grendelsmere

Sophia’s Birth Story

(Frankly, mostly Jane’s birth story. Sophia largely phoned it in).

Caveat: none is this is intended to cast judgement on anyone else’s experience. I believe so strongly in respecting people’s choices when it comes to their bodies, and so much of birth seems down to random chance.

Towards the end of pregnancy, Sophia wasn’t moving much during the day. As soon as I lay down at night the uterine disco would begin, and wouldn’t stop until I suspended the whole bump off the bed, with none of it touching anything. (She was very firm on this). This lack of daytime movement caused problems when she was being monitored. She would have a kick and a punch at the monitors when they were first strapped on, then lose interest and, presumably, go to sleep. I spent a lot of time on those monitors, waiting for her to do the requisite number of movements, and we had two rather scary unscheduled trips to the hospital when she hadn’t moved detectably for ages. Along with my advanced age and general state of decrepitude, that meant induction. I wasn’t happy about this. I wanted to labour naturally, and stay at home for as much of it as possible, to avoid the stress and effort of having to behave like a Normal Person around strangers. But I didn’t want to mess things up, so far into the project. So we went off to Induction Camp. (They moved it forward a day, meaning Andy missed Avengers at the cinema, so at least we were both unhappy).

I had never had any kind of intimate examination before. I made it almost all the way to Officially In Labour without one. Turns out I don’t mind them. So that was a lot of avoidance effort for nothing. I had a pessary (with a string). And we walked laps around the outside of the hospital. It did nothing. I had another one (without a string). And walked more laps. It did nothing. I had a Cook’s balloon. Walked more laps. It did nothing. Then Andy went home for a bit. And I had something that felt very much like labour. I cried a bit, and climbed up onto chairs backwards (this helped a lot). And it suddenly stopped hurting, and we walked more laps. Because I am some manner of idiot, without realising it, I was clenching muscles to hold the thing in. But eventually I had a wee, it fell out, and we graduated to labour ward.

Nurse mentioned there might be a wait, and suggested we have a sleep. This was one of the finest suggestions anyone has ever made, as that 3-4 hours was the last real sleep I’d have for 3 days. We went to labour ward, I got on a syntocinon drip, and we had a lovely chat with midwife 1 all night. She had recently had a baby, and talked to me about pain relief, and I rethought a lot of things.

In the morning midwife 2 arrived, we did more chatting, she periodically got permission to increase the drip, and the day passed. Some medical students came in. I got sympathetic looks from a few of them. I was happily bouncing on a ball at this point, but I expect they knew that rougher seas were coming.

At some point I started getting contractions I could feel, but they didn’t bother me much. Eventually they got worse, and the midwife rubbed my back through them, and Andy took over and did a lovely back massage with lavender oil, and that was very nice. And the syntocinon periodically went up, and we were at the maximum level allowed, but somehow there always seemed to be more levels we could go to, with the right permissions, and the contractions were getting stronger and lasting longer, so that they kind of ran in to one another. I had some gas and air, which was lovely. I would leave it until just before the peak of the contraction, have the nitrous, and stop just after the peak, and my head would clear really quickly. I’m very glad it worked, as sobriety was only ever a couple of breaths away. We also had a TENS machine. I felt very looked after when Andy got this, but my only memory of it in labour was that the gas must be clearing because I could feel the TENS again.

As the contractions got worse, I got grumpier, more shut off from people, and a bit fed up. The obstetrician would come in periodically, presumably to check on me and sign off on syntocinon-related things. She had spotted Andy and I doing our laps, and praised us a bit for that, but I didn’t really talk to or notice her much – it was all about the midwife. Who was relatively new to the role, but who I trusted 100%. She built a great rapport with us, despite clearly having to do paperwork more or less constantly. But I was getting tired, and fed up, and I asked the obstetrician how much longer things might take. And she said 7 or 8 hours. And I felt crestfallen, and destined for a C-section, which I didn’t want.

We talked about options, and I got an epidural, and it was marvellous. I’d read that it was a good idea to ask about one before you’d hit breaking point, as it could take a while before the anaesthetist was available. But it was almost immediate. And they turned off the syntocinon for a bit. (Hurray!) I remember comments about how it was the ‘hot anaesthetist’. In retrospect I think he was pretty good looking, but I was just stroppy and outraged at any flirting in my presence. Do not flaunt your ability to move around and engage in dialogue in front of the mute pregnasaur! There will be no Grey’s Anatomy here!

There was a small hiccup. I was trying to hold still for the epidural, but a contraction hit, I jumped down off the raised bed and climbed up on a chair. This did not make anyone happy. I was having very little time between contractions. Anaesthetist had to explain the risks to me during this brief gap, then we’d all wait for the next gap. Andy asked him a question during one of these gaps and I was, again, mutely outraged, as I wanted the pain relief, and it seemed to be taking forever. No real issue with the injection itself. Then I lay down, and it was slightly patchy, but basically lovely, and I was in the room again and could talk to people, and participate in things, and was in a much better mood. I support people’s right to be as stroppy and difficult as they like in labour (or when people are cycling on the pavement), but this was the right choice for me.

The downside was that I had no idea when to push. I think the epidural did slow things down, which was problematic, as I was very aware that we were on the clock with how much longer I could be on the syntocinon. But the midwife advocated for more time, and manually stretched things a bit, and towards the end of her shift a head started appearing. I remember wanting to feel it, and the midwife helped me do this, and it was lovely to have someone pick up on that without any verbal exchange. I still remember the feel of that bony, hairy little head, and how alien it was.

Sophia’s head is massive (Andy’s head is also massive). With the epidural, I couldn’t move around to get it out more easily, so the midwife did an episiotomy. Her first, I think. Midwife 3 had arrived by this point, and, after a brief turf war as Midwife 2’s shift was over but she didn’t want to leave at this point, 3 talked 2 though it. And then there was a head, and pretty much immediately a whole baby. I got to cuddle and feed her, Andy cut the cord, which he was unimpressed by, midwife 2 gave me a kiss on the cheek and left, and poor midwife 3 was left to tidy everything up. She had to ask me to hold still while she sewed me up (I was focused on Sophia, and not really aware of anything else going on). We had tea and toast, I had a bit of a shower (the bathroom light wasn’t working, and I hadn’t brought anything to wash with. NB for any future labours), then it was into a wheelchair and back to the ward and Andy was sent home. I’d been so focused on the labour bit, I didn’t realise that you then hit the ground running with the whole parenting business, and so the first night was tricky, as I decided to stay awake all night to make sure S didn’t cry and wake up the rest of the ward. This was a poor decision. I didn’t know where to change her (in the cot, apparently). Luckily I had milk already, and she had a tiny stomach, so I fed her haphazardly (it would take two months and a stint of expressing and bottle feeding to crack that one).

I didn’t scream. Or vomit. I did giggle (having your waters broken tickles). And sort of faint (turns out, it is important to take in some fluids during labour). Several things I really Did Not Want happened. I finally got a birth plan (midwife scribbled it on a bit of paper about a minute and a half before S arrived). I was resistant to birth plans, as despite lots of reading, I had no idea how anything would feel, or how I might react, and felt better leaving it all up in the air. The medical staff were so much easier to deal with that I’d imagined. I wrote a card the next day and left it for midwife 2. Really hope I spelled her name right.

Just checked Andy’s notes for stuff I missed. Induction lasted three days. Apparently we played two games of Splendour. One draw, one definitive win by me. And sometimes, when we did laps, we went clockwise. My favourite quotes, presented without comment:
“Jane had some dinner, and looked less grey”
“Jane was unusually emotional”
“Andy was forbidden from looking at the monitors.”