The perfect training
June 2, 2026
Woensdag 19 augustus - Bakkesvea
At quarter to two, Zoe wakes up with the sudden feeling that she has diarrhea and jumps out of bed to go to the toilet. While sitting on the toilet, she feels and hears a loud “plop.” Oh God, what was that? She quickly turns on the light and looks into the toilet, but sees nothing. She immediately calls Olivier, but he doesn’t answer. Olivier isn’t home. He’s at a staff party a few villages north of where we live. He’s sleeping in a tent and has had the habit for years of turning off his phone at night. It’s still almost six weeks until the due date, so there’s no reason for Olivier to leave his phone on tonight.
Zoë calls her mother, but she doesn’t answer either. Luckily, her sister Noa does. When Zoë tells her what has happened, she can’t help but shed a tear. She doesn’t suspect that she’s in labor at all; she thinks something has gone wrong. Noa, who has just given birth to her second child herself, quickly reassures her: it’s a mucus plug. It can mean that labor has started, but often it doesn’t—it can also come out weeks beforehand. Noa’s words are comforting and reassuring. She had a mucus plug too, five weeks before giving birth. Zoë feels reassured.
She stays on the toilet for hours, “leaking,” while trying to get hold of Olivier. She now knows what it is, but she still isn’t sure whether she should call the out-of-hours doctor. She searches the internet for phone numbers of Olivier’s colleagues. No one answers. They’ve all been drinking heavily at the party and are fast asleep, completely drunk. Zoë sends a message: “Wake Olivier up and have him call me, something to do with the pregnancy.” By now, Zoë is slightly hypothermic, so she trudges back to bed with a towel between her legs. In bed, she starts having cramps. She begins writing down how often they occur—the advice of her midwife, which Zoë instinctively follows. After 20 minutes, she realizes: Oh no, she’s having a cramp every three minutes, and each one lasts about a minute. That’s the moment she realizes that maybe she really should call the out-of-hours doctor, just to check that everything is okay.
“We’re coming to pick you up in the ambulance now.” Zoë still says, “Oh, but that’s not necessary. It’s just a mucus plug. The internet says it can come out weeks before labor.” “Yes, ma’am, we’re coming to pick you up. We’ll be there in 30 minutes.” Zoë calls Olivier three more times, hoping that maybe she’s wrong and, by some miracle, his phone is actually on. But no. Still no answer. When the ambulance arrives, Zoë has packed a toothbrush, put Lotus, our cat, outside, and made sure she has food. It’s half past six in the morning, and Zoë knows that Olivier will wake up any moment now and turn his phone back on. In the ambulance, the cramps continue. By now, she knows they are contractions, but she still doesn’t realize that she is actually going to give birth. At the hospital, she asks the nurse, “Is there still a chance that I’ll be going home today?” With a kind smile, the woman replies, “You’re not leaving this hospital without a baby in your arms.” Strangely enough, there is no panic at all. Zoë’s mind is simply practical. Why hasn’t Olivier turned his phone on yet? When Zoë is in her own room and is being examined, the midwife says, “You’re 2–3 centimeters dilated.” And that’s when Zoë realizes it. The midwife had explained that the active phase of labor begins at four centimeters. I’m in labor.
Just before half past seven, Bjarte, one of Olivier’s colleagues, calls. “Hi Bjarte, I’m in the hospital with 2–3 centimeters of dilation. Wake Olivier up and tell him to get to the hospital as quickly as possible!” At half past seven, the zipper of Olivier’s tent opens. It’s Bjarte. With a hoarse voice and very sleepy eyes, he says, “Zoë is in the hospital with two centimeters of dilation.” It takes a moment for Olivier to process what Bjarte is saying. “Oh shit! But that can’t be right. We’re leaving for the leadership trip on Friday.” “Forget all that for now. You need to get to the hospital. Now!” Olivier turns on his phone and sees all the missed calls and messages from Zoë. He calls her immediately. Zoë sounds calm and is already much more aware of what is about to happen. Olivier’s practical mind, however, is still getting in the way of that realization. “Don’t worry about the trip or the book. We don’t need any of that today. Just make sure you get here as quickly as you can.”
“Do I still have time to cycle to the hospital?” Olivier asks. He had cycled to the staff party and was planning to cycle back to Lillehammer with a colleague that afternoon. About four hours on the bike. “You’re taking a taxi or something else, but you’re making sure you get here as quickly as possible,” Zoë says firmly. Olivier’s colleagues are all hungover and still have too much alcohol in their systems to be allowed to drive. No one can take him to the train station, but Bjarte quickly hands Olivier his car keys. On the way to the hospital, Olivier realizes that he is going to become a father today. Zoë is in labor. It’s really happening today. He makes a quick stop at home to pick up some baby clothes, extra clothes for Zoë, his laptop, and some food. We’ll probably be staying in the hospital for the next few days. On the way, he calls Zoë again. She is now three centimeters dilated. A few times, Zoë has to put the phone down because another contraction comes.
He is almost at the hospital and relaxes. He’s made it in time and can be there with Zoë.
When he walks into the room, Zoë is kneeling beside the bed. She is four centimeters dilated. Another contraction is just beginning. She looks exhausted, her hair wild and pulled back into a thick ponytail. She forces a small smile. Yes, it’s time, she seems to be saying. At 7:46 p.m., she arrives: Sierra, more than five weeks early, but healthy and well. Hello, Mom and Dad!
