It happened as I tried to convince my out-of-control patient that the pressure she was feeling was the result of her baby’s head descending and not the need for the bedpan. She glared at me and defiantly squatted down on the floor, bearing down with all her might. I gulped back panic, this is not precisely what I needed her to be doing right now AT ALL, and as she clenched her jaw again, her waters broke and the torrent poured over my feet, and sprayed towards my 1st year student shadow. Thick chunks of the baby’s poop swirled across the floor. My call for help brought running feet that stopped abruptly at the edge of the mess. Somehow the girl was on the bed and I glanced down to see the baby well on its way out. Helping hands tossed towels and blankets as I tried to convince her to just slow down. No luck – a screaming baby boy flew into my hands, and with him another large gush of fluid and blood. Well, the fluid a blood didn’t quite stop at my hands. The moment the wave of body fluids hit me from eyebrows to knees, the supervisor grabbed the baby and ordered me to hit the shower. My flipflops made wet smacking sounds against the floor as I hurried off. A teammate followed, grabbing my backpack and hurrying after me. Glancing in the mirror in the bathroom showed blue eyes peering through glasses spattered with blood. I hurriedly got rid of the soaked scrubs, scrubbed off the offending fluids from my skin and dug through my bag for fresh scrubs. Many hands make quick work, and I returned to the cubicle as teammates finished wiping away the mess. With only a few minutes left before shift change, everyone pitched in. Logbooks were filled, the baby was encouraged to breastfeed, someone continuously cared for the patient, and I tried to fill in paperwork – details I had hardly even had time to register. Even with the cold shower, adrenalin pumped through my body. Eventually I handed over care to the oncoming shift and climbed into the ambulance for home. Sleep took its time claiming me.