EUROPEAN DIARY:WHEN I first learnt that my girlfriend was pregnant last yearmy first reaction was to crack open the champagne and thank God for my virility. But like many paranoid dads-to-be I know (these are the guys clandestinely browsing the pregnancy section in bookshops) I immediately began fretting about everything from childbirth to nappy-changing technique.
I always liked the idea of having children. Sure wouldn't it be great to have a son or daughter throw cricket balls at me to improve my batting, and to produce a more talented "mini-me" to inspire me to great sporting feats or journalistic endeavours. But I'd never bothered with the technicalities of fatherhood, such as holding, feeding or washing a baby.
Living in Belgium also complicated the onset of fatherhood, with no family close by to provide lessons on child-rearing and no idea about how the local health service worked. From reading the Irish newspapers every day, though, I quickly came to the conclusion that having a baby in Belgium couldn't be any worse than having one in Dublin.
About the same time as I was handed the pregnancy test kit result by my girlfriend confirming that Oscar was on his way, I was reading stories about how the Rotunda's maternity ward had become so crowded women were being checked into Jury's Inn for pre-delivery.
So it was a great relief when my girlfriend's gynaecologist informed us that we could choose from a range of hospitals in Brussels and there was no prospect of having to spend a few hours watching the television or raiding the mini-bar in a hotel before giving birth.
Belgium operates a compulsory state-funded health insurance scheme known as a mutuelle. This enables its members to choose any doctor, clinic or hospital, in any location and without referral, in a similar manner to private schemes. It covers all basic medical treatment free of charge but also allows patients to pay for optional extras, which in our case meant a single room in the hospital. This cost €500 a night but most people's firms - my girlfriend's included - provide hospital insurance to cover this cost.
A few weeks after meeting our gynaecologist we attended an open night for expectant parents at St Jean's Clinic, where nurses patiently answered our questions about the range of services and medical techniques available to expectant mothers and fathers.
Over tea and biscuits we learnt that in Belgium the mother generally gets four or five days to recover in the hospital following a natural birth, single rooms are available to book and fathers are offered a cot to sleep in the same room as mother and baby.
Unlike in Ireland, however, there is no such thing as giving a combination of "gas and air" to the mother to help dull the pain of labour: the choice is either an epidural or a no-drugs birth. But when the nurses told me that almost 80 per cent of mothers in Belgium choose an epidural, my irrational fears that my girlfriend would suffer paralysis following birth abated somewhat.
So far so good, and being a journalist I did a quick check of OECD statistics available on the web, which show that Belgium spent 10.1 per cent of its national wealth or gross domestic product on health services in 2004 compared to 7.1 per cent in Ireland. The country is also considered to have one of the best health services in Europe, which is not surprising given that even modest salaries are taxed at a rate of 50 per cent or more.
The one drawback to giving birth in Belgium was all the bureaucracy - why provide a single form to fill in when several will do the same job? That seems to be the rule for individuals dealing with the State, which seems to have shunned any move towards computerisation in favour of paper-based transactions - in my area at least.
Every time my girlfriend visited a doctor for her monthly check-up and scan, she would have to send in the receipt with a tiny slip of paper attached to get reimbursed. She also had to apply separately for child benefit, Oscar's medical card, and for maternity leave payment, which is available for 15 weeks and paid by the state. (Men get 10 days' paternity leave.)
I'll spare you the gory details of the birth, but suffice to say that everything went like clockwork: a 12-hour labour for a first baby, an epidural and a ringside seat for the paranoid dad.
By coincidence our midwife Valerie had interned in Letterkenny hospital for a few months - an experience she loved because she actually got to deliver babies. In overstaffed Belgium that remains the preserve of gynaecologists. Our gynaecologist delivered Oscar on February 21st, which was a truly wonderful experience for mum and dad. Now I'm fretting about childcare and creches.