15 February 2012 - The birth of Honor L.

Over one year on since the birth of my first baby and I have finally written our birth story. It is like a letter to my baby - but it is very long!

My dearest darling Honor,

When I fell pregnant with you I was delighted, frightened and a little surprised. You were more than 18 months in the making and while you were the result of a natural conception, the week I tested positive with a home pregnancy test I had received a call from our GP saying that Daddy’s sperm motility was not ideal and that she had written us a referral for a fertility specialist. Not knowing yet that I was pregnant I had made a mental decision that I did not want to see the fertility specialist yet, that after 18 months of unexplained infertility-related anxiety that skirted at the edges of depression, I wanted to not give up but to rest and recoup.

The day of my positive pregnancy test (one day after my period was due) was overwhelming and in the weeks following it I felt excited of course, but I also felt petrified that after all these months trying, a sustainable pregnancy wasn’t possible, that it wasn’t real. I have since heard of other long-term trying-to-conceivers feeling the same because when you want something so desperately and it has eluded you for a very long time it can seem too good to be possibly real. So when I had my first ultrasound at just over seven weeks I was relieved and cried. I was growing a baby, I hadn’t imagined it, your hadn’t been taken away.

My little love, you gave me a wonderful pregnancy – I am sure you loved growing inside me! Once I moved on from my fear of miscarriage I delighted in being pregnant. I did not have morning sickness (aside from some loss of appetite early on), my belly looked beautiful, my skin looked great, I did not get reflux, stretch marks, fatigue or any of the typical complaints.

I remember one moment, a special and surreal moment, when I ‘felt’ you hovering closer to this waking, walking life for the first time. I was 38 weeks and four days. I was walking home from the post office, it was sunny and very warm, the air felt dry. As I approached my front door, I suddenly felt your wordly presence, like you dipped in for a brief moment, then back again. It is hard to explain as it was a subtle and fleeting feeling but I could feel you were suddenly closer to the physical world, closer to connecting in with the sea of souls that make up this earth, rather than a human entity in the making, occupying another realm.

Physically, by 38 weeks I could also feel the time coming closer. I had restless leg syndrome at night, night sweats, period-like tension in my lower abdomen, frequent and uncomfortable Braxton hicks, shooting cramps in my groin and inner thighs, pressure in my pelvis and bottom, and general insomnia. I could feel you weighing heavily inside me, like your were in a hammock that was straining, almost touching the ground. At night I could not change positions without much effort and had to nurse my belly under a soft pillow. Despite this I felt good during the day - rested and calm – which I think is because by then I had finally finished work and most of the baby preparations were done. I am ready for you now, I told you silently. But you were not quite ready for us!

40 weeks came along. Happy due date baby fluff! Now I knew what all those full term mothers felt like – I had cabin fever! I really did not want to go through an induction and this worry stayed with me. My obstetrician said she preferred me to go no farther than to 40 plus five but in my mind I had already decided I would be refusing an induction. I desperately wanted you to choose your own birthday and I also wanted to experience the surprise of spontaneous labour. I wanted to wake up in the middle of the night, or have a funny feeling in the middle of the day, and think – ‘is this it? Is my baby making her way into the world now?’ I wanted that feeling of shock and surprise and awe and excitement. Please let it be that way! I thought.

The week ticked on.

Then. I wake up in the morning at 40 plus four, February 14, again disappointed that the night did not present me with labour. Baby why are you waiting? It is early on a Friday morning – about 7:30 am and Daddy brings me coffee in bed, and toast. He leaves for work and I begin what has recently become a daily ritual of traditional labour-inducing tricks. For the past few nights Daddy has massaged my ankles and inside my wrists (labour pressure points) and on this scorcher of a Friday morning (the temperature is tipped to reach close to 40 degrees) I methodically stimulate my nipples as I sip on my coffee. I have an appointment with my obstetrician later that afternoon and while I am confident in refusing an induction I am also tired and I do not want to argue my point. I do remember thinking though that I’d like to see you on the obstetrician’s monitor again as you are quieter than usual this morning. There is movement but it is slower and infrequent.

At about 8:20am I experience one of my now-regular Braxton Hicks. For the last few weeks they have been strong and long, but I’ve been confident they were just that – Braxton Hicks. But there is something different about this one. My usual Braxton Hicks sort of spread throughout my uterus and lower abdomen - I imagine it like a wave or the fingers of a hand spreading outwards from a fixed point in the centre. This morning is the same but the intensity is greater and it does not last as long– I feel it much deeper and quicker and it feels a little like intense period cramps. My usual Braxton Hicks tend to be longer, more ‘leisurely’. Then I get another one less than 10 minutes later, and another, and a couple at around six or seven minutes. I am timing and in all they vary between seven and 12 minutes. The pressure remains consistent though and I do not feel anxious or even in a hurry. However by this stage I know that it is happening, that you, my darling, have begun your tremendous journey. But it all feels perfectly manageable so I get out of bed and decide to do a few pampering things so that I am photo-ready once you arrive. I have a shower, shave my legs, pop on a face mask, tint my eyebrows, then clean the kitchen benches and wash the dishes. Today is the day! My stomach is twitching in nervous excitement but I already have a sense of needing to be systematic and calm.

All this time you are pressing contractions through me and they are intense and like pressured waves but I would not describe them as painful and I can easily move and breathe. I have stopped timing because I want to just wait and see how things unfold in a more instinctive way. I have not even called Daddy and in fact in between random self-imposed tasks I am happily typing away on my pregnancy buddies thread on BellyBelly, but sneakily not even mentioning that I suspect labour has gently begun. I know in my heart that it has started but I am a little bit superstitious and I do not want to jinx it by saying it aloud. But really, I am so very excited!

It is not until about 11:30am that I call your Daddy. By this stage the contractions have evolved and while I still cannot describe them honestly as ‘painful’ they are very disruptive to my movement and thoughts. Although I’m still not timing, I know they are getting closer together and the phrase ‘very intense pressure’ is the only apt one to describe them. By this stage I have abandoned all tasks except for leaning on my fit ball or on my hand and knees, in a few prenatal yoga poses, breathing deeply. I also have a distinct sense of ‘contraction’ and ‘in between contractions’ which I did not have before, when the contractions were sharp and punctuated but the difference between ‘on’ and ‘off’ was not as marked as it is now. I intentionally wait until I’m in an ‘in between contractions’ phase before calling your Daddy. I don’t want to freak him out and for some reason I want to show that I am in control and that things are not getting on top of me. I do however have a sense now that it is no longer my body feeling a contraction but that the contractions are taking over my body. I am very impatient for Daddy to walk the 20 minutes from his office to our house and for the first time I feel anxious.

Daddy arrives home and in that 20 minutes things have amped up. You are getting impatient my darling! I am beginning to lose focus on the outward world during contractions and I can feel you burrowing further down, putting a very physical pressure around my hips and soon my contractions are waving out but then zoning in and pummelling the inside of my bottom. Daddy is timing the contractions and while the intensity and physical beginning and end point of the pain (yes my little love, now I am using the word pain) has changed dramatically, the pause between each contraction has not changed a lot since earlier that morning. We make the first of many calls to the hospital, which is only a 10 or so minute drive away. I know, the moment I speak to a midwife at each call, that it is not ‘time’ yet, but it is as though I need to speak to someone aloud to get that immediate realisation. The contractions are close together but not close enough and I am dealing with the contractions, still able to speak through most of them - but only because I have a very strong sense of focus and of wanting to stay in control. I am not able to sit or stand through contractions at this stage and I am really struggling to find any position that is comfortable to labour in, including all of my yoga, floor and fit-ball positions. Anything sitting, including sitting or rocking on the fit ball, is simply too much and I cannot bear having anything touching by bottom – the reverse pressure to the pressure you are enforcing my baby is just not on! It is as though I need to keep the gates clear! By now I have really begun to tire so that if I assume a hands and knees position I don’t even feel strong enough to prop myself up on my arms because the contractions feel like a physical force trying to topple my whole body. Like a wave at high tide, peaking in a high wall then breaking and pushing aggressively into the shore. In hindsight I believe my sudden fatigue is because I am starting to get dehydrated – oh, and perhaps because I have been labouring for hours by now!

By this stage I am feeling overwhelmed and in a secret place blocked off from the outside world. This is both good and bad. I have stopped listening to Daddy’s encouragement and gentle instructions (which I gave him in the weeks leading up to your due date) but this means I am refusing to do some basic, necessary things. For instance I have not had much water to drink in the last two hours as the taste of water, even flavoured water, makes me want to vomit. I am sucking on the occasional icypole but that is about it. The only thing that ‘works’ for the contractions is a hot wheatbag on my belly and Daddy cannot re-heat the bag quick enough between contractions. I had imagined labouring in the shower as I love water but now the thought of being in water is a distinctly unpleasant one. It is actually during a contraction around now that I have a moment of clarity and deicide that when I eventually go into the hospital I will have an epidural. I feel empowered and proud of myself because I have been labouring at home for almost eight hours. I am caught suddenly in a very now, very present moment – these moments are quite hard to catch, let alone hold in your thoughts. I think, I am having a baby! Right now, right here, I am having a baby! It is happening and it is a huge thing, no matter how I end up birthing you. All of my pre-labour thoughts around *needing* a natural birth and wanting to do it *right* are suddenly irrelevant, inconsequential, downright silly to me. Because it is happening and it will happen the way it is supposed to happen even with pain relief.

This thought helps me to wade through the next contractions, which by now are losing definition between beginning and end; they are running into one another and counting one contraction then another is becoming impossible as I cannot tell your Daddy where one has finished and if this one right now is a new one or the last one trickling away then resurging. The pressure in my bottom is steadily increasing – all I can think about is my bum! Something is forcibly expanding inside it like a balloon filled with solid matter, that’s what it feels like. I have a strong instinct to push all of a sudden. I think it would be about 4:15pm, maybe a little earlier. Although to say I ‘have an instinct’ is actually inaccurate as by body is starting to push anyway, not leaving any space for me to ponder any feelings or instincts. We call the hospital again and while the contractions are still not all that close together, the balloon-in-my-bum feeling is driving right through me. I can feel you, my baby, I can feel your very solid and physical presence. The midwife on the phone expresses concern when I say the contractions are right down in my bottom and that it feels like my body is trying to push. She mentions a breech baby but I know you are not breech, I know that with absolute certainty. Nevertheless at about 4:45pm we decide it is time to drive into the hospital. I don’t know how I manage to walk downstairs to our garage, or when we arrive at the hospital, how I manage to walk from the car park to the main entrance. I have a sort of out of body experience and see myself hobbling with my wheatbag, clutched desperately to my belly as though I might seriously harm anyone who tries to pry it from my hands. I have several contractions in the car on the way to the hospital and I physically have to arch and straighten my body like a plank in the car seat. I can remember each point along the route to the hospital at which I had a contraction. When we arrive I have several contractions walking into the hospital and they double me over so that I am looking very closely at my ankles and the ground underneath my feet.

We are admitted into the delivery suite around 5:30pm I think and I can barely stop myelf from pushing – as many women before me have described, it feels like wanting to do a poo! I’ve swapped the wheatbag for gas and air and am holding into the pipe for dear life. Any conversation around me drives me crazy – everyone is so irritating! There is a delay apparently with the anaesthetist for the epidural. I mentally utter a book’s worth of obscenities. Outwardly I am ok (or so I think!) I am groaning through contractions and starting to feel very panicky, but the sensation of deeply inhaling the gas gives me something still to focus on. The obstetrician arrives and berates the midwife for not pushing for the anaesthetist to come sooner. I remember her saying, ‘look at this woman! She needs that epidural NOW!’ I had a good relationship with her throughout my pregnancy and feel calm now she is here, she is on my side. Although I do also think at that moment that maybe I am not behaving as calmly as I thought I was!

While we are waiting my obstetrician does an internal and I am pleased to hear I am already almost 5cm dilated. I am so proud – I achieved all of that at home! I lose my plug at that moment and I let her break my waters, which I believe speeds things up even further. I remember looking down and seeing a LOT of mucous and blood and the sheets are sopping wet. This sticks in my mind because in the days following your birth I am humoured by how the birth process makes a woman lose all sense of inhibition. Everything is about blood and fluids and secretions and naked body parts. I distinctly remember when you were only a few days old, in the hospital, and I was laughing because here I was lying on the bed having my anus massaged by a physiotherapist because of my stitches and hemmeroids and my milk was leaking and I needed to change my maternity pad and you were lying beside me crying while I tried to placate you from this awkward position.

But I digress! When the epi-man arrives I hate him (I am in this state of mind, my sweet baby, one day you will understand completely!) He and Daddy have some sort of ridiculously long and pointless conversation about how epidurals work and how they affect the body. I want to tell them to shut the *** up but I am too busy clutching my gas pipe. Then, as I’m heaving through a contraction, the epi-man, needle poised at my spine, says ‘you should have told me you have scoliosis, I’m not sure I can get the needle in.’ Then he goes onto explain very slowly and with far too much detail for a woman in labour why it is hard to put the needle in between vertebrae that are not straight. I manage to bark out that I don’t have scoliosis, or I didn’t know I had it, and if I do it’s too late anyway. I glower at your Daddy over my gas pipe. He is a very good man and luckily knows my glower is not really intended for him.

The epidural goes in around 8pm. I have been labouring for almost 12 hours. Unfortunately from this point the story becomes uneventful because the labour slows right down – from me practically pushing in the car on the way to the hospital to what becomes another eight or so hours of … very little! The epidural was a relief – I could still feel contractions but they were subtle though noticeable stretches inside me, still exerting pressure and some discomfort. I was so very tired and by now very dehydrated (my urine drainage bag was a dark yellow) but was present enough to finally start drinking more liquids. Unfortunately the subsequent epidural top-ups were a little too much for my body and I started to feel so numb and the contractions dropped right off. The fatigue combined with the epidural made me feel remote and disconnected from our own birthing journey for the first time. Even now, when I think about this part of the labour I feel a little wistful, like I cannot fully remember or grasp the reality of the experience during that period.

Your Daddy stayed by my side awake and filling in the hours with reading and phone games as I lay in bed, wide awake, watching as the clock ticked past midnight, and onwards. The hospital around us was quiet, it was dark outside. Compared to the urgency and action of the day this felt like the twilight zone. Thinking about these hours I am prone to skip ahead and think about the pushing before I birthed you, but that is only because these hours blur into one indiscernible slab of time. At about 12:30-1:00am I was finally fully dilated and began pushing … and pushing. I could feel contractions but of course I had no sense of urgency now, no driving force pushing through my body. You were there, moving, burrowing insistently and I could feel you but not intensely enough to really help you along. We tried and we tried and at about 3:30am you were right there, almost there, but we couldn’t quite get you out. The obstetrician was becoming concerned about your wellbeing, you were doing well but you had been inside, working so very hard, for a very long time. She told me she needed to use the venteuse to help bring you out and I agreed immediately because while I felt you were okay, I was becoming frightened someone would soon suggest a caesarean. And because we were both so exhausted by then!

So you, Honor L ily, finally made your beautiful debut at 3:45am on Saturday February 15, 2012. I was so happy that I went into spontaneous (if prolonged) labour and that you were able to choose your own birthday. You weighed 3460grams and were 49cm long. I clearly remember how immediately and fully alert you were. In fact I was full of wonder when, as the midwife pushed us in the wheelchair from the delivery suite to the maternity ward, I glanced down at you cocooned in my arms and saw that your round, storm-blue eyes were wide open like beacons and your head was switching from side to side as you took in all you possibly could of this strange new world. Oh my clever, curious little girl!

Endnote: In hindsight, had I of known, I probably would not have followed through with an epidural because I believe I would have birthed you much sooner without it. But maybe not – the thing about the decisions we make is that we really do not know what the ‘other’, imagined outcome would be had it of become reality. But this thought haunted me in the early weeks and first few months of your beautiful life. And it is only in hindsight that I realise I had postnatal depression for much of those early months, which clouded my thoughts around, and valuing of, our birth experience. In the first few days immediately following your birth I was ecstatic – I felt so proud, so empowered. But in the weeks and months after that post-birth high I felt sad, disappointed, like I had let myself down by choosing to have an epidural and prolonging an already long, but previously very active, labour. I was so very exhausted physically and emotionally and my world had changed so completely that I found it hard to connect with you, and even harder to reconnect with your Daddy and the world.

But my little loveheart, even as I write this now, almost 14 months on, I feel silly. Because to lament my labour now feels as though I am lamenting your birth, your journey, your momentous, important experience. I return to that one clarifying thought I had while labouring at home, helping you to finally come earthside … a birth is a birth and no more or less of an achievement depending on how it unfolds. I still grew you, sustained you, protected you for over nine months while you evolved within me. Then my body enabled your entrance into our waking world. It still laboured, it still ebbed and flowed and expanded and contracted, folding and unfolding to help canal you through its inner chambers. We are a partnership, my darling. You and I achieved an amazing thing!

With the greatest love and tenderness,
Your mama, always.