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My midwife looked up and said, ‘Your vagina's fallen out'

She was a midwife called Chris. She had just delivered my second child and was in the middle of sewing me back up. Mercifully, I was still numb from the waist down after the epidural. My husband, Andrzej, was sitting beside me holding our new baby in his arms, the two of them lost in a world of their own, as another midwife, whose name I hadn't caught, toiled over a standing desk in the corner of the room, typing up my notes. So it was really just Chris and me, huddled together over a mound of paper towels covering my knees, my two limp legs propped up in metal stirrups. I had to be sewn up because my daughter's head had torn my perineum