The birth story series. Part 2.

It was 7am the following morning that my waters broke. No huge gush, but definitely unmistakenably, my waters broke. Every time I changed sitting position, I would gush again. It was more comfortable now to remain as upright as possible. I couldn’t have had a little “sleep” without flooding our bed, so, this was the most sleep I was now going to have until the baby arrived. And I got 2 ½ hours of it in between painful contractions that night, so I was already running on vapours.

We called my parents, and they came to look after Avalon. The morning was filled with me doing last minute cleaning and hospital bag packing, and Avalon squealing with delight at my parent’s play. I wish I could have stayed there until the birth itself. Unfortunately, I had a strep b infection, which 20% of women have, and it causes no harm to us, but to an unborn child can kill them if antibiotics are not administered throughout the labour. I’m just one of these unlucky women whose waters break at the start of labour instead of in the heat of the action.

So upon calling the hospital, I still had to be admitted even though labour hadn’t properly started. My contractions were 10-15 apart, some intense, some unnoticeable. This was prelabour. Again. Avy’s prelabour lasted 31 hours. I prayed for a faster one this time, and God was merciful. Only 16 hours with Willow!

I was cannulated, injected a couple of times with antibiotics, and left to my own devices to get this labour happening. We spent our time equally reading books, walking stairs and staying active to try to get the show on the road. Nothing exhausting, but enough just to jiggle this bub into the right position if something wasn’t aligned properly.

Craig was sent home once visiting hours were over for an early night, and I had a sleepless night ahead of me. Craig was woken at 11pm that night by a phonecall.

“Craig, it’s started”

“Oh ok, should I come now?”

The midwives didn’t believe me that labour had started. They’d told me to have a shower. I was all emotional. I wanted Craig with me, and I didn’t want to birth this baby alone in the shower. I’ve heard storied of how fast it can all happen, and having only 16 months between births, you just never know what your body’s going to do second time round.

“They won’t send me to labour ward. I don’t think they believe me. But I need you here, they’re really painful to get through without massage.”

Craig reassured me it’d be ok, to have the shower and then tell them again.

So I did. Instead of the shower helping them, they were now 8 minutes apart and QUITE painful. I had to breathe through the wave and use all my techniques I’d learnt to cope without collapsing in a heap.

The midwives finally listened to me, and one of them came to time them. By this time, they were now 5 minutes apart and growing in intensity with every one.

They told me to pack up, they were moving me down to the birthing suites.

Finally! How do you convince someone that you’re really labouring, when you’re not screaming in agony but breathing through the contractions? To an outsider, I must have looked too calm, so she dismissed me. I forgive her, even though at the time, this midwife was my mortal enemy, a barrier between myself and craig being together at this birth.

They transferred me to a lovely big room at about 12.30am Easter Saturday, so I called Craig again and told him to tally ho over, that we were now ready. He called my doula (birth assistant) on the way, and Willow was to be born that morning.

The birth story series. Part 4.

This consoled me for a while and I focused on nothing but surviving. It’s a well known fact that in birth, women shut down to their primal brain, and all their higher functions of reasoning switch off. This makes entire sense to me. Because as I went through this experience, all I could focus on was survival. My body was doing everything it could to SURVIVE. Why would it need the higher thought of reason when the whole body is convulsing from within to expel this creature which has now reached the point where it is sucking the life out of it’s Mother, rather than her ‘supporting’ it? The baby can’t stay in there forever. And the body knows that.

The birth once it begins has to reach it’s conclusion. And the person inside that body is totally encompassed by it’s motions, that they can only accept the pain and go with it and try not to fight it. If you fight the pain, the body clamps up even more and the pain gets even stronger. We have to accept the labour pain for it to go away faster. How counterintuitive is that! Even when everything within you is telling you that this pain is wrong. Because in every other bodily experience, if we feel pain, it IS because something is terribly wrong.

It makes sense to me that pain is a fitting result of our rejection of God in the garden of Eden. Our response to God’s rule and authority is totally wrong, and consequently, pain now exists in his creation. And more intensely so in birth; the very act of his creatures creating! Creation itself is stuffed from our sin. And no more do I feel this truth than in the process of my babies’ births. And moreover, how fitting that I experience this trauma than on Easter Friday and Saturday. The days we set apart to mourn for our sin and the depths our Saviour Lord Jesus went through to release us of it.

The birth story series. Part 5.

As much as I hated the gas and it’s effects, I also loved it for the same reason. It helped me to not perceive reality. And during the most painful experience of my life, I actually don’t want to really comprehend the pain.

So I drifted in and out of dreamland while on the gas, all the time feeling every bit of the pain, but not perceiving that the feeling was “pain” because it made my mind so murky that my thoughts were also jumbled.

I hallucinated throughout the end of the birth. I drifted into consciousness and the pain of reality to breathe out the words “epidural please” several times, because when I stopped breathing the gas, I could tell that a lot of time had passed, and this epidural was still “on it’s way”. I thought Craig and my doula needed more convincing. Apparently, it was really just a staffing issue. In the wee hours of Easter Saturday, 3 other women were labouring, and one needed an emergency c section. So she obviously took precedence over my needs right then. I’m a little disappointed now that even though I asked for the epidural at least 4 hours before I birthed, it still didn’t arrive in time. Next time I’ll hire my own anaesthetist, too!

In my hallucinations I was dying. I saw shapes in black and white. This must have been during the peak of a contraction. The darkness (the pain) would cover all of the white, until the white was just a pin prick in my vision. I would stop sucking the gas, because I thought, that’s it, I’m dead. I should walk towards the light… And then the reality would set in, and the bathroom would become clear again, and I realised that I was experiencing such extreme pain, that I had stopped breathing and instead, had been waiting for death to take hold of me. The dawning of this reality made the pain even worse, so I grabbed back the gas and would suck it down again until I could no longer think clearly again. So it was in this dreamland that I indulged in. I sucked the gas as much as I could before passing out (tip: keep a small amount of light around), then I’d regulate my breathing so that I could stay with the visions and not come out of it. Because coming out of the haze into reality was too overwhelming.

I had fallen to the floor during this time, and my doula found me a birthing ball to hang over. They diligently dug their glorious hands into my back with every wave. In my hazy dreamland, I said “thankyou for my cloud” which was the last phrase I muttered before delivery.