I remember it vividly.
Curled up in the foetal position in the warm darkness yet being thrust out into the world without even a coffee. The terror, pain, rushing down a long dark tunnel with a mysterious light at the end, but somehow calmed in the knowledge that all my relatives would be waiting for me on the other side.
I was born at around 9pm, but understandably I'd been a little reluctant, so the staff had me induced, probably with a two sugar cafe latte solution. This sent my mother into contractions when there was no-one around. Then a nurse came in, took her off the drip and told her, "Whatever you do, stop pushing," and the contractions stopped. According to my mother there were many babies being born that night and they were a bit short of people to deliver them. Sounds like a bit of a 'mid-wife crisis'.
Finally the staff came in and delivered me. Dad hadn't been there - apparently fathers weren't allowed to hang around in those days, so he probably was in the pub or pacing the corridors smoking.
Apparently I was almost nine pounds, a long baby with long fingers and toes, which I still have to this day.
