Ivy's birth 27/4/09

Ok, so some birth stories start with a suggestion of a bikkie and a cuppa. For this one you're going to need a packed lunch and a sleeping bag. I really wrote it for me, and needed to write down the finer details a) so I'd remember all the little moments that made such a momentous 36 hours, and b) because I was pretty shaken up by the whole experience and needed a serious de-brief. Sorry it's mammoth but I can't be bothered re-writing the abridged version!

So here is is in all it's ranting, rambling, verbose glory:

As far as the pregnancy goes, I'd been feeling pretty normal... as normal as it can feel to have a small person in your belly anyway. I'd started to get lots of indigestion and sore ribs from the upward pressure, but after an amazingly healthy and easy pregnancy, I figured I was in for some discomfort at some stage! I'd been sick with a nasty cold for a few weeks but by now wasn't feeling that horrible. Just had a really chesty persistent cough that kept sending me into intense braxton hicks about 40 times a day. I was on maternity leave already and had planned to start packing my hospital bag, decorating the nursery, visiting friends... had my 'to do' list done (several pages worth)... but with my cold, had opted for a few days on the couch and just watched a whole lot of downloaded Grey's Anatomy.

Sleeping was getting a bit tricky - sore pelvis, sore ribs, 5 to 10 trips to the loo through the night... well, yes. Easy pregnancy, but I confess, by 35 weeks I'd started to whinge. I sat on the couch on the Saturday and had a word with my wriggling belly-occupant... I made a deal with her. "I'm not sure I can cope with this if you want to wait 'till 42 weeks. In fact, I might go crazy and decide on a home c-section. So how about 39 weeks 'eh? Then you'll be fully cooked, and your mother might have an ounce of sanity left. Deal?". I took from the little squirm that she concurred. Those squirms can be very difficult to interpret though, and with hindsight, I think perhaps she was trying to tell me something else...

26/4/09 - Sunday - 35 weeks, 2 days
I woke up at 6:30am, quite suddenly. I had the feeling that I was weeing in the bed, and while I did think "oh crap, has my pelvic floor completely gone?!" I think part of me knew straight away what had happened. I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet and the trickle continued. I tried to stop it but had no control. Then looked at the trail I'd left on the bathroom floor... pink drips. "Nope, never peed pink before. My waters have broken. Crap crap crap."
I remember sitting there feeling torn between several emotions. Primarily fear and shock. This looming feeling that the next 24 hours or so were going to be... well, I didn't know. But I knew it would be life-changing. Fear of birth. Fear for my girl. Fear of the unknown... because for all my reading and preparation, I'd never thought I'd have this baby early. I knew we were on the 'safer side' of prem., but I really had no idea what this would mean for my labour and for the health of my baby. The pit of my stomach hurt with fear and uncertainty, and my heart and mind started racing... but behind all this there was also a thrill. "Soon. Sooner than I thought... I'm going to hold my girl!"

My waters continued to trickle so I grabbed my towell and shoved it between my legs and waddled back to the bedroom. So glad it was a Sunday or Andrew (DH) would have been half-way to work already.
"Andrew"
"Ugh"
"Andrew, wake up"
"Ugh"
"Wake up, my waters have broken"
Poor thing. Don't think he's ever looked so stunned. He sat bolt upright with a crazed mix of sleep, confusion and fear all over his face.
"Wha?"
"My waters broke"
"Wha?.... wha?... but..... it's too early!"
I have a tendency to cry with Andrew. When I'm freaking out by myself, I hold it together. But when he's there, it's like I can let my guard down. As soon as he said that, I burst into tears. "I know. It's too early. And I'm scared."... (mood shift)... "and we're going to have a baby!!!"

We cuddled up in bed for a while. Andrew held me and patted me and we talked about what this might mean for the baby and what we needed to do. I was trying so hard to relax but my mind was going at a million miles an hour through what had to be done (what needed to go in my hospital bag... that she didn't have anywhere to sleep... that someone would need to be enlisted to look after the dog and the chooks...) and worry about what was going to happen. Would I go into labour? Would they try and hold it off? Would they induce me? Would they send me home to wait it out?

We got up and I forced down some breakfast as I started writing lists of what needed to be done, packed etc.. Andrew sat on the couch and just clutched his coffee. He was pale and looked stunned. Didn't really speak. Just stared at me as I rushed around trying to get things together.

I posted on BB, asking what I might expect and then called the hospital. They said given we were only at 35 weeks I would need to come in. No surprises there... but I was scared. Felt like if I went to hospital I was committing to this happening. And perhaps happening through more intervention than the completely drug-free active labour I had prepared so much for. I was supposed to labour at home. I was supposed to have my natural birth... what happens now???

I threw some things into a bag, left a scrawled note about taking care of chooks should we not return under the neighbour's door and took the dog to the IL's. I stayed in the car, leaking onto a towel while Andrew ran in and explained to them. As I waited I called my sister and told her what was happening, warning her I might need some company at the hospital if I was going to have to hang around. She sounded as stunned and excited as I was.

Andrew dropped me at the door to Birralee and I waddled down the hallway continuing to feel like I was peeing constantly. The midwife who greeted me a the desk was the mother of a child I did therapy with last year and greeted me like an old friend. I felt far more at ease with a familar face and it was great as things dragged on over the next few hours to have someone to chat with and catch up, distracting me quite well form a knawing background fear.

I was hooked up to monitor (baby happy and well, and sleeping soundly through the drama), had blood tests for strep as this hadn't been done yet and the midwife did a test to establish whether my waters had actually broken (I didn’t doubt it, I didn't think you could wee constantly for 3 hours) and yes… they confirmed that they had.

A doctor came in to chat to me and told that new hospital protocol required that, given I was less than 36 weeks, I stay for 72 hrs (she grimaced as she told me and rolled her eyes at my friend the midwife - she clearly didn't agree with the person making said protocol!). I was reluctant to stay. I wanted to labour at home. I wanted to avoid intervention. And I know that I could have just said no and left, but felt myself also reluctant to sit around at home and wait… and worry, since they kept repeating that there were more ‘risk factors’ as I was only at 35 weeks. I still didn't fully understand these 'risks'. I had prepared myself for this kind of talk. Arming myself with the true stats and knowledge about so many different possible complications so that nobody could railroad me into interventions through fear of the unknown... but this was the unknown. I didn't research this scenario. For some strange reason, it never even occurred to me that I might go early.
So I stayed. Fearing I was going to be confined to this little room for several days waiting and wondering. Andrew went home to pack the hospital bag and buy me snacks. My sister came in and kept me company. Early afternoon I had a bloody show which the midwife wanted to see for some reason. It's very very odd showing your bloody, gooey pad to an ex client. Awkward to say the least!

By mid afternoon I was bored and restless already and questioning whether I should have agreed to stay. I resolved that I'd stay the night and if nothing was happening by the morning that I'd go home for a while. I was moved into a bed on the ward in a room with no other occupants. Andrew returned (triumphant with some fairly random items from home and a small esky FULL of treats... he shops when he's anxious, and this time seemed to have purchased half the supermarket!) and sat on the bed with me and mucked around, keeping me happy and occupied. He started playing with the bed controls. Quoting Homer Simpson... "bed goes up, bed goes down, bed goes up..."! Raised it as high as it would go (about 1.5 meters!) ... and of course, a midwife walked into the room just as we sat giggling at the top. Fortunately she seemed fairly amused and just left us to it.

At 3 or 4pm I started to get twinges that gradually grew to contractions. By 5:30 they were strong enough that I was hopping off the bed for each one and walking around as they were less intense if I was standing. A midwife warned me to not get too excited. That it could go on like this for days and the more intense they grew, the more horrific a prospect that became. I was managing, but knew that I certainly wasn't going to manage 2 or 3 days of this. I started to time them at 6pm. They were 5-10 minutes apart and varying in length and intensity. I had to tell Andrew not to crack jokes during contractions as I was finding that things were less and less funny the more intense they got.
My sister left to have dinner with Mum and Dad – under strict instructions to not tell them that labour had started - and Andrew fell asleep for a while on the bed. I tried to watch TV but it was very hard to relax. I did notice that when I managed to just concentrate on the TV the contractions intensified... then when I worried, or someone unfamiliar came in the room the contractions then eased off or sometimes disappeared. It was fascinating watching my body react to my mental state.
Andrew woke up and went for a walk up to Box Hill for dinner. I called a friend and chatted to her but had to hang up when a contraction came along as I couldn’t talk anymore.

I was amazed at the feeling and intensity of the contractions. So powerful and indescribable. Amazed that my body was generating such power and I had absolutely not say in it. I was starting to moan during contractions and having to stop pacing and hold onto bench or table and rock my hips at the peak of each one. By 9pm they were coming every 4 – 8 minutes and were getting really strong, but still varying in length, frequency and intensity.

At about 10 staff decided to move me into the labour room. It was a relief to know that they believed that this was really happening and that I wasn't in for several more days of this! The walk down the hall seemed to ramp things up even more. As soon as I got into the room I found myself searching for the right position to cope with each contraction. I really wanted something high (about head height) to hold on to and kind of hang from so I could drop my hips slightly but there was nothing that worked like this so I took to pacing the room and leaning on the wall, bed or Andrew for each contraction.

I gave the midwives our birth plan. The midwife looking after me read it and was very apologetic – ‘I want to give you the birth that you want but because you’re prem., we’ll need to put on constant monitoring and give you IV antibiotics etc.’ (all of which I hoped to avoid). I understood that things were different but I was thrown.

Although labour was clearly ‘established’ by about 10:30, the midwives told me they had decided to "ignore this" for a while in order to hold off on monitoring.

Was in a really good state of mind at this stage. Contractions were becoming more and more intense but I was so determined to manage each one. I moaned a deep, long moan, taking a deep breath midway and then moaning again through each one. Walking as it begun and then standing leaning on something as it peaked. I kept visualising my body opening up and baby moving down and although each was becoming so intense as to almost overwhelm me, I was willing as I knew each was bringing me closer to my baby.

The midwife suggested that I get in the shower. The hot water was lovely and I found myself cranking the temp up really hot. I wanted the shower jet on both my back and my tummy but I needed both hands free to hold onto the wall or the chair so I couldn’t really direct it. Andrew was hovering around but he didn’t bring his shorts so he couldn’t come in and help me. I think I was in there for about 30 mins and then started to feel dizzy so I got out but remained naked. I think it was at this point where I started to have a lot of trouble regulating my temperature and would go from boiling hot to freezing cold over the course of a few minutes (hot during a contraction and shaking with cold in between).

I think the midwife checked baby’s heart rate with a Doppler and said that it was very high and that permanent monitoring would be required. It was only after she put this on and noted that baby’s heart rate had dropped again that she said ‘oh, the heart-rate does tend to go up when the mother gets hot from the shower’. This infuriated Andrew - he, like me wanted to avoid intervention. I was bracing myself for the next contraction and barely noticed.

Andrew was losing also confidence in this midwife because she was so apologetic and kept trying to justify why she had to tow the hospital line. She suggested that we call Felicity (our KYM program midwife that I had seen throughout the pregnancy) in as she would be better able to defend our position and fend off the doctors and obstetricians who were apparently outside the door and wanting to introduce other interventions.

Felicity arrived at 1:20am and both Andrew and I relaxed considerably. We felt comfortable with her, and knew that she would do everything to protect our baby, and to give us as natural a birth as possible. She was calm and confident and inspired these feelings in us... amazing woman.
Felicity felt my abdomen and said that baby was sitting very low. I could feel her wriggling around and all indications on the monitor were that she was fine. I was having contractions every 2 mins. Felicity did an examination and told me I was 5cm dilated. I was happy with this. I was making progress. I was having my baby!

Between here and about 5am I continued to work through each contraction, taking each one as it came. Spent quite a lot of the time kneeling on the floor, leaning over the fit-ball and rocking my hips from side-to side. I absolutely HAD to move through each contraction and much preferred to be leaning forward, but between them I needed to rest. For a while I tried lying on the bed and then turned and leaned over the raised back of the bed for each contraction. Some I hung off Andrew. Occasionally I ended up on the toilet for a contraction or two... something in the back of my mind would quietly note how weird it was that someone was holding my hand while I peed, but for the most part I was embracing just letting it all go and going with whatever I needed to do.
I found that if I let myself think about how long I had to go or the fact that there would be many more contractions, I would start to freak out, but if I just focussed on getting through each one, I managed ok. There were two voices in my head. One occasionally said ‘it’s too much’ but the stronger one said ‘I’m doing this. It’s ok’.

I continued to go from sweating and hot during each contraction, to so cold between them that I shook and needed warm blankets put on me. Contractions still seemed to vary in frequency and intensity, but I don’t know if this was reality or perception.

Some contractions seemed to last longer than others and there were times where my loud moans would start to turn to wails as the contraction peaked and peaked and peaked and I ran out of mental energy to cope, but as each subsided I gathered my strength and determination again. I was still so willing and quietly proud of myself. I felt powerful and amazing. I was overwhelmed and stunned by the pain and the force of each contraction… but willing. I felt I was opening up and making progress. I could see the confidence in Felicity’s face that I was doing really well and Andrew looked calm and encouraging and like he believed in me. After a while, as I started losing energy, I tried to focus in on feelings of love to relax me and get the oxytocin going. Through each contraction I started chanting ‘om mani padme hum’.

At about 5am I started to feel really overwhelmed. I started to wail more through the contractions and then started retching violently before every contraction. I thought to myself – "I wonder if this is transition". Then I had this long period (perhaps 5 mins) of lying quietly with no contractions and I thought perhaps this was that ‘calm before the storm’ that I'd read about.

When I got off the bed for the next contraction, things felt different. I felt a heaviness in my hips, and an urge to squat quite low. The contraction had lost it’s ‘pinch’ and instead felt weighty and hard and … well, different. I decided that this meant that I had moved into second stage. I decided that feeling ‘different’ meant feeling like I needed to push. Looking back, I didn’t feel that overwhelming urge to push that women describe. I just felt an overwhelming urge to squat. To get into a position that I just couldn’t quite attain (I think this was actually my body telling me that baby had turned into an awkward position and that I needed to move a certain way to shift her). I started to groan and grunt more than moan, and each time a contraction started I would try to find the position my body was asking for. I tried squatting but my legs wouldn’t hold me in the position I needed to be. I tried hanging off the bed and hanging off Andrew but still couldn’t get there. Every time I started to freak out, I’d just look at the clock and tell myself that stage 2 takes 1-2 hours and that I’d be meeting my baby before 8am. I kept on pushing away, but in the back of my mind, I started to question what I was doing. Was it working? Why didn’t I feel baby moving? After what felt like an hour of pushing, I said to Felicity: ‘she’s not moving’. Felicity suggested that I check myself to see if I could feel the head. When I put my fingers there I still mostly expected to feel a little hard scalp not too far away but all I could feel was me and my heart sank. Felicity encouraged me to get up on the bed and she examined me herself and said ‘I’m really sorry but you have to stop pushing. You’re only 6cm dilated'. I almost cried. Maybe I did. I couldn't believe that I had only progressed 1cm when I thought I was about to meet my baby. My confidence drained away and I just thought "I don’t have the energy to work through all the contractions that it’s going to take to get to 10cm, and then to push". I looked at Andrew and he looked stunned and ‘flattened’ as well.

This is the point that everything changed. I lost my determination and my courage and my energy all at once. The ‘I can’t’ voice got so much louder, and the ‘I can’ voice faded to the background. My willingness was gone and I just lay on the bed terrified of what was to come. I did not believe that I had the mental or physical energy to keep on breathing and moaning my way through each contraction. I didn’t believe I could make it to the end. My mind went crazy with fear and doubt and utter exhaustion and all of a sudden, I just wanted out. At first, it wasn’t a specific plan for ‘out’, I just wanted it to stop. I stopped trying to cope with the contractions and started to resist them. Instead of moaning, I started yelling. Instead of feeling myself opening up, I felt myself closing… almost crossing my legs to try and push back the pain. I don’t remember the sequence of things at this point and I’ve got no idea of the passage of time. I just remember screaming. Making sounds that I’ve never heard anyone make, and were terrifying to hear coming out of me. I started trying to persuade Felicity and Andrew that I couldn’t do it any more. At first hoping that they would see my predicament and suggest something, and then when they kept being encouraging (in spite of the fear I could see in Andrew’s eyes) I started trying to manipulate them. Looking them in the eyes and pleading. Begging. At first, just saying ‘help me’. And after a while, saying ‘I just want a caesarean. I just want this to stop’. Felicity said lightly ‘well you really don’t want me to do that… I’d make a terrible mess!’. I pretty much missed that she was joking and just became more frustrated. Couldn’t she see that I really, really couldn’t do any more?? At one stage I remember saying to her "what’s the safe word? Surely there’s something I can say to you that will make you know that I mean it. That I really really want to stop". She just looked at me calmly and said "no, there’s nothing you can say". Poor Andrew was crying. I can’t believe that he managed to hold out with me screaming and crying and begging him. He just kept looking at me and saying "you don’t want that". Poor thing. I’m almost as traumatised by his experience as I am by mine. I feel so awful for putting him through that.

For a while, Felicity persuaded me to focus really hard on breathing through the pain. I found that each contraction was between 10 and 12 breaths long and if I could get myself to 6, I could cope, knowing the end was in sight. I managed for a while, still screaming, like this. Maybe it was hours, I’m not sure. But it was taking every ounce of mental energy I had and I was fighting the pain and each contraction, just as hard as I was working through them.

I remember desperately searching my mind for the determination to go on. I needed to find a reserve of energy. I needed to find a little bit of belief that I could manage, and that I’d make it to the end. There was a part of me that was still aware that I'd had had a massive shift in my state of mind and that I needed to get back on track, but I couldn’t get back to that place of confidence. I remember thinking to myself ‘remember this place… remember how exhausted and horrible you feel… remember that you have nothing left to give and don’t look back and hate yourself for giving up’. I gave myself permission to give up and I can’t quite get past this. I remember what it felt like, but I wish I’d moved past it. I wish I’d known that it was temporary and found something beyond it. But I gave up. And I screamed.

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

THOUGHTS ABOUT IVY’S BIRTH

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.

Wanted to say Wow! I read the whole thing - not often do I get through posts that long, but yours held me captive!
I have not been there myself, so can't compare, but wanted to say, you let your body do what it needed to do, you listened to your body and yourself and you took the course of action that was right for you for that moment. You are not a failure, your body is not a failure and you will be just as successful in making the right choices the next time around.

:

---

I started trying to persuade Felicity and Andrew that I couldn?t do it any more. At first hoping that they would see my predicament and suggest something, and then when they kept being encouraging (in spite of the fear I could see in Andrew?s eyes) I started trying to manipulate them. Looking them in the eyes and pleading. Begging. At first, just saying ?help me?. And after a while, saying ?I just want a caesarean. I just want this to stop?.Couldn?t she see that I really, really couldn?t do any more?? At one stage I remember saying to her "what?s the safe word? Surely there?s something I can say to you that will make you know that I mean it. That I really really want to stop". She just looked at me calmly and said "no, there?s nothing you can say". Poor Andrew was crying. I can?t believe that he managed to hold out with me screaming and crying and begging him. He just kept looking at me and saying "you don?t want that". Poor thing. I?m almost as traumatised by his experience as I am by mine. I feel so awful for putting him through that.

---

When I read that it took me right back to the place when I felt exactly the same. The only difference was that I was begging for pethidine instead of a c-section. A part of me wishes that I had been able to get through the entire birth without drugs, but I was stuck in transition for around 3 hours before getting the pethidine, and for that I remain proud. And you should feel proud too missy! You did an awesome job birthing your sweet Ivy under the less-than-ideal situation.

Like you, I still want to try for the totally natural birth again next time, but will take my experiences along with me. We have both learnt a lot from our births, and while it will make us more prepared and possibly better able to cope next time, it has also taught us that it's ok if things don't go perfectly to plan. At the end of the day we have our beautiful babies!

Congratulations on writing a wonderful, inspiring, and captivating birth story!

Oh wow!! I opened this story up earlier and thought, "hmm i might wait till tonight". Just sat back with some mint slice biscuits and absolutely loved it! you did sooo well, thats great that your hubby found his voice in the end and told them to unwrap her. You've put soo much detail into everything, her squashed nose, her lip pushed sideways... just lovely!!
I was on gas with my DD and i can't remember any of those special moments... you've done a fantastic job, congratulations!!! xx

Thankyou for sharing your story :comfort:. A beautiful recollection that Ivu will be able to read when she is older :)

I am glad that Ivy arrived safe and sound, I understand the extra stress that having a prem can have, especially when you aren't quite ready for bubs to arrive just yet.

DH had the same look of shock when my waters had broken as well, although I didn't get to see it when I first told him as I was driving! But he looked horrified when I drove into the garage!

Thankyou once again and I still have some of my tea left as I was too enthralled to drink it all while reading!!
xxoo

great birth story! you also had me captivated!

thank you for sharing xx

Hi Kat, what a captivating story. I enjoyed every moment of reading it and despite everything, you did a wonderful job. Your story is an inspiration. Look forward to catching up soon.

xx

Thankyou for sharing your birth story. It sure opens your eyes as to how they like to intervene as much as possible. Its like birth is a condition to them, not something natural and it angers me that at some hospitals they take away all of those special moments from a family just because its protocol or they are on a schedule.

You did so well, well done and Congratulations :D

Wow what an epic tale - you did so well and what a recollection you have! - I definitely don't think you failed yourself or your beautiful DD or your husband or midwife - I am in awe of you and thank you for sharing your story :hug:

WOW! You had my tears flowing at the deal you made with your wriggling belly-occupant..
You did a fantastic job bring your beautiful, healthy little girl into your arms! I can only hope I can do as well as you did if I'm put in a similar situation as what you were!
I think it's simply horrid the way they took your DH's moment of glory away from him! Personally, that would be the only thing I'd be dissapointed with! Which was totally the fault of the midwife!

Hey Kat. I am overwhelmed by this story. So much of it resonates with me, as I'm sure it does with every birthing woman, and so much of it has opened my eyes further to what a bodily experience birth is (sounds obvious, but its not). And some of it taught me about how tough it can be and how through circumstances out of my control I was privileged to have two very positive birth experiences.
I'm so pleased that you included that last page. I'm thrilled to know that you've come through this debriefing empowered, rejoicing in Ivy's birth. I am sorry for the struggle to get here, but mostly I'm sorry for the set of circumstances that took away your confidence.
Yours is such a powerful story, Kat. I can't believe how much you can remember 4 months on! I was struggling to remember the details of my births after only a few weeks. But your recounting of your feelings, urges, emotions... it brings it all back. Thank you for that. And thank you for sharing. xx

Wow... thankyou so much for all the lovely comments. I'm really touched. Like I said, I wrote this for my own debrief and was actually really embarrassed to post it because it's sooooo long and I thought it might be a bit self-indulgent. But I'm really glad others have enjoyed it, and if it gives anyone ideas, inspiration or information... I'm really happy to have shared it.

Amy, I wrote a fair bit down within the first few weeks, it's just taken me this long to put it all together into a semi-coherent story.

Thanks again beautiful women.