In my sixth month of pregnancy, real worry reared its ugly head. This was about the time when my abundant energy levels took me to the Red Stripe Mound at Sabina Park, where I witnessed a glorious victory of the West Indies over England. At this point I declared that nothing was going to stop me from supporting my team at the end of June when it is due to play against India in two one-day internationals. "I will pump enough milk and leave the baby with my mother," I dreamily broadcast to all my cricket buddies.

So said, so the Braxton Hicks contractions started. At first I thought it was the baby pushing his little 'bamsie' against my tummy. My doctor corrected my assumption. "Am I supposed to be getting them so soon?" Yes. However, I was to call him if they became painful. Discomfort does not count.

Although I confidently walked away with his reassurance that all was normal, I thought it best to cancel my trip to Trinidad and Tobago where I was planning to play mas! This occurrence of wishful thinking took place in November last year. I was going to prance around Port-of-Spain in a bikini, and spray-paint my big belly with something cute like 'baby on board'! I amusingly remember signing a contract for a Harts costume while the male assistant predicted what size my boobs would be in February.

Anyway, within a week of my bout of sanity to stay put in Jamaica, I was hit by frequent and painful contractions. It was a frightening experience so I called my obstetrician. Was I taking calcium? Yes. Was I taking my prenatal vitamins? Yes. How far apart were the contractions? Every five minutes. I was instructed to drink three full glasses of water and see if that would help. It did. The next day I was careful not to do anything but the same thing happened again that night. Now I was concerned.

The following morning I went to see my doctor who verified that all was in check and prescribed a daily dose of progesterone. I was to go home and take it easy. This lasted for just over a week when the contractions started coming on again. Only this time I was in his waiting room at the University Hospital of the West Indies, with my cousin there for company. Small blessing! There was little time for panic when he told us to go to the labour ward, immediately. Within 10 minutes the Sister had me checked in and the nurses up there had put me on a monitor that scales the baby's movements, including heartbeat, and my contractions, on a graph. Diagnosis: preterm labour.

Medical treatment

Over the next few days, the medical treatment and care that I received from all the doctors, and the nurses in the labour ward, was phenomenally comforting, and lifesaving for my baby in uterus. They did everything possible to prevent a sequence of events that might well have led to complete devastation. My husband and I, together with our family, conclusively agree that nowhere else could have done a better job at keeping my contractions and labour at bay. As a result, I have been able to return home under a strict regime of bed rest until my pregnancy has reached to term.

Home birth

You know, I don't remember requesting a home birth, and I am quite certain that my body is physically bound to carry this baby for 40 weeks, so I'll be damned if I am going to let any contractions get in the way of fulfilling the contract I signed up for!

Emmadaltonbrown@gmail.com