I was lying in bed, two days past my
due date, awake after my husband Tony had gone to work.
I was reading and suddenly got a really crippling gut
cramp. I didn’t think much of this, because I’d had an
upset tummy the night before, had spent a lot of time on
the toilet, and had put it down to the pork we’d had for
dinner not agreeing with my stomach (although Tony tells
me that he had suspicions that it was more than that,
even at that early point). I remember looking at the
clock which read 8.38am, and thinking “I’m not getting
out of bed, this will probably pass, and this book is
really good”. A little later I got an even more urgently
crippling gut cramp (like the worst sort of diarrhoea
pain) and looked at the clock again – this time it said
8.46am. Interesting, I thought, that’s 8 minutes apart.
Then I had to urgently go to the toilet and empty my
bowels.
I sat on the toilet (still reading – I was determined to
enjoy my book, and still didn’t think much of what was
happening!) for ages, trying to focus on my book and
rubbing my tummy. When the pain and diarrhoea passed, I
decided that it was very important that I ate breakfast
(although I don’t remember being particularly hungry).
So I headed through to the kitchen to make porridge. I
got some oats and water in the pot, then had to rush
back to the bathroom with another bout of terrible tummy
pains and diarrhoea. When that bout passed I thought
perhaps I wouldn’t be able to manage actually cooking
breakfast, so I poured a bowl of cereal, and then
what-do-you-know, I headed back to the bathroom again.
When that bout passed I felt a bit better, and actually
got my porridge cooking. I thought I’d better ring Tony
and get him to come home, so phoned him and said “You’d
better come home, I’m feeling really unwell”. He said
he’d come as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, just as my
porridge came to the boil I had another horrible
cramping gut pain, so turned the element off and headed
back to the bathroom. After that bout of toilet-sitting,
I went back to the kitchen and poured my porridge into a
bowl, grabbed a glass of juice and took the lot back to
the bathroom. My back was very sore by this stage, and I
decided that I would feel better in the shower, but I
was determined to eat my breakfast, so took it with me
into the shower (which isn’t as wet and manky as it
sounds, as our shower is over a big bath, so I could put
my bowl and glass well out of the way of the water).
When Tony got home I was bent over in the shower, with
the water on the small of my back. I had eaten half my
porridge and drunk half my juice, which was all I
managed to get down until after the birth. I refused to
stand up, because I could deal with the searing pain in
my back, which felt like I was being scraped out from
the inside with a hot blunt spoon, but I couldn’t deal
with the pain in my tummy at the same time, and bending
over seemed to neutralise the pain in my stomach and
only allow the pain in my back to be felt. Tony told me
I had to get out of the shower so that he could fill the
birth pool. I was quite rude in my refusal, but as he
pointed out, once he started filling the pool, there
wasn’t going to be any water for me in the shower, so I
had to get out. He brought me my bath robe (which I
never put on) and I turned off the shower and got out
and got dry.
Tony came back from setting up the filling of the pool
and asked if we should phone the midwife (Margaret) yet.
I said that I thought we were supposed to time things
first, so that we could give her an indication of where
things were at. Tony got his cell phone (neither of us
have watches with second hands) and set it on stop watch
for me as I had a contraction (not that I had realised
that I was actually having contractions – I still just
thought that I was having bouts of pain). Then he left
the bathroom (yes, I was still doubled up over the edge
of the bath, just not under the shower any more). He
said that he looked at the clock in the
kitchen as he left the bathroom, and it said 10.36am.
When he headed back into the bathroom (he’d been
checking on the birth pool and associated set up) he
looked at that clock again and it said 10.40am. He said
to me as he came back into the bathroom “Tell me when
you have the next one” I said “I’ve already had it”! I
had timed it and it had lasted for a minute. Tony had
also grabbed the sheet of stages of labour with the
picture of the faces to try to figure out where we were
up to. He asked where I thought we were, and I was very
short with him, so I think he figured that we were well
past the happy chatting face! He phoned Margaret, and
told her that I was in labour with contractions that
were 3 minutes apart lasting for a minute (all the while
in the background I was saying “Tell her it’s probably
nothing” – I still hadn’t clicked that I was actually in
labour). Margaret’s response was “You’re kidding?!”
because she was on her way to another birth! So she got
Cecil to come around as the backup midwife instead (we
knew her from our antenatal classes, so that was okay).
When Cecil arrived I was back on the toilet with more
diarrhoea, and what I thought might have been a show, as
there was some thick mucus streaked with blood when I
wiped. This time I couldn’t read my book (and I still
haven’t finished it!!) as the pain was too intense. Tony
told me I needed to come out of the bathroom so that
Cecil could have a chat, so he got a t-shirt and pair of
boxer shorts of his for me to wear. I struggled into the
clothes, and dragged myself through to the lounge, where
Tony had the fire going. I was still bent double to
minimise the pain in my tummy. I bent over an
office-style chair we had in the lounge, with my arms on
the seat and my head mashed as hard as I could into the
back of it, to deal with the pain, as I continued to
feel as if I was being scraped out with that damn hot
blunt spoon. I couldn’t do non-focused awareness as a
relaxation technique, but I did focus on breathing
through each contraction (or crippling bout of pain as I
thought of them) and keeping my breathing out nice and
slow as they finished. I managed to fill Cecil in a bit
on what had been happening, and answer some questions
between contractions, and then she asked the worst thing
– for me to lie down on my back so she could listen to
the baby. It was so hard to get unbent, and even harder
to cope with the pain while lying flat on my back.
Fortunately she was really quick about it, and the baby
was fine, so up I got and back to the chair to bend over
again.
Cecil phoned Margaret to update her at some point, and I
heard her saying that “labour was just getting
established” – all I could think was “OH MY GOD! Only
JUST ESTABLISHED?!! I CAN’T do this for 18 – 20 hours! I
CANNOT do this until tomorrow – it’s too sore!!”.
Because of course I was thinking that first time labours
usually go for that long for the first stage, and then
more time for the rest! I remember thinking also that I
knew why people went to the hospital, because if you
didn’t know what was happening, you’d think you were
dying, it felt so SORE and uncontrollable. Shortly after
this I had to start making noise to cope with each
contraction, so I started making this low-pitched
moaning sound. At one point I remember saying “Oh god, I
sound like a dying warthog”, to which Cecil responded
“No, you sound like the scenario” (she had played the
part of a very vocal pregnant woman in a birth scenario
as part of our antenatal classes, and I was quite
shocked – and said so! – at the amount of noise she made
– turns out she was a VERY accurate actor!). I remember
thinking “Why on EARTH did I want this to start – I just
wish it would stop!”. I was starting to regret all the
jumping down the stairs I had done the day before, as it
obviously got things moving!
At some point after this Margaret arrived – apparently
the other lady was still up and wandering around
chatting when she got to her house, so Margaret decided
that she better come and see how I was getting on. She
was quite surprised at how far along things had got.
I asked when I could get into the pool, and Cecil told
me I should wait until massage on my back and hot towels
weren’t helping anymore. Tony was diligently rubbing my
back for me, and giving me sips of water between
contractions. After I’d asked about the pool, they
decided to try the hot towels on my back. Somehow I
managed to communicate where the only pair of washing-up
gloves that we own were to be located (in the camping
gear for dish-washing) and Tony found them! I was right
beside the fire in the lounge and had got too hot, so
Tony went and got me a crop-top style bra to change into
instead of his t-shirt. Then he put a hot towel on my
back. I reacted VERY badly to this because it was too
hot and felt horrible. I think I got really angry and
accused him of trying to burn me.
All the while I kept making my low-pitched groans. I
remembered reading somewhere that you have to keep the
pitch low to stay relaxed, because if you get
high-pitched you start to tense up, so I tried really
hard to keep the groans low and deep. I also remembered
reading that making your mouth into a smile shape helped
relax you too, so I tried to do that as I groaned too. I
suspect it was more of a grimace or a rictus than a
smile, but I was trying! After each contraction I’d
concentrate on blowing out and trying to relax again. I
do remember trying to think of my cervix opening, and
thinking “open, open” through some of the contractions
(like it suggests in the book Mind Over Labour) but
eventually it got too hard to do more than just focus on
my breathing and groaning.
Finally they told me I could get into the pool, so I
headed to the bathroom one last time, and when I was
getting up there was a drop of dark red blood on the
seat – I remember anxiously telling Tony that he should
tell Margaret about it, in case it was a bad thing, then
I forgot all about it. I stepped out of the
boxer-shorts, and wearing only my bra, staggered through
the kitchen into the sunroom/dining room where the pool
was set up. It turned out that we had actually set the
pool up wrong – there was a clear plastic liner, all
brand spanking new, that we had thought we didn’t need
to use, because Tony mended the other liner – as it
happened, every person who uses the pool gets their own
liner, so the brand new liner was for us to use. Whoops.
So while I was in the bathroom, Tony, Margaret and Cecil
were desperately struggling to put the new liner into
the pool, which was already full of water! They did a
pretty good job, it was a bit like having a bath in a
plastic bag, but most of the water was inside the clear
liner, and only a wee bit around the edges.
It was absolute bliss to get into the pool. It didn’t
stop the pain, but my tummy didn’t weigh anything, and
it seemed to just make things a bit more bearable.
Margaret had checked my backside for that line that goes
up as you labour while I was still bent over the chair,
and hadn’t been sure about how far through I was, but
when I got in the pool she said it went nearly all the
way to the top – indicating I was pretty much all the
way through. I was too scared to ask how I was doing,
because I thought I wouldn’t be able to cope if they
told me I still had hours to go, so I never asked how I
was getting on. I never had any internal examinations
either (not during my pregnancy, and not during the
labour), which I was pleased about.
While I was in the pool, Margaret would occasionally
check my temperature in my ear, and the pool
temperature. She also listened to the baby occasionally
with the wee hand held ultra sound thing (wrapped in a
plastic bag I think). Tony kept mopping my head with a
cool flannel and giving me sips of water , which was
heavenly. Sometimes I leaned into his hand to keep the
flannel on my face, and he would think I was pushing it
away, and I didn’t have any energy to tell him that I
wasn’t pushing it away. He was an absolute hero the
whole way through (this is a guy who wasn’t that keen on
homebirth, or birth in general for that matter)
and I just wish I could have expressed that at the time.
I have told him how great he was since then, but I’m not
sure he believes me! Every so often he’d tell me I was
doing great, and that he was proud of me or that he
loved me – pretty enormous stuff for a guy who doesn’t
really convey his emotions verbally.
Also while I was in the pool, they kept pouring more
water in – sometimes cold and sometimes hot. I think
they were boiling 2 stock pots, 1 large pot and the jug
pretty much constantly. I couldn’t work out why they
couldn’t leave well alone if they kept having to put
cold in after the hot, but apparently the pool wasn’t
full enough. In between contractions I rested with my
head down – sometimes on the edge of the pool, but more
often with my nose almost in the water. I found that the
edge of the pool was really good to grip during the
contractions too (Tony wisely kept his hands well out of
harm’s way!). At one stage, while I was labouring away,
we heard the gate beside the house close. I said “Who
the f**k’s that?!”, and Tony looked out the window and
said “Oh God, it’s mum!”. My response was not nice –
“Tell her to F**K off!” (this was pretty much all I said
during labour, and pretty harsh, as I really like my
mother-in-law!). He raced out the back door to head her
off. She’d popped around to drop off some baby clothes,
but he had to let her know that it was NOT a good time
for a visit, as we were a bit busy!
After I’d been in the pool for a while, the contractions
got more and more painful, to the extent that I was
screaming through some of them, (even though I was
trying really hard to keep my noises low so that I would
stay relaxed). I flailed around so much during one
really strong and painful contraction that I hit myself
in the eye and burst some blood vessels. By this stage I
really didn’t think I could do it for much longer, but I
was trying really hard to keep that to myself. I was
told later that I actually did say “I can’t do this any
more”, but I had thought I hadn’t said that out loud!
I’m not quite sure at what stage my waters broke, but I
definitely felt them go – it was like a water balloon
exploded out from between my legs. It still remains the
coolest feeling of the entire labour – even at the time
I remember thinking – “That felt really cool!”. When the
contractions got really awful, Margaret applied pressure
to some spots on my lower back, and when I got screamy,
she would talk me back down as the contraction ended –
reminding me to focus on my breathing, and to drop my
shoulders so that I would relax.
Some time after those really horrible painful
contractions, and after my waters breaking, I started to
grunt involuntarily while contracting. Margaret said “If
you can breathe instead of pushing, that would be good,
but if you have to push that’s fine” – all I could think
was “Oh my god, it’s too early, I’ve probably got an
anterior lip or something!”. But I couldn’t resist the
pushing. It was like a freight train rushing through my
body – there was NO way I could have stopped what was
happening. With each push I gave these horrible low
grunts which really hurt my throat. Eventually I could
start to feel the baby pressing against my cervix (I
figure that was what it was pressing against, because it
was very tight and sore when it pressed against it). The
baby would come down and press against the tight sore
bit with each contraction, and then as the contraction
passed, the baby would slide back up inside. It hurt so
much when the baby pressed against the tight area that
when it slid back up I would think “Don’t come back down
baby – just stay where you are”. Tony told me I had to
move forward, because I was scooted so far back in the
pool that he couldn’t reach me, and they couldn’t get
behind me to see what was happening – it was SO hard to
move forward, but I think I managed to a bit.
I remember Margaret saying something about feeling the
baby come through “that ring of fire”, so of course the
Johnny Cash song started going round and round in my
head! Margaret kept checking how the baby was doing with
the wee hand held ultra sound thingy, and at one point
she said “you need to push your baby out now” – I’m not
sure whether they were getting concerned about the
baby’s heartbeat, or me, or what – certainly no panic
was ever passed on to me – if anything it felt more like
encouragement to move on to the next step. I pushed
harder and harder when the baby pressed against the sore
tight bit – at first I was thinking “Breathe through it,
you don’t want to tear” but then I got frustrated at how
much it hurt and how hard it was to push the baby out
and thought “Bugger it, I don’t care if I tear, I want
this baby OUT!”. I pushed and pushed and it felt as if I
was tearing in half. I had my legs as wide apart as I
could, and would have quite liked an extra set of legs
at right angles to my actual legs, so I could open them
wide out too – it felt like I was making a long narrow
opening, not a nice wide one! I think Margaret got Tony
round behind me to catch the baby (I had my eyes shut
pretty much the entire time I was in the pool, so I’m
not sure) and eventually, the head started to come out.
Margaret told me to put my hand down and I could feel
the head. I had a wee feel, but what I felt was so
small, soft and spongy feeling that I thought I was just
feeling some part of my vagina all swollen up, so I
stopped in case people thought I was just copping a
feel! Margaret told me later I was actually feeling the
baby’s head. I did do a couple of wee poos as I was
pushing, but I didn’t say anything about them, because I
didn’t want Tony to hassle me about pooing in the pool
(which he had been doing while I was pregnant).
After what felt like heaps of pushing, and agonising
stretchy, burning-feeling pain that felt like I was
tearing apart, the head came out a bit, and Margaret
said I needed to keep pushing to get the chin out. So I
pushed and pushed some more. Once the head was out the
baby started wiggling around inside me as it eagerly
tried to get the rest of itself born. It was the
weirdest feeling – like swallowing a live fish (only up
your vagina!). I just wanted the baby to hold still – it
felt so strange. I pushed and pushed some more, and the
baby came all the way out. I think Tony caught it, then
Margaret passed it up between my legs to me, and Tony
came round to sit beside my head again. I think I
probably said some nutty stuff like “Oh, it’s a baby!”.
I do remember that it was like a switch had been shut
off from the labour, and I didn’t think or care about
all the pain and pushing, all I could focus on was the
wee pink squirming thing in my arms (I did remember all
the pain and hideousness later, but at that time, it
really just disappeared).
The baby gave a little cry which made everyone very
happy, and Tony went and got a hat for it’s head so it
wouldn’t get cold. The cord was quite short, so I
couldn’t lift the baby up very high. I asked “Is it an
Ethan or an Elsie?” (those were the names we’d picked
for a boy or a girl) and Margaret said “Why don’t you
have a look”. It was hard to lift the baby up to see
because of the short cord, and at first I saw a wee
wrinkled heel and thought it was a scrotum, and that
we’d had a boy, but when I actually looked properly, I
realised we’d had a girl. She looked up at us, blinked,
looked distinctly unimpressed and then stopped
breathing, and began to turn blue-grey around her face.
Margaret and Cecil got out the oxygen and gave her some
for a couple of minutes until she started breathing
again. At no time was I stressed out or concerned for
Elsie, as they were so calm and matter of fact about
what they were doing – I didn’t really even realise
there was a problem. Soon she was all nicely pink again,
and we had some photos, then I was helped out of the
pool and through into the lounge which they’d set up all
ready for me.
I lay down on the couch, and Elsie was put skin to skin
with me and started rooting around looking for a bit of
bosom. I had to keep asking if she was really a girl,
because we’d been convinced we were having a boy, and I
had had such a fleeting look when I checked, but was
reassured that she was very definitely a girl. While
Elsie was having a look for the bosom, Margaret and
Cecil checked to see if the placenta was coming free, as
I had opted for an un-managed third stage. I remember at
one stage being quite shocked and almost shrieking
“Margaret!” as she gave the cord a wee tug which
confirmed that the placenta was still attached – it
HURT! Now that we were all settled, I had enough brain
to think of other things, and all I could think was “MAN
I’m HUNGRY!”, so Cecil went and made me some jam
sandwiches – what a hero! At this point we also made
some phone calls to let family know that Elsie had
arrived safely.
After a while Elsie was sucking happily away on a bosom,
and a bit later Margaret and Cecil got me to squat off
the edge of the couch and give some pushes to deliver
the placenta. While I did this, Tony cleaned Elsie up,
put her in her first nappy and gave her a cuddle.
Pushing out the placenta was really hard, because I
didn’t really have any push left in me, and also, the
same urge wasn’t there that I’d had when pushing Elsie
out, and the placenta was a much less tangible thing to
push out. After a couple of pushes it fell out into the
bowl that Margaret was holding ready for it – it felt
like pushing out a big dinner-plate sized piece of liver
– quite gross, but I was pleased to be rid of it. What I
wasn’t expecting was the continued contractions as Elsie
was sucking – I couldn’t believe it, it was like getting
a really bad period immediately after giving birth – and
I thought my body had earned a rest!
Once she had her nappy on, and the placenta was
delivered, Elsie went back skin to skin with me, and
Margaret and Cecil had a look at my tail end to see if
there was any damage. I had a bit of a nick up by my
clitoris, and a tear inside my vagina. Margaret was
happy to leave the nick alone to heal by itself (she
knew my horror of having any sort of interventions “down
there”) but the vaginal tear while not really bad, was
such that she felt that it would be best to suture it.
After a bit of consultation, I eventually decided that
she knew my abhorrence of stitches in that region, so if
she was saying that it needed to be done, it wasn’t for
no reason, so I gave her the go ahead. Tony held my hand
while they put in the injections, which were the worst
bit, then they put in 5 or so stitches. The tear only
went a tiny way into my perineum, which I was very glad
about, so it didn’t need to be stitched. The worst part
of all, was when Margaret had to check that the stitches
hadn’t gone through the rectal wall (because the tear
was on the side of my vagina that faces the rectum) and
there was only one way for her to check that – think
man’s prostate check and you’ll know what she had to do
– NOT pleasant.
After making sure I was all sorted, Margaret had to rush
away to the other lady who she’d been to first (whom I
had beaten to the finish line), so Cecil, who had gone
home, had to come back. She cleaned me up, helped me get
into a clean t-shirt and then helped me to bed (which
they had made up with waterproof sheets in case I bled
badly – I didn’t, I think altogether I only lost 200ml).
Cecil got us settled in the bedroom, helped me dress
Elsie for the first time (I didn’t want her to get cold)
and then headed away. Tony’s mum came around with dinner
for us all, which was fantastic, then everyone left and
it was just the three of us.
Later in the evening, Margaret came back to do the
weighing and measuring. Elsie weighed 7lb 7oz and was
51cm long. The entire labour took 6 hours til her
delivery – she was born just after 2.30pm, and then
another hour for the delivery of the placenta. Although
it was
painful and really intense, I couldn’t have asked for a
more straight-forward labour and birth, or for better
midwives or support person. Tony, Margaret and Cecil
were just fantastic.
We hadn’t planned for me to give birth in the pool,
although it was always an option – we’d more been going
to use it as pain relief – however now that I’ve been
through labour and birth, I wouldn’t change a thing. I
also know that there is no way anyone could have got me
out of that pool once I was in it – the house could have
burnt down around me and I would NOT have gotten out! I
did find my memories of the birth quite overwhelming
initially, but with time their intensity has faded and
they’ve become more bearable. As I write this, Elsie is
only just 3 weeks old, so it’s definitely far too early
to say whether we’d do it all again and have another
baby (although if we did, it would DEFINITELY be a home
birth). However, Elsie is just wonderful, and certainly
her birth has profoundly changed me and my life.
~ Cass
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