Warning - five pages long. Get a cuppa. Actually, maybe put on a pot

I was booked in to be induced with gels on Wednesday night, at 10 days past my EDD, with the possibility of repeat gels or ARM the following morning.

At our final antenatal appointment, we met with a great midwife and I told her that I was feeling pretty anxious about being induced, and that I was seriously reconsidering my decision. She did an excellent job of reassuring both of us that we didn't have to do anything we didn't want to do, and quoted some stats on why there was this 10 day deadline and how irrelevant it really was. So we headed home, feeling far more confident about the whole process. We hadn't even walked in the door, when MIL was on the phone wanting to know the details of the appointment, including what kind of vaginal discharge I'd had – yes, really – and I could see my DH becoming really tense about it all. As we went to bed that night, I thought about how he was coping with it all. He has an autoimmune disease, and one of the first signs of it getting worse is having skin breakouts, which I could see happening. I realised that the situation was taking a toll on him, and that his family wasn't helping. So, tearfully, I considered the outcomes for our whole family, and I realised that I had to make the decision to go ahead with it, to take the hit for the best possible overall result.

On the Tuesday afternoon, I hung out with my mum at home, making up Christmas hampers for some friends and relatives. I started to get some really mild, irregular contractions, so we decided to go for a walk and see if they ramped up a bit. We walked up to the op shop, and they did get a little more intense, but then dropped off when we got home. Spoke to the Ils again when we got home (full on, much?) and they suggested we go for a drive to the mountains to get a change in atmospheric pressure – it was the only natural induction method I hadn't tried, so figured I may as well.

Next day was Wednesday. I baked biscuits for our Christmas hampers, and then we took off up into the hills to have lunch up at Mt Glorious, at the breathy altitude of 600m. It did nothing, and I was a little annoyed, because I could have spent the time going for a swim or a walk, which might have actually worked.

We got home at around 3, and I set to finishing off the Christmas hampers, before we would have to leave for the hospital at 5pm. I had settled with my decision to go ahead with induction, so I was feeling quite peaceful and positive. I phoned the hospital at 4:30 to see if they still wanted me to go in, quietly hopeful that they didn't. But they said sure, come on in. So as the clock ticked towards 5, we got the last few things ready, and headed on our merry way – on foot. That was one great thing about the induction; I got my dream come true of walking to the hospital.

I had 2 or 3 contractions on the way there, so I was fairly excited about those. We walked in the door just before 6, and were taken to birth suite at about 6:30. I was strapped to a monitor, by a lovely midwife. She chatted to us about my pregnancy history, and talked about when things don't go right. It sounds a bit odd, but it was a really nice way to start off. Anyway, an alarm went off, she disappeared and I was left to do my thing for an hour. The contractions I had been having visibly disappeared with my lack of movement. Two babies were born, and the shift changed.

At 7:30 a different midwife came in, and she did the gel insertion. Again, we had a chat, we told her that my mum was booked to go back home to Sydney the next day after staying for two weeks, and that she'd miss it. The midwife thought it was heartbreaking, and said not to be surprised if she stayed. I hung around on the bed for another hour, and by this time the gel was starting to work, I was getting some fairly constant period-like pain, and lying down was making me pretty uncomfortable. We gathered our stuff and headed for the ward, where they had set me up in a private room. DH hung around with me for a while, we had something to eat and watched a bit of teevs. He had the option to stay, but since we knew we were both in for a massive day the next day, he tucked me in and kissed me goodbye.

The pains continued, occasionally getting worse, but generally coming back to a baseline discomfort. It was just bearable – I visualised my cervix becoming stretchy and soft, and saying “soooooooffffffffft” over and over again, and eventually managed to get some sleep. At 4am, I couldn't do it any more, and the aim was to take me back to birth suite at 5am anyway, so I decided to get up and jump in the shower. It was awesome – I swayed through the pains in the shower for ages, and I knew that water would be my friend in my upcoming labour. The pains were really uncomfortable, and I caught myself thinking “sod it, I hope I do get to go on the drip, let's get this friggin show on the road”

DH walked in just on 5, and said that he'd been told on the way in that birth suite was too busy and I wasn't going anywhere until at least 7am. We settled in to watch a bit of TV, and he hooked me up with the TENS machine, with the idea of getting some endorphins going before we got down to business. We talked about the wait to go down and apparently I looked disappointed, and he thought that was what I wanted. I launched into a rant about how uncomfortable I was, I was having these pains, and they weren't even doing anything, it was just the stupid gel irritating my cervix. I was feeling a bit cranky. He tried to settle me down with some breakfast, and I managed to eat a little bit of rice bubbles and orange juice before I continued pacing around the room.

At 7:50am, we were still waiting. I was in the corner of the room, pacing, and I had a trickle. I said “Whoops, I'm leaking!” and rushed off to the loo. It was only a little trickle, and DH asked if it was my waters breaking. I said I didn't know – couldn't work out if it felt like wee or not, and the flow stopped fairly quickly, so I just sort of assumed it was.

I kept pacing the room, stopping occasionally to lean forward and rock. DH noticed that I was quite clearly having contractions, and tried to time them. Sometimes they were 30 seconds apart, sometimes 3 minutes, and lasting up to 90 seconds. He wanted to go and tell someone, and I told him to wait until they were a bit more serious. He decided against it, and told someone anyway. Within about 5 seconds, this lovely lovely midwife appeared and said “Let's get you down to birth suite!” I was somehow relieved, but still sure they would proceed with the induction. It felt so good to be able to walk somewhere other than just that little room.

We got to birth suite and were introduced to the heroine of the story. I've got tears in my eyes just thinking about how amazing she was. As I was introduced I started having a contraction – I leaned over the bed, and she said “OK, you breathe through that, I'll lift the bed for you, and we'll talk in a minute” We were left in her lovely capable hands. DH gave her our birth plan, and I sat on the fit ball as she went through it with us. She said that it sounded great, and she was happy with everything in it. We told her we were really keen to avoid the Synto drip, and she understood. I think secretly, she put some armour on when she heard this.

Enter Doctor Bossyboots.

Dr Bossyboots came in to the room to check things out. Heroine midwife tells her we would like to avoid the drip. Dr Bossyboots' brow furrowed. If we wanted to avoid the drip, she said, she wanted progress. She wanted me to be [x] cm by [x] time, otherwise she would be augmenting, because I was so very overdue. AND, you see “we like babies to be born in the daytime.” She actually said that! I was about to just submit and say “fine!” so she would leave me alone, but DH (the Gorilla) stepped up and said “Well, I'm not really a fan of daylight obstetrics; let's just see how we go.” She wasn't happy, but she conceded defeat and moved on.

I hopped up on the bed for a quick internal, and was at 3.5cm. Darling midwife said she couldn't find membranes anywhere, and was I sure they hadn't ruptured? That's where DH said they definitely had, and that's what my leak was. Huh.

DH got me all set up on the fit ball and I still had my TENS machine, so I spent about an hour, bouncing and boosting through some contractions. I felt a bit yuck, and yelled for a sick bag, which I kept on the bed in front of me, and breakfast came right on back up.

We started getting to know our midwife, and she said how excited she was, because she hadn't seen a natural birth in months. We were surprised, but she said she was just unlucky. She asked if I wanted to use the bath a bit later. I looked up at her with pure love and said that I would LOVE to use the bath. I had assumed I wouldn't be allowed because of proposed induction, and then because membranes were ruptured, and then because I wasn't far enough, but we started to discover just how darling this woman was. The fitball/TENS combo was working for the moment, so I let it go, but at 10:40, I made DH rip off the TENS really quickly so I didn't have to face any contractions without that or the water, and just about ran to the bath.

The bath was awesome. I let out long ahhhhhhhhhhs through the contractions, and moved my legs around. After the total lack of sleep the night before, I was wasted, and the bath was so relaxing that I started to snooze between contractions. Our darling didn't want me to stall, so was keeping an eye on the timing, but they remained constant. I had a 2 hour prune limit on the bath – midwife gave me some sort of reason for it, included the word endorphin, but I forget what.

Dr Bossyboots had wanted me to have cracked whatever her deadline was by midday, but our darling heroine decided it was better to leave me in the bath, and she'd do it when it suited her. She let me stay in the bath for what may well have been two hours and one minute, and I hopped out, towelled off really quickly and got the TENS back on. Next VE revealed I was 6cm, which was ahead of Dr Bossyboots's demands. Yay.

I had assumed that the bath rule was a two hours on, two hours off kind of deal, so I settled in to a routine to get me through. I was on the fit ball, bouncing to my birth songs compilations, and using the TENS – I don't know how effective it was after the bath, but it was fun to play with. My lunch tray arrived and I let DH eat it all, because I was fairly sure I'd spew if I even looked at food. I just kept bouncing through – one of the songs was Oh Hark by Lisa Mitchell, and when it got to the line “are those the goddesses of hope in your stride” I thought of all the ladies who I knew were out there thinking of me.

After about an hour, I was offered to get back in the bath. I was thrilled – seemed the 2 hour figure was a total figment of my own projections, so I was really excited. This time I was kind of kneeling, and pouncing up onto all fours through contractions, yelling a bit louder than before. Our midwife went on a meal break some time in the middle, and was replaced. I don't want to refer to her as anything other than lovely, but she's not on the same pedestal. Let's call her lesser-but-lovely. Anyway, she hadn't read the bit in my birth plan about not offering pain relief – she went so far as to hook a mouthpiece up to the gas, and let me know quite clearly what she was doing.

It got to me, somehow, I think it took the edge off my strength and I started to doubt myself. Where our darling had been referring to me as strong woman all day, in one tiny action, a lot of it was undone. I told DH I didn't know if I could do it anymore. He was very encouraging, and got me back into a good yelling rhythm in the bath, biting on a towel at the start of each contraction.

The midwife brought the Doppler over, to check out what baby was up to. HR seemed to be moving about a bit, and I could feel that I was stalling. She wanted me out and on the CTG. On the bed. I dreaded the thought, but I knew she wasn't mucking around. During a contraction on the way over to the bed, I felt myself involuntarily pushing, but didn't think it could possibly be the case, when it felt like only 20 minutes earlier that I was 6cm. I got up on the bed, and thought that if I was going to be strapped down, that I needed some help, so asked to try the gas. I had one long go through the first contraction on the bed, then two through the second, then said “That's rubbish” and ceremoniously threw the mouthpiece to the ground. I had five more contractions on the bed. Our darling came back from her meal break somewhere in there. After the five, baby's heart rate had settled down again, so she said one more and I could get off the monitor. Darling.

Anyway, with the one more contraction, baby's heart rate dipped again, so I had to stay on the monitor, but she let me get up. As soon as I did, I had another pushing contraction. I told her I thought I needed to push, so she came to check it out with the next one. Since the second bath, contractions had slowed down to 5 minutes apart, so I was getting a good break. I gave her a big grin in the break while we waited, and I remember her saying it was so nice to see my smile. Got me going again.

She said she could see that I was pushing, and to just let it happen. I did, and at some point, I noticed that my “ahhh” turned itself into more of a roar. It felt amazing. I was still strapped to the monitor at this stage, and I think she knew I was annoyed by it. She kept promising to take it off after one or two more contractions, but every time we got to that point, baby's heart rate would get sketchy again – not enough to worry about, just enough that she wanted to leave it on. I had to laugh at least a little bit.

Between laughing and grinning though, I had also started to get a bit cranky and feisty. At this stage I was standing by the bedside, leaning against it. DH had offered the fit ball, had tried to get me to eat some chocolate, and when he suggested that I might like to try being on all fours on the bed. I think it might have been at the start of a contraction; I don't remember, I just remember looking at him and saying “SHUT. UP.” in my most forceful teacher voice. Somewhere around this time I announced that I felt like I needed to do a poo, and darling midwife said it was the baby's head creating downward pressure. I'd figured as much, but I was pretty sure there was poo coming too. Feeling particularly cranky and feisty, especially about being shackled to the monitor, I dropped a couple of nuggets on the floor. Darling midwife cleaned it up – DH tried to but she wouldn't let him – and went to find a thingamajig that would let me walk around. Not that it mattered, I walked to the toilet and then went straight back to my spot. It was close to the music player, and I had my back to the sun, so the light was just right, and I just liked it there. I was naked at this stage, and my roars were getting longer and deeper.

Someone came in to the room to tell me I had a visitor. My mum had decided to stay after all! Since I was roaring, we opted not to have her come in yet.

DH encouraged me through, mostly just with a hand on my back, but also by saying that he could tell from the midwife's movements that it was going to happen soon and I was doing really well. I was out of the cranky phase now and just embracing what my body was doing. I decided to oblige their suggestions, and did try a couple of pushes up on all fours, but it was no good. Squatting also not a real winner. I wanted to stand, in my spot. So I did. I stood between contractions, rocking from one foot to the other, and then leaned over during contractions. The change in position meant that the monitor was losing baby's heartbeat briefly, but then it was right back. We could hear it in the room, but Dr Bossyboots was watching it remotely, and on her screen it was showing up as a dipping heartrate.

So Bossyboots bursts into the room telling us all that she wants a scalp electrode. I say No. DH starts going into Gorilla mode and beating his chest. Darling midwife explains that it is loss of contact, that I am fully dilated and pushing, and that if she just listened she'd hear that the baby was fine. Bossyboots is not into listening, and launches into her own argument about how we'll end up with a distressed baby, and that we're taking a risk. DH counter attacks and says we're not doing it. Darling midwife has contacted her team leader, who backs her up (yay!) and we escape intervention once again. Hurrah!

From there I just continue in the cycle of rocking and leaning over to push. Start feling the ring of fire that is crowning. Contractions are still quite spaced out at this stage, and I find myself looking at the monitor to figure out what's coming. Midwife starts setting out a plan, and explains to me exactly what we'll do when baby's out – she'll catch baby and pass it through to me, and then I can climb on the bed with her.

Darling midwife asks if I want a mirror. I say no, but when she suggests I touch baby's head, I do it, and exclaim “Oh my GOD!” It was two more pushes to get the head out, with darling midwife telling me to use the pain – best thing she could have said. Then one more on the same contraction, and this enormous waterfall between my legs, and this enormous slimy thing appears on my chest. The absolute river of stuff on the floor hadn't been in our plan, but I managed to climb over it and onto the bed for skin to skin time.

Darling midwife helped me lift baby up just long enough to see that it was a little girl. I was so intensely focused on her that I hadn't even thought to worry about it! I went back to being completely intoxicated by her little eyes, then DH said “Would you like to tell everyone what her name is?” I announced “Her name is Eleanor” and got back to my task of just watching her. She hadn't cried, but was definitely breathing, just making some tiny little cooing noises.

We let her do her thing for a while, following the baby-led attachment example, and then after about 50 minutes, she latched on and had a good little suck. She was born at 5:20pm. Physiological third stage, with placenta slithering out after 20 minutes. It looked so awesome - I'd always thought I'd be a bit grossed out, but it was beautiful. Dr Bossyboots came back in to assess my 1st degree tearing, and after some umming and ahhing, decided to go ahead with three stitches. Hardest part was not swearing when the local went in! Once they were all done, we invited my mum in. She had been sitting in the waiting room crying so hard that they sent someone from pastoral care to be with her - all happy tears of course!

At about the 1 hr 15 mark, DH picked her up to weigh and measure her. She weighed 4070g, 51cm long and HC 36.5cm. Our darling midwife was getting ready to finish her shift, while I had a quick shower, and we were back on the ward at about 8pm.

So that's the story of our little philosopher. After striking a Thinker type pose in the womb, she has followed through in personality – she often seems to be pondering and daydreaming, especially during feeds! She's an incredible feeder and sleeper, and we are so blessed.

So thanks again to everyone who has supported us on this very special journey.