LABOUR OF LOVE
My sister, Sheryl, rubbed my back as I prepared myself for the worst.
Sat in a chair in an empty office in Northampton General Hospital with my sister perched on a printer beside me was not the way I expected my first experience of child birth to turn out.
Just minutes before, I was on all fours in the hospital’s labour ward with Sheryl shouting words of encouragement as the excruciating contractions washed over my body.
All of a sudden, a piercing shriek echoed through the corridors and the hospital staff began to exchange panicked glances at each other.
‘No need for alarm,’ a midwife told me, ‘But there’s a small fire in the boiler room underneath us. We need you all out!’
With the help of Sheryl, I managed to haul myself into a dressing gown and shuffle
