My Birth Story - part 2, the birth
All through my pregnancy I’d being doing all the right things to make my birth experience quick and easy. I’d been exercising regularly, going for long walks, bouncing on the damned exercise ball till I thought it might burst, I’d taken long baths, all my vitamins, and had even tried massaging my perineum in the last few weeks. On the 21st December 2009, a Monday, I started having contractions and by the evening I thought that they were close enough together to warrant a trip to the hospital. I was scared but excited too, and to be honest, at that stage the pain was manageable, it came and it went again, and I could just about handle it. My parents took me to hospital that time – I cant remember why the ex didn't – but there was no room at the inn, and by the time a midwife became available, the contractions were a bit more spaced out. My cervix had thinned, the baby was definitely coming, but I was only 1cm dilated so was sent home and told to take paracetamol for the pain. OK, I thought, but I’ll be back in the morning and be a mum by the evening – after all, the NCT (purveyors of fine rose tinted birth experience stories) had told me the first stages of labour take 13 hours.
The ex had turned up so I got him to drop me home and he had to go somewhere or other so he helped me on with the tens machine and left me on my own. That night there was a power cut in the village. It was cold, dark, and I was having frequent but irregular contractions. Frequent enough to cause me pain and confusion but I was afraid to go back to the hospital again in case I was once again sent home. I called the ex up and he came over, not that he was much help – he slept peacefully beside me and my poor sore body. Over the next 24 hours I took many walks with the dog, bounced madly on the ball, walked up and down stairs sideways till I could have collapsed in exhaustion. I was terrified of giving birth, my own mother had been in labour for 48 hours, and I had dreaded any pain for that length of time. Nothing or nobody prepared me for the amount of time that my baby would truly take to come.
On the Wednesday, I took another trip to the maternity unit only to be sent home again because I was only 2cm dilated this time. The ex had got bored by now of the wait (excuse ME for taking so long) and buggered off to do his own thing. I was exhausted from all the walking and bouncing and stair climbing and from not having had any sleep since Sunday evening. Then on Thursday, miraculously, the pain stopped. For a whole 24 hours I was able to do some jobs round the house and get some sleep (as much as my little rib-kicker allowed me). It was bliss.
Friday was Christmas day, and I went over to my parents house but the pain had started again. I hardly ate any Christmas dinner – it's hard to eat when it feels as though someone is jumping on your stomach and twisting your insides every which way. I just wanted to sob and sob, nothing was easing the pain, the tens was pretty useless really, a mild distraction – better than nothing and taking paracetamol was a waste of time against pain that bad. I tried to be happy for the gifts received but the one I wanted most was still struggling away inside me, trying to stretch his way out. When I look back to that time I still want to howl with despair, I was trapped in a situation that was out of my control and that could not be cured or even eased.
In the afternoon my contractions were frequent enough again to warrant another hospital visit but again, I had progressed by only one poxy centimetre. The contractions slowed right down again as soon as I was near the hospital. I requested a membrane sweep and was given one, but they would not induce me, even though I was booked in the next week for one anyway. I was told that I could have stayed in that night for some stronger pain relief but for some reason I decided to go home. The ex turned up drunk with some half baked story about how he had spent his Christmas, was rude to my sister and then wanted to drive me back to mine drunk too. So 9 months pregnant, a week overdue and still in pain, I drove myself home.
The next day the tens had completely stopped so the ex grudgingly took me to Boots so that I could go in and try to locate some more pads for it. They didn’t have any and must have felt sorry for my wild, tearful, emotional and dishevelled self because they lent me a Boots brand machine free of charge. It never did get used. All day I had been passing lots of brownish mush that I assumed was just more 'show' type material. I took Shadow for a long walk, he had been my rock throughout all of this, my dog – he'd been company through the night when I was the only person in the whole world up alone and in pain. He let me bury my face in his soft doggy fur and helped me to absorb some of the hurt. He allowed me to hold him when the contractions came and licked tears from my face, and listened to my moans and groans. As I laid down in the evening for some rest, there was a gush of water and brown stuff that sort of just kept on flowing. Padding myself up with towels, I knew then that my waters had gone and rang my parents, who drove over and took me back to the hospital for the final time.
The brown mush, it turned out, was meconium, which meant that my baby was in distress, he was definitely coming this time, and the next couple of hours are a blur of panic in my memory. Having decided early on that I was never going to have an epidural, now I was begging for one, the pain combined with the tiredness and general confusion had changed my mind. I am not good with needles, and in my wisdom, I’d looked at the epidural needle at the NCT (lie factory) class because I was never going to have an epidural, who, me, never! So I knew the size of the thing that was heading towards my body and combined with gas and air, panic and labour pains, I had to get my mum to hold me still so they could stick the thing in me. I remember calling out for Shadow, ohhh, I really wished my dog could have been my birth partner.
The epidural offered a beautiful, restful relief. I could finally lie down and relax for the first time in a week. Mum had gone home and been replaced by the ex, who just sat there grumpily and sleepily whilst I tried to keep things jolly. I could only lie on one side though, if I laid on my right side my baby’s heart stopped, so eventually I was only half numb. Throughout the night, teams of doctors and nurses rushed in and out as his heart rate varied, and as daylight broke and the original midwife returned on shift, my little boy decided it was time to say hello to the world. Pushing him out with feeling in only half of my body was quite hard work but towards the end his heart rate dropped again so he was quickly cut and ventoused out of me. He had to have the meconium cleared from his airways and it felt as though he was away from me for a long time – I was calling out 'my baby, my baby', and then I heard him cry, the most beautiful sound that I had ever heard, like a little lamb at the foot of my bed. I was so enraptured by the sound and desperate to meet him I was oblivious to any sewing going on down south.
At 09.23 on the 27th December 2009 and weighing in at 7.30lbs, I met the love of my life, and the little boy who has improved everything in ways that I could never have imagined, 'happy happy happy' my Grandma calls him, when she forgets his name.
He has swept away the darkness and replaced it with light, every day I see his smile I feel blessed to be his mother.
and now, at 2 years old:
The ex had turned up so I got him to drop me home and he had to go somewhere or other so he helped me on with the tens machine and left me on my own. That night there was a power cut in the village. It was cold, dark, and I was having frequent but irregular contractions. Frequent enough to cause me pain and confusion but I was afraid to go back to the hospital again in case I was once again sent home. I called the ex up and he came over, not that he was much help – he slept peacefully beside me and my poor sore body. Over the next 24 hours I took many walks with the dog, bounced madly on the ball, walked up and down stairs sideways till I could have collapsed in exhaustion. I was terrified of giving birth, my own mother had been in labour for 48 hours, and I had dreaded any pain for that length of time. Nothing or nobody prepared me for the amount of time that my baby would truly take to come.
On the Wednesday, I took another trip to the maternity unit only to be sent home again because I was only 2cm dilated this time. The ex had got bored by now of the wait (excuse ME for taking so long) and buggered off to do his own thing. I was exhausted from all the walking and bouncing and stair climbing and from not having had any sleep since Sunday evening. Then on Thursday, miraculously, the pain stopped. For a whole 24 hours I was able to do some jobs round the house and get some sleep (as much as my little rib-kicker allowed me). It was bliss.
Friday was Christmas day, and I went over to my parents house but the pain had started again. I hardly ate any Christmas dinner – it's hard to eat when it feels as though someone is jumping on your stomach and twisting your insides every which way. I just wanted to sob and sob, nothing was easing the pain, the tens was pretty useless really, a mild distraction – better than nothing and taking paracetamol was a waste of time against pain that bad. I tried to be happy for the gifts received but the one I wanted most was still struggling away inside me, trying to stretch his way out. When I look back to that time I still want to howl with despair, I was trapped in a situation that was out of my control and that could not be cured or even eased.
In the afternoon my contractions were frequent enough again to warrant another hospital visit but again, I had progressed by only one poxy centimetre. The contractions slowed right down again as soon as I was near the hospital. I requested a membrane sweep and was given one, but they would not induce me, even though I was booked in the next week for one anyway. I was told that I could have stayed in that night for some stronger pain relief but for some reason I decided to go home. The ex turned up drunk with some half baked story about how he had spent his Christmas, was rude to my sister and then wanted to drive me back to mine drunk too. So 9 months pregnant, a week overdue and still in pain, I drove myself home.
The next day the tens had completely stopped so the ex grudgingly took me to Boots so that I could go in and try to locate some more pads for it. They didn’t have any and must have felt sorry for my wild, tearful, emotional and dishevelled self because they lent me a Boots brand machine free of charge. It never did get used. All day I had been passing lots of brownish mush that I assumed was just more 'show' type material. I took Shadow for a long walk, he had been my rock throughout all of this, my dog – he'd been company through the night when I was the only person in the whole world up alone and in pain. He let me bury my face in his soft doggy fur and helped me to absorb some of the hurt. He allowed me to hold him when the contractions came and licked tears from my face, and listened to my moans and groans. As I laid down in the evening for some rest, there was a gush of water and brown stuff that sort of just kept on flowing. Padding myself up with towels, I knew then that my waters had gone and rang my parents, who drove over and took me back to the hospital for the final time.
The brown mush, it turned out, was meconium, which meant that my baby was in distress, he was definitely coming this time, and the next couple of hours are a blur of panic in my memory. Having decided early on that I was never going to have an epidural, now I was begging for one, the pain combined with the tiredness and general confusion had changed my mind. I am not good with needles, and in my wisdom, I’d looked at the epidural needle at the NCT (lie factory) class because I was never going to have an epidural, who, me, never! So I knew the size of the thing that was heading towards my body and combined with gas and air, panic and labour pains, I had to get my mum to hold me still so they could stick the thing in me. I remember calling out for Shadow, ohhh, I really wished my dog could have been my birth partner.
The epidural offered a beautiful, restful relief. I could finally lie down and relax for the first time in a week. Mum had gone home and been replaced by the ex, who just sat there grumpily and sleepily whilst I tried to keep things jolly. I could only lie on one side though, if I laid on my right side my baby’s heart stopped, so eventually I was only half numb. Throughout the night, teams of doctors and nurses rushed in and out as his heart rate varied, and as daylight broke and the original midwife returned on shift, my little boy decided it was time to say hello to the world. Pushing him out with feeling in only half of my body was quite hard work but towards the end his heart rate dropped again so he was quickly cut and ventoused out of me. He had to have the meconium cleared from his airways and it felt as though he was away from me for a long time – I was calling out 'my baby, my baby', and then I heard him cry, the most beautiful sound that I had ever heard, like a little lamb at the foot of my bed. I was so enraptured by the sound and desperate to meet him I was oblivious to any sewing going on down south.
At 09.23 on the 27th December 2009 and weighing in at 7.30lbs, I met the love of my life, and the little boy who has improved everything in ways that I could never have imagined, 'happy happy happy' my Grandma calls him, when she forgets his name.
He has swept away the darkness and replaced it with light, every day I see his smile I feel blessed to be his mother.
and now, at 2 years old:
Fitness balls built into office chairs have become exceptionally popular lately, cementing their spot in the workplace as firmly as the framed family photo.fitball exercise ball I am very thanks for your commenting and posting.
ReplyDeleteOh my God I was hanging on your every word, crying at some points and then the photos were like BANG a big surprise, as deep in the text I was not expecting them.
ReplyDeleteMy boy is also the light of my life in what is a difficult marriage.
So your fella was 2 in December, whereas mine was 2 in June so yours is 6 months older.
Liska xx