Okay, I have to do it now, because you Anniemena said OMG! So this one's for you.

I was once a big advocate of the 'natural birth' process. When I fell pregnant with Dylan, I chose to go the 'midwifery way'. In a hospital, but no doctors, just me and a midwife. No pain meds either. Hey if millions of women had done it through the centuries then so would I. I was tough, I was invincible... I was woman.

Dylan was almost two weeks 'overcooked'. It was early February which also meant extreme heat. I am very thin, usually sitting between 50 and 54 kilos. I gained baby weight only. So from the back, I looked human. Front and side... what can I say? I had this big round belly. You get the picture.

By the 13th day over my expected due date, I fronted up to the hospital and screamed "Get it out of me. Now!" So I was 'induced'. Nothing happened for a few hours. Then my waters broke. Yes! Liberation time. It was around 4.00pm.

Bag packed, I arrived at the hospital, accompanied by my then husband, my mother and as word spread, my mother in law, my brother (first child in the family and all) his former wife, my then sister in law, her mother, my father - probably some others joined the circus but I stopped counting at some point.

I did all the recommended things at first. Lay in a warm bath... paced the short corridor. Breathed, breathed. Sucked on ice. Cursed a lot. The midwife checking every hour: "Nope, still not dilated".

Several hours later I was screaming. Very loudly. So much so I was scaring other mothers-to-be apparently. An epidural was suggested. Former sister-in law hovering with the video camera the entire time, like she was filming the next Oscar winning movie.

A doctor was called for. This was an off-shoot of the main hospital, situated about 20 minutes away, with no Emergency Department. Doctors were young, cutting their teeth here so to speak. They were also very hard to find.

In my 20th hour of labour, at about midday, one turned up. By this stage, all repetitions of "I am woman" had disappeared, and I was giving very loud renditions of "Drugs,Drugs, I want Drugs!"

He tried. Missed the first time. Missed the second time, the long needle just off the mark or so I heard. The nurse holding me still was frowning. I got this was not supposed to happen. On his third try, he proclaimed success. Everything was removed and he disappeared. There was no success. Somehow he'd botched even the third attempt so what I was now facing was half my body blissfully pain free and the other half in pain-hell. I would never have believed this was possible.

Early evening found me delirious, mumbling incoherently between the howling. I was still not yet fully dilated and the baby was showing early signs of distress. I was exhibiting a new yet very primitive self. I was in a very dark cave somewhere - before language had formed - making weird grunting noises. (I have the video to prove it.)

My audience came and went in waves. "What? Still nothing?" I heard those words a lot. I cursed in my own language everyone who uttered them but they couldn't understand me anyway, so I just shook my head in the end, shooting hateful eye-arrows.

9.00pm it was declared: Both baby and mother were now "in distress". Really? Which Einstein had reached this particular conclusion?

"We're calling for an obstetrician," a voice said in my ear. I heard "Lidunt grrnbr flnuheufj." Yeah, I was now no tonly speaking my own language, I was no longer able to comprehend theirs!

"One of the doctor's is out to diner." I heard "FGYTd jfye  jfihbbhs"

I said "Gruhhbaaaa geegeg," or words to that effect.

"We're tryingto locate another one for you dear."

"Buuuuuufgffffff uuuuuug ooooooob!!!!" What was their problem? Why were they all looking at me like that?

A doctor arrived at 11.00pm. He looked very annoyed, as though I'd interrupted an intercourse, verbal or otherwise. He looked like the devil. I was convinced he was the devil. I told him so.

"Nuuuug!Buuufff! Uddddd!"

Un-phased by my accusations, he ordered a spinal block. Fifteen minutes later, I was in his brand of hell. My body below the waist paralysed. My mind though, still in the cave.

"Push." This word got through, but in a state of semi paralysis, I wondered how one did that.

"Push!!!" Now he was ordering me?

"You fucking push, you asshole!"

English was definitely back. I pushed. I scrunched up my face, I pictured myself pushing - but feeling nothing below the waist, I had no idea whether I was actually pushing or merely going through the mental exercise - you know - how you see divers or areal skiers doing those strange motions just before they launch themselves?

"Stop!" There was the pompous ass ordering me around again!

"The elbow's stuck," the nurse kindly explained.

I glared. "Well unstickit then, you-"

"Shhh. Listen to the doctor, dear." This from my midwife, who in the meantime had gone home, rested twenty four hours and returned fresh as a daisy.

"Don't tell me to shhhh! Tell him to get the bloody thing unstuck and out!"

Yeah, I'd reached that point. My earlier visions of holding a cute little baby, me looking a little tired but grinning... they'd been abandoned soon after the botched epidural. Now it was a thing, and I was never going to grin again. About anything.

"Forceps!"

"Whaaaaat?"

"He's talking to me, dear." The ever-pleasant midwife had uttered one "dear" too many.

"You fucking call me dear again I'm going to shove the forceps down your throat!"

I then re-thought my comment. "What are forceps?"

She handed him a pair of over-sized spoons. "Never mind." I watched his face as he manoeuvred the oversized spoons. He frowned?

"Scalpel!"

"No, no scalpel, no scalpel!" No one listened. I saw it in his hand. I saw the nurse remove a bloodied cloth. Then another bloodied cloth.

"Push!" What was up with this dude? He only spoke in single words.

I did my pushing face again.

"You're not pushing d-" She had the grace to swallow the vile word. Or maybe she was really afraid of me. I looked around at my audience. The six or seven faces gathered round my bed all looked scared. Of me?

I 'pushed' harder.

"Ughhhh!" "Ohhhh!" "Eeewww!"

Now everyone else suddenly spoke as one, in my former language. What had just happened? (They'd heard the crunch of my tailbone breaking is what happened. I heard it too but since I couldn't feel anything, I didn't associate the sound with anything inside me.)

"Last push." My God, he could actually string two words together! There was hope!

I saw a big baby for a second. Then it was taken away. Then I fell asleep, glancing at the clock and wondering if it was ten past midnight or ten past noon. And what the world would be like if men gave birth. (I think.)

I woke screaming in brand new agony. Some genius had neglected to install a catheter but had not forgotten to hook me up to a big bag of fluid. Still paralysed, my bladder was yelling "Empty me, or I am going to burst on you and then you'll see another version of hell, only this one will be permanent."

I pressed the buzzer and did not let go until at least five people were in the room. I pointed to my stomach. A male hand felt around. "Catheter, stat!" he yelled.  

Ahhhhh. I fell asleep again.

I met Dylan twenty four hours after he was born. His head was a little elongated from the forceps but they assured me he would look normal in a few days. Yeah. From that point on, and despite not being able to sit for many weeks, he was never far from me. He still isn't...

With Marcus I took no chances. Booked and paid for a Private Hospital suite. A private Obstetrician at my beck and call. I planned everything down to the last what if, including all the pain management I could lay hands on if needed. Except, I forgot the very very last what if.

My then husband's sister had come by for a coffee, two weeks before he was due. The pregnancy had been perfect; the same weight gained - the baby thriving, not as big as Dylan, but still... your average baby.

She watched me wince a little. After about the third time it happened, she glanced again at her watch. The fifth glance, I heard "Get in the car, you're in labour and your contractions are only minutes apart!"

"Whaaaat?"

"No time for Cabrini. I'm taking you to Monash," she said, shoving me in the car. I pictured the thousands of dollars I'd paid floating away, further and further with each new wince...

She screeched to a halt outside the main entrance. Called for help. A wheelchair materialised and a nurse hurried me to the lift and up some floors. I was taken to a room. She did a quick check.

"You need to push. Now!"

"Whaaaat?"

"Push! Your baby's coming!"

Twenty minutes later, I was holding Marcus. No pain meds, no Obstetrician, not even my parents - just a nurse, my sister-in-law and me. Mum and dad arrived a couple of minutes later to see me holding him, looking a little tired but with a big grin on my face!