I was not expecting to love this book.
I was not expecting it to make me feel angry, and upset, and like I needed to paint a placard and find a protest march.
I was not expecting to laugh and chuckle and wonder at the weirdness of humanity.
It’s a brilliant, funny, and poignant insight into his six years as a junior doctor in obstetrics and gynaecology that will make you hurt. It’ll make you hurt with sadness and amusement and fury. And – though maybe this is just because I’m a woman – it’ll make you hurt with horror.
I mean, jeez. Childbirth sounds like an absolute warzone.
All I can really say is: do not read this book if you’re pregnant. Seriously, truly. I genuinely found myself halfway through reading it trying to understand how we’ve survived long enough as a species to invent modern medicine.
If, however, you’re not pregnant, have easy access to placard-making craft materials and a protest march, and want to marvel at the strange ideas people get into their heads (and their… erm, I’m just going to leave that bit blank)?
Well, I can’t recommend it highly enough.