Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
ently situated next to the yacht club. I spent my free time retrofitting Déjà vu and, whenever
she could help, Jude was there for moral, if at this point not physical, support.
Judi, not to be outdone by Déjà vu, was showing early symptoms of giving birth to our son.
We now knew that it was a boy, and Judi had thought of a name for our future son, Dylan,
after the Welsh poet, in line with my Scottish/Gaelic ancestry, and Kyle, meaning a narrow
entrance or body of water. After a couple of false alarms and heavy breathing, the day ar-
rived when it was time for Judi to go back to Groote Schuur Hospital and to deliver young
Dylan.
They say life is upstream, that anything worthwhile is worth struggling and fighting for.
Now, at Groote Schuur, Judi was admitted quickly into a bed in the maternity ward with
a lovely view of Table Bay. She was well into labor and was in a certain amount of pain.
Eventually, the doctor, a calm, handsome, young man who had a great reputation, ordered
an X-ray and found that Dylan had somehow breached in an unexpected way, and the only
option was a caesarian operation. Judi met this decision calmly and stoically while I was
very alarmed; another operation? She also wanted to be awake when he was born. It was
decided that she would have an epidural caesarian, and that I would be allowed to be there
for his birth as well.
This was contrary to most hospital's rules, especially back then; fathers were not allowed
into the theater during any operations of this nature, and the tall, cold, and very uncom-
promising old head nurse looked scathingly at me and sniffed after the doctor had left, “I'm
afraid you won't be allowed to be present, Mr. Reid; it's against hospital rules, and that's all
that will be said!” I looked surprised and askance at Jude, who was just lying there with a
beatific smile on her face; she had already been tranquilized.
“But the doctor said I could be present! I went to breathing classes with her for this special
occasion; this is the birth of my son, nurse!” I shot back.
“I don't care, Mr. Reid. I am in charge of this ward,” she said spitefully, “and you will not
be present!”
I was flabbergasted and enraged and turned and went out into the waiting room along with
some other expectant fathers. After a while a lovely, young nurse appeared at the door peer-
ing around and she asked, “Jonathan, are you here?” She beckoned me to follow her when
I stood up. I was led into a large room with a handbasin at one end. Along the wall at the
other end hung various aprons, surgeons' gowns, caps, and fluffy slippers, for want of a
better word. The young nurse grinned as she handed me an assortment of these clothes and
bid me to put them on.
“But I thought I wasn't allowed to be there?” I grinned.