After a painful difficult
pregnancy, I found myself quite looking forward to
labour (and wondering if I should be
J).
I did some reading up, mostly focusing on Ina May’s
Guide to Childbirth (which I found very helpful),
and came to the conclusion that, like most challenging
physical endeavours, handling birth is mostly mental.
Having had a fair amount of mind-body connection
training in theatre and dance I was quite looking
forward to putting this into practice.
My due date was June 5th.
On May 19th I was throwing up dinner (as I
tended to do throughout my pregnancy) and a heap of
liquid flooded out of me, perhaps 1/8 to ¼ cup. I
thought that possibly my waters had broken as I
immediately started having good practice contractions
(the first I’d felt). My husband Phil and I were excited
and made tentative plans in case we had to leave our
home on Stewart Island early. A chat with Liz, one of
our midwives, the next morning made it clear that my
waters hadn’t broken (there was no more fluid coming
out) and I should go about life as usual. The whole next
week was very stormy, which added to the excitement as
my contractions continued off and on. Thinking the baby
might come early, Phil went down to the local shop and
picked up a pack of nappies. Word got out and those
insidious island rumours flew that I was heavily in
labour and going to town that night. We found it all
quite funny.
The baby held off until we
travelled the next weekend to Otautau to the house we
had arranged to look after for nine weeks. This house
was quite flash and we felt really lucky to be able to
spend our special time here. Practice contractions
slowed down as I adjusted to our new home. The final
three weeks I felt the best I had the whole pregnancy,
and Phil and I were able to take a couple of lovely
walks in the Longwoods.
On my due date, we walked 3k
and it felt so good. I worked hard mentally at being
patient and allowing this baby to come in his own time.
It was hard not to feel a bit impatient as his due date
came and went, especially when people called or Phil
started getting a bit frustrated. I did take good walks
nearly every day and stimulated my nipples during some
of the practice contractions.
June 9th at 1am I
randomly found myself wide awake and wanting to finish
some sewing. I was fairly content, but couldn’t go back
to sleep and when Phil left for work at 6am I hemmed a
dozen cloths for the baby – something that would have
exhausted me previously. The colours seemed very clear
and bright and I felt very in tune. I managed a one hour
nap and took a lovely 4k walk up Knutsford Road. It was
a beautiful crisp day, with snow on the hills, and I
relished being out and moving. That evening at 9pm my
waters broke. I was just in the bathroom and they
flooded out. Honestly in sensation and appearance it was
just like the last time, with the same amount of clear
liquid. I went to sleep with a towel under me and woke
at 1am to find fluid really gushing out. Contractions
were more regular, but quite comfortable and the fluid
continued to gush all night, saturating three towels.
Hurray, it had started! I
wasn’t nervous at all, just looking forward to it.
Things carried on easily, Phil and I walked 1k and Liz
stopped in to check on us. Jan, a student midwife and
friend, also came by for the morning and afternoon and I
really enjoyed her casual presence. The only worry was
that my contractions weren’t getting stronger. They were
a bit more than my period pain (which is pretty
bearable) but less than most of the pain I had had
during this pregnancy. Come on! I was ready for the
heavy stuff. Eighteen hours after my waters had broken,
we drove half an hour to the Winton Maternity Clinic so
Liz could do a CTG (a machine to monitor my contractions
and the baby’s heart rate), and give me antibiotics.
Everything was great, it just needed to pick up the
pace. The day was very cold and overcast – perfect for
focusing on labour.
Back at home I was starting to
feel tired and a bit concerned about having the strength
for the journey ahead. Liz stopped by at 6pm, and I
asked her if I should try to sleep. Because my waters
had broken and there was a risk of infection, the plan
was to go to hospital if nothing was happening by the
following morning. So instead of sleep, Liz said “I
think we need to get this baby coming.” Rats…okay. Phil
and I went to bed, where he did some acupressure on me.
A couple of points on my legs were powerfully effective
and really put some strength behind the contractions.
This was more intense but felt good – it was what we
wanted. Following that we cuddled and Phil stimulated my
nipples. Suddenly, I asked him to stop and I experienced
a powerful POP inside me, then a strong contraction that
really took concentration. A trip to the toilet revealed
bloody show and timing these contractions we found them
to be one minute long and a minute and a half apart. We
had done it! It was happening now! I started
conscientiously making low noises and breathing slowly
to get through each contraction. I also fluttered my
lips (like a horse), which I had read would help me open
up. This was hard to do at times, but really
effective, and once I got further along I found it cut
down on the pain by about half. Amazing.
I threw up, but that didn’t
bother me since I didn’t need the food in my stomach
anyway. I was glad for it actually because throwing up
helped me dilate. Liz was beautifully supportive,
letting Phil and I handle it. My lower back to the top
of my hips really hurt at the start of each contraction,
and Phil was marvellous at putting firm pressure there.
Really firm. He knew he was bruising me, but I needed it
and didn’t care.
I wanted to sit in our spa
bath, but Liz said I couldn’t until I was 5 centimetres
dilated in case the warm water slowed things down. She
checked (which was uncomfortable but not painful like I
was expecting), and I was 3 centimetres. Too easy! I
tried to catch a bit of rest in between contractions. I
was still concerned about being too tired when it came
to pushing. Between contraction was lovely – no pain at
all, a beautiful break. Between contractions I would lay
down but during them I had to be upright and leaning
slightly forward on something. Sitting, laying,
squatting and hands and knees were not good options at
this point – it was much too painful. It wasn’t long at
all before I didn’t have time to lie down between
contractions and Phil was massaging my back
continuously. It was intense, but I felt marvellously on
top of it and closed my eyes. Actually I closed my eyes
through most of the rest of it, so I could focus.
Amazingly soon, I heard the blessed sound of Liz drawing
a bath.
I had many options planned to
help me through this part of labour (I heard that
first-time mothers often dilate one centimetre and hour
after 5 centimetres, so I assume we would have lots of
time to implement). I found it fascinating that I had no
use for any of these things; what we were doing was
working. To me, time seemed to be flying, and I was
dilating nicely. My goal was to get through each rush
and with Phil’s help we were. All the mental imagery,
ice, Rescue lozenges, reflexology – were put to the
side. I did use a mantra, saying “I want to open wide”
in my head at times. I think it helped.
The tub was great. Jan turned
up and gave Phil a break. Her touch was firm and loving.
The contractions seemed to start with a bang, build
briefly, then slowly taper off to begin again. The
beginning part was not a nice feeling – at its height I
had that icy cold feeling running up my spine that made
me want to tense up and lose control. It took a lot of
concentration to keep trying to stay relaxed. Verbal
encouragement really helped. Hearing people talk
about other things within my hearing really didn’t help,
but that only happened a couple of times and I couldn’t
be bothered asking them not to. As each contraction
tailed off, I ended it smiling and half laughing – it
felt so good. I worked hard to find that
happiness – it was very positive. I also told Phil often
that I loved him and thanked the others. The only
impatient thing I said was “my back,” if the person on
back-duty was not listening when I started my low
groans. This only happened a couple of times. I felt
very loved and supported and like I was doing quite
well. Still it came as a shock when Liz said I could
start pushing if I felt like it. Was I there already?
Suddenly I did feel like it, in a strong insistent way.
I did a couple of pushes and Liz asked if I felt the
baby move down. Not really. She did a quick check (my
second and last) and said I had a tiny lip of cervix
left and that should move back through the next couple
of rushes. It was really hard for me to believe we were
here already. I never felt a transition. Soon I felt the
urge to push again, and my sleepiness left me. I felt
clear and strong. I pushed and couldn’t feel much
happening inside although the pushes were effective. I
was surprised (and a bit disappointed) at how little I
felt inside me through the pushing.
I knew that sometimes you poo a
bit during pushing, but I hadn’t had a dump all day. I
assumed I would get the runs in early labour, but I
never did. So basically, when pushing, my mental goal
was to push the poo out – and it worked brilliantly. I
did poo quite a bit (the others fished it out with a
sieve) and moved the baby down at the same time. The
contractions slowed down now to give the baby and myself
some welcome breaks. The baby’s heart rate was fine. Liz
kept checking it underwater on me. Often this was
uncomfortable and annoying, since my tummy was sore, but
I kept reminding myself that we must make sure
the baby is okay. Pushing was good. Hard, but nearly
always progressive. A contraction would build, I’d feel
the urge to push and bear down, making deep strong
noises until I needed a break and air. I would let up,
but the power and intensity of the contraction remained
so that a few quick gasps were all I could manage before
pushing again. Pushing was work, but it didn’t hurt.
Soon I put my hand underneath to help myself relax and
open up. And then Liz said I could reach inside and
check where he was. I did and felt his squishy bulging
head about 3 inches up. Wow! Already - he was coming!
I didn’t feel tired at all. Liz
told me that when it started to sting I should slow down
and let things stretch. I had been on hands and knees
for a long time and got into a squat now. This felt more
efficient for pushing. I knew I wanted to use this
position, but was afraid of getting into it too early
and getting tired knees and thighs. With everyone’s
encouragement my pushes were working. Terryll (my other
midwife) turned up, and I was able to say hello to her
(with my eyes shut still). The next few rounds of pushes
didn’t seem to do much. I could feel a little balloon of
skin (his head) coming out my vagina – how surreal. It
was starting to sting, so I wasn’t pushing as hard.
Terryll took the baby’s heart rate and found it had
suddenly dropped rather low (97 per minute). She told me
to push and push hard and just get the baby out. Oh
well, perineum. I could feel it burning and tearing, and
a couple of times I squealed high-pitched. It wasn’t
nice, but there wasn’t any other option, and I felt such
encouragement from everyone that I was doing well and
doing it right. A series of really hard pushes where I
didn’t feel inside me that I was making any progress,
but I could feel his head coming down and not
retracting. All of a sudden – woosh – his head came out
and was hanging out of me. That felt good, and bizarre.
A couple more pushes did nothing (how frustrating). So
Terryll told me to stand up. I did this relatively
easily (considering) and the next big push brought him
sliding out. Terryll caught him behind me, and handed
him between my legs to me. And there I was, holding our
new-born baby boy. I didn’t feel so much tired as really
happy, fascinated, and in love. I laid back down in the
bath and put the baby in up to his shoulders to keep him
warm. The water was bright red with my blood and my
bottom was pretty sore, but I leaned back, spread my
legs out and enjoyed our baby while I waited for the
placenta. Terryll had me feel the cord several times to
see when the heart beat died off. The cord felt neat,
very rubbery and strong, and the heart beat came through
clearly. I was overjoyed at this little person, and
slightly frustrated that Phil couldn’t be right next to
me. I was at the far side of the tub, so our family
bonding stuff would have to happen later.
It was awhile before the
placenta came, so I just enjoyed our child and laughed.
Finally the contractions came back. I shakily climbed
out of the tub as Terryll held the baby (I hated to let
go of him – already!). Then I squatted over a container
and gave a couple of big pushes. It slid out easily – a
great blobby mess. It felt strange not to be physically
attached to any of this anymore. Jan cut the cord, and I
stumbled out to the lounge with a towel between my legs.
They had prepared the couch with sheets for me to lie
on. I was shaky and shivery. I held our child with Phil
right there while watching Terryll examine the placenta.
It was really cool. My placenta was unique in that the
lobes weren’t very obvious and the cord came out nearer
the edge of it than the middle. What a fascinating
thing. We didn’t want it, but it was special to Jan, so
she took it home and buried it under a native tree.
Now they weighed and measured
the baby. 8 pounds 5 ounces! Bigger than anyone had
guessed! He didn’t seem too upset by the poking and
prodding. He really appeared quite at home in the world.
Terryll had a look at me and found I had two good tears
and a bit of bruising. Ouch! I was over being brave, and
while she stitched me up I whimpered and bit my hand.
Phil stayed right with me while Jan held the baby, which
was lovely. Hurray for local anaesthetic! Stitching up
took a while and did hurt, and my good humour was
running out. So I tried not to vent. 16 plus stitches
later it was over and I felt much better. I had some
haemorrhoids too but was expecting them since I dealt
with them during pregnancy. Now breastfeeding and some
barley sugars for me since I couldn’t stop shaking. With
Terryll’s help, he latched on nicely and had a
half-sleepy sampling. His little mouth felt good on me.
It was so easy. Now I was pretty exhausted, but decided
to have a shower (ah, wonderful!), and then to bed. In
bed with the babe right there in the cradle by 4am.
Everyone cleaned up the mess and headed home with much
thanks and good feelings. Phil looked like a proud
father. I was happy and so tired.
Of interest:
I drank water all though
labour, even when pushing. It was several litres in the
end. But once the bloody show arrived I had no interest
in food.
I never once desired pain
relief. In the height of it, I even asked myself if I
did (out of curiosity). It just didn’t seem an option.
The pain was part of it. That was what was helping me
get there. And in the midst of it, I was too focused to
entertain any other thoughts in my head.
From the bloody show my labour
lasted about six hours. To me it seemed much shorter.
One of the very first things I
said to Phillip while sitting in the tub holding our new
son was “Let’s have six of these.” I meant it. It was
such a positive experience. The pregnancy, though much
less intense, was way more challenging.
