High-Risk and High Stakes

When you’re told you’re high risk right from the start — due to age, a bustling household, gestational diabetes from the last pregnancy, and the fact that induction wasn’t an option due to the risk of uterine rupture — you expect the system to be ready.

From early on, it was made crystal clear:
No going past 40 weeks.
The plan was in place months ahead — C-section booked for 39 weeks and 5 days. Simple enough, right?

The Pregnancy Itself

All things considered, the pregnancy went well.
There were extra scans, extra appointments, and extra caution — all fine by us. What wasn’t fine was the attitude.

A consultant casually told her she might die, then recommended we visit a family planning clinic after the birth.
We’ve got seven kids, with number eight on the way — we know how babies happen, thanks.

Blunt is one thing. That? That was just unprofessional.

Cancelled at the Eleventh Hour

We had everything in place for the Thursday morning section:

  • Childcare sorted
  • School runs covered
  • Bags packed
  • Military-grade coordination complete

Then, Wednesday evening, the hospital called.

“You’re cancelled. We’re too busy.”

Just like that. All the build-up, anxiety, and planning undone with one phone call.

And the kicker? She hit 40 weeks that Saturday — the very line they’d warned us not to cross.
So what changed? If she wasn’t allowed past 40 weeks, why cancel? And if she could go past it… why scare us silly in the first place?

The Monday Rebook & The Truth Slips Out

She was called back in for another pre-op on Monday and rebooked for Tuesday morning.
There, a midwife quietly told her:

  • The patient she was bumped for wasn’t an emergency
  • The hospital just wanted a difficult patient off the ward
  • She would’ve refused to be cancelled

Then came the final cherry on top:

“I don’t really see why you can’t just go naturally… but I can’t override the consultant.”

So which is it? Danger at 40 weeks or unnecessary panic all along?

Birth Day — Going It Alone

Tuesday morning arrived.

She went in, went under, and delivered our eighth child — alone.
No partner support. No hand to hold. No shared moment.

And she absolutely smashed it. I’ve never been prouder.

March of the Minis

Later that day, after school, I brought the whole crew in to meet their new sibling.

The midwives at the desk were grinning as our lot marched past like a parade.
The receptionist tried the classic:

“Sorry, only siblings allowed.”

Bless her. As if any of those weren’t.

The Homecoming

The very next day, she came home.
Baby in arms. Brave face on. Warrior as always.

Why Share This?

Because this wasn’t just one bump in the road — it was a system failure:

  • Mixed messages
  • Last-minute decisions
  • Mothers left to face serious procedures alone
  • Fathers locked out, powerless

And yet, somehow, families still make it through.

This post isn’t about blame. It’s about truth. It’s about asking for better. It’s about dignity, support, and not letting silence become the standard.

To every dad who’s sat outside that theatre wondering…
To every mum forced to do it solo…
To every family patching it together with love and stubborn grit:

Keep speaking up.
Because if no one does, nothing changes.

—

Dad in Command