Leanne strides in with a big bag over her shoulder and I immediately feel better.

“Trish, how are you?” she asks, sitting next to me on the bed and instantly putting a couple of fingers on my wrist to feel my pulse.

“Fantastic,” I mutter.

She pulls a stethoscope out of her bag. Emma and Mags stand still as statues as Leanne gently pulls up my dress and listens to the baby’s heartbeat.

“Sounds good,” she says, then she winks. “Ready for the next contraction?”

I immediately feel tightening of my uterus. How did she know?

“Not really,” I bleat.

“As this one builds, I want you to focus on relaxing your other muscles, Trish. Start at the top and work your way down: your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, your legs. Accept that your uterus is giving you hell and allow it space by relaxing everything else as best you can.”

I close my eyes and allow the pain in my stomach to build. I don’t try to fight it. Instead, I accept this is what my body is meant to do. I do as Leanne suggests and concentrate on getting other parts of my body to relax. By the time I’ve got to my legs, the contraction has passed.

“OK, I’m going to check your cervix and see how dilated you are before the next contraction.”

“We’ll wait outside,” Emma says, pulling Mags out of the door.

With Leanne’s help, I remove my underwear, lie on my back and bend my knees, my feet on the mattress. I stare at the ceiling and hold my breath as she shoves her fingers inside me while simultaneously squeezing the life out of my lower pelvic region. It’s not the nicest experience, but at least she’s quick about it.

Leanne sits up and removes her glove. “You’re seven centimetres and the baby is fully engaged, Trish. We need to get you to the hospital now unless you want a home birth.”

I shake my head vigorously. “No way.”

“OK, then. Let’s go.” Leanne helps me back into my clothes then opens the door to inform my friends of the situation.

Emma comes in with a cold wet flannel and wipes my face – it’s the best face wipe in the history of face wipes.

“Wow, Trish,” she gushes. “Seven centimetres is impressive.”

She makes it sound like I got an A in an exam.

“Thanks.”

“Right, let’s get Trish to the car before the next contraction,” states Leanne.

I’m helped off the bed and into the front passenger seat of my car. Lily takes the wheel, and Emma and Mags squeeze into the back next to the empty baby seat.

“See you on the ward,” says Leanne through my open window.