On Friday morning, I had period pains that came and went until lunchtime. I met Conchita and Caroline for lunch, both of whom predicted that I would give birth on the following Tuesday, which was fine by me. I could do with another few days of rest and I hadn’t booked that last pedicure yet. At around 3:30 in the morning on Saturday, I started getting contractions every 10 minutes or so. They felt like a band of intense pressure and a kind of pain I can’t really describe – not like the acute pain of injury, but an uncomfortable wave. It was manageable and exciting…until they came to an abrupt halt at 8:00am. Feh.
Later that morning, I stood up and walked to the kitchen, felt a warm “gush” (a small one, really) and assumed my waters had broken. For the rest of the afternoon, I felt periodic leakage not unlike an old incontinent lady. Laura arrived for a quick check up later that afternoon, and determined that the baby was almost fully engaged. We expected labour to start within 24-48 hours, but if it hadn’t begun within 96 hours, I may have to consider induction as the risk of infection becomes much greater by that point. I felt a mixture of excitement at going into labour, and absolute dread at the prospect of induction. I. Will. Not. Go. To. Hospital.
On Saturday evening, the contractions started again. Paul hooked me up to the TENS machine and I can tell you that all it accomplished was deep annoyance. Between contractions, it sent small buzzy pulses where the electrodes were attached to large pads on my lower/mid back. During contractions, the “Boost” feature was supposed to help block pain signals to the brain, gradually building the longer you use it. All that I felt was a larger buzzy sensation that succeeded in pissing me off during contractions. As the day wore on, my mood got worse. I was in a PMS state of mind, the kind of mood that makes you want to yell at your spouse for loading the dishwasher incorrectly. I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Thursday night and the stop/start contractions were so demoralising. Now I felt like I was working against a ticking clock to induction, and the hours were going by with no further contractions. Laura came by to check on me again, and I asked her to do an internal to check for any changes in my cervix (something that isn’t routinely done here until established labour.) She advised me about the risk of infection if you do an internal once the waters had gone, but I really needed to know that these contractions were doing something. I was 1cm dilated, partially effaced, and the baby had now turned back-to-back. The one bit of good news was that Laura could feel the membranes surrounding the baby’s head which meant my waters actually hadn’t broken, removing the threat of induction. So at this point, my cervix wasn’t really doing much, prelabour could continue for days or even weeks, and now the baby was in a bad position for labour. Add to that the dread of another sleepless night full of painful contractions, and I was in one motherfucking stinky mood.
At 10:30pm on Sunday night, the contractions started again. Every 10 minutes a contraction came, this time forcing me to produce an involuntary “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh” noise with each one. The pain was much worse than before, wrapping itself around my back and the lower part of my bump. It wasn’t a cramping feeling like all those bloody useless books say, it was more like someone was tightening a vice grip around my abdomen. As before, they came to a halt at 9:00 on Monday morning. You can just imagine my glee. They hurt. They got worse whenever I tried to lie down. They were diabolical because they only happened when I tried to get any sleep. Laura suggested I have a glass of wine that night (as had many other sources when I Googled for “prelabour”) and try to relax, so a glass of red and a bath with lavender oil was on the menu for that evening. Paul grilled up some chicken for our dinner and I made it through half a glass of zinfandel…then the contractions started again. I gave Mr. TENS one last chance (I quickly dumped him), bounced and rotated on my exercise ball, and attempted to draw on months of listening to my hypnotherapy CD. I decided to sit in the bath (something I hadn’t done this entire pregnancy, thus not realising that at full term, I barely fit in the damn tub) and inhale the relaxing lavender oil, the theory being that a warm bath would slow the contractions down a tad to give me a chance to rest. The contractions continued hard and fast, and it was at that point I started to suspect that diversion tactics weren’t going to keep these contractions at bay.
I got out of the bath and sat on the bed, reeling with each contraction, the pain in my back getting worse. I needed Paul to rub my back, so I straddled my dressing table chair backwards while he kneeled on the floor behind me (bless him.) It helped ease the pain between contractions but when the contractions came, I gripped the top of the chair with all my might, feebly attempting to breathe through them. I oscillated between saying “shh shh shh shh shh shh” through each contraction, to the less abbreviated version of “shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!!!” I didn’t plan on being upstairs during labour and Jack kept waking up with all of the racket I was making. Paul went from room to room, settling Jack when he woke and rubbing my back between contractions. It felt like the contractions were coming one top of the other and I repeated “I can’t get a break!” and “No no no no no no!!” as I felt the incoming wave of another one approaching. Paul rang my midwife who was with another woman in active labour, which meant that she needed to get her “backup midwife” to come to the house. I was terrified, angry, and tired – and waiting for a strange midwife to come to my aid. I thought a shower might help, but the contractions were still relentless and now my screaming was extra loud because I was shouting in a small, fully tiled room. I put both hands on the shower wall, doing standing press-ups and screaming the house down. Our friend and colleague Andy came to pick up Jack, and while Paul waited outside on the street for him to arrive, he could hear my screams as if I was standing right next to him. All of our windows were closed, I should add. I got out of the shower and kept asking where the midwife was. More contractions came fast and hard, and I braced myself between the wall of the en suite and the bedroom door. Oh fuckfuckfuck, I feel like I need to push and the bloody midwife isn’t here yet. Remarkably, I had the sense to put down some towels on our brand new carpet in case I did push the baby out while standing there. In the meantime, Paul started to fill the pool and tried to get me downstairs. I actually didn’t think I could move; the contractions kept me stationary with no break in between. I managed to make my way downstairs, and to my horror, the water was only around 6 inches deep. “I need to get in the pool!” I kept crying, desperately wishing away the next contraction. Finally, the water was deep enough to get in but the instant pain relief I was expecting didn’t happen. It felt good to get the weight off my legs and it was easier to get into a more comfortable position, but the contractions didn’t ease at all. I could feel the hose pouring water into the pool as Paul tried to get it filled. I knelt forward and put my arms over the side of the pool, and flung the hose out of my way. Noooooooooo another contraction was coming and oh god, it felt like my back was breaking. The pain radiated from my back to the front of my bump, and down the outside and front of my thighs. I could go to the hospital and get an epidural, I thought. But that would mean going to the hospital and I cannot do that. I really, really cannot.
Jane the back-up midwife arrived, and I half waved and muttered “Hi” as she introduced herself. She quickly assessed the situation, asked me a few questions (about what, I have no clue now), and took my blood pressure and listened to the baby’s heartbeat. I started to feel the need to push, but it felt more like I was forcing it at this point. More contractions, “IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!” I shouted. The pain wasn’t going away between contractions and I was terrified that the pain in my bump was something to do with my scar. I screamed and somewhere off to my side Jane’s calm voice instructed me to control my breathing, reassuring me that I was doing well. I could feel the reflux coming on and was certain I was going to get sick. “I don’t feel well”, I moaned and when asked what I meant, I couldn’t really describe it. I just felt shitty. Tired and shitty. “I can’t do this” I whimpered. “Yes you can”, said Paul. He stroked my head and held it gently.
I heard Jane tell Paul to add hot water to the pool to bring the temperature up for the birth. The hot water felt awful because I already felt overheated and sick. Jane took my temperature and did another blood pressure check, and listened to the baby’s heartbeat again. “I need something for the pain. I need gas and air.” I mumbled. Jane passed the mouthpiece to me and explained how to use it. She had me take some “practice breaths” and told me to breathe in as soon as I felt a contraction coming. The wave of another contraction came, and I breathed in deeply thinking that she must not have turned the gas on yet because I didn’t feel anything. Oh, but I was wrong. I didn’t get that light-headed, dizzy, “too much Chardonnay” feeling lots of my friends described. The panic instantly disappeared and I felt the welcome urge to push. I pushed and pushed, the contraction ebbed and flowed, and I closed my eyes and rested my head on the side of the pool. I did the same again, but this time I must have nodded off between contractions because I could feel myself jolt awake as the next one came. I felt deeply relaxed and it seemed like everything went very quiet (mostly because I stopped screaming.) I pushed again, and I could feel stinging and knew the baby’s head was starting to crown. I resisted the urge to pull back and knew that I had to push to get it over with. Jane told Paul to come around and see the head crowning, but before he could get there, I felt another urge to push and her head popped out in one smooth movement. Jane said the baby would be born in the next contraction and not to use the gas and air. With barely any effort, the baby slid out with the contraction, in one very brief and slippery-feeling moment. Jane told me to reach down and bring the baby up out of the water, but I was still a bit dazed and the water had gone murky – I had to feel around for a second or two to find her. I pulled up a tiny little being, dark-haired and covered in vernix, releasing her first cry.
“Little girl…oh little girl” I said over and over, kissing her face gently. I sat back on my heels and held her, wiping her face. It was as if I had woken from a dream, instantly feeling so much better and alive. “Hello Mia”, I said. I tried to get her to latch on for her first feed, but she wasn’t terribly interested. Jasper poked his nose over the side of the pool to investigate the source of the tiny cries, and promptly returned to his bed in the kitchen where he had remained the entire night. It then struck me that I hadn’t actually checked to make sure she was indeed a little girl, and sure enough, girly bits were present and accounted for. I touched the cord in amazement (something I never got to do with Jack), and felt it pulsating. We planned not to cut it until it stopped pulsating, which took around 20 minutes. Jane said I would feel a heaviness when it was time to deliver the placenta. I asked if I would feel another contraction, and thankfully she said no (I couldn’t bear another contraction.) At around 25 minutes, I stood in the pool and Jane told me to push the placenta out, which slid out easily. She showed it to me (again, something I never did with Jack) and explained how it had been working for almost 9 months. I was in complete awe of this organ I had grown just for this baby. Handing Mia over to Paul, I (not very elegantly) stepped out of the pool so Jane could check for any tearing. I ended up with a 2nd degree tear, which I never felt and didn’t bother me at all in the following weeks. Jane said it could heal without stitches and that stitches might actually make it more painful/uncomfortable. Mia latched on and had a bit of a feed, while Jane offered advice on positioning.
Jane offered to make tea, but I decided to have a shower. She offered to run me a bath (I ask you, would the NHS do this?) but I wanted to give my hair a good wash and feel the spray of our lovely new shower on my aching back. I smiled and sighed deeply at the luxury of being in our own shower within an hour of giving birth. I dried my hair, put on some lippy, got dressed and headed downstairs feeling like a million dollars. Tea was waiting for me, courtesy of my husband. Mia was weighed (a petite 6 ½ lbs), Jane wrote up her notes, and I sat on our comfy sofa and relished the quiet of the early morning hours. The sun was just coming up and the birds were singing; it was a beautiful day. It was 4am, who could we phone? Quickly calculating time zones, we realised that my mom would probably still be awake and Paul rang to give her the good news. At 5:00, Jane started to make her way back to her car, remarking at the fact that she could get back to bed without much lost sleep. She got the call to come to our house at 1:00, and I gave birth at 3:18 – an hour after she arrived. Not bad at all.
Paul made us a breakfast of poached eggs, toast and bacon. My first soft egg in almost a year! I gobbled the runny yolk down with pure joy. A couple of hours later, Andy brought Jack home. Jack ran over to Mia, kissing and hugging her as I held her in my arms. “It’s Mia! Baby came out of mummy’s belly!” he said. My gorgeous little boy cooed over my beautiful little girl, and nothing on earth could be better.
The midwife’s notes described me as being “elated” after Mia’s birth, a feeling that still hasn’t subsided over two weeks later. I got my hippydippy water birth, and best of all, I simply feel normal. I am beyond happy. Baby came out of my belly.