Eventually, I think Andrew got tired of trying to gently encourage me and said firmly, ‘Just get on the bed (I was on the toilet at the time) and try some gas. I’m not willing to talk to you about anything else until you’ve at least tried that’. I think I needed that. To be told what to do. So I got on the bed and they gave me the gas mouthpiece. For the first little bit, I thought I’d found the answer to all my problems. The gas made me feel floaty and far away and the first contraction was slightly more bearable. But I think lying on the bed made them more intense, and the ones that followed were more painful than any I’d had before. And using gas, I was now disconnected from myself and from any ability I had to consciously manage the pain. I felt like I lost my body. I couldn’t see and at times had a weird checkerboard pattern floating in front of my eyes. I couldn’t find Andrew and I remember flailing my arms trying to reach him, but even when I felt his hands, I couldn’t be sure that the rest of him was there. I had pain, and the pain was in space. In some kind of weird oblivion where it was just me and my pain and I couldn’t get out. It made me scream even more, now not just in pain but also in fear. I tried to use the gas for the next 10ish contractions… maybe it was more (I don’t know why I persisted for so long) but I knew it wasn’t helping.
At about 10 am, while Felicity was on the other side of the room making notes (because I was ashamed of my decision), I said to Andrew ‘if I’m not dilated any more, I’m having an epidural’. He looked so sad, but he agreed.
I asked Felicity to examine me, and when she did, she said "I’m so sorry. You’re still only 6cm. The doctors advise that at this point you have an epidural and we hook you up to a Syntocinon drip. I know this is not what you want, but things have really slowed down and I think that at this stage, they might be right". She looked so disappointed for me. Quietly though, I could not have been more relieved. My only issue was that I knew that they could not make the anaesthetist turn up immediately and that I probably had 5 – 10 more contractions to get through before they could take my pain away. I think it may have ended up being more than this.
The anaesthetist arrived at 11am and took 40 mins to insert the epidural. I didn't want to hear his explanation or the risks etc... I didn't care about his set-up or his alcohol swabs, I just wanted the bloody thing in at this point. Then all the lights in the room were turned on so he could see (it had been dim and the curtains were closed the whole time) and I remember so clearly sitting on the edge of the bed, terrified. I was so scared of having a contraction while he was putting the needle in as I knew there was no chance I could stay still. I remember thinking that this could be the moment where I became paralysed. Dramatic, I know... but that's what I thought. I remember looking into Andrew's eyes and seeing his terror too. I remember being torn so much between wanting the pain to end, and wanting to find the strength to go on without the epi. I felt weak for wanting it and yet I was so sure I couldn't take any more.
I climbed back on the bed and the contractions kept coming. Bit my bit, my legs went numb, but I could still feel most of my belly and was still writhing and yelling through each wave of pain. Felicity left - it had reached 12 hours and she had to finish her shift and she was replaced by an older midwife (who seemed quite experienced, but had an odd, slightly remote and formal air and who I didn't feel particularly safe with) and a student (who was SO sweet and attentive and lovely to have there). The student midwife kept checking the progress of the epi - touching different areas of my legs and belly with ice and checking what I could feel. They decided that the epidural was 'incomplete' ("duh... I'm still screaming") and topped it up twice until after about 2 hours, I was finally completely numb from the bottom of my ribs down. The notes say the epidural was inserted at 11:40 and that it was effective at 2:20. I was so ready for it to work. Such a strange feeling. A slight tingle and throb from my feet as if they were too cold - I kept asking them to check whether my feet were cold - and a feeling of deadness. I felt helpless being unable to move and having to ask them to roll me over or help me sit up so I could drink, but I also felt relieved. Now all I had to do was wait and my baby could make her entrance.
I went to sleep for about 20 mins I think, and Andrew crashed out on the couch and slept for about an hour. He must have fallen asleep just before Felicity left and when he woke up, the new midwife attempted to introduce herself and tell him what was happening. He barely looked at her. He just looked tired and ashen and numb. He told me later he took an instant dislike to her. Found her patronising and aloof. By that stage though, he was a bit past liking anything. He was dead on his feet. Physically and emotionally spent.
The student midwife was tracking my contractions and said that they had dropped off significantly. I couldn't feel a thing and I think my body had decided that it wasn't really happening anymore and to give up on the process for a while. They kept turning up the synto but to no avail. Labour was on the go-slow for the next few hours.
I think the fact that I had relaxed finally allowed me to dilate however, and when they next did a check at 4:45 I was fully dilated and they told me to start pushing. I had absolutely no physical feedback about whether I was doing it right, but with coaching from the midwives and visualisation, I was managing to push quite effectively. Deep breath, hold it, bear-down and groan... pushing into nothing... breath, more pushing.... and then stop for a minute. They could barely detect the contractions so we had little idea about whether I was working with my body's efforts, or in spite of them. But either way, I was pushing. At this point, I finally began to get excited. Our baby was going to be here very soon. And even with the epi, I was doing it. I remember looking at Andrew and gripping his hand and saying "we're having a baby!" but all he managed was a weak smile.
I told the midwife that it was part of our birth plan that Andrew "catch" the baby. Our midwife Felicity had actually suggested this herself. But the new midwife looked horrified. She said to Andrew "do you have any experience with reducing tearing or in safe-delivery techniques" or something like that, knowing full-well what the answer was. I was pretty disgusted with this and Andrew was furious (didn't look it at the time but certainly expressed it afterwards!). There would have been no harm in her guiding the baby out and applying pressure in appropriate places, but in Andrew actually taking the baby and placing her on me. But the midwife would have none of it. No-one was taking her control.
They told me that I was doing really well and that the pushing was effective. By 5:20 they could see her head. At 5:35 her heart-rate suddenly went through the roof - I could hear it on the monitor and saw the reaction of the midwives. All of a sudden the room seemed to fill with people - I think there were 2 peads, the midwife from the SCN, the registrar and the 2 midwives already present. Adding Andrew and I, that makes 8 and it felt chaotic and cramped. The registrar asked the midwife for forceps and a suture kit. I had to ask why and he just looked at me and said "well I can't use the vontusse on a premature baby". I feel like at this point I became more a part of an emergency medical procedure than a woman giving birth and I felt I had no say in what they were doing - I was just told... kind of after the fact. I was dragged by my legs down to the end of the bed and my legs were put in stirrups. A big light was brought in and pointed between my legs (oh the dignity) and the registrar began his work. I didn't want to look or even think about what they were doing to my body, so I just looked into Andrew's eyes. Then at 5:59... out came Ivy.
They unwrapped the cord from around her neck and then cut it straight away (against our wishes... grrrrr) and took her to the far side of the room and put her on the resuscitation table. Andrew followed and looked on as they rubbed her and checked her over. It felt like an eternity. All I could do was lie there and stare across the room and after a few minutes I started to cry with the pain of her being so far away and my desperate and futile urge to jump off the bed and go to her. She didn't cry. Just blinked and looked stunned and kind of gasped. They gave Andrew scissors and said that he could "cut the cord" meaning the little section remaining. Andrew said the feelings of protectiveness, shock and anger at out little girl being severed from her only lifeline prematurely were so strong at this point that his impulse was to stick the scissors into the pead instead... but remained stunned and silent and cut the cord anyway. The registrar was stitching me up (I had a 2nd degree tear) but largely I just blocked him out. I couldn't feel anything and I didn't want to think about it. I just wanted my girl. After 6 minutes (according to the notes... felt like much longer than that), they wrapped her up in several towels and went to pass her to me, and Andrew found his voice. "Why are you wrapping her. She needs skin-to-skin contact. Unwrap her now." He took Ivy from them (they were looking pretty shocked themselves then and like he was going to break her somehow by revealing her skin), took off the towels and put her on my chest. Relief. Love. Euphoria. Fascination. This hot, sticky, gasping, wide-eyed little person just placed herself at the centre of my universe as she lay there on my chest. Her nose was squashed almost flat against one cheek and her lip was pushed sideways, giving her an even more crooked, confused look. I had a cuddle for about half an hour and Andrew had a brief cuddle, the SCN nurse and midwife hovering the whole time. We attempted a breast-feed and Ivy latched on very briefly but didn't really suck. She was then taken to the SCN.
Ivy spent 2 weeks in the SCN with a naso-gastric tube (couldn't BF at all for the first week and then it took another week for her to be able to take a full(ish) feed plus top-up), time under the lights and time in the humidicrib. It was agony to be discharged and have to leave her every night but we got through it. And it was such joy to bring our little girl home. She's now almost 4 months and is hitting all physical milestones. The neurological / social ones she's still a little behind on, but I don't doubt she'll catch up. She is an absolute blessing.
Ivy Milla 27/4/09 5:59pm - 35 weeks, 3 days
6 pounds, 1 oz - 2.75kgs
Length and head circ not taken at birth
Stage 1: 19hrs
Stage 2: 1 hr, 30 mins
Stage 3: 3 mins
Ivy's birth is now a story. After all, your whole life is just a story you tell yourself. Everything except the moment you're in, is a self-written tale about what it was like to be in that past moment. So I'm mindful that I can choose to tell the story various ways. I can tell it as a disappointment, a trauma, a miracle or as a growth experience. At first... it was more of the former two in my mind. I was in shock for several days, and still struggled to talk or think about it for weeks without tears. Partly because of the fear and pain that I experienced and that I saw in Andrew. I couldn't get over the screams that came out of me and the utter despair and helplessness I felt for a few hours in the early morning. It still makes me want to cry thinking of that girl (me), sitting on the floor pleading for help and crying and wailing as the next contraction built because I didn't want to feel it any more.
But mostly, it was shame. I thought I went into birth with a very rational approach. I thought I was open to all options. But looking at my reaction, I think I was what Rhea Dempsey refers to as the 'aspirationally naive'. I believed so strongly that I was going to have a natural birth. I had read and re-read Sarah Buckley's Gentle Brith, Gentle Mothering and had built myself quite a sturdy soap-box about the dangers of medical intervention. I was proud. Arrogant almost. And when others said "I'm so glad my wife had an epidural", or "I'm going straight for the pethedine!" I admit, I judged them. They didn't understand what they were doing to their child and to themselves in taking these options. And while it was ok for them, it certainly wasn't ok for me. I looked forward to telling my birth story as I believed that it was going to involve nothing but my own power and love and the natural process of things (although I told myself and others that I was prepared for any eventuality).
My midwife was very supportive of this approach. In fact, she is a major advocate of intervention-free birth and has quite the soap-box herself. I think I felt like I let her down. I let my baby down. Andrew. Myself... I felt really ashamed that I had asked for the epidural. (I managed to laugh off that I had asked for more than that, but I admit now that had they agreed to give me a general and a cesarian, I probably would have taken it!). I didn't want to tell anyone about the birth... and when I did, I was armed with excuses. She was early. Posterior. Stuck. In distress. I did well... until I didn't. But in my head... and what I said to Andrew and the midwife... "I ****ed it up".
There's still quite a bit of residual of that feeling. I'm still disappointed that I can't tell the story that I wanted. But bearing in mind that it is a story, I realise that I can tell it to the world, and to myself... and in the long-run, to Ivy, however I choose (within the confines of the facts). So now, with some effort, I can see it as a growth experience. And as a miracle. I learnt so much.. And it brought my little girl into the world. And with that end in mind... nothing could be bad about it.
There's a few things that I want to take from this experience for my next birth:
- as much as possible, stay in the moment. Or at least focus on coping with one contraction at a time. As soon as I let myself think too far ahead, I freaked out.
- listen to your body. I think one of my biggest regrets is that I listened to my head when I decided that I was entering second stage. This made me set a time on how much more I was going to (and was willing to) endure. Had I really tuned into, and trusted my body, I may have realised that 2nd stage was still some time off, and what I needed to be doing was finding a position to help baby move.
- prepare for ALL possibilities (including going early!)
- rejoice in all eventualities... I'll be aiming for a natural birth again, but hopefully won't be so hard on myself if it doesn't happen.
omg i still cant believe i never read this wat an awesome story u were awesome i would have been begging for drugs too the peth was enough for me even though i regret it now after having a totally natural 2nd birth but wats done is done and now look to the future and upcoming birth and FWIW i was way more scared the second time around even though it turned out better
I can honestly say that this is the single most courageous and honest birth story i have ever read, and i could not tell you the number of birth stories i have read in search of the even the smallest remotest shred of similarity to my first experience of birth and how i felt about it. Your insight and ability to express yourself is incredible, i hope that this next birth for you is everything that you want it to be.
I really struggled during my second birth to conquer the emotional barriers that i had built from my first experience, despite all of the preparation and healing i tried to do. But in the end, my body over rid my mind anyway and i had no other option but to trust in myself and break those barriers without looking back. When i got through to the other side, i felt invincible! I truly hope that this time round you to experience this!
Thank you for not only posting it, but bumping so i could read it It has had such a big impact on me!
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i would have been begging for drugs too the peth was enough for me even though i regret it now after having a totally natural 2nd birth but wats done is done and now look to the future and upcoming birth 
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