At the age of six I slammed my big toe in a truck door and found myself in the children’s hospital yet again, lying on the operating table with a doctor injecting my foot with a load of needles while I curled my (remaining) toes and visualised chocolate ice-cream. Not much has changed in 25 years. Every time I have a blood test or a bikini wax my mind goes straight to chocolate, and it gets me through every time.


Now I need to come up with some more pain-distraction techniques, because I don’t think chocolate fantasies (and my carefully chosen playlist) are going to sustain me throughout a labour that could potentially last for days.

I saw a birth video in ante-natal class last week and actually cried. After years of priding myself on being tough and resilient, I broke down and sooked like a pre-schooler at the sight of a baby being born. And I don’t mean because I was overcome with emotion (though that happens frequently, usually watching ads on telly or reading the classifieds). It was traumatisation, pure and simple, as the realisation set in that I too am a few short weeks away from having to perform a feat that looks akin to expelling my brain through my nostril.

On the chiropractor’s table yesterday -- partly I go because I’m desperate for relief for my aching back, but mostly I go because I read that chiropractic treatment during pregnancy can shorten labour -- the chiro dug her fingers into my knotted muscles. It felt like I was being massaged by Wolverine (though lovely as she is, she’s not Hugh Jackman).


“Anything planned for the weekend?” she asked, kneeling on my back as I gasped for breath.

Think positive thoughts! Think positive thoughts!

But no. All I could think was “oh my god – this Really F***ing Hurts.”

So I’ve ordered hypnotherapy CDs, a book by Juju Sundin on how to distract yourself from the pain (appears to involve blowing a fake eyeball around in a bowl of water, but quite frankly, I’m willing to give anything a shot at this point), a place on an Active Birth workshop at the yoga school, and – well – tim tams, for the big day. Other women have told me you don’t feel much like eating in the throes of labour, but I’ve always found chocolate unfailingingly medicinal, regardless of the situation. How I long to be one of those girls that can’t eat when she’s sad, nervous, worried, distracted, hot and/or sick.