Editor’s note: “It took exactly 18 minutes” is one of the winning entries in the Faulkner Mixtape Writing Contest. The challenge was to create a nonfiction piece with two different narrators.

It took exactly 18 minutes

The clock said 7pm. Amidst all the chaos I make a mental note of that. Maybe I’m trying to calm myself with something to focus on. It didn’t last long as here comes another one. Christ that hurts. My fingers are gripping the bed rails. There are about six women in the room and a man has taken Mark away to change into overalls. I’m being pricked and prodded from all directions. Paperwork being flicked through. Questions being asked. Previous answers being confirmed. What the hell does it matter? Just get on with it would you! That bright light right above my head is pissing me off. Onto my left side. In goes the epidural and my third blood vessel catheter in four weeks. Through the next set of swinging double doors and we’re in theatre. Curtain goes up. My husband is six-foot-five, he’ll be able to see over that when he gets here. My arms are placed out like I’m on a cross. Bags of blood are lined up. Reassuring words come from very nice midwives and anesthetists, all women. This room is full of specialists. Mark arrives in green overalls and a blue shower cap and even though I’m scared shitless I’m laughing as he looks hilarious. They’re too short and they haven’t got wellies to fit his size 15s so he’s wearing thongs! He’s sitting beside my head and sure enough they raise the curtain up another few inches. Can’t have him passing out. Continue Reading »