In all my fevered imaginings about this third, last birth, and all the pineapple I considered eating to bring on a natural labour, I never imagined I would join the ranks of women who have caesarean births. But in the event, after a natural birth gone wrong, I found myself rolled out on the hospital gurney like a slab of meat and sliced open.
It was the most brutal experience I have ever had - and my obstetrician is an absolute pro at the procedure.
It might have been because it was an emergency operation that the drama and tension of the situation was ratcheted up to fever pitch, but I was crying, shivering, and wondering aloud if the surgical staff were trying to kill me. I literally felt that someone was jumping up and down on my rib cage.
Neither Ali or I felt up to watching proceedings up close, but were hugely thrilled when the abdominal rummaging ended and baby was finally lifted away from the massacre site and handed to us, screaming and bloody.
We had been told the baby had stopped growing, had a heart that was under pressure, was starving; in short, was in real and significant danger.