72 hours ago, my first child — a son — was born. His name is Caspar. He weighed 3.5kg, arrived a little late, and needed a helping hand in the form of an induction.

Nothing can prepare you for your first experience of childbirth. Nothing. And yet, like a dream, the memory softens and fades — leaving behind only awe and gratitude. Caspar is healthy, even if I can’t quite get over how much he sleeps! Mum is doing great, and both are asleep right now. As I write this first paragraph, we’re about to leave the hospital and head home… a home that was still a building site just weeks ago. Remarkable times.

Fast forward 30 hours.

We’ve been home, back to the hospital, and now (hopefully) settled in again. Caspar decided to hold his bladder for an impressive 30 hours. After 24 hours, we were sent to A&E for an urgent referral to the children’s unit. Understandably stressful — especially for my partner, who should’ve been resting at home just a day after giving birth. Instead, we found ourselves navigating the nighttime A&E (anyone from a decent-sized town or city knows that’s not always a peaceful experience).

Naturally we felt anxious, particularly my partner who had given birth so recently. But it was fine. We were in the right place. Staff moved us through quickly, given the circumstances. Then, we waited. For a wee. Caspar was monitored closely and in perfect health the whole time. Totally unbothered. He arrived late. He urinated late. I’m starting to think punctuality might not be his strong suit.

Reflecting on my last post, I realise it was heavy on frustration — fairly, I’d argue — about the UK’s broken systems. That’s fine. This blog is my space to reflect in real time. But today, I want to offer a more hopeful story. Because our experience with the NHS, particularly during childbirth, left me genuinely moved. Yes, the system is flawed — but when it works, it really works. The staff at Ipswich Hospital were brilliant: calm, kind, skilled. They knew when to speak and when to give us space. They made us feel safe. And they gave me a new thread of hope for the healthcare system.

So: thank you. Thank you, the system I am gently rebelling against.

That leads me to something I want to make clear. This rebellion isn’t about negativity. It’s not blind, angry, or ideological. It’s about honesty. Sometimes that means pointing out what’s broken. But it also means recognising what works — and saying thank you when it’s due. If we want the right to criticise, we have to give others the same right — even when it’s aimed at us. I want this space — and especially this post — to reflect that spirit: to hold space for complexity, gratitude, and a more honest kind of hope.