Thump thump thump

Giving birth in Hong Kong is all a question of status – as is everything else. On one hand there are the wealthy families and lucky expats who can afford private hospitalisation, and then there is the rest of the population, who roam the corridors of the city's quality public hospitals.

Being a member of the latter, yesterday I made my way back to Tsan Yuk Hospital, the central registration clinic for pregnant ladies, where the first steps towards choosing a final hospital are taken for you.

After last week's experience of watching a video of babies with down syndrome and umbilical cords falling off to a backdrop of sweeping chords of heart string-tugging music, I wasn't too keen to return to Tsan Yuk. But this week there were less screaming toddlers around and more mums with ridiculous grins.

Of course the grins soon disappeared, after about three hours of hanging around and being carted from one medical student to the next – Tsan Yuk and Queen Mary (where I will give birth, hopefully) are both teaching hospitals, so that means there are plenty of students/interns/residents hanging around trying to learn.

In theory this is wonderful. I like being a part of someone's education, and helping young hopefuls become fully fledged doctors. But in practice, it means having many conversations (usually answering exactly the same questions) in back rooms, with the spotty students nervously flipping through your charts and mumbling worrying analysis that could either mean you are perfectly well or that your baby has hepatitis.

This is all very enjoyable when you're watching Grey's Anatomy and can't understand what medical jargon Izzy is using or when you laugh at O'Malley screwing up, but when it's your own health and your own time at stake, somehow if feels a lot less glamorous.

Not to mention the atmosphere it created. Scared, darting looks across the room were made even eerier by the sound of the nurses' plastic soles screeching across the plastic floor. The bleach was almost too much to bear for our heightened sense of smell, and every time someone coughed, the whole room stared to see if it could be swine flu...

Now, I'm not sure I made clear enough what happens in the private scenario of this process. For those ladies, it's all plush carpeting in the waiting room, fresh flowers in the examination rooms, and gourmet meals in the private maternity rooms after delivery. I daydreamed about this hotel experience while I zoned out the sickly pink walls and baby pictures from the 70s...

...until one of the nurses called my name, and then tugged and pushed me down on to a bed. She didn't speak any English, so I wasn't at all sure what was about to happen. But then IT happened...

The doctor came in, whipped out a little torch-like machine, placed it on my belly (from which the clothes had been rather aggressively removed by the nurse) and let me hear my baby's heartbeat.

The cacophonous plastic, the poor interior design, the nauseating smells... Nothing mattered anymore, as the little life inside lived on, and the thump thump was there to prove it.

Plus, once I had understood what was going on, the lovely doctor let me film the whole thing. Who needs carpets, flowers and gourmet food when you've got this...: