Sometimes timings can be just a bit shit.
When I had my first, I gave birth Thursday afternoon, and went up to ward at 11pm. Other than the traditional tea and toast shortly after birth, the first meal postpartum was 8am Friday morning breakfast on the postpartum ward (jam and bread rolls). My previous meal had been 5.30pm Wednesday (lasagne).
The hunger didn't hit until about 2am Friday, but when it did I was absolutely ravenous. Fortunately I had a large stash of snacks with me that saved me that first night.
I get both sides. I know that individually the midwives and doctors care for hundreds of women every year. They are just doing their job, and we are but one face among many to them. But to us they are instrumental at one of the most monumental moments of our lives. And their actions (both good and bad) are ingrained deeply into our memories of the event.
I've worked with many of the midwives and doctors that cared for me since, and thanked them. Most have shown that I was no exception to the standard of their exemplary care.
Annoyingly, the lead surgeon for my C-section had rotated in while I was on maternity leave, so the surgery was the first time I met him. I met him for the first time since (baby is now 2 1/2 years old) a couple weeks ago, and has proven to be a bit of an egotistical dick. Which has severely dampened any hero worship I might have once had for him. Never meet your heroes and all that.