door and glide away as gently as possible.
As you all know, London roads are full of “Speed Humps” designed to slow down traffic. They are not designed to make life easy for women in labour en-route to hospital. No matter how slowly you go, it is still a bit like being on a boat in a swelling sea.
I can hear Penny behind me breathing out, “Phisss”, Whoooo”, at what seems like increasingly short intervals. Have they cut it too fine? (I stay calm and think of the free car for life.) We cross the Regent’s Canal at Little Venice , turn in towards Paddington Station. I can see the “H” sign for the hospital. “Turn left,” says Assaf. “Phiss, Whoooo”, goes Penny.
Oh no, there are road works blocking the entrance to the Hospital, Before I can begin to look for a way around it Assaf stays “Stop, this is as close as you can get.” “Phiss, Whoooo”, goes Penny. Then, as the car inches forward, “Let us out here”, says Assaf.
Phew, we’ve made it…. Well not quite… Penny slowly levers herself out of the back seat and with a last “Phiss, Whoooo”, she starts moving slowly towards the hospital entrance. I watch her moving a few paces then stopping as another contraction hits. A few more steps and she stops again. Oh my goodness, will she have to give birth on the pavement? My phone buzzes, it’s a text from Assaf. “Please leave. All’s good.” Penny still hasn’t reached the hospital door, I reluctantly drive away.
Its 7am and we are dozing on the bed at Assaf and Penny’s house in Sumatra Road. Suddenly we are hauled awake by the insistent pinging sound of an incoming text message. Its from Assaf:
“Hi Ima and Papa, Baby and Mummy all good. Your new granddaughter Zoe Amari was born at 5.10 this morning. All’s well”.
(Wow, that was quick, less than an hour after arriving at the hospital…..
I think we only just missed the free car.)
12 November 2009
“I think it would be good if you can come now. Penny is ready,” it was Assaf.
It was shortly after 3am when the phone rang beside the bed, a day before the dreaded Friday the 13th when my daughter–in-law Penny was due to have her second baby.
We had agreed earlier in the night, when the contractions began, that he would call us when he wanted us to come over to look after our 2 and a half year old granddaughter Hannah and stay with her while they went to the hospital. Hannah had been briefed and prepared to wake up and find grandparents there, instead of Mummy and Daddy.
“Okay, we are on our way,” I said as I began to climb out of sleep and the bed. Vicky was moving too.
“By the way, could one of you take us to the hospital, or shall I call a taxi,” asked Assaf. I paused, somewhat taken aback particularly as I knew the contractions had been going on for some hours. Hearing the hesitation in my voice, he said he would talk to Penny. I told Vicky what he said, she speed-dialled back: “We will take you to the hospital, one of us will stay with Hannah and the other will drive you”.
So, that’s settled then. Crisis decision making is one of Vicky’s strong points.
A fast brush of the hair and teeth, clothes and shoes quickly pulled on and by 3.25 we are downstairs getting into the car. Its surprising how much traffic there is on the road at that time of the morning, especially when you are in a hurry to get your arriving grandchild to hospital. And why is every traffic light red?
We arrive at Sumatra Road at 3.40am. Both sides of the road are lined with parked cars, so we pull up in the middle of the road outside their house. I am behind the wheel as the elected “driver to the hospital”. Vicky goes in to get the by now very-expectant parents.
(As I wait for them to come out my mind begins to run riot. Oh please, don’t give birth in the car, I mutter to myself, and then begin to wonder if a baby born in the car is entitled to a free Toyota for life…)
After what seems like an eternity Assaf comes out with a huge bag which we manage to cram into the boot. Then Penny emerges, walking very slowly. In the few meters from the house to the car she has to stop while undergoing a contraction. (Oh my god, how soon is she due, I wonder, as I begin to picture myself actually assisting in the delivery.)
As Penny lowers herself very gingerly into the back seat, a milk van arrives behind us, is there symbolism in this, I wonder. Anyway the early morning milkman has to wait until Penny can settle herself, we can close the door and glide away as gently as possible.
As you all know, London roads are full of “Speed Humps” designed to slow down traffic. They are not designed to make life easy for women in labour en-route to hospital. No matter how slowly you go, it is still a bit like being on a boat in a swelling sea.
I can hear Penny behind me breathing out, “Phisss”, Whoooo”, at what seems like increasingly short intervals. Have they cut it too fine? (I stay calm and think of the free car for life.) We cross the Regent’s Canal at Little Venice , turn in towards Paddington Station. I can see the “H” sign for the hospital. “Turn left,” says Assaf. “Phiss, Whoooo”, goes Penny.
Oh no, there are road works blocking the entrance to the Hospital, Before I can begin to look for a way around it Assaf stays “Stop, this is as close as you can get.” “Phiss, Whoooo”, goes Penny. Then, as the car inches forward, “Let us out here”, says Assaf.
Phew, we’ve made it…. Well not quite… Penny slowly levers herself out of the back seat and with a last “Phiss, Whoooo”, she starts moving slowly towards the hospital entrance. I watch her moving a few paces then stopping as another contraction hits. A few more steps and she stops again. Oh my goodness, will she have to give birth on the pavement? My phone buzzes, it’s a text from Assaf. “Please leave. All’s good.” Penny still hasn’t reached the hospital door, I reluctantly drive away.
Its 7am and we are dozing on the bed at Assaf and Penny’s house in Sumatra Road. Suddenly we are hauled awake by the insistent pinging sound of an incoming text message. Its from Assaf:
“Hi Ima and Papa, Baby and Mummy all good. Your new granddaughter Zoe Amari was born at 5.10 this morning. All’s well”.
(Wow, that was quick, less than an hour after arriving at the hospital…..
I think we only just missed the free car.)
