May | 2012 | Motherworldly

11 May

Melanie’s birth story

Melanie is the happy mum of Lucas, dinosaurs hunter

I was lucky enough to have been judged low-risk and consequently referred to an out-of-hospital midwives practice.
The care I received there was perfect, and I became very comfortable with the 2 midwives who were taking care of me. This was really important to me, as I’m a very shy person and need time to feel totally at ease with new people.

But you know this thing about births never going according to plans? Well, about 3 months before my due date, my midwives informed me that their practice was in danger of being closed down by the hospital they were linked to.
And indeed, 3 weeks before my due date, the practice was closed and what I had hoped for the birth of my son was not on the cards anymore.

Other than that, I had a textbook, hassle free pregnancy. Everybody was telling me that first babies are always late, which wasn’t making me happy. My son’s due date was on the 17th of December, and I really wasn’t fancying a Christmas or a New Year’s Eve birth!

But he had other plans. On the 9th of December, I had the show. My husband decided to take the rest of the week off work to stay with me. Nothing happened for another day.
On Friday, my midwife, with whom I was still in contact, advised me to go to the hospital to be checked.

There, they took a swab and I was sent back home being told to come back on Monday (this was a Friday).
On the bus home, I had my first ever contraction. It wasn’t too painful, so I wasn’t sure if it was really it. It was about 1pm.
Then as we got home, the contractions started again and very quickly, they became more regular, and a lot more painful. By 3pm, I was having contractions every 5 minutes.

My husband called a mini cab and I was at the hospital again, this time at the delivery ward, by 4pm.
The receptionist asked me if my waters had broken and I said no. She then disappeared, leaving me and my husband there for a very long time.
My waters broke as she was gone. The contractions had eased up as we were coming to the hospital, but were starting again in full force as we were left standing in the reception area.

We were left there until 5.30pm, completely ignored by the reception staff.
Finally, a student midwife who was coming in for her shift, or something saw us. And within minutes, I was in a delivery room.

I was checked at that time and was told that I was already 8cm dilated.
I didn’t want any drugs. My plan was to have the most natural birth possible. I also wanted to refuse the injection to help with the placenta delivery, as well as the vitamin K for the baby.

I was offered Gas and Air, which I tried and hated. It made me feel dizzy and nauseous, which I found worse than the now 1min long, 3 min apart contractions. At some point, I noticed that the midwife wasn’t the same as the one I started with. I don’t know when the change happened. It put me off kilter a bit.

At 7.45pm, I was told that I could start pushing. And I pushed. For what seems forever with little to no progress. At 10pm, I hadn’t progressed much. The midwife could see the top of the baby’s head, but she had been able to see that for the last hour or so.

She told us that at this point it would probably be best if we got some help in. She asked me if I could still go on, and I didn’t feel I had it in me to keep pushing.

The next thing I know, the room is suddenly crowded with people. Two obstetricians are there. They are very nice. After checking me out, they decided that the ventouse would be best for us.
It went very fast after that. The only thing I remember is the pain when they attached the ventouse onto the baby’s head. And then the immense relief as I pushed my son out. It was 10.20pm.
He was quickly given to the pediatrician who had appeared out of nowhere, to be checked over. He was fine.
It took them a good 5-10 min to give me my son. I had to ask for it!

He was the most beautiful baby in the whole world. He looked like his dad so much, down the hair, that it was a bit spooky! Funny, though!

The obstetricians recommended that I got the injection the help the placenta along, which I agreed to. At this point I wanted to be done and left with my baby.

And we waited, and waited and waited. After 45 min, I was given another injection, in the cord this time. Another half hour later, they called in the phlebotomist to set up an IV.

Still no placenta.

They drained my bladder, in case it was too full and blocking the way.

Still no placenta.

They were starting to talk about retained placenta and that I might need to go to the theatre.
After all of this, that was really not what I wanted.

They called in the senior midwife. A no-nonsense kind of woman. Very scary, too!
She told me I would not go to the theatre and that I would push this placenta out. I told her I was too tired to push anymore. She told me that I would. And I did. Well, she made me push, and pressed very hard on my belly with her hand while tugging on the cord.
Next thing I know, my placenta was on the table, being checked by the other midwife.
The senior midwife left the room, telling me “See, I told you you would push this placenta out!”.

One of the obstetricians came back in to stitch up my tears.
I was so relieved it was all done, with my son in my arms, that I chit chatted with her. We joked a bit.
The beautiful thing about a mostly drug free birth is that you feel absolutely wonderful after it. At least, this is how I felt, despite all the kerfuffle, and someone stitching up my private parts.

By 4.30am, I was rolled to my bed in the post-delivery ward.
I had almost no sleep whatsoever. When I finally started to snooze, it was the time for the nurse to come check on me.

By 5pm this day, we were back home with our newborn.

I would (and I will) do it all over again in a heartbeat. This was the best day of my life.

09 May

Lisa’s [third] birth story

Lisa is frequently interrupted by one of her three children.

It started with a few nights of what felt like proper contractions, nice regular intervals, strong enough that I needed to move, for a couple of hours…which petered out just about when I was starting to think maybe I should get up. Very tired, very grumpy. On Friday, the last day of term, the pains continued every 20 minutes or so all morning, through a trip to the market and coffee at Cathy’s house – not bad enough to even make me catch my breath but distinctly uncomfortable. Cameron had his work Christmas lunch so I dropped him into town with strict instructions that he was to have his phone where he could see it at all times, and was not to drink too much. No need though, as I watched Dirty Dancing, had a glass of wine and wrapped all our Christmas presents then went to bed as normal ready for a re-run that night: up at 5 blah de blah.

Very fed up, I texted Verena, our midwife. She suggested I pop in to the clinic later for a spot of reflexology, maybe a sweep, see what was what. Arranged for Sara and Ian to have Maggie and Tamsin for a bit in the afternoon, and, eventually, over we went. Pains were coming and going, nothing to get excited about until we were on our way to the clinic when I found myself gripping the dashboard for a good breathe every 10 minutes by the clock and getting very narked at bumps in the road. Arrived at the clinic, things settled again. Sarah had a bit of a poke of my feet; we were offered a bit of homeopathy (“does it still work if you don’t believe in it?” – “probably not”); tried for a sweep but cervix still too far back. Sarah could see I was starting to get pains though, and suggested I might get hold of a TENS machine to give me a decent night’s sleep if necessary. Drove to Boots; retail park heaving, it being 5 days before Christmas so C had to drop me to limp into Boots then drive round to pick me up; they had none. (Pharmacist – we can’t let you have it until you are 36 weeks. Me, through gritted teeth – I am 12 days overdue and need it now!) Texted Verena who had one in her pocket (?!) and said she’d pop it round later.

Went to Sara’s to collect some very messy children and eat the baking they had done, all the while having pains but not Pains. Fully expecting it all to fizzle out. Came home, had tea – then things started to kick in properly such that I had to walk around and hold bits of kitchen work surface every so often. C put the girls to bed and I texted Verena again. V arrived around 8, having skipped her pudding, to find me kneeling in front of the sofa so I could shove my head in the cushions when I felt the need. She put C straight to work filling the pool and got the TENS machine out which worked like a dream; all backache soothed away. Cameron, all practical assistance, lit the fire. Around 10, we put the hypnosis music on. Very odd effect: drifty drifty drifty then when the track ended, about every 20 minutes, I spring back to alertness. Pool! Hooray. Ahh, relax. Well sort of. You know. Water feels amazing. Second midwife, Sarah, arrives. Hello again. Horrible horrible pain in one hip (which is later explained by the baby keeping one hand up by her face!) and lower back: Sarah rubs it which helps enormously. Starting to get a bit pushy: panicky about pushing too early (see previous births) but hell what can you do. If you need to push you need to push. Also, you puke. And you shout a bit: if you shout too loud then you wake next-door’s dogs! (Sarah says she’ll throw them a bit of placenta later.) Struggling with hip/back pain; gas and air offered and gratefully accepted then everybody went away! Presumably to get canisters from car but C was fannying about with the kettle in the kitchen: I have a very clear memory of shouting to him because a big contraction was coming and I was scared on my own. Lovely lovely entonox. Tum te tum. Still not quite convinced it does anything but it gives a lovely focus. Conversation; V: do you feel you absolutely have to push? me: mmmm (confused mumbling). Next contraction: ok now I am properly pushing. Soon don’t need entonox any more. Midwives can see membranes over baby’s head and I can feel it moving down.

(from my notes:)

01.11 head born into water

01.12 birth of a beautiful water baby!

01.16 Cameron went to wake up girls to meet their new sister. Two tired girls peeped over the pool to say hello little sister and gave mummy a big kiss.

01.25 baby is very content filling pool with poo!

01.36 cord cut and clamped. Baby keen to feed.

Eventually I got out of the pool which is when I realised I had no energy or strength left. Very shaky, very glad for the intensely chocolatey cake the children had made with Sara that afternoon! Cameron took her off for a wander about, during which time he dreamt up a name for her – although we didn’t agree until the next morning. Eventually (after another hour) managed to get rid of placenta, was asked what I wanted to do and said I just want to go to bed! Took paracetamol (better late than never ha ha) Next day, could barely move. Legs hurt from kneeling, arms from holding onto the side of the pool. Girls piled down and into our bed “is the baby here?” – they wanted to call her Lily.

A harder birth than Tamsin, though my shortest. I blame that pesky hand up by her face because she weighed precisely the same (and just an oz or so different from Maggie). First things I noticed: small ears and elegant fingernails (and oh yes it is a girl).

Originally posted on Turquoise

07 May

Rachel’s birth story

Rachel is a thirty-mumble year old mother of one, and this is the story of the moment she became a mother of two. She lives in Reading with her husband and two children, where she works from home as a seamstress, and eats rather too much cake.

I think it’s safe to say that birth is probably the only bit of pregnancy that I wasn’t rubbish at. After having the shittest pregnancy known to man (and woman), I sort of expected the birth to follow the same pattern. After the placenta praevia drama until 36 weeks, I was declared normal, low-risk and able to use the local midwife-led unit, or even have a homebirth if I so wanted.

With the Boy I had been induced at 38 weeks so had no idea what my body did naturally if left to its own devices. So, I was expecting to go massively overdue, and end up with a crap birth as well, to round off 42 potential-weeks of shitness.

It would seem my girl had other ideas.

From about 36 weeks I was getting occasional twinges of my cervix, but I thought nothing of it. At 38+0 I was grumping furiously about the house, raging at still being pregnant, and in so much pain that I was regularly reduced to tears. I was getting practically no sleep at night because the pain in my hips was so bad.

I was lying on the sofa, 11.30pm at 38+2 and suddenly there was a sudden clunking feeling inside the bottom of the bump- like when a tendon pings over a bit of bone. I said to H “I don’t know what the fuck she’s doing in there but that was an almighty clunk!”. I then moved slightly and felt a small glug of fluid. Without saying anything I went up to the bathroom to check whether this was indeed my waters. When I wiped there was a pinkish tinge to the fluid, and more fell out. Yup. That would be them then. I put a pad on, and went downstairs to tell the husband.

Tried phoning the hospital but they were engaged. Called the Mothership as she was 90 minutes away and was booked for childcare purposes, to warn her that there may be a phonecall in a little while if things kicked off – which at that point, they hadn’t.

Called hospital back. It did sound to them as if it was my waters (no shit, Sherlock). Put a pad on, go to sleep and call us back in a couple of hours if you’ve soaked a pad through. As soon as I put the phone down, I started getting crampy feelings across the bottom of the bump.

I went upstairs, crept into his room and packed Boy’s Trunki with some clothes, and even stole 2 of his 4 normal cuddly companions from his bed just in case we had to decamp in a hurry. Went to bed with my hypnobirthing playlist on shuffle. By now it was about 12.30am.

Dozed for about an hour. At about 1.30am I got up with the thought that I’d forgotten to pack PJs for the Boy. Went to the loo (a minimal amount of more waters) and back to bed. Couldn’t sleep now, and was getting steadily more uncomfortable with each contraction. They were about 15 minutes apart by now. At about 2.30am I woke up H and asked him to help put the TENS machine on.

By 3.15am I realised that I no longer wanted to be alone, so summoned H to come and hold my hand. At about 3.30am we called the hospital back and they said to come in so I could be checked over. 3.45 we called my Mum back and said we needed her to come and get the Boy.

At about 4.30am H decided that we really should be going to hospital now, but I took some convincing. I didn’t want to go wake Boy and then have him going to the hospital, but H was insistent. So, he called my Mum and told her to make her way to the hospital rather than come to our house. We woke up the big-brother-to-be and loaded him and the rest of the freakshow into the car. I am so glad that it was early in the morning – I wouldn’t have liked the whole street to see me in this state. Wired up to a TENS machine, shuffling, looking a right state.

I got into the back as I had more space to move around. The car seat was really comfortable because it pressed the TENS machine in much firmer contact with my back. I cursed the bloody speedbumps that cover half the town though! And how shit the council are at doing anything about the bloody potholes. OUCH. We left the house at 5.01am.

We got to the hospital at about 5.15. Got to the Midwife Led Unit, and was shown into one of the birth centre rooms. This was good. Then they said they wanted me to move to a side room to be checked over. WTVF? I’m in labour you idiots, I’m not making this up! Student midwife assured us that midwife would be with us “very soon” and that they weren’t expecting a “labourer” to come in to be checked (?!). 45 minutes later with some additional nagging on the call bell, midwife agrees to come and check me over.

Midwife examines me and tells me that I am 3cm. Thank GOD. I realised I was in actual labour and that I wouldn’t be being sent home. Mum arrived, and abducted child. He burst into tears just before she got here – hearing Mummy making a lot of noise by now and having to be so very good (which he was) was clearly becoming a bit much for him. Child now gone, I could relax (read: shout) a bit more. MW tried to get me to have Entonox but I didn’t want it as I felt sick.

Was told at this point that Delivery Suite was FULL (there goes my epidural if I needed one) and that some unreasonable bastard was already using the pool (bang goes the patchouli oil waterbirth). My verdict: got H to call the lovely Mrs M as she had agreed to come and be a 2nd birth support for me if needed. Before this I had thought “I’m not coping here, I’m heading towards an epidural”, and the last thing I wanted to do was give her a call and then have her come all this way only to see me have an epidural and end up in theatre. I thought at this point “FUCK. I need someone here who I know can tell me to buck up and convince me I can DO this”. Mrs M was duly summoned.

Time was now 6.37am. Mrs M helpfully gave H some tips to pass on– drop shoulders and breathe out during contractions.

Was shown back to the birthing room (gits. Walking hurt at this point). Set up iPod docking station with the Birthsense Hypnatal Relaxation music on loop. Really started to go into myself between contractions here. Was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to zone out. When I had a contraction I felt like I needed to get my weight off my arse so was holding myself up by my arms. I was shrieking a lot now with each contraction (with Ike I mooed, this really was different) as well as doing virtual press-ups. Was unable to breathe out and drop shoulders, but when I was able to for even a moment, it felt good.

New midwife shift came on, and at handover they agreed to get me some pain relief that wasn’t Entonox. H had been brilliant about advocating for me here – when they offered I was just able to say “no”. He explained why I was saying no- it made me feel sick for hours after I stopped using it last time. I had no desire to ever feel that way again! Opted for a shot of diamorphine. And they also said they’d give me a shot of Stemetil (anti-emetic) to stop me feeling sick. Marvellous! Warning – had forgotten how much stemetil jabs bloody STING (top tip – when they are injecting you, wiggle your toes on that leg – it helps). New midwife who was lovely said that she’d re-examine me at 10am to see how I was progressing.

TENS machine kept falling off now. Time was about 7.15-30 by this point. H kept “tasering” himself trying to get it back on. Midwife taped it on with sticky tape. Much better! Continued with the press-ups while seated. Actually nodded off between contractions at a couple of points. Everything was sort of pleasantly warm and fuzzy, and the colours whenever I opened my eyes were bright and in soft focus. That would be the diamorphine then! I had my eyes closed most of the time. I hardly opened them. At some point just after 8am I started shrieking properly and yelling “Noooooooooooooooo” through contractions as I thought “I really need to do a poo… Oh GOD I know what this means!” having read enough birth stories describing the same!

Midwife then said she needed to examine me – Time was now about 8.15-20ish. I wasn’t keen on this idea, but she was reasonably firm about it, so I consented.

I managed to lie down on my left side and be examined. Declared to be fully dilated. All this time I was thinking “I don’t think I can do this…” but then another contraction would arrive and I’d think “well I got through that one”. The entire time we had been in the birthing centre room, H had been next to me, giving me words of encouragement and generally being bloody fab and supportive – physically and verbally and mentally.

I tried changing position to being kneeling on a mat on the floor, and my arms (glad of the break from doing press-ups every contraction) and head and shoulders resting on the bed. This was ok, but during every contraction my knees were sliding outwards sideways (think box splits) and my stomach nearly touching the mat I was on. I was pushing by this point, but it felt really unproductive. Midwife suggested the use of a birthing stool. I said yeah why not, so she assembled it all and got me to sit on it with H behind me.

This bit was much more productive. Gravity helping, no pressure on the right bits, but it also felt so… strange to be pushing and for something to be moving towards my perineum. For one or two contractions I was utterly distracted by the fact that I had shat myself, but could not wipe my arse due to positioning on the stool.

I got over that bit and ended up lying back onto H and literally pushing back into him which felt like it was helping a lot, though for a few contractions it felt as if I was pushing her down and she was retreating back up when the contraction stopped. At this point it was 8.40am – I commented that she’s racing her brother – he arrived at 38 weeks, 3 days, 8 hours and 42 minutes.

Next few contractions were absolutely amazing in a “hoooooooly shiiiiiiit that’s what they mean by Ring Of Fire…” kind of way. Before I knew it, her head was out. She had the cord looped loosely around her head and shoulder. Midwife unlooped it without any bother at all.

Next contraction and a couple of pushes, the rest of her was out. My god that is an ODD sensation. Absolutely indescribable. But she was delivered onto my stomach and all of the contractions just… stopped. She had a really good shout. 8.52am. The most pregnant I ever was, but only by 10 minutes!

Midwife said just before I delivered that I was bleeding so she asked if she could give me syntometrine, which was fine, and placenta was out after 7 minutes according to my notes. I wasn’t really paying much attention. I was staring at my new baby. H declined to cut the cord, so I did it instead. First pair of scissors I used were blunt- Only got halfway through it – then they passed my the episiotomy shears – by Jove they worked (!).

I absolutely couldn’t believe that I had done it all by myself (with a cheerleading team, and people physically holding me up at times). Total wave of euphoria and disbelief that I had had an actual baby, with virtually NO drugs. Had some lovely skin to skin time with her, and waited for her to stop shouting!

At this point Mrs M showed up, which was actually lovely timing. Maximum gore and she didn’t flinch. LOL.

It was lovely to have her there and to be able to show off my new baby, and for her to be calm and unflappable. H went to the car to sort out parking, and so Mrs M was much more use than him and took photos. H is totally not down with the gore element of birth too, so when he got back his job was now baby cuddling rather than supporting me.

All very relaxed and happy atmosphere, midwife examined me – this time with the use of gas and air (stemetil meant it no longer made me want to heave. Yay!) and found I had a small second degree tear and 2 grazes (symmetrical ones apparently).

Suturing bed was then found, and Mrs M did a cracking job of handing things to midwife and breaking the tops off glass bottles of things, and witnessing the counting of swabs, needles, etc. Tear was stitched, and one of the grazes – to stop them healing together. Gas and air was so good that at a couple of points I could no longer find my own mouth with the mouthpiece thing. It does weird things to your voice though – makes you sound like Darth Vader. Especially when you say “Luke I am your father”. Errr. Yeah…

After I had been stitched up Mrs M then did an equally important job of cuddling Polly while I had a shower, and H helped me not fall over from jelly-legs.

Tea and toast for 3 was then produced, and Polly had a good feed too!

Was then put in a side room on the postnatal ward, waved goodbye to Mrs M and that was it!

I still can’t believe that I had a baby yesterday, and have already been on a solo shopping trip with her to John Lewis (to pick up wheeled board for pushchair and a new crib mattress).

Couldn’t have been more different to the Boy’s birth, and it just makes me love both my children even more for what they represent of their births. I love my boy and how he had to contend with being so battered and bruised on the way out and being so stoic about it all, and my girl for doing it Her Way, and taking absolutely no prisoners!

If someone had told me in the darkest depths of my depression in 2010 that I could be This Happy – I’d have thought they were lying.

All through the sickness, the pain, and the misery of being pregnant – I can happily say that having a birth as great as this, let alone a baby as gorgeous as she is has made it all worthwhile.

Originally posted at Crap At Pregnancy

05 May

Graybo’s birth story

Graybo has six and a quarter years’ experience of being a dad. He is still learning

It’s strange, but after six-and-a-quarter years, most of what happened is still fresh in my mind…

Having almost got to due date with nothing happening, we decided to push matters along a bit and do something proactive to get things going. H (my wife) had been uncomfortable for a while – the bump was huge and was happily turning her over in bed without her say-so. Consequently, she was lacking sleep. She’d also had a few “funny turns” during pregnancy (as well as issues related to underlying health conditions) and we were already regular visitors to the maternity unit, both at the hospital where our baby was to be born and at the nearby cottage hospital.

So, to try and push things along, we did some of the things that the books don’t tell you. We went for a walk over fields, stiles and streams and followed that with a spicy curry. (We did something else too, but I’ll spare you the details).

By bedtime, things were starting to move and H’s waters broke. The contractions had started, which H found pretty uncomfortable. We phoned the maternity unit and, as it was pretty late in the evening, they suggested we went to them as the community midwife wouldn’t be able to get to us until morning. Plus, as H was considered a “mature mother”, they felt that a hospital birth would be preferred to home birth (and, before people argue about that, we agreed – sometimes, being in hospital provides comfort and assurance).

So we gathered the kit together (two bags – one for H, one for baby – all ready prepared) and got in the car. I think we were pretty tense. Being a Sunday night and approaching midnight, there was no traffic. I drove with some haste (we are 15 miles – more than half an hour – from the hospital, all on country roads and narrow lanes) and, for the first and only time in my life, jumped a red light.

As it turned out, the midwife team were pretty relaxed. Things had started but not much was going to happen imminently. However, H was finding the contractions pretty painful, so they suggested she stayed with them whilst I went back home for some sleep. As the midwife put it: “you’ll need your sleep, tomorrow is going to be pretty hectic”.

H was given some pethidine. We knew about this stuff from the ante-natal classes that the midwife team ran (and which were excellent) and knew what the risks and benefits were. So, with that, I drove back home (stopping for the red light), got back into bed and had a restless night trying to sleep with a cat on my head. (We normally shut the cats in the kitchen overnight, but that night I left the door open. Cats *know* (as any cat owner will tell you), so one sat behind my knees and the other, literally, on my head. I didn’t get much sleep).

At 5.30am, the phone rang. It was the midwife. “Hello, graybo. You’d better come in. H is back downstairs with us”. (The wards were upstairs, the birthing suite downstairs). So, I quickly dressed, fed the cats and drove the 30 minutes back to the hospital.

When I got there, after loading £200 in pound coins into the parking meter, I went straight to the birthing suite. H told me what had happened in the night. She hadn’t been able to sleep (the contractions kept her awake) and the nurses were of the opinion that she wasn’t coping well with pain or anxiety, so she’d been sitting in bed, chatting with the ward sister who was about to go off duty – sometimes company and chat are as effective as pills and rest. Just as the sister got up to leave, H threw up all over her – which was just about the only effect that the pethidine had on her (it’s a common side effect). The sister was very kind, under the circumstances, but H was mortified.

At the time I arrived, the midwife team were changing shifts. As no births were imminent, the current team were going home and the new team were coming on duty. H was rather keen on the midwife who had been with her, so she was sorry to see her go, but she made a point of coming and saying goodbye to us before she left. The new midwife promised us that she’d now stay until the baby arrived.

That turned out to be rather a long time.

One of things I spotted in the hospital was that the midwives sort the dads into three groups – those that are likely to be a liability (and friend’s partner passed out and had to be resuscitated when their baby was born), those who are good for hand-holding and those who can be asked to do something useful and will be trusted to get on with it. I’m not sure what the criteria are (attendance at ante-natal classes is probably a factor), but they put me in the last category. I was in charge of dials, monitors, sensors and general paraphernalia, which gave me a great sense of self-importance and allows me to take all the credit for standing there for 12 hours doing that, whilst H laid back in regal comfort on the bed. (Obviously, sitting in that position with her feet in stirrups was perfectly comfortable).

The labour was very long – in total, 17 hours from the time we arrived at the hospital to the time baby emerged. It was not all comfortable, in spite of epidural and “gas and air”. There was also periods when nothing happened (when H was too exhausted to push), when the midwife and I could leave H in the care of the junior nurse and grab a quick sandwich and fresh air.

H’s parents arrived around lunch time. I’d left a quick message to let them know that things were kicking off, and we had told them that the hospital had a strict mother+1 policy (the birthing suite was small – where would everyone go if a party descended?), but still they turned up. H’s mother was most put out that she couldn’t be in the room, and I ended up persuading them to go home, as the staff were getting a bit frustrated by bodies cluttering the place (although they would never let that show). It seems a little harsh, in retrospect, but actually I can totally understand it from the midwife’s point of view.

At one point , I stepped out for five minutes fresh air whilst H took a nap. My phone rang. A customer. Before I could say anything, he launched into a long ramble about some problem he had, whilst I kept saying “er” “um” “excuse me” in order to get him to stop. Eventually he paused for breath, so I said “can’t help you, I’m outside the maternity unit where my first child is being born right now. Bye!” Some people.

It was becoming clear that baby was not enthusiastic to leave his warm and comfy abode. The pushing had exhausted H and the midwife was pretty frazzled too (though exuding utter calm). Then things speeded up. The midwife was becoming concerned that both mother and baby were getting distressed. In addition, the umbilical cord was wrapped around baby’s head. On top of that, the baby was just huge. So she called a time out (as much as you can in these situations) and told us that she recommended an episiotomy, but that the decision was ours. Thankfully, the ante-natal classes had prepared us for this. The midwife clearly explained *why* she was recommending it and we told her (well, mostly I told her – H was just exhausted) that we understood the implications of the decision but she should go ahead.

So she carried out the episiotomy, loosened the cord and got H onto major pushing, with every ounce she could muster. It was always “one more push, please”. It was clear that baby needed to get out and soon.

This bit all became rather a blur. I know it was actually more than an hour long, but it seemed to happen quite quickly for me. Eventually, head emerged. Shoulders were a problem, and then hips and then “one more push, please” (for the umpteenth time) and baby literally flew out. The midwife caught him with a style that Jonny Wilkinson would have been proud of. Blood and goo literally flooded across the floor. And the midwife rushed out the door, carrying baby and yelling “THEATRE!! NOW!!!” at the top of her voice.

Cripes, I’m welling up just typing this.

We had no idea what was happening. The midwife had been alone with us at this point (three other births were going on in the unit at the same time, so midwives were working alone with a nurse moving between rooms to check and help), so once she ran out, we had no idea what was happening. H was utterly exhausted, gasping for breath and in some pain. I was bewildered. And then we realised that we were alone, baby was gone and so was midwife. What the hell was happening?

I think this period maybe lasted 20 seconds. Hardly any time at all. But it felt like an eternity and it was suddenly very quiet.

But then the nurse ran into the room, held the door open and said “Listen! Hear that?” – we could hear a baby screaming for all it was worth. “That’s your baby. He’s fine, he’s going to be ok.” Then she had to run and we were left alone again.

No more than a minute later, the midwife came back. She was clearly exhausted, covered in goo, but smiling. “Your baby wasn’t breathing, so we took him straight to theatre and got him onto a ventilator. He’s ok now, he’s the right colour and he’s breathing. You were lucky that you are in the room next to theatre and nobody else was in there.”

“Oh, and congratulations. You have a baby boy.”

I’m just about to leave my desk to walk to school to pick him up. We have a parent-teacher consultation this afternoon – he’s doing well at school, sitting at the top table with the brightest girls (the only boy at that table). He’s the tallest child in his class (he was 9lb 8oz – 4.31kg – at birth and is expected to grow to 6ft 6in – 2 metres). He wants to be trilingual (English, French and Dutch). He loves the countryside. He loves calamari. And, one day, perhaps, he’ll go through the same experience with his own first child.

03 May

Helen’s birth story

Helen is a former client of Double Helping Doulas, and kindly agreed to share her story.

About a week before my due date (10th October) I’d had ‘the show’ and
experienced some Braxton Hicks contractions. I woke on the morning of the 10th noticing my maternity pad was wet but no gushing waters. I went to the hospital to get checked out and was told it could be the hind waters had gone, but only in a trickle. They sent me home to give me 24 hours to see if my waters would break fully on their own.

By the next morning I had two soaked maternity pads but still no full breakage of my waters. So I returned to the hospital and was booked in to the delivery suite.

They advised me that, due to the risk of infection to the baby, the next step would be to break my waters for me. Although I had hoped for a natural birth and knew initial intervention may well lead to more, the risk to my unborn baby was not worth taking. They broke my waters at midday and sent me to walk around for an hour. Very soon the contractions came on thick and fast but there was also some meconium in the waters, so I was then strapped to a monitor to keep an eye on baby’s heartbeat.

I used my TENS machine for the first few hours and then went on to gas and air. About 5 hours later I was examined and told I was 5cm and my cervix was paper-thin and soft which was very good progress. Although I was mainly focusing on coping with the contractions, I did start wondering if our baby would be born that evening. My husband and I also felt pleased things were now progressing naturally.

At 9pm I was examined again and was dealing with intense contractions
and barely aware of my surroundings, but I clearly heard the midwife
say, “Unfortunately, you’re still at 5cm.” I could tell by her face this wasn’t good and my stomach sank. She checked the position of the baby’s head and although it was facing the right way, the midwife could feel the anterior fontanelle (soft-spot), which meant baby was chin-up, and not chin tucked in. So baby was in an awkward position and was slowing progress.

The midwife was great and went through all our options with us. She said it was going to be quite a while longer now and although I had noted in my birth-plan I would prefer no intervention and drugs, perhaps I should consider it now as I’d probably need syntocinon to continue dilating. I was absolutely shattered and if I’d only had a couple of hours left I think I’d have got through. But I was in for the long haul now and decided to have an epidural. The midwife said I’d done really well so far on just TENS and gas and air, and not to feel bad. Births rarely always go to plan! She went off to get the anaesthetist while my husband continued helping me through the contractions.

It wasn’t long before the midwife returned with the anaesthetist but I don’t remember much other that being sat on the side of the bed and leaning with my arms around my husband’s neck. He said afterwards that had been one of the hardest moments for him, reading all the potential dangers of an epidural and having to sign the consent form on my behalf because I wasn’t in a fit state to sign it myself. The midwife said, “In a few minutes you’ll feel like a new woman!” She was right; the pain eased and I could start to think clearly again. It took another 9-10 hours for me to become fully dilated and for the midwife to say I was ready to start pushing.

About 8am I was put on my side and was told when I had a contraction as the epidural meant I couldn’t feel it. We had a student midwife in with us and she was helping hold my leg while my husband held the other leg and watched the graph for the contractions, to tell me when to push. After some time pushing, the student midwife suddenly fainted and fell over knocking her head on the side cupboard! The midwife came running over to hold my leg again, whilst saying over her shoulder, “Are you ok?” to the student who was coming round rubbing her head. I was also trying to ask her if she was ok but was told to concentrate on pushing. The student went off to sit down, apologising all the way, and we said not to worry about it whilst also trying to deliver our baby!

But the pushing wasn’t working so a doctor was brought in to examine me further and she said, “I hear you’ve been very good so I will give you some help now.” She went to prepare and they took the end off the bed and put my legs in stirrups. What followed were two failed attempts at the ventouse, then an episiotomy and forceps to finally bring our beautiful baby girl in to the world.

At 11:43am on 12th October she was delivered and put on to my tummy. I felt relieved the 24-hour labour was over and completely overjoyed at holding my gorgeous little bundle.

The pediatrician in the room then took her and she scored 9 out of 10 on her Apgar tests so she was fine after the epic labour. My husband was also able to cut the cord while I was given an injection to help the third stage along. I was given my daughter again all wrapped in a blanket and was enjoying cuddles when the doctor said, “This placenta is not coming out.” I had a retained placenta; I couldn’t believe it and started to feel really upset. I was tired and felt we’d already been through enough and this was the last thing I expected. So I was rushed off to theatre while my husband was left in the delivery room holding our baby girl. It was an extremely anxious time for him holding our baby and not knowing what was happening to me. I was given a spinal block and then pretty
much passed out while the doctor removed the placenta and sewed me back up.

I was taken to recovery ward where my husband met me with our baby. He’d dressed her in a white hat and sleepsuit, and she was tucked in under a blanket in the little hospital cot. The nurse put her next to me in my bed and tucked some pillows around us. I had tubes coming out of my hands but that didn’t matter as I held my baby again. My husband was pleased it was all over and that I was going
to be ok. It had been quite an ordeal and a bit traumatic at times, and we both had a few tears as we finally realised what we’d been through. But the main thing was I was ok and our daughter was here safe and sound. Ultimately, that’s all that really matters.

01 May

Karen’s birth story

Pete is Karen’s partner of innumerable years. They live in sin.

I was woken at about 5am on a Friday morning. Karen was delicately whispering in my ear “Pete. Pete. Pete.” I grunted to acknowledge that I was listening. “My waters have just broken.”

I didn’t know what to make of this. I generally don’t know what to make of things when woken at 5am. Especially not back then. In fact, I think that might have only been the second time in my life that I had been woken at 5am (the first such incident being a fire alarm in a hotel in Swindon). Of course, since that day, I have become somewhat more accustomed to being woken at that merciless hour, or other comparably merciless ones.

Big deal, or not a big deal? I couldn’t decide. So we phoned the maternity unit at Heatherwood and asked them what they thought. Their consensus: no rush, come in in a few hours and we’ll see what gives. We went back to bed for a while, then had breakfast. All very leisurely. Nothing that we hadn’t anticipated.

In the hospital, we were quite surprised by the enthusiasm of the midwifes. I suppose we had been expecting weary, jaded, another-baby-whoop-de-doo sourpusses, but ended up finding ourselves surrounded by a small group who seemed even more excited than us! If there had been something remarkable about our case, then I could have understood that, but as far as I could see: so far, so textbook. It’s not a complaint, not in the slightest.

So they sent us back home for a little while. We didn’t know how long we’d be waiting, and I work fairly close to home, so I went into the office.

At about 1pm I got the phone call. A succinct “come home now.” Message received and understood. When I arrived back at the house, I found Karen and a friend (conveniently visiting for lunch that day) calmly drinking tea. Contractions were timed at 5 minutes apart, and though somewhat incapacitating for Karen, they didn’t seem to be killing her. My head briefly filled with the thought “well, fuck me, this is easy!” before I berated myself for being such a dumb, naive, optimistic idiot.

We phoned the hospital and they invited us in straight away. No rush, mind. No rush at all.

We were in the hospital at about 2:30pm. We established HQ and put on a CD. Over the first couple of hours the pain starts to increase, so we start applying countermeasures. We start with the TENS machine which is a real hit, and it gives me a great sense of purpose to be in control of the dials, setting the intensity according to what I perceived to be working for her. She also had some Entonox, which seemed effective, but after about half an hour was leaving her feeling dizzy and spaced-out, so she adjusted by taking smaller gulps until she found her equilibrium.

After that first couple of hours, we cautiously requested an examination. We were worried that she’d be barely dilated, but the midwife told us that it was 7cm. Fantastic, we thought, we’re almost done already! Half an hour later (now at 5pm, for those of you who have lost track) things started to kick into gear. Time for the final showdown. Game on. Or, in birthing parlance, “fetch a midwife, Pete.”

After about another half hour, I could see the top of the baby’s head with each push, but progress was very slow. With each contraction Karen was getting more and more tired, and I could sense that she was starting to despair. She wanted to get the job finished, but lacked the energy to do so. I knew that we couldn’t leave the baby in there and try again tomorrow, so I would have to do something drastic to focus her, Eye Of The Tiger style. So I leaned in and bit off her ear. She didn’t notice. She hasn’t noticed to this day. Strange, that.

Somehow, after about 45 minutes of this stalemate, we found hidden reserves and a little baby slipped out. And then it wasn’t a birthing story any more. More of a “watch Pete cry like a girl” story.