Story by Aishah, Member of the Ang Mo Kio Community
I am usually someone who thinks things through, weighing the pros and cons before deciding anything. But that morning, there was no time for that.
I just had to wing it.
It started like any other day. I was supposed to send my child to preschool between 7 and 8am. The kids were still asleep because they’d had a long, active night, so I thought we’d take it slow, breakfast first, then school a little later.
Just as I went to take a shower, I heard screaming. It sounded very much like my neighbour, Z.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. I honestly thought it might be a cockroach or something like that but still, I came out to check.
When I approached her door, I saw her lying on the floor. Her husband was there, telling her to be patient, and looking extremely panicky. Z saw me and called out, “Aishah, help!”
They had already called the ambulance and it was on the way, but the baby did not feel like waiting.
I went back to my flat to grab some mineral water and a clean towel, then went straight back in. Z was in a lot of pain. I checked her stomach during the contractions. It was hardening, and the contractions were coming very close together. Her husband was trying to call the ambulance again to get them to come faster.
When I checked again, I realised she was fully dilated and I could see the baby’s hair!
I remember thinking, Okay… this is really happening.
Her water bag hadn’t burst yet, and then suddenly she screamed that it had. The baby’s head was already there. We braced ourselves and I told her to push when the contraction came. After about three pushes, the baby came out.
Almost immediately after the baby was born, the ambulance arrived.
I was holding Z’s hand the whole time. She needed something to ground her. Her husband was in shock. The baby was crying. And it was only 7.50am in the morning.
The paramedics came in and took over. They reassured me that the baby was fine and crying strongly. They wrapped the baby up, cut the umbilical cord, and within half an hour, the placenta was delivered. Then they made their way to the hospital.
Only after that did everything I’d been holding in start to surface. I was scared. I kept thinking about complications, maybe because I’ve watched too many medical dramas. Z had been using an app to track her pregnancy and her due date was meant to be later in the month. Just days before, she had shared that her legs were swollen. I hadn’t expected her to give birth that day.
But everything turned out okay.
After they left, I helped to clean up their flat. My kids still hadn’t woken up. I took another shower, woke them up, and we went on with our day. They went to school as usual.
People later joked and called me a “part-time midwife”. The truth is, the last time Z gave birth was more than 10 years ago, so she forgot what to expect during childbirth.
Z came home a few days later. She knocked on my door, and I was surprised to see her because I thought she’d be discharged earlier. She shared that she’d had some complications and needed to stay longer. After that, I checked in on her regularly, not all the time, because with a newborn, rest and privacy are important, but enough to ask about breastfeeding, baby items, and how she was coping. I worked with others to help get some baby items for her and other new mums in the community.
Z moved here a few years ago. We started talking casually, about our kids, about school. Sometimes we’d chat along the corridor. She was familiar to me. I think that matters.
A lot of people have asked me how I did it. Honestly, I think anyone else would have helped too. She was screaming for help. If someone else had checked in on her, she would have asked the same way.
For me, this is what community looks like.
We’ve built trust over time, through events, distributions, seeing one another around, knowing who lives next door. Z herself had been involved in children’s activities in the neighbourhood before. We weren’t strangers.
It’s about being close enough, and trusting one another enough, to show up when someone needs help.
And sometimes, that’s enough.