How it All Began
I just found this, which is an account of my son's birth, just over six years ago.
Obviously it's very interesting to me now, preparing to give birth again. I expect other mothers will find be interested, too. But to all readers, beware: It gets quite graphic at times.
"I was nearly there. The baby’s bedroom was ready. The washing machine was plumbed in. The dishwasher was in situ, and all the various piles of pieces of paper in the house had been sorted, categorised and placed in alphabetical order. All that was left was to plumb in the dishwasher, fix the doorbell and finish writing my novel.
There was no rush though. The baby was due in two days’ time but I knew it would probably be a couple of weeks late. I’m never on time for anything.
So it was a bit of a surprise when I stood up on the Friday morning and saw that I’d left a blood stain behind me on the bed. The mysterious “show” we had been told about.
What, so this was it, already? Surely not.
I rang Ally, my partner. We reminded each other of what we’d learned at antenatal classes. You could wait a whole week before going into labour after a show.
But all the same. I rang Emma and got her to come round and plumb the dishwasher in. Crawling under the work surface to fiddle around with pipes was a little beyond me, but that didn’t stop me from climbing a ladder and fixing the doorbell.
Ten p.m. that evening found me on another ladder, craning to re-attach a plug to the tiny amount of dishwasher flex that managed to reach up through the hole in a high shelf. Don’t ask.
“See, there goes another one. I’m definitely having contractions, and they’re about five minutes apart,” I said to Ally, who was cooking the dinner.
Joyce, the community midwife, had been to visit that afternoon, and provided the sought-after validation. Yes, it was a show. No, I might not go into labour for ages yet.
Ally was sceptical about me being in labour. The contractions were mild and not very regular. This was one of those false alarms we were always hearing about. Still, I made him empty, clean and refill the birth pool while I drilled a hole through the wall and farted about with a socket for the new freezer.
We went to bed, but not before I’d thrown up. This had happened a few times in the preceding days, but still I took it as another sign that labour was starting. I couldn’t sleep, and after a fruitless hour or so in bed I gave up and played a computer game that involved using mirrors to direct laser beams around corners.
By about four a.m. I’d decided I was definitely in labour, and it was about time some professional attention was given to my predicament. I rang the community midwives, and the poor woman covering for the night midwife (who was on sick leave) got dragged out of her bed.
I also decided it was time to attach the TENS machine. Ally was roused from his fitful slumbers so that he could stick the pads onto my back.
I spent the time before the midwife’s arrival getting things ready for the planned home birth. This involved doing things like clearing the sitting room floor, importing lots of cushions and creating a makeshift mattress on the floor. She arrived at five a.m. and duly inserted a professional finger in my nether regions. 1cm dilated! Hurra… oh. Is that all?
“Take a couple of paracetamol and try and get some sleep,” was her advice. She was called Chris. She said Joyce would call in about midday the next day.
I put on some soothing music and lay down on my makeshift mattress, feeling the need for solitude and thinking that Ally should be allowed to get as much rest as possible while he still had the chance. Which he did, apart from being woken to reattach the TENS pads after I leant on one of the dials by mistake and pulled the whole thing off in a frenzy while it gave me massive electric shocks. He still didn’t believe I was really in labour though. He expected it all to stop any minute.
I snoozed off and on, being partially roused for each of the contractions, which were still coming every five minutes and apparently lasting the same amount of time. Whatever happened to ‘longer, stronger and closer together’?
By about nine a.m. I was restless and decided it was time to get up and have a baby.
This was it. It had being going on long enough that it was hard to deny any more. Time to make the phone calls. Parents were duly informed and the “help” was summoned. My friends Katy and Emma had been booked in advance to come round and give moral support. Nina was lined up for the latter part of the birth, when things got too messy for Emma’s delicate constitution.
Emma was actually in Sheffield, but she came all the way back again just for me, bless her.
Soon we were all systems go. I did all the things I’d planned. Tried lots of different positions, leaning forward on my knees being the favourite. I sat on the birth ball (well, spacehopper actually, but same difference) but I didn’t like it – in fact any position that involved having my legs apart seemed to cause me discomfort.
I tried eating a few times, but kept throwing up. I tried liquid too, but that didn’t stay down either.
Joyce (the midwife) didn’t appear until about two p.m. I was getting impatient by this time, convinced I must be at least 4cm dilated. I wanted to be 4cm dilated, because that was the magic number. At 4cm I could get in the birth pool.
Nope, only 3cm. Well, more like 2.5 really. Oh, flippin’ ’eck.
I was worried that people might be getting bored, but apparently they were quite happy sitting about, chatting with me and distracting me from contractions. The TENS machine was still attached – I was never really convinced it made a difference, but it gave me something to think about, particularly when I knocked it and treated myself to shockingly large doses of voltage (this happened several more times).
During contractions I relaxed, concentrated on breathing and sometimes got people to massage me. Joyce hung around for a while, keen to show off her newly acquired (and very profficient) massaging skills. She offered to stay for the duration, and was clearly keen. I felt almost mean to decline, but although she was my favourite midwife (I’d got to know her at aquanatal and Get Fit For Baby classes), still she was essentially a stranger. I didn’t feel we’d all be so able to relax and just natter about whatever with an interloper in the room. She said she’d come back around six p.m.
After Joyce had gone we played Scrabble. I was overcome with fatigue after my sleepless night, and started to doze in between contractions. I didn’t win at Scrabble, but I very nearly did, and I got a seven letter word!
When Joyce returned I was again eagerly awaiting her arrival, as by this time the contractions were beginning to get quite uncomfortable, and I was hoping I’d be able to get in the pool. I’d had a very long shower which had lasted through several contractons and been pretty helpful, but still it wasn’t the same.
Still only 3cm dilated. Oh, for heaven’s sake.
But luckily it was only another hour or two before the magic number was reached and I finally got into the pool. It was a little disappointing though. The contractions were so strong by this time that, although the water did give some relief, I was still uncomfortable and it wasn’t the magical haven I’d hoped for. Ally got in with me, and rubbed my back, which was nice. Katy and Emma hung over the side of the pool and gave me support. There was much pulling-together and team work when I leant on the lining of the pool and caused a flood onto the kitchen floor, giving everyone something to do as they mopped it up.
I bled in the pool and it sank to the bottom in a big clot. I was fascinated by this, and prodded it a few times. Ahem.
I was now finding the contractions very difficult to deal with, and was beginning to think about extra pain relief. Joyce had gas and air in the car, and there was pethadine in the fridge. But I had continued to throw up throughout the day, and had only managed to sip at the water, salt and sugar prescribed by Joyce in an attempt to counter dehydration. I suspected gas and air would only make me more sick. Joyce shared my reservations, but we decided to give it a go.
I threw up. I kept trying for another couple of contractions, and the nausea subsided, leaving me coping much better with the contractions and enjoying the intoxication.
Around about then we decided it was time for the shift change between Emma and Nina. Emma was torn: It was all getting a bit scary, but she was a part of it now and didn’t want to leave. Still, we rang Nina and Emma left. Nina isn’t as close a friend as Emma or Katy, and the reason she was involved was because she’d asked to be. She had a child already and was hoping to work off an inappropriate broodiness by transferring it to my child. I’d been a little unsure of how it would feel to have her around, but I needn’t have worried.
After I’d been in the pool two or three hours, I was still throwing up and I was starting to shake. Joyce was worried about dehydration so I got out of the pool so that she could examine me and think about whether I ought to go into hospital for an IV drip. Once out of the pool I found myself very cold and very weak. I shook a lot and had to be helped through into the other room, where I lay down.
Nina had just arrived, and sat down on the floor next to me and held my hand. It was very comforting and I was glad she was there. She seemed to know just what to do.
I was still only 5cm dilated, so Joyce decided it was time to go to hospital.
I didn’t mind, because by this time I’d had enough of trying not to throw up and attempting to force liquid down when I knew it was only going to make me throw up. If they put me on a drip I could forget about trying to drink, and I could puke with impunity.
Plus the contractions were now so intense that I was oblivious to my surroundings. The important part had been the earlier part of the labour, where relaxed company and surroundings had been key to coping.
The ambulance driver was touchingly preoccupied with my decency. There was me, gaping dressing gown flapping about my naked self, my point of view being that I was in labour, and surely they’d seen it all before?
I’d already packed a bag for hospital, just in case. Ally was dispatched around the house with the list of last minute things to be added to the hospital bag, and we were out of there pretty quickly.
Ambulance rides are rather enjoyable when fuelled by gas and air. They all have the stuff on board apparently. So the next time you get run over by a bus, demand they pass the Entonox!
I got wheeled up to the delivery unit, gas and air strapped securely to my side.
When we arrived there was much activity as we attempted to gain some control over the environment. We’d brought a tape recorder (with batteries) and many tapes, and Ally was on DJ duty.
Joyce was on the ball and moved the bed out into the middle of the room so everybody could get round it. A doctor came and shoved a giant needle into the back of my hand for the drip. I complained a lot more about the pain involved with this than I ever did about the contractions.
The drip had a nice long tube so it didn’t hamper my movement. Joyce was more used to hand-held monitors than the large hospital machines, so she didn’t attempt to wire me up, which I was very grateful for. She also snuck Nina in, blithely ignoring the hospital rule about only having two extra people in the delivery room.
Having been suspicious of the hospital preoccupation with the bed as a fixed location for labour, in the end I was glad to have it all sewn up, so to speak. No longer did I have to make any decisions about where I wanted to be, and after all, they are designed for the purpose. We lifted the back of the bed so that it was almost vertical, and I leant against it on my knees with a pillow propped on the top. Occasionally I moved around, but that was my preferred position.
It might have been a couple of hours, but it didn’t seem long at all before I was getting the urge to push. Joyce had been asking for some time whether I felt like pushing yet, so I wanted to let her know that I did, but it was all so overwhelming that any kind of speech was too much effort. Eventually I managed some kind of semi-intelligible grunt just before the first push.
It wasn’t until just before the beginning of the second stage that my waters broke. All of a sudden, in an enormous deluge. This was rather satisfying. Like bursting a large water bomb. It wasn’t long after this that I started to push. I was rather disappointed though, that I didn’t even notice the transition, and certainly didn’t exhibit any of the erratic behaviour I’d been warned of.
The second stage, at last. The end was in sight. There was much excitement and encouraging noises from all those around me.
Funnily enough this pissed me off a bit. I felt like everybody was focusing on, and being animated by, the imminent arrival of the baby they’d all come to see. I felt relegated to second place. It was all very well for those who had nothing to do but hang around and wait for a baby to pop out, but I still had the hardest partt ahead.
Throughout the labour I had assumed the second stage would be the worst bit, and viewed it with some trepidation. Katy and Nina, both mothers themselves, had assured me that it was in fact easier. You finally have something to do (i.e. push). I hadn’t believed them.
They were right though. It’s different when you’re pushing. Instead of just having to deal with pain, you’re accomplishing a task. You have greater focus, and it doesn’t seem to hurt as much. I grunted like a rhinoceros with each push. This in itself was strangely satisfying, although towards the end I found that it was better to stay silent in order to really concentrate on what I was doing. Interesting, as this was a theory I’d rejected beforehand.
The gaps between contractions were much longer now, which was great because the pushing was taxing and I appreciated the chance for a rest. Joyce said the baby’s heartbeat was slowing so it all became rather urgent and I even found myself pushing a little in between contractions.
Then there was a period when the baby did a little dance with the “S-bend,” as Joyce called it. It kept popping round the bend with each push and then popping back between contractions. Finally I got it to a point where it stayed where it was between contractions, i.e. with a little of the head visible.
That felt rather odd.
After a few more contractions we weren’t progressing and Joyce warned she may have to make a little cut. In the end I wondered what she was waiting for – I just wanted to have the baby out and was happy with the idea of a cut – but again I was incapable of speech.
For the last few contractions Joyce banned the use of gas and air. I didn’t care; I could see the need for alertness and concentration.
Finally she gave me a local anaesthetic, made the cut (I heard it rather than felt it – it sounded like somebody cutting meat with scissors – which is what it was, I suppose) and the head was delivered. I kept thinking, “This isn’t the widest part yet – any minute now it’s going to get really bad,” but it never did. When the head came out it felt much smaller than I’d expected.
I knew that the baby’s body might follow in a separate contraction, but the idea of having that long rest between contractions with the head out and the body in was just too weird, so I kept pushing and the body came out in the same contraction. It felt like a string of sausages, just as the antenatal teacher said it would.
So there I was, leaning forward with my back to Joyce and the baby. I quickly turned and swung a leg over so the baby was in front of me.
Ever so long, this baby. All arms and legs. A boy. Well, everybody told me it would be. They could tell by the shape of the bump, apparently.
I knew what I was supposed to do. Skin to skin contact. So I picked him up and held him close. But he was all slippery and he kept wriggling so it was difficult to get much contact.
The umbilical cord was still pulsing. I had refused syntometrine because I knew it was likely to make me nauseous, and I’d had enough of nausea. The placenta was delivered naturally, a few minutes after the baby was born. Just one small push and out it slid.
And what did I feel? To be honest I felt about as confused as I have ever felt. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I knew that it was a baby, and that it was my baby, but still it didn’t make any sense. Ally’s face swam into my field of vision, clearly full of overwhelming joy, but I didn’t feel the same, I’m afraid. Just total bewilderment.
I was also distracted by the fact that I was just now beginning to notice how much pain I was in. Everything hurt, and I wished they’d hurry up with the painkillers (which when they finally arrived were very strong, but luckily I didn’t need any stitches, as the episiotomy had been very small).
After a while they put him in the scales. He didn’t appreciate that! The midwives competed with each other to guess his birth weight. But his skinniness was deceptive, and he weighed in at a surprisingly high eight pounds.
Another surprise was how pretty he was. He was red, not blue, and he had a beautiful smooth complexion; not all scrunched up like some new babies are.
It was 3:08am on Sunday morning; thirty-one hours after I first suspected I was having contractions, but it seemed like no time at all.
Felix Anthony Sudbery, now five weeks old, has been on my lap, suckling as I type.
He’s lovely."
___
Obviously it's very interesting to me now, preparing to give birth again. I expect other mothers will find be interested, too. But to all readers, beware: It gets quite graphic at times.
"I was nearly there. The baby’s bedroom was ready. The washing machine was plumbed in. The dishwasher was in situ, and all the various piles of pieces of paper in the house had been sorted, categorised and placed in alphabetical order. All that was left was to plumb in the dishwasher, fix the doorbell and finish writing my novel.
There was no rush though. The baby was due in two days’ time but I knew it would probably be a couple of weeks late. I’m never on time for anything.
So it was a bit of a surprise when I stood up on the Friday morning and saw that I’d left a blood stain behind me on the bed. The mysterious “show” we had been told about.
What, so this was it, already? Surely not.
I rang Ally, my partner. We reminded each other of what we’d learned at antenatal classes. You could wait a whole week before going into labour after a show.
But all the same. I rang Emma and got her to come round and plumb the dishwasher in. Crawling under the work surface to fiddle around with pipes was a little beyond me, but that didn’t stop me from climbing a ladder and fixing the doorbell.
Ten p.m. that evening found me on another ladder, craning to re-attach a plug to the tiny amount of dishwasher flex that managed to reach up through the hole in a high shelf. Don’t ask.
“See, there goes another one. I’m definitely having contractions, and they’re about five minutes apart,” I said to Ally, who was cooking the dinner.
Joyce, the community midwife, had been to visit that afternoon, and provided the sought-after validation. Yes, it was a show. No, I might not go into labour for ages yet.
Ally was sceptical about me being in labour. The contractions were mild and not very regular. This was one of those false alarms we were always hearing about. Still, I made him empty, clean and refill the birth pool while I drilled a hole through the wall and farted about with a socket for the new freezer.
We went to bed, but not before I’d thrown up. This had happened a few times in the preceding days, but still I took it as another sign that labour was starting. I couldn’t sleep, and after a fruitless hour or so in bed I gave up and played a computer game that involved using mirrors to direct laser beams around corners.
By about four a.m. I’d decided I was definitely in labour, and it was about time some professional attention was given to my predicament. I rang the community midwives, and the poor woman covering for the night midwife (who was on sick leave) got dragged out of her bed.
I also decided it was time to attach the TENS machine. Ally was roused from his fitful slumbers so that he could stick the pads onto my back.
I spent the time before the midwife’s arrival getting things ready for the planned home birth. This involved doing things like clearing the sitting room floor, importing lots of cushions and creating a makeshift mattress on the floor. She arrived at five a.m. and duly inserted a professional finger in my nether regions. 1cm dilated! Hurra… oh. Is that all?
“Take a couple of paracetamol and try and get some sleep,” was her advice. She was called Chris. She said Joyce would call in about midday the next day.
I put on some soothing music and lay down on my makeshift mattress, feeling the need for solitude and thinking that Ally should be allowed to get as much rest as possible while he still had the chance. Which he did, apart from being woken to reattach the TENS pads after I leant on one of the dials by mistake and pulled the whole thing off in a frenzy while it gave me massive electric shocks. He still didn’t believe I was really in labour though. He expected it all to stop any minute.
I snoozed off and on, being partially roused for each of the contractions, which were still coming every five minutes and apparently lasting the same amount of time. Whatever happened to ‘longer, stronger and closer together’?
By about nine a.m. I was restless and decided it was time to get up and have a baby.
This was it. It had being going on long enough that it was hard to deny any more. Time to make the phone calls. Parents were duly informed and the “help” was summoned. My friends Katy and Emma had been booked in advance to come round and give moral support. Nina was lined up for the latter part of the birth, when things got too messy for Emma’s delicate constitution.
Emma was actually in Sheffield, but she came all the way back again just for me, bless her.
Soon we were all systems go. I did all the things I’d planned. Tried lots of different positions, leaning forward on my knees being the favourite. I sat on the birth ball (well, spacehopper actually, but same difference) but I didn’t like it – in fact any position that involved having my legs apart seemed to cause me discomfort.
I tried eating a few times, but kept throwing up. I tried liquid too, but that didn’t stay down either.
Joyce (the midwife) didn’t appear until about two p.m. I was getting impatient by this time, convinced I must be at least 4cm dilated. I wanted to be 4cm dilated, because that was the magic number. At 4cm I could get in the birth pool.
Nope, only 3cm. Well, more like 2.5 really. Oh, flippin’ ’eck.
I was worried that people might be getting bored, but apparently they were quite happy sitting about, chatting with me and distracting me from contractions. The TENS machine was still attached – I was never really convinced it made a difference, but it gave me something to think about, particularly when I knocked it and treated myself to shockingly large doses of voltage (this happened several more times).
During contractions I relaxed, concentrated on breathing and sometimes got people to massage me. Joyce hung around for a while, keen to show off her newly acquired (and very profficient) massaging skills. She offered to stay for the duration, and was clearly keen. I felt almost mean to decline, but although she was my favourite midwife (I’d got to know her at aquanatal and Get Fit For Baby classes), still she was essentially a stranger. I didn’t feel we’d all be so able to relax and just natter about whatever with an interloper in the room. She said she’d come back around six p.m.
After Joyce had gone we played Scrabble. I was overcome with fatigue after my sleepless night, and started to doze in between contractions. I didn’t win at Scrabble, but I very nearly did, and I got a seven letter word!
When Joyce returned I was again eagerly awaiting her arrival, as by this time the contractions were beginning to get quite uncomfortable, and I was hoping I’d be able to get in the pool. I’d had a very long shower which had lasted through several contractons and been pretty helpful, but still it wasn’t the same.
Still only 3cm dilated. Oh, for heaven’s sake.
But luckily it was only another hour or two before the magic number was reached and I finally got into the pool. It was a little disappointing though. The contractions were so strong by this time that, although the water did give some relief, I was still uncomfortable and it wasn’t the magical haven I’d hoped for. Ally got in with me, and rubbed my back, which was nice. Katy and Emma hung over the side of the pool and gave me support. There was much pulling-together and team work when I leant on the lining of the pool and caused a flood onto the kitchen floor, giving everyone something to do as they mopped it up.
I bled in the pool and it sank to the bottom in a big clot. I was fascinated by this, and prodded it a few times. Ahem.
I was now finding the contractions very difficult to deal with, and was beginning to think about extra pain relief. Joyce had gas and air in the car, and there was pethadine in the fridge. But I had continued to throw up throughout the day, and had only managed to sip at the water, salt and sugar prescribed by Joyce in an attempt to counter dehydration. I suspected gas and air would only make me more sick. Joyce shared my reservations, but we decided to give it a go.
I threw up. I kept trying for another couple of contractions, and the nausea subsided, leaving me coping much better with the contractions and enjoying the intoxication.
Around about then we decided it was time for the shift change between Emma and Nina. Emma was torn: It was all getting a bit scary, but she was a part of it now and didn’t want to leave. Still, we rang Nina and Emma left. Nina isn’t as close a friend as Emma or Katy, and the reason she was involved was because she’d asked to be. She had a child already and was hoping to work off an inappropriate broodiness by transferring it to my child. I’d been a little unsure of how it would feel to have her around, but I needn’t have worried.
After I’d been in the pool two or three hours, I was still throwing up and I was starting to shake. Joyce was worried about dehydration so I got out of the pool so that she could examine me and think about whether I ought to go into hospital for an IV drip. Once out of the pool I found myself very cold and very weak. I shook a lot and had to be helped through into the other room, where I lay down.
Nina had just arrived, and sat down on the floor next to me and held my hand. It was very comforting and I was glad she was there. She seemed to know just what to do.
I was still only 5cm dilated, so Joyce decided it was time to go to hospital.
I didn’t mind, because by this time I’d had enough of trying not to throw up and attempting to force liquid down when I knew it was only going to make me throw up. If they put me on a drip I could forget about trying to drink, and I could puke with impunity.
Plus the contractions were now so intense that I was oblivious to my surroundings. The important part had been the earlier part of the labour, where relaxed company and surroundings had been key to coping.
The ambulance driver was touchingly preoccupied with my decency. There was me, gaping dressing gown flapping about my naked self, my point of view being that I was in labour, and surely they’d seen it all before?
I’d already packed a bag for hospital, just in case. Ally was dispatched around the house with the list of last minute things to be added to the hospital bag, and we were out of there pretty quickly.
Ambulance rides are rather enjoyable when fuelled by gas and air. They all have the stuff on board apparently. So the next time you get run over by a bus, demand they pass the Entonox!
I got wheeled up to the delivery unit, gas and air strapped securely to my side.
When we arrived there was much activity as we attempted to gain some control over the environment. We’d brought a tape recorder (with batteries) and many tapes, and Ally was on DJ duty.
Joyce was on the ball and moved the bed out into the middle of the room so everybody could get round it. A doctor came and shoved a giant needle into the back of my hand for the drip. I complained a lot more about the pain involved with this than I ever did about the contractions.
The drip had a nice long tube so it didn’t hamper my movement. Joyce was more used to hand-held monitors than the large hospital machines, so she didn’t attempt to wire me up, which I was very grateful for. She also snuck Nina in, blithely ignoring the hospital rule about only having two extra people in the delivery room.
Having been suspicious of the hospital preoccupation with the bed as a fixed location for labour, in the end I was glad to have it all sewn up, so to speak. No longer did I have to make any decisions about where I wanted to be, and after all, they are designed for the purpose. We lifted the back of the bed so that it was almost vertical, and I leant against it on my knees with a pillow propped on the top. Occasionally I moved around, but that was my preferred position.
It might have been a couple of hours, but it didn’t seem long at all before I was getting the urge to push. Joyce had been asking for some time whether I felt like pushing yet, so I wanted to let her know that I did, but it was all so overwhelming that any kind of speech was too much effort. Eventually I managed some kind of semi-intelligible grunt just before the first push.
It wasn’t until just before the beginning of the second stage that my waters broke. All of a sudden, in an enormous deluge. This was rather satisfying. Like bursting a large water bomb. It wasn’t long after this that I started to push. I was rather disappointed though, that I didn’t even notice the transition, and certainly didn’t exhibit any of the erratic behaviour I’d been warned of.
The second stage, at last. The end was in sight. There was much excitement and encouraging noises from all those around me.
Funnily enough this pissed me off a bit. I felt like everybody was focusing on, and being animated by, the imminent arrival of the baby they’d all come to see. I felt relegated to second place. It was all very well for those who had nothing to do but hang around and wait for a baby to pop out, but I still had the hardest partt ahead.
Throughout the labour I had assumed the second stage would be the worst bit, and viewed it with some trepidation. Katy and Nina, both mothers themselves, had assured me that it was in fact easier. You finally have something to do (i.e. push). I hadn’t believed them.
They were right though. It’s different when you’re pushing. Instead of just having to deal with pain, you’re accomplishing a task. You have greater focus, and it doesn’t seem to hurt as much. I grunted like a rhinoceros with each push. This in itself was strangely satisfying, although towards the end I found that it was better to stay silent in order to really concentrate on what I was doing. Interesting, as this was a theory I’d rejected beforehand.
The gaps between contractions were much longer now, which was great because the pushing was taxing and I appreciated the chance for a rest. Joyce said the baby’s heartbeat was slowing so it all became rather urgent and I even found myself pushing a little in between contractions.
Then there was a period when the baby did a little dance with the “S-bend,” as Joyce called it. It kept popping round the bend with each push and then popping back between contractions. Finally I got it to a point where it stayed where it was between contractions, i.e. with a little of the head visible.
That felt rather odd.
After a few more contractions we weren’t progressing and Joyce warned she may have to make a little cut. In the end I wondered what she was waiting for – I just wanted to have the baby out and was happy with the idea of a cut – but again I was incapable of speech.
For the last few contractions Joyce banned the use of gas and air. I didn’t care; I could see the need for alertness and concentration.
Finally she gave me a local anaesthetic, made the cut (I heard it rather than felt it – it sounded like somebody cutting meat with scissors – which is what it was, I suppose) and the head was delivered. I kept thinking, “This isn’t the widest part yet – any minute now it’s going to get really bad,” but it never did. When the head came out it felt much smaller than I’d expected.
I knew that the baby’s body might follow in a separate contraction, but the idea of having that long rest between contractions with the head out and the body in was just too weird, so I kept pushing and the body came out in the same contraction. It felt like a string of sausages, just as the antenatal teacher said it would.
So there I was, leaning forward with my back to Joyce and the baby. I quickly turned and swung a leg over so the baby was in front of me.
Ever so long, this baby. All arms and legs. A boy. Well, everybody told me it would be. They could tell by the shape of the bump, apparently.
I knew what I was supposed to do. Skin to skin contact. So I picked him up and held him close. But he was all slippery and he kept wriggling so it was difficult to get much contact.
The umbilical cord was still pulsing. I had refused syntometrine because I knew it was likely to make me nauseous, and I’d had enough of nausea. The placenta was delivered naturally, a few minutes after the baby was born. Just one small push and out it slid.
And what did I feel? To be honest I felt about as confused as I have ever felt. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I knew that it was a baby, and that it was my baby, but still it didn’t make any sense. Ally’s face swam into my field of vision, clearly full of overwhelming joy, but I didn’t feel the same, I’m afraid. Just total bewilderment.
I was also distracted by the fact that I was just now beginning to notice how much pain I was in. Everything hurt, and I wished they’d hurry up with the painkillers (which when they finally arrived were very strong, but luckily I didn’t need any stitches, as the episiotomy had been very small).
After a while they put him in the scales. He didn’t appreciate that! The midwives competed with each other to guess his birth weight. But his skinniness was deceptive, and he weighed in at a surprisingly high eight pounds.
Another surprise was how pretty he was. He was red, not blue, and he had a beautiful smooth complexion; not all scrunched up like some new babies are.
It was 3:08am on Sunday morning; thirty-one hours after I first suspected I was having contractions, but it seemed like no time at all.
Felix Anthony Sudbery, now five weeks old, has been on my lap, suckling as I type.
He’s lovely."
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Labels: Babies
2 Comments:
That is a brilliant birth story.
Aw, thankyou.
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