It’s a boy!
ONE VERY HOT SUMMER morning on 23 February 1988, 31 years ago, I was heavily pregnant, almost 42 weeks. My hands and feet were swollen. My husband Michael and I arrive at Groote Schuur Hospital in Observatory, Cape Town, for my check-up. A nurse examined me and checked my baby’s heartbeat. She told me that because I was already overdue, they had to prepare me for a caesarean birth. Those days, our people called a C-section: ‘oop vlek’ (cut open).
To a 20-year-old mother, those words coming from the nurse was scary. When the nurse left the room, I told Michael: “If they vlek (cut) me open like a snoek, I will never give you any more children!” Michael turned around to fetch my clothes, and we literally ran away from the hospital.
We took a train from Observatory to Steenberg Station, and from thereon, made our way to my sister in Lavender Hill. When we arrived at her house, she was very upset with Michael for allowing me to convince him to run away from hospital. After having a bite to eat, I decided to take a rest.
After all, it was a stressful day.
At about 10pm, the pain started, and my sister called the ambulance to take me back to hospital.
Michael stayed behind as he needed to go to work the next day. On my way to the hospital, I felt excited and happy. I hoped for a boy since I already had a cute baby girl named Melanie. Just the thought of having a boy was enough to make me almost forget that I was in labour.
When I finally reached the hospital, I was alone and in a lot of pain. I was tired and feeling drained because, at that stage, I was not allowed to eat or drink anything. Added to the agony was that it was students’ night. Many women who gave birth those years will know it’s a nightmare giving birth when student doctors are on duty.
Your nightmare experience is their learning process. While they learn something new with every contraction, you are more frustrated by every hand prodding inside of you. Finally, it was time for delivery. A nurse came and assisted to break my water.
When Melanie was born in 1986, the nurses had to break my water as well. Throughout labour, I was smiling and looking forward to see if it’s a boy or another girl.
It was time to push. Oh, my word! The pain was never-ending.
And then the child was born. I was told it’s a boy! My son, Matthew Michael Ohlsson, was born at 12.20 am on 24 February 1988. I couldn’t see him immediately. All I could hear the doctor say was that he was big.
“Let me see him, let me see him.” I kept on asking.
I was told that he weighs 10 pounds (5kg). Tears streamed down my face. Tears of joy and worry because I could not see him yet. When Melanie was born, she was placed on my chest immediately after giving birth to her. As much as I wanted to see my son, I couldn’t. I was badly torn during birth because he was so big and had several stitches done. I had to wait before I could see him.
Early the next day, Michael arrived at the hospital. I asked him to bring me a wheelchair and to find our son. When he entered the nursery, Michael walked straight to our son. Matthew had my fat round face and dimples with a cute cleft. When I finally got to hold and feed him, my heart burst with joy.
The nurses arrived on duty for the next shift, and everyone was so amazed by Matthew’s size. They had to go to another floor to fetch clothes meant for the older babies. In those days, the hospital used to provide clothes to dress the children while they were there. We only needed to bring clothes for when a child leaves the hospital.
A day or two later, I could finally go home. Melanie was so excited to be a big sister to her brother.
One month after Matthew’s birth, Michael and I moved into our own house in Lentegeur, Mitchells Plain.
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Weekend Argus