Anyone who’s given birth has a story to tell.
Good, bad, ugly – there’s always more to a birth story than meets the eye, and it’s definitely more complex than most people would care to admit. You see and read so many negative stories surrounding birth: many don’t go as planned. Some, of course, do, but pretty much all the abundant stories on the internet have a tendency to strike a note of fear into the reader (who nine out of ten times is pregnant themselves).
So, if you’re pregnant and reading this – know this story is a positive one. Hopefully it’ll make you feel more confident, and that good birth stories – even if they don’t take the anticipated path – do exist.
Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start). I’ll admit, I never feared giving birth – I did when I was younger and not pregnant – but when pregnant with my little boy, I was genuinely curious more than anything as to how such a monumental event would come to pass.
Personally, I think the best thing that I did was go to a fantastic antenatal class, one called The Village Midwife, which promotes confidence and a positive idea of birth, however it may look. One of the books on the recommended reading list (yes, I am that nerdy), was The Positive Birth book by Milli Hill. This book alone was a game changer for me and my outlook on birth. It built foundations of confidence in my brain to know that I do, in fact, A) have the strength to give birth and B) have complete agency over what happens and to voice my opinions on how I want birth to happen.
I started hypnobirthing, which Milli references in The Positive birth book, but I mainly used Siobhan Miller’s Hypnobirthing book – which promises to “make your birth better” (it did). It’s not some hippy dippy meditation – it’s proper breathing techniques to help promote oxytocin and reduce pain. It also brings the idea of a vaginal birth back to being primal and instinctual – and states how to work with your body rather than against it.
From my research, my birth preference was to have a water birth in the midwife-led birthing centre, next to the labour ward, at my local hospital. I wanted to be in the dark, candles on, gentle music playing with minimal pain relief. I was happy with active management of the placenta and I didn’t want to see it, but be reassured it came out in one piece. I also wanted minimal interference from doctors after my dubious experience with them (which avid readers of my blog will know). Finally, I wanted a calm dimly lit first hour with skin to skin with my baby, and delayed cord clamping to promote bonding. I wrote out my visual birth plan using Milli Hill’s visual guide which used illustrations in order for the midwives to quickly see what I’d like.
At one point I said I felt really lucky with my birth experience, but in hindsight it wasn’t the smoothest of rides. It was still positive though, that’s for sure. I remember saying to my husband, whilst in the recovery observation room, completely numb from the waist down, shoulder strained from the exertion, and absolutely cream-crackered, “I’d do that again”.
Now I’ve set the scene – on with the show.
I was nearly forty two weeks pregnant and the size of a small elephant, my little boy cosily determined to stay put whilst everyday turned into a desperate attempt to get labour going: curb walking, curry, raspberry leaf tea, countless dates consumed, you name it – it was tried.
Finally, I laboured early for three days after my second stretch and sweep (again, not as bad as I read about and would recommend if you don’t want to be induced) with my contractions coming every twenty mins for most of that time. I started the TENS machine really early which I think worked well for the endorphin build up and got into a rhythm of hypnobreathing my way through. Every time a contraction came, I’d stand up and lean over a desk / table / bannister and sway through it. Sitting down or lying down was so much worse. Movement was the key. They started like period cramps, really manageable, then slowly got more and more like painful period cramps. What was great – and I didn’t expect – was after about 20-30 seconds, the pain stopped and I felt back to normal.
After attempting to get sleep, wrapped in a duvet, whilst sitting on a backwards chair, clicking the TENS machine to go high and higher, contractions then ramped up to every three minutes by Saturday morning. I had blood in my knickers and messaged one of my best friends who’s a midwife. She said it was a sign of things ramping up and should go to the hospital. It was a twenty five minute car ride turned cliche comedy sketch with me shouting “WHY ARE THEY GOING SO SLOW” mid contraction as the roads were filled with buses stopping every two minutes and learner drivers.
Waddling through the hospital, bending over every couple of minutes to get through the contractions, I was checked and rushed through to a labour room to be told I was eight centimeteres dilated. When we arrived I was still bleeding so they put me on labour ward rather than birth centre but in that moment I really didn’t mind. I was in labour at hospital for another seven hours, stood up the whole time swaying, breathing and using gas and air and TENS machine for relief – I loved the gas and air. That first inhale I was giggling like a school girl for ages going “oh this is brilliant”. I surrendered to the pain and breathed through it consistently. I worked with my body and just did what my animal instincts told me.
At one point the doctors came in and asked me to put on compression socks “In case I need to go to theatre” to which I shouted “that’s not very positive!!!” and asked them to leave. The monitor lost track of our individual heartbeats at one point so the midwife popped a monitor on my little boy’s head whilst he was still inside me to keep a close eye on him.
Remarkably, my waters didn’t break so had to be manually broken when I was nine centimeteres dilated – honestly I didn’t even feel it – and finally I declared “I need to do a poo!”, famously the phrase used when it’s time for baby to make their grand appearance. I did not, in fact, poo. But I did dig as deep as a human possibly can and I pushed for an hour (which felt like ten minutes) whilst vertical, on my knees, on the bed and he was out!
His hand came out by his face (I later learned was called the superman pose) which caused really bad internal tears and I lost 1.6 litres of blood (over a third of my total blood) because of it. My placenta came out quickly in one piece by injection.
With my beautiful baby on my chest, the big red panic alarm was rung (I was sort of oblivious as this point) and all the doctors and staff ran in. Unfortunately, after only a moment of holding him and cutting the cord, I had to be rushed into theatre as my blood loss was too great. I was sort of spaced out as I was rushed through the halls I’d previously waddled down eight hours earlier. I was administered the spinal block by very kind anaesthesiologists. By that point I was so tired I didn’t care. Luckily, I had previously seen the consultant doctor who was in charge of stitching me back up, which was so reassuring – she even remembered me – in her words – cause she made a silly joke about Matt changing his name to Adam so we were Adam and Eve. Matt and my little boy were right next to me the whole time.
After my stitches, I was taken to an observation room where I wasn’t allowed to see anyone apart from Matt. It was here I realised that in holding my body up whilst swaying and in the lurches of labour I’d damaged my right upper arm muscle and shoulder was frozen. So in addition to being unable to feel my legs, I had limited movement of my right arm which meant I couldn’t lift my boy at all for the first few days unless he was placed on me. In a way I didn’t care – I was transfixed with him. How had I made such a perfect creature?
Once moved to the postpartum ward, initially I was told, despite losing so much blood, I didn’t need a blood transfusion, and was recommended I have an iron infusion to compensate for my blood loss. After a few days in hospital being monitored, I was sent home. I felt like I’d be hit by a bus – I remember looking at the other new mums walking around like normal and I was so confused as it why I could barely hold myself up or think. I remember I couldn’t remember the word for midwife: my brain wasn’t working properly – but I didn’t know that this wasn’t normal.
Unfortunately, I was very very anaemic, and after my milk came in things started going a bit pear shaped. I had had very little sleep, and started finding when I slept my throat would close up. It got worse and worse until anytime I tried to sleep my throat muscles would collapse and I’d choke myself awake. My body was losing control of itself due to blood loss. I could barely see, my eyesight was terrible, I couldn’t think clearly – yet still thought was normal postpartum. It got to the point where I was so tired but anytime I tried to sleep I couldn’t breathe. This was the only time in my entire birth experience where I was genuinely scared I was going to die – I knew had to go back to hospital. They checked my haemoglobin levels, which were one point above emergency level low – so put me straight through for a blood transfusion.
For those who haven’t had one, it felt like life was going through my veins. It was the most incredible feeling. I literally felt like the life was being pumped back into me – I could feel it entering my lungs, brain, my eyes suddenly cleared and I could see – my midwife laughed as I kept saying “wow!! this feels amazing”. I finally managed to sleep on the ward, which was the most relieved I think I’ve ever been – I thought for a moment that was it for me. You can’t survive too long without sleep.
After coming home again, it felt like things were finally looking up. Breastfeeding went well from the outset, and we gave my little boy the colostrum I’d collected pre-birth which gave him a good head start. He was a strong little thing.
Looking back, I was happy overall with the care I received for the actual birth. Unfortunately I did, once again, feel let down by doctors with the anaemia, but still would say that giving birth vaginally was everything I’d imagined.
I’d say it’s my biggest achievement on a human level and I was so proud of myself for it. I was proud of myself for advocating for myself and trusting my instincts postpartum as well, knowing eventually that something wasn’t right. My little boy is the most special thing to me, and it was all worth it.
So, if you’ve made it to the end of the story here – thank you for reading. If you’re pregnant, I hope it’s given you some confidence in having a positive birth. At the end of it, you will have the most remarkable little soul in your arms. They really are the most incredible little humans, and I’m excited for all the beautiful moments you have to come.
I would, and hope to, do it all again.
