Operation: Seraphim I

"Sam... Sam... This is the Ops Room, we have a no-duff situation, come-in... over."

Jolted from a restless slumber, by the cackle of the voice over the radio, I startled, suspended in the air, strung up in a hammock, at a beachfront campsite, in the dead of night. Voices stirred around me, still swirling amidst the sounds of the night, then a cognitive message, "Sam, your wife's going into labour". I called home, she confirmed, she wanted me to be there, I radioed for assistance!

"WHOA!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, families and friends, the moment you've all been waiting for... has arrived!" a voice seemed to announce. I was about to spring out of my hammock, and crush the trainers sprawled asleep on the ground beneath my abode. "Move it, people, move it, my wife's in labour! I gotta go!" I was still in partial disbelief, "This is gonna be some story for the kiddo someday!" They stirred, I sprang, they startled, I packed.

Clayton waited with me on the beachfront, we proposed to swim out to our speedboat anchored offshore. He gets changed into wetgear. Ops room radios back confirmation of support pickup being despatched. I update wifey on E.T.A. Clayton and I share a nostalgic conversation on the beach, while we waited. Other trainers awake, and wish wifey and baby all the best, while offering congratulatory tidings.

Ops support swung by in a speedboat, Captain Kahar was beaming, so was I. I hopped on, we zoomed off. Ops room was on comms, Course Director Zippy, couldn't get through to the cabbies, we made a push for Changi Ferry Terminal instead. We docked, Kahar waved, Zippy congratulated on comms, I ran.

I dashed for the road, with my assortment of gear clanging off my pack, I looked like a christmas tree. I stopped mid-sprint, to the stare of onlookers, as I sought directions from the nightwalkers of Changi, on the choice place to catch a taxi. I spun to run, and almost slammed into a 'sister'. I side-stepped and muttered an apology, to the reply of a smattering of peppered language, I could not make out...

I ran to the kerb on the corner, and flagged down a passing cab, I dived in and announced, "Am in a rush, wife's giving birth, just drive!" He floored the accelerator, with a focused determination, I scrambled for the belt, with sweat on my brow. We made great time, we swerved, we sped (within legal limits, ahem), we cut lanes (with due care), we screeched to a halt at my in-laws place. I thanked him, and flew upstairs.

She was a picture of calm, she was gonna be a beautiful mum. She smiled an anxious smile, I assured her. I chucked my pack of assorted gear, and grabbed the pre-packed ready-to-go hospital gear, and whisked wifey off to the hospital. She was insistent on filling the registration forms, the nurses were duly impressed, I was duly concerned. We made it to the delivery ward, and began the long ardous wait.

The delivery ward was nothing like we imagined, less pomp and pizazz. Contractions, dilation, graphs and intervals were the featured vocab of the day. I gleaned all the knowledge I could from the mid-wives and nurses, and did all I could to stand by my lady. I was the cheerteam, the voicecoach, motivator, graph interpretator, and screambuddy, all rolled into one, in the absence of the medical staff due to 3 other deliveries that morning.

Fierce contractions started at 5am, she gave in to request epidural at 9.15am, and our little baby Seraphina Nicolette finally greeted the world at 1311hrs, wide-eyed and smiling. My heart melted at the sight of both my darlings. I am a blessed man.