If I'm honest, there was a moment of doubt that crossed my mind.
It felt a little tight, and the position wasn't right, but I decided to back myself.
I had met her not even 24 hour prior, and in that time, and despite our differing languages, I had gained her trust and she agreed with whatever I recommended.
Initially fearful she wouldn't be able to cope with the examination, she laboured without any pain relief, only with the support of her husband and close friend.
And so when time came for intervention my options were limited.
My cheeks red, and my contingency plan alarming in the back of my mind, the baby was born with a welcoming cry, and I was relieved that my judgement was right.
Until, the paediatrician cast doubt, with concerns regarding complications.
The rest of the night was then was spent second guessing, anxious and frustrated. Playing out that scenario over and over again.
My faithful midwives had no doubt I did the right thing, and reassured me of such - reassurance falling on deaf ears.
The only person I wanted to call - I couldn't.
The absence made even more present with discussion of their home country, now his home country.
It a rewarding job, but the stakes are high - responsible for the condition in which their beloved child enters the world. Responsible for the potential damage that child might be reminded of for the rest of their life.
And so, a weight lifted when a trusted face, a skilful neonatal practitioner reassured me that there was absolutely no concern and the overnight anxious paediatrician ordered multiple unnecessary tests to find absolutely nothing wrong.
Slowly, I think I'm becoming it.