Childbirth in the 70s - we've come a long way

When my son was born we lived in Auckland -central Mt Eden, still flatting, as most of my age were doing. Wages were low but we were happy enough in the 70's -still emerging from the rebirth of life as we knew it in the 60's. If you weren't on drugs you were on flagons of muscatel and very dodgy reds! VERY sophisticated.

My son was late in coming - either that or the doc couldn't count, so the wait and the immediate preamble to his arrival was both expectant and fraught. In those days (already sounding like I thought my grandparents sounded) information given expectant parents was pretty scant -like it wasn't something you were to be trusted with - or assumed you wouldn't understand. But then it was time - contractions and all the stuff that goes with imminent lift off.

Stern looking women in starched uniforms that squeaked when they walked patrolled the wards like anti terrorist troops - fathers were pretty much just tolerated if you were fortunate. As the culprit responsible for the immediate situation of your wife clearly you needed keeping an eye on - so you were pretty much banished to a waiting room about 4 bus stops down a corridor so long you had to take public transport to travel it (horses had by then been outlawed in public hospitals.)

Once the preliminary pain and anguish had moved on to something more imminent you were further banished to a waiting room miles from civilisation with barely a panic stricken backward look from your wife as she was trollied away to somewhere you weren't allowed to be - and to be safe it was patrolled by a whole army of squeaky, starched women with moustaches who glared at you so hard you were constantly checking to make sure your fly was done up.

Eventually you were summoned and told that you could see your wife for a few minutes and yes you did have a child - a son, but you couldn't see him except through the window of the nursery so come back at visiting time tomorrow afternoon. Even time with my wife was brief -mustn't tire her out you see and we ARE busy - so congratulations Mr Browne - now if you don't mind we ARE busy.

I didn't get to hold my son until the following afternoon. That was pretty much the norm - but looking back I feel ripped off and never got to have that special feeling of saying to my son - "Welcome little fella, welcome to our world" - he was already 24 hours old when I finally held him. Thank goodness things moved on from there - but it has never gone away - that feeling of being kept from my first born.

- Gerry Browne