The healing birth of my little Monkey - an epic tale of a quick labour!
It’s taken me almost 11 months to write this. I’ve been trying to reflect on why I’ve put it off, when I wrote the pretty harrowing tale of DD’s arrival within weeks, and I’m not quite sure. I guess a good part of it is that since my little man was born, I’ve been completely and utterly exhausted most nights and don’t feel like I can string words together at all. He’s not a sleeper, this one! But I think beyond that, it’s that I worry that I can’t possibly string those words together beautifully, artfully, powerfully enough to express everything that this birth was. I feel like I could write a novel (and I am fond of the epic birth story) but that the details of the events do not begin to convey the emotional process of my pregnancy and birth with my boy. The transformation and healing that came from this experience.
But, even if I can’t express it as elegantly as I’d like, I know. I remember those feelings and how it changed me and that’ll stay with me forever. So I’ll just jump in and begin the novel and try and share just a little bit of the joy with you…
PREGNANCY
Although I'd had no symptoms, I was hopeful and impatient and first tested at 8 DPO, knowing it was still very early, but thrilled to see the faintest of second lines appear quite quickly. I kept the news to myself for 2 days – almost exploding with it – but waiting to test again just to be sure. At 10 DPO the second line was darker. It was Christmas Eve and DD and I sat down and made a very special Christmas card for Daddy. It said something like: Happy Christmas Daddy, this next year is sure to be full of even more fun, noise and cuddles, lots of love from San, DD and DD’s 2IC. We gave it to him and I watched his reaction carefully. Nothing! He just smiled and thanked DD for the card and I ended up getting him to read it again and then spelling out the meaning for him… so much for my clever little surprise! He was thrilled though and so was I, but wary too. I managed to keep the secret through first trimester this time and we announced to friends and family after we’d seen a healthy little bub at the 12 week scan.
My pregnancy with DD was relatively easy. This one was marked by paranoia, stress and a whole lot of whinging and grumbling. I was sick this time. Not debilitated by vomiting, but a fairly constant queasy sea-sick feeling for the first ten weeks or so which made meeting the needs of a toddler exhausting. I still had an appetite, but every time I actually went to eat, the food itself was off-putting and I was stuck in an odd place of hunger and aversion. I didn’t feel as tired (with DD I felt like someone had slipped me a valium), my skin broke out in pimples and I had more hair on my arms and legs. I felt different. I was sure all this meant that this time I was having a boy… until I wasn’t sure again and started second-guessing myself!
For the first six months of pregnancy I was completing requirements for my registration which meant that every weekend I dragged myself into the study and sat in front of the computer trying to write case-studies and reports. My brain was fuzzy and my focus scattered. Partly thinking about DD – wishing I were off playing with her and DH – and also with my thoughts of my growing baby, my changing body, the prospect of another (potentially traumatic) birth and all my fears and uncertainties about parenting two. I felt a lot of guilt. That I was neglecting DD. That I was neglecting myself and therefore this little being’s needs. That I was passing on my stress. That I wasn’t as aware of and ‘tuned into’ this pregnancy as I had been with DD. Life was just so busy. And, I guess, I wasn’t so conscious of every little hiccup this time as I’d experienced it before and felt more familiar with the aches, pains, bumps and wriggles.
Bit my bit though, I got to know this new little life. I first felt movement at 15 weeks. Just one pronounced little ‘thud’ early one morning that made my heart sing. A few more little flutters over the next few days. Then nothing. For 2 weeks, until I became so wrapped up in the fear that I had lost baby that I took myself off to the hospital for a scan at 17 weeks. There it was… a perfect little body wriggling away and the relief that flooded me finally let me connect. The attachment terrified me however, and throughout the pregnancy I grappled with an intense fear that I would never get to meet my baby. That I would go into labour even earlier or that something would go wrong during the birth.
I did my best to address my fears by getting the best support around me that I could. I applied for the KYM program at my local hospital after having had a brilliant midwife the last time around… only to wait, and wait, and wait to hear anything back. Finally, at about 20 weeks I got a call from Kelly. I was accepted into KYM (yippeeee!). I felt like I could be confident that I would have a midwife at my birth that I felt safe with. Who would know me well and facilitate my interests. At my first appointment though, I wasn’t so sure. She was busy. Covering her own case load as well as patients for a colleague. She was distracted, and above all, flippant. Unlike my last midwife who gently talked through my fears and doubts, Kelly’s attitude just seemed harsh. Blunt. Of course I’d be having a natural birth. And of course I wanted to avoid unnecessary testing beforehand. And yep, my pelvis hurts. It’ll do that.
As I got to know her though, I came to appreciate her style. Her nonchalance was confidence. Certainty. She didn’t buy into my fears as she truly believed that I was healthy, bubs was healthy and my birth was going to be great. If I was looking for validation or molly-coddling, I was going to have to find that elsewhere, because that just wasn’t her style. And whilst I did continue to find her a little unnerving at times, I found that whilst I would often arrive at appointments full of worries and self-doubt, I would leave with an attitude that mirrored hers. I can do this. There’s nothing to say that I can’t.
My validation and emotional support came from Jane. Jane is a student midwife I found on BB and she provided everything Kelly couldn’t. Empathy, concern and incredible generosity with her time to allow me to debrief about my previous birth and put my fears out there. She also promised to be my voice. My advocate in case things got messy (and I was otherwise, deliriously indisposed), to defend my rights and my desires in the way I wanted this birth to go. With these two women behind me, having a different birth was looking possible. … All except for the fact that although I trusted them, I still didn’t fully trust myself and my body.
At our 19 week scan, things were looking perfect. Baby was measuring ahead about 10 days, which made them suggest that I revise my due date. I was sure about my dates, but as it turns out, this discrepancy ultimately stood in my favour. And, much to our joy, we were told we were having a boy.
The last couple of months of pregnancy kind of sucked. I developed gastritis and I couldn’t eat more than a very small portion of quite bland food without getting awful, twisting, stabbing pain in my guts. At one stage I ended up in hospital and was given morphine as the pain was so bad it had me doubled over, screaming in pain. I found this really tough as the nausea had passed and I was desperate to eat all the time. I really struggle to control my impulses when it comes to food too, so I learnt the hard way countless times and spent many nights propped up on pillows, guzzling gaviscon and then unable to eat anything without pain the following day.
My pelvis was also playing up as well and by 30 weeks I couldn’t walk more than 100m or pick up DD without awful pain. I was over it. Exhausted (DD was up 2 or 3 times a night and I struggled to get comfortable anyway), hungry and really, really irritable. I found myself losing compassion at work and completely losing the motivation to do a decent job and thankfully, started maternity leave at 33 weeks.
In spite of all this, I was in no hurry for baby to arrive just yet. After having DD at 35 weeks, I knew the extra monitoring and pressure for intervention that would be involved in a per-term labour. I knew what two weeks with a baby in special care feels like and I was terrified of going there again. No-one had been able to tell me why my waters had broken early last time, or whether this meant that I was likely to have another early bub. I don’t think I realised just how anxious I was about this, until at 35 weeks, 3 days, I lost it. Ranted and raved and totally bit DH’s head off without provocation. It was only when he said “what’s wrong?!!” that I reflected on my foul mood and then promptly burst into tears. Finally connecting with the stress and realising that I was as the exact gestation that I’d had DD.
As the days ticked into 36 weeks, I began to relax a little. I started joking to people that this baby would probably be a little rat-bag and make me wait ‘till 42 weeks just to throw me out altogether. Things started to indicate that I wouldn’t have long to wait though. For a start, nesting kicked in with ferocity. I was madly emptying cupboards, throwing stuff out, carting hard rubbish to the top of the block, cooking vats of curry, casserole and spag bol for the freezer and defying all the urgings of my pelvis to just take a load off. At my 36 week appointment, Kelly had a feel around and couldn’t find bub’s head. She was concerned that he’d turned breech (though she assured me that she would support me to birth naturally regardless) and sent me off for a scan. The sonographer couldn’t find the head either… “yes, there’s the bum up high, a little spine running down here… I’m sure there’s bound to be a head attached :lol: but it’s so low, I can’t see it for your pelvis!!”. Kelly warned me: this baby was locked and loaded and she suspected we were in for a quick delivery. She said that I shouldn’t wait around at home – as soon as I had a contraction that I had to actually work to get through, I should come in. She also said “please don’t go into labour this weekend. I’m off, and I’m going down to the beach house”. I assured her that this weekend didn’t suit me either. I had yum-cha with friends planned for Saturday morning, afternoon tea with my bestie who was about to leave the country for 6 months and then a BB dinner on Saturday night. Well if that wasn’t asking for trouble…!
On the Friday, (36+4) I got my hair cut, made more food for the freezer, finally re-packed the linen cupboard and put the major things aside for my labour bag. I said to a friend that I finally felt ready. That I knew bubs was at a safe gestation and I felt ready to let go of my fears of labouring again and just do it. I think he must have heard me…
LABOUR AND BIRTH
I slept quite deeply on Friday night, but was vaguely aware of semi-waking on a regular basis because of pains in my belly. After general aches and pains, a killer pelvis and gastritis, painful nights were nothing new and so I didn’t twig… I got up at 7, made myself a coffee and stood out on the deck watching the sun come up and then another pain hit me. The pain and the realisation made me gasp and my heart started racing. I reflected on my night and realised what I’d been feeling for hours were pre-labour contractions. Things were getting started!!! I think I sat there for about 30 minutes just spinning out and filled with adrenalin, uncertainty, excitement and with my mind going a million miles an hour. Do I go to yum-cha? Do I cancel dinner? Was it real, or just BH? When do I send DD to the in-laws? Will she be ok? Oooh, there’s another. It’s intense. Yes, this is it. Oh God, can I do this? And another… that wasn’t bad at all. Maybe I’m just going to have days of pre-labour and I’m freaking out for nothing…
I pulled myself together and headed inside to find DD chatting to herself and ready to start the day. It was a welcome distraction to just involve myself with getting her breakfast and getting dressed. I told DH I thought things were happening and vented my fears and uncertainty at him. He pulled the happy/scared face and thankfully, took over the decision making for me. DD would go to the ILs, we’d cancel our plans and just try and relax at home and see what happened.
All morning the contractions fluctuated from 5 to 20 minutes apart and varying in intensity. I called Kelly and let her know what was happening. She said that it sounded like pre-labour and could ramp up or fizzle out. She was going to head for the beach house but her colleague Robyn was on call and I should keep in touch with her. She promised however, that if it looked like the real deal, she would break all the hospital rules and head back to try to be there for the birth. Babies don’t care about scheduled days off, and neither did she!
I let Jane know that things were happening. She was so excited for me and offered to come over at any time for support. I promised to call her in as soon as I felt the need for back-up but was happy to just let it play out for now.
Just knowing my support people were there, my girl was happy, my bags were packed… I finally relaxed and began to enjoy the process of beginning my labour at home. Everything started in hospital with DD and I felt watched and ‘on the clock’ from the beginning. It was so lovely just feeling safe at home and being able to go about my day. I remember at one stage I was doing the dishes and a tightening hit me and I stopped and really indulged in it. I found myself grinning. My baby was coming. Safely, in his own time, and my body was doing it’s job.
I started to get restless and at midday we decided to go and grab some DVDs so we could indulge in our child-free time and I could be relaxed and distracted. Of course, going out in public proved to be the antidote to labour and as soon as I entered the video shop, everything stopped.
I was SO frustrated and confused. Is that IT?! When will it start again? Hours? Days? Weeks? Should I get DD back? Re-commit to dinner?! I called the amazing and wise Bella29 and she reminded me of the impact of involving my pesky frontal lobe in the process. I couldn’t will myself into labour – in fact, over thinking it was holding it off. “You will go into labour when you stop thinking about it” she told me. So I decided that nothing would happen until I slept that night and I might as well just let go and let it unfold as it would.
At 3:00 I put on a DVD and settled down under a blanket to watch. My brain switched off and sure enough… 10 minutes in to the movie… a pop and a gush and I was yelling “towel, towel, towel!!!” to DH! After the initial gush there wasn’t that much fluid – fore-waters I suspect, but I was nonetheless damp and waddled off for a shower. Excited and hopeful once more, I stood in the shower for over half an hour and waited with baited breath. Nothing. Ohh c’monnnnnnn!!
Reminding myself to let go, I got dressed and went back to my DVD. I pressed play, lay back and a massive contraction hit me. Far more intense than any I had felt before. Oh Bella you were so right, not thinking was certainly the key! Two minutes later, another huge contraction that made me jump off the couch and groan. DH had popped down to the shops and I felt scared by the sudden shift in things. This felt like real labour. It was 4:15pm.
I called Kelly but her phone was switched over to Robyn who said to call back in half an hour if I was still getting consistent, intense contractions. Twenty minutes later I called back and as she picked up a massive contraction hit me and all she got was heavy breathing! As it subsided, I managed to gasp “it’s on!” and she told me to head to the hospital and that she’d contact Kelly.
Each contraction seemed to get more intense and I tried to gather my thoughts and belongings between them and get to the car. I had a huge one as I walked up our front path and I clearly remember holding onto the retaining wall and moaning, slightly self-conscious lest the neighbours be in ear-shot!
Trying to avoid a late fine (and being a little odd), we stopped at the video shop on the way and returned the DVDs. It was very surreal sitting in the car having a contraction as DH popped in to return them! Thankfully it was the weekend so the traffic wasn’t too bad and we then made pretty good time to the hospital. I think I had 3 or 4 more contractions in the car and they were really difficult to cope with sitting down. Every time one began I would clamp my eyes shut and focus all my energy and attention on taking slow, deep breaths. Just as we neared the final turn to the hospital one began and I shut my eyes briefly, only to sense that we were going to wrong way. I opened my eyes to see that DH had moved into the wrong lane and was about to turn in the opposite direction to the hospital. Zen dissolved into shrieking “where are you going!!!!??? That way! That way!”.
DH pulled up at the hospital door and another hit me. I desperately wanted to get out of the car but I didn’t have the agility to just leap out and found myself floundering and gasping, grabbing at the door frame until DH hauled me out and I gripped the roof of the car and breathed. I waddled as quickly as I could down the hallway, past the Special Care Nursery, that door holding so many memories and so much emotion. “We won’t be needing you, thanks!” I said on the way past and then had to grip a dinner trolley in the hall and groan as another contraction hit just outside the midwife station. The strength of it completely took my breath away but at the same time I felt pleased and validated by my professional witnesses. Look people, I really am in labour!
We were ushered into a birthing room – thankfully a different one from the one I’d had with DD - and seemed to be followed by about 10 staff. It probably wasn’t that many, but I was suddenly acutely aware of being observed and evaluated. Midwives started asking me questions about gestation, time of waters breaking etc., DH was asking about where he could park the car, and a paed and his sidekick came in and introduced themselves. “Yes, I recognise you. You were there when my daughter was born.” I think that’s about what I said, but what I thought was “I remember you. You were the one who took her to the far side of the room when she was born. You were the one who wrapped her up when she needed to be skin-to-skin with me. You looked terrified. Your fear terrified me. Go away”.
Robyn came in and introduced herself. She seemed nice enough, but she wasn’t Kelly so I didn’t want her. She felt just as foreign to me as all the others in the room and I felt no assurance that she was on ‘my team’ in spite of being part of KYM. To me she was just another stranger. I suddenly went from a little overwhelmed to terrified. I felt like I rapidly transitioned from ‘birthing my child’ to ‘being a patient’ and I started to lose control. DH went off to park the car and I took myself off to the toilet, half because I needed to pee, and half to escape all the people in the room. While I was in there I heard a familiar voice and came out to find Kelly had arrived (having madly driven all the way back from the beach!). I was so relieved and I think I just grinned at her and said “I am SO happy to see you”… then gripped the bed as I could feel another contraction coming on.
Kelly waited for a moment of calm and then looked at me conspiratorially. “You’re 37+4 yeah?”. “No, I’m….” but she put her finger on her lips in a “shhh” and insisted. “You’re 37+4. You’re term, which means that you don’t need all that crew hanging around. I know you’re fine. I know your baby is fine. And having them in here isn’t going to help you at all. I’ll call them if I need them, it’s not like they’re going to be far away. But for the sake of keeping everyone happy… you’re 37+4. Right?!”. Ohhh. I got it. And grinned. That woman is AWESOME! :clap: (I later figured out that she’d gotten away with revising my gestation as I’d measured ahead at the 19 week scan).
Another contraction hit and I really yelled. The force of them was unbelievable and I felt the same way I had with DD. Unable to find the right position and just gripping the bed for dear life, floundering and lost. I briefly looked forward… did I have hours of this to go? Would it get worse? If it’s this hard now, what’ll pushing me like? I felt safe with Kelly there, but all wrong in that room and in that position.
As soon as I quieted again, Kelly beckoned me. “Come on”. I was confused. “Come on, follow me”. She was smiling. We followed her into the hall and across to the room with the birth pool. I’d seen it, full of water on my way in and had briefly noted, to my disappointment, that someone had clearly beaten me to using it. No, as it turned out, Kelly had called ahead and told them to fill it. For me!
She shut the door behind us (just her, Robyn and DH in the room now), turned the lights right down and I undressed and climbed in… the physical and psychological relief was enough to make me beam. Suddenly I was warm, my body was supported and floating, the pain was gone from my hips and I was with safe people in a tiny little cave-like room.
Before I let go completely though, there was one more decision to be made. I still hadn’t called Jane in. I’d spoken to her just before heading to hospital and told her to hold off ‘till I’d been admitted and was sure it wasn’t a false alarm (duh!). I was acutely aware of how vulnerable the extra observers in the birthing room had made me feel and the difference I now felt with privacy and space and realised that I now felt that I didn’t want anyone else there. The room was so small, one more would have made it crowded. In truth, I would have liked to dispense with Robyn (who I just didn’t gell with at all, so studiously ignored) and replace her with Jane, but I wasn’t allowed that! I felt awfully guilty as Jane had been so amazingly involved and supportive and was almost as excited about this birth as me, but I also knew she’d understand. So I got DH to call her and tell her not to come in. That done, I let go.
DH tells me that it was about 6pm when I got into the pool. From here on I completely lost a sense for time or sequence so my description is my best guess. I remember being stunned by how much easier contractions were in the water. Still intense. Still enough to make me say “F*******ck”! as they ended. But they were no longer painful and the whole shift in how I felt in the pool, in that space, was enough to make me comment that they’d better be ok with me birthing in there as there was NO WAY I was getting out. They couldn’t make me. I remember DH laughing and pointing to the patient hoist suspended on the roof and saying “I think that’s what that’s for”!
I remember Kelly saying (within 3 or 4 contractions after I got in the pool) something about just holding off on pushing for a little bit longer and wondering what the hell she was talking about. Pushing? I’d only just begun first stage surely?! Then the next contraction hit, my moans became a guttural growl and I felt a depth and pressure in the contraction that I hadn’t had before and I realised that she’d tuned into what I hadn’t realised yet. I’d transitioned and was about to start pushing!!
The contractions themselves were so powerful and consuming that it took everything I had not to lose my nerve so many times, but the realisation that I was actually so far along gave me so much joy that I was laughing and joking and absolutely high on the experience between contractions.
The mood of Kelly and Robyn was warm and light hearted too. They kept checking baby’s heart rate with the doppler and I’d hear Kelly reporting the rate to Robyn for the notes. Each time she checked she’d say “134”…. “134”…. “134”… until she laughed and said “it’s 134 again, but write something different. They’re not going to believe us that it was the same every time!”
I remember being amazed and frightened by the force my body was exerting in each involuntary push and then realising that I had some degree of control within that force. I could join with it… really bear down and push myself, or open my mouth and push some of my energy up and away (with some extremely loud yelling to help it along!) and just let my reflexive push do the work. I kind of experimented with this and found relief in the sense of control that this gave me. Sometimes I pushed with all my might. Sometimes I just held on. Quietly inside too… somewhere behind the yelling and the pushing and the intensity… my mind was punching the air: “oh my god, I’m doing this!!!”.
DH was sitting in front of me the whole time and during each contraction I would pull myself to the side of the pool, grip the side with one hand and his hand with the other and hold on for dear life. He looked straight into my eyes and just gently smiled. He didn’t look frightened or overwhelmed this time, he looked calm, happy and proud of me. Sure of me and the process. Whenever I felt a flicker of doubt or overwhelm I just looked at him and he reflected back love and faith in me. He didn’t waver throughout and that calm kept me grounded reassured. Between contractions I’d let go and float and we laughed and chatted about the racket I was making and how surprised our families would be about the quick arrival. It was so lovely to feel so relaxed and connected to him – particularly as such a stark contrast from the pale, shaky and toward the end, disengaged state he was in during DD's birth.
After about 20 minutes of pushing I felt baby descend and turn further and felt myself starting to stretch. Oooohhhhh that hurt. And then, much to my dismay, he went back up. And again… and again. It felt like forever that he did this, but I think it was about 6 contractions. I remember starting to feel despair and desperation for that stretching feeling to stop and Kelly encouraging me by telling me that he was doing just the right thing – moving down gradually to give my body a chance to adjust.
Suddenly, (again, more in-tune with my body than I was), Kelly knew something was about to happen and got stern. “Okay San, during the next contraction I’m going to say… no, I’m probably going to yell, ‘stop pushing and breathe’ and I want you to try as hard as you can to not push and just let him ease out ok?”. And sure enough, that’s what happened. The next contraction he didn’t move back, he kept coming. DH said that he could see the moment that bubs crowned as it looked like my eyes almost popped out of my head. As warned, Kelly yelled to stop pushing… and I did, just as baby’s eyes reached maximum stretch. Oh holy mother of all things painful, he stopped with his head half-out and stayed there between contractions! As the next contraction built, Kelly yelled “gently, gently San!” but my belligerent side kicked in. I wanted him out and against her advice I gave him a good shove (serves me right, I think this is the bit that caused me a little tear). His head was out and I caught my breath, marvelling that I was birthing my baby, then the next contraction the rest of his body came out and Kelly lifted him between my legs and straight into my arms.
There’s no words to describe the way I felt in those next few moments. Some kind of stunned, wordless euphoria. This sticky, hot, chubby little being blinking up at me and then opening his mouth and wailing a chesty little objection that stirred all the protective, primal forces in me to wrap him close to me and comfort him. I think I said “hello my beautiful boy!” over and over again and then eventually thought to take a peek and double check… yes, still a boy! My eyes met DH’s and I could see he was in the same place as me. Elation at the arrival of our gorgeous, perfect little man, but also glee at how we’d come through his labour. It was intense. But we’d done it without the trauma of before. We’d actually enjoyed it for the most part. And it was only 6:44pm. Our little man was with us after just 2.5 hours of labour!! We just kept grinning at eachother, looking at our boy and laughing with amazement.
Kelly and Robyn helped me out of the pool, baby still attached, and onto a wheelchair and covered us with warm towels. They wheeled me back across to the birthing room and helped me onto the bed and let me lie there, basking in baby-glow. Kelly eventually suggested that we cut the cord and encouraged me to give a few pushes to help the placenta along. It actually took them palpating my belly and me bearing down quite hard to get it out and in the raw lights of the birth room, this was one of the more gruelling bits of the labour. That, and being stitched up an hour later.
Placenta and stitches aside, we just lay there. Again, the contrast made it all the more special. Instead of having my baby whisked away from me, I lay with him on my chest and watched him as his big blue eyes took it all in. He lay still, just gently breathing and staring for about 20 minutes and then his little mouth and his fists started to work and he began rooting around. I gave him a little help finding his mark and he latched on like a pro. “That’s no pre-term baby!” Kelly laughed, “feeding like a champion, and just look at the rolls on the kid!”. And she was right. The little monkey was quite a chubber!
After a feed we called family and sent the obligatory mass texts and enjoyed as the amazement and congratulations poured in. We were so damn proud of ourselves and our little guy. And then to top it all off, Kelly, having finished the extremely unpleasant process of giving me a couple of stitches, said “well, you’re healthy, your boy’s healthy, you can stay in the ward with the other mums or you can go home if you want”. So I got dressed, got baby dressed and walked out of the hospital at 11:30pm. DH and I just looked at eachother as we drove away, shocked and giggling. “Too easy!” he laughed.
Of course, I barely slept that night. The little Monkey did. All night in my bed beside me, (hasn’t slept through since!) but I just lay there processing it all. The sudden arrival, the shift in my life to now being the mother of two, the anticipation of introducing him to DD… and the feeling of accomplishment. Pride. Healing. And renewed respect for myself and my body.
My gorgeous Chunky Monkey: 13/8/11, 6:44pm
Stage 1: 2 hours
Stage 2: 30 mins
Stage 3: ??? I think about 45 minutes
8 pounds, 10oz, - 3.9 kgs
length: 48.5cm
HC: 36cm
