Life and Laughing_ My Story - Michael McIntyre [111]
‘Ohhhh,’ Kitty groaned in pain.
‘We can watch something else if you want,’ I suggested.
‘I think I just had a contraction, Michael.’
‘Are you serious?’ I leapt out of bed. ‘Let’s go, let’s go to the hospital and have a baby!’
‘No, Michael, we have to call them, get me the phone.’
I reached for the DVD controls and paused Ray.
‘Don’t pause Ray, fuck Ray, get me the fuck phone!’
‘The fuck phone?’
‘Ohhhh, ohhhhh, just get me the phone, I’m in labour.’
‘Sorry, darling.’
Kitty spoke to a midwife, who told her to time her contractions and when they were two minutes apart she should come into the hospital. It could be a long while, they said. What followed was about six hours of increasingly painful contractions in our living room. If you haven’t seen a woman in labour, it’s pretty intense, animalistic stuff. Two things shocked me. The shocking pain and the shocking language. Every few minutes she was writhing around the floor in screaming agony: ‘Ohhhhhhh, ahhhhh, fuuuuuuuck.’ Strangely, she was totally fine between contractions and we were able to hold a normal conversation.
‘So, I’ve called my mum and she said, ohhhh, ahhhhhhh, ohhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, that she’ll wait and hear from you before coming down to the hospital.’
We had a laugh about these moments of normality between agony, but when I suggested we continue watching Ray between contractions I was subjected to a stream of insults.
At about five in the morning, the contractions suddenly became far more frequent and severe.
‘Do you think it’s time?’ I asked as she screamed on all fours.
‘GET ME OHHHHH, AHHHHHH, OHHHHHHHH TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL!!!!’
We grabbed our already packed hospital bag and I helped her down the stairs. Halfway down we had to stop for another contraction. ‘WAIT, OHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, OHHHHHH, WHY HAVEN’T YOU PAID THESE FUCKING BILLS?’ she screamed seeing all the unopened post I had hidden.
She just about climbed into the back of the car before the onset of the next contraction.
‘DRIVE, MICHAEL, DRIVE AS FAST AS YOU CAN!!’
It was at this point I realized I hadn’t yet changed the rubber ring tyre. I was waiting to be paid before buying a proper one. It was the dead of the night and the roads were clear, but I was restricted to 40 mph.
‘OHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, OHHHHH, HURRY UP, WHY ARE YOU DRIVING SO FUCKING SLOWLY? PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN!’
‘I can’t drive at more than 40 mph, darling, I’m so sorry.’
‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I’M IN LABOUR AND YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT THE HIGHWAY CODE!’ Kitty venomously yelled on all fours in the back of the car.
‘I’ve got a temporary tyre. Remember, I told you, darling, and if I drive over forty, it might burst.’
‘WHY DIDN’T YOU GET IT CHANGED? YOU KNEW WE MIGHT HAVE TO RACE TO THE HOSPITAL AT ANY TIME. YOU FUCKING OHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, OHHHHH!’
I was saved from further abuse by her latest contraction. I could see a green light in the distance and drove towards it at a steady 40 mph, knowing that unless I sped up it would be red before I reached it. I had messed up; this was my first baby. I hadn’t considered the rushing to the hospital bit. The lights went red, and I stopped the car as Kitty finished her latest contraction and I waited for the abuse that I was due.
‘… STUPID FUCK, I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU. HAVE WE EVEN GOT ENOUGH PETROL?’
A cold chill came over me. The petrol gauge was broken, the milometer was broken, and I couldn’t remember the last time I put petrol in the car.
‘I … think so.’
‘YOU ARE A TOTAL C— OHHHH, AHHHHH, OHHHHHH!’
She was screaming in such pain, wiggling her bottom against the window in the back seat. I thought she was going to give birth in the back of our Metro with me driving at 40 mph exactly. I put my foot down; I had to risk it. I reached 50 mph, 60 mph. I could hear the temporary tyre screaming just as loud as Kitty. One of them was about to burst.
They both held on.
The car screeched to a halt outside the hospital, and I helped her inside through the smell of burning rubber. This spared me from further abuse as she had been craving that