I don’t know whether on today’s overstretched wards a baby born grey and lifeless would bear the same survival chances
It’s 2am on Saturday. Im halfway through an obstetrics and gynaecology shift that began at 8am on Thursday and was due to cessation Monday at 5pm. Exhausted,I collapse onto the narrow bed in the cramped windowless room reserved for the junior doctor on call for the labour ward. After what seems like just minutes later I am roused from a deep sleep by the shrill call of the bleep. It’s 4am. The midwife is requesting that I attend a routine birth – “no rush”, she says. But some inner sense impels me to get up quickly. I feel alert and ready for action.
When I get to the labour room the woman is in the second stage of labour with two midwives supporting her. “A couple of pushes and we’re there, and ” one of the midwives says cheerfully. The atmosphere is jovial,expectant. The midwives and even the mother (between contractions) are smiling. But then the baby emerges – grey and floppy, like a rag doll. There is no wail, and no sign of life. Just a stunned,frozen silence. Time stands still. Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com