It was very strange being on the other side.

So many times I had stood in this exact theatre room, all scrubbed up, ready to receive a baby.

And now here I was…….the patient on the table.

It was strange and fascinating – though I could easily imagine how challenging, foreign, or even traumatic this might be for someone who has never been in a hospital or ever had surgery.

The staff were swift and proficient.

I sat on the edge of the small, cold, hard theatre/OR table while the Anesthesiologist put in the spinal anaesthesia.

There were a few little stings as he put in the local anaesthesia to numb the area on my back before inserting the bigger needle into my spine. I felt a little bit of pressure with the bigger needle, but no pain whatsoever.

I was shocked by how quickly the numbness kicked in.

Before I knew it my legs were dead weight.

It was the strangest sensation as they laid me flat, then moved me up the OR table, as I felt NOTHING from the waist down.

A urinary catheter was placed (I obviously didn’t feel that either) and then they started cleaning my abdomen with chlorhexidine and putting up the blue sterile drapes.

I looked at the clock.

It was 1pm.

“Great timing,” my obstetrician joked, following up from our conversation that morning.

They started pinching my skin with the forceps and asked if I could feel anything.

“Nope,” I laughed.

And then, that’s when I noticed something that I had NEVER known (or noticed) before.

I could see the entire procedure from where I was lying. There was a clear reflection on the silver sphere that hung above the operating table: I could see everything in perfect detail.

Once again, I had never been on the patient side, so I had no idea that the patients could witness the cutting open of their abdomen.

I found this fascinating – mostly because I felt NOTHING, so there was this total disconnect from what I was witnessing. It didn’t really feel like it was happening to me.

They pinched harder with the forceps. “Are you sure?” they asked again.

“I feel nothing,” I replied.

They started cutting.

I could see in the reflection as they cut through my skin, then my muscle.

 My obstetrician, along with the doctor that was helping her, reached into my abdomen and each doctor took one side of the muscle and started pulling it apart.

“Do you feel pressure? Most women at least feel pressure,” the nurse behind me asked.

“Nope. Nothing.” I said.

I continued to stare at the reflection, completely mesmerised.

Once the uterine muscles were sufficiently pulled apart my doctor reached in and pulled out twin # 1.

They lowered the blue sterile drape so we could see him.

He immediately cried and was whisked off to the Paediatrician to get checked. My husband followed suit.

There was INSTANT relief on the pressure against my lungs as Twin # 2 dropped down lower in my abdomen. I gasped as I took in a deep, delightful breath.

Everyone in the room heard it.

“Are you ok?” they asked.

“I can breathe again!” I exclaimed in exhilaration, taking in deep, loud audible breaths.  

My obstetrician laughed, “You still have another baby in there!”

Within a minute the second baby was out.

He also immediately cried, much to my relief.

There are no words to describe how easily I was able to breathe again.

I sucked in each breath of air with exhilaration as they started suturing me up.

The boys were whisked into another room and my husband disappeared (as the OR room only had one resuscitation bay and they obviously needed two).

I felt a twinge of excitement when I saw my baby boys but that was immediately crushed by a strange sadness when they disappeared.

I’ve experienced ALOT as a midwife.

I have placed term babies straight onto their mother’s chest in theatre while they are being sutured up and then helped them initiate the first breastfeed as soon as they are transferred to recovery.

I’ve also been part of resuscitating babies who come out blue and immediately get transferred to NICU, leaving the mother to recover from the caesarean alone; anxiously wondering if her baby is ok.

Now that was me.

Deep down I knew they were “ok”, because I was in a tertiary facility with a fantastic NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). I was in my home hospital where I worked – but I still didn’t know exactly what was happening with my babies and even though I felt SAFE in this hospital I began to inevitably feel a “parental terror” I’d never experienced before.

I felt a tightness in my chest and all I wanted was an update on my babies.

To distract myself I stared again at the reflection in the big silver bauble that hung over the operating table.

“It’s lucky you came straight down to theatre,” my obstetrician said, “you were dilating very quickly!”

This had been a concern of hers as I have a family history of quick labours. I was shocked to hear that I had started dilating, because my REAL contractions never felt any different than my regular Braxton hicks contractions; the level of discomfort was exactly the same.

Here I was, a midwife, and yet I had NO idea I was in premature labour. I found that concerning. My waters breaking had been my only sign of change in my body. My uncomfortable braxton hicks contractions carried on as they had for months (due to my “irritable” and stretched out uterus) so I gave them no notice.

I could see the doctors sewing up my caesarean wound but there was still a significant disconnect: I still couldn’t feel anything. With each suture they placed, it felt like I was watching them suture up someone else – not me.

Within a few minutes they were done. The sterile drapes were pulled down and they transferred my dead-weight body back onto a bed and into the recovery room.

At this point I was starting to shake violently as the anaesthetic began to wear off.

I can’t remember how many times I have held the hand of a shaking woman in recovery, assuring her that this was normal, and yet I could hardly bear it myself.

The muscle twitching was involuntary and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stop it.

They brought me another warm blanket and I lay there over the next hour or so waiting for this annoying twitching/shaking (like full body hiccups) to stop.

When I was stable enough to be transferred up to the ward, the wardies took me on a detour via NICU first, wheeling my bed through the narrow halls, to let me peak at my babies in their incubators. I know they try to do this with most women, but I found this profound act of kindness extremely impactful.

The boys were in different rooms and each baby had a mask on their face giving them “bubble CPAP ” (positive air pressure that helps them breathe easier). They also had IV lines with fluids that had extra sugar (10% dextrose) to keep their blood sugar levels stable. This is EXTREMELY important to prevent a hypoglycemic episode that could cause brain damage.

My husband was going back and forth between the two babies in the different rooms.

I felt a strange numbness as they wheeled me through the hallway.

This is where I’d worked.

This is where I’d taken care of other people’s babies.

It felt like I was looking at patients, not my babies.

I had naively and stupidly assumed that I would be less traumatised if my babies needed a NICU admission because I was so comfortable in this environment, but it NEVER occurred to me that I would feel completely disconnected BECAUSE this was my work environment.

I was beginning to feel a range of conflicting emotions that I had not been prepared for.

They wheeled my bed back up to ward and left me alone in my room.