Birth Second Time Around.

For those of you that have read my earlier post, Labour and Birth First Time Around, which is all about the birth of Oliver, you’ll remember it was quite the ordeal. With your first baby, you have no clue what to expect, although your head tends to be full of unrealistic expectations. You have all these grand ideas of water births and zero pain relief, intending to just breathe your way through it. But once the gravity of reality hits you, you’d do anything short of killing yourself to make it stop.

Because I had such a terrible, drawn out time with my first son and ended up having a Caesarean, I decided to have an elective section the second time around. I came to this decision for a number of reasons.  

1. The simple fact was that I just couldn’t face going through the all that suffering only to end up in the position of needing a section again. I know, I know, no two births are the same but I just wasn’t willing to risk it.  

2. Already having a child, opting for a planned caesarean meant being able to arrange childcare in advance. My parents booked two weeks off work to help with Oliver and the new baby.

3. It had been explained to me by the consultant that, because of how my first labour ended up, I’d need much closer observations while in labour this time around. That would mean being strapped to a heart monitor and confined to the bed the entire time. This was not appealing to me given that lying down was the most painful position to be in the first time.

4. With my first birth, by the end I felt completely out of control. I’d always had horrors over assisted birth with forceps, after reading several stories of this procedure going wrong. But when I wasn’t progressing with Oliver and they said they’d try and get him out with forceps first, I was just too exhausted and out of it to argue. Had I had my wits about me, I might have insisted otherwise.

5. These two words; Scar Rupture.

So, we had our date, the 24th of November, meaning we could get our affairs in order so to speak. All of Oliver’s baby things were retrieved from the loft, dusted down and put in place. The Chicco Next To Me crib was attached to the bed and the changing table was fully stocked. As the date was a Thursday and Oliver attends nursery on a Wednesday, I’d compiled a long list of last minute jobs to get done the day before.  

I started the day having coffee and cake with my lovely friend Sarah, we were so excited it was like Christmas Eve! I intended to have my pre-op at 2pm then go and get my eyebrows threaded. Then my sister in law would come over in the evening to shave my undercut then I’d enjoy a long, peaceful bath, shave my unmentionables, wash my hair, then retire to bed early to make the most of my last uninterrupted nights sleep for a while! Sounds perfect right? 

WRONG! 

Pre-op was going great, the midwife had explained in detail, everything that would happen the following day with, what turned out to be fairly precise timings, and everything. I was first on the list which made me even more excited as it meant that, all being well and there being no mothers needing emergency procedures, we’d have the baby by mid-morning. Everything was going brilliantly until she said “I’ll just check your blood pressure before you go home.” Those of you that have read Pregnancy the Second Time Around may remember that my bloody pressure had been a pretty contentious point through this pregnancy, resulting in me spending lots of time in the PAU strapped to a monitor. It also almost cost me the Jack Savoretti gig id booked ad hoc and it was only down to Sonja the midwife, abandoning protocol to stay behind and check it again herself rather than seeing me to the hospital. “Your blood pressure is dangerously high, I’ll have to get the consultant to come and take a look at you.” She announced. I wondered at this point what was the worst that could happen. That I’d have to stay for another hour or so while they monitored it? I’d still have plenty of time to get home, do all of my last minute bits and finish my half packed bag.  

The consultant arrived and conceded with a grave face that it was indeed dangerously high and that they would have to admit me for monitoring. So when could I go home? I was trying to remember when Superdrug closed and trying to calculate if id make it before then. Then I’d still have enough time to go and see Oliver, who was staying at my parents’ house that night. The consultant gave me a look of what I swear, was pity and said “Well, after you’ve had your baby. You’ll need to stay in tonight so we can keep a close eye on you. If it gets any worse we may have to perform your surgery early.” These were not the words I wanted to hear. I was gutted and surprised everyone in the room, including myself, by bursting into tears. I’d been so pleased with myself for being so super organised in the final days leading up to his arrival. I was embarrassed, I’m not a pretty cryer but I couldn’t seem to get a hold of myself so I took myself into the bathroom leaving my bemused husband with the doctors, and gave myself a talking to. Still a blithering, puffy wreck but somewhat composed, I emerged and asked if I could at least go home for an hour so that I could whip round and do the really important stuff? I couldn’t. And the consultant seemed frankly incredulous that I wasn’t happy to just do what was best for my baby. Of course I was and even though he didn’t use those exact words, he did say it was in the best and safest interests of both myself and the baby if I stayed. At that point I realised I was being ridiculous and managed to calm the fuck down. I was given some medication to try and control my BP and taken to a a private room.  

I was still pretty worried about my hospital bag as I’d only managed to half pack it and would now have to try and remember what else I needed so that James could go home and get it. I was concerned he might not be able to find stuff and that I’d forget something important with it not being right there in front of me. Plus I’d need lots of extra things as I’d have to have my shower in the hospital now. I sent James home and told him that I’d compile a list and text it to him as there was no way I’d be able to remember everything I still needed in that second. So off he went and I text everyone to inform them of what was going on.  

The list I sent to James was a long one but he somehow managed to find everything that I needed and made it back to the hospital in quick smart time. Not only did he bring everything on the list, a man after my own heart, he brought me a HUGE bag of snacks! Cheese, meats, crackers and crisps to have for my dinner the lots of chocolates and biscuits to see me through was what surely going to be a long night. He also brought me the beloved Ipad complete with some of my favourite films; Stand By Me, Gone in 60 Seconds and Legends of the Fall. Some of the family came to visit, all just as excited as we were. I managed to have a pretty decent shower once he’d brought me all of my bits and pieces although, I didn’t have a hairdryer or straighteners, so my hair was a bit of a state. James also insisted on taking photos of me in my final hours of pregnancy which, even though I look horrendous, I’m going to include! Soon 9pm came and James had to leave, he had to get home to sort the dogs out anyway but I was nowhere near tired. I had to be up early the next day to take the last of my medication and to get prepared for the surgery, so I knew I should have an early night but I was just too excited. I settled down to watch Stand By Me and eat my hoard.  

By 10pm I was getting sleepy so decided to turn in. For anyone who’s stayed in hospital, you know that sleep doesn’t come easy. It’s never 100% dark and there’s so much noise with all the comings and goings of staff and patients. The call button alarm seemed to be going off pretty constantly and I thought I’d never get to sleep. It was also about 90 degrees in the room so I had all the windows wide open, much to the horror of the midwife who woke me up just after 11 to administer medication I’d already taken. It had only taken me an hour to get to sleep. I sent a quick text out to see if anyone was awake but they weren’t so switched on my iPod as listening to music often helps me to drift off. It did the trick and after a few middle of the night disturbances, it was morning!  

My alarm went off at 6 as that’s when I had to take the last of my pills. James had been instructed to arrive not a second later than 7:30 as they would be starting to get me ready just after. I text my dad as I knew he’d be up early as he is every day and we had a brief, giddy exchange. James surprisingly arrived on time and as promised, things were underway soon after. I got changed into the requisite white, chequered hospital gown and James changed into blue scrubs. Several team members including a consultant, my midwife for the day and the anaesthesiologist, stopped by to give me a run through of what was going to happen. I remember when the latter popped in, I thought she was lost. She was very quirky looking and reminded me of Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter, sans jam jar bottomed glasses. She was so lovely and would be a complete hoot in the operating theatre. 

Then it was time!  

We walked down to the theatre, me in my brand new Marks and Spencer’s dressing gown to protect my modesty and I was very aware that everyone was looking at me. Of course in my head it was because I was wearing no makeup so I obviously looked a fright, but in reality it was more that people knew where I was heading and were looking at me in solidarity. We arrived at the theatre waiting room where there were lots of fit, young doctors milling around…why does that sort of thing have to happen when I’m wearing no makeup?? And into theatre we went. I’m sure there were other things that happened leading up to that point but I can’t remember as I was just too damn excited! And nervous. It wasn’t until then that the nerves started to kick in. What if something went wrong? What if there was something wrong with the baby? What if there were complications in the surgery and I ended up having to pee in a bag for the rest of my life? What if I died?? All of these things were running through my mind as I left James behind in the waiting room to go in and have my spinal block. It’s standard protocol that the birthing partner waits outside while this is going on, probably just so that there are no distractions and they can get through all of there pre-surgery checks. One of the team members was actually an intern who had only seen one caesarean performed and that was 2 years ago. He was mega grateful for the opportunity and kept expressing how kind of me it was to let him watch. I then regaled him with my love of Grey’s Anatomy and how I was aware that everyone had to learn…as long as he wasn’t going to be operating on me, I nervously added. The surgeon in charge actually mistook him for my husband which made me chuckle.  

I expressed my concern that the spinal block wouldn’t be enough to ensure I wouldn’t feel anything, told them about my last section and how I felt like I was starting to feel stuff by the end. They assured me this wouldn’t happen but IF it did, then just to speak up and they would quickly top me up. Professor Trelawney administered the anaesthetic into my spine while I was hunched forward and then instructed me to swivel around and lie down. Again, I expressed my trepidation that this was never going to do the trick as I could still feel my legs, when the nurse announced that she’d inserted my catheter. Ok, so I’d didn’t feel that, I think we’re ok. They all laughed. Suddenly James was there and we were underway! 

The nurses pulled up the large, blue drape and the surgeon started cutting. It’s an unusual feeling, you can definitely feel that something is going on down there but obviously there is zero pain or discomfort. I remember thinking how this was such a world away from the experience I had with my first son, when the surgeon announced that he was about to pull the baby out, did we still want the drape lowering. Yes Yes Yes! We’d already pre-arranged that this would happen so that we could actually see the baby as he was coming out and I tried to steady myself for the moment…..at 9:20am drape was lowered and there he was. I burst into tears along with James as they held him up for us to see. He was tiny, pink and shocked looking. Then the drape was replaced. I kept saying over and over that I couldn’t believe how tiny he was even though the midwife assured me he was a normal size. They weighed him and he was 7lbs and 1oz, which was exactly what they’d predicted he’d weigh! I said he was tiny to us as my first son had been a whole pound heavier. They wrapped him up and he was laid on the pillow next to me. He wasn’t as beaten up as Oliver was when he came out but his eyes were swollen shut and he was indeed tiny. We kissed him and cuddled him and cried some more. This was such a world away from Oliver’s birth as I cant even remember crying when he was born. I think I was just so relieved that it was over and I was so exhausted that I had nothing left to give. Also, when oliver was born, I only saw him for a minute and then he was whisked away, with James and I was left alone to be cleaned and stitched. This was not a pleasant experience and I was adamant that this was not to happen this time. And it didn’t, James and the baby were with me almost until then end and even when they were ushered out, I was so high that I coudnt stop talking! I did start to feel a bit sick and a bit uncomfortable so I was given a small dose of pethadine just to see me over the finish line. 

There’s no feeling in the world that compares to being wheeled into the recovery ward and seeing my husband cradling is new son. In that moment he looked proud, elated and relieved that everyone was ok. I mirrored those feelings, especially the relief as the surgeon said the procedure doubts have gone more smoothly. I was still alive, I still had all of my reproductive organs and most importantly, we had our healthy baby boy. As James wasn’t allowed to bring his phone into the operating room, there are no photos from the initial time after the birth but here are lots that got taken once we were back on the maternity ward.  

Texts were sent, phone calls were made and LOTS of photos were snapped. I found it amazing that it was only 10am and I had my baby! Once everything calmed down, I used that time to reflect on the differences between both of my births. I cannot commend the staff at the UHND enough. Everything went so perfectly to plan and I couldn’t believe that the timings were all pretty much what id been promised. There was no trauma, no panic and no pain during the birth, everything was exactly what id hoped it would be. I still had the recovery to come and that would be prove to be tougher and more painful, the second time around. I’m still however, happy and confident that we made the right choice for us. For those of you who are face with choosing between a VBAC and an elective caesarean, let me tell you there is no shame in choosing the latter. There’s just no need to put your body and mind through unnecessary suffering unless its something you really want to do. It’s not a cop out, its certainly not the easy option as recovery is arduous. And don’t ever, ever let anyone…and there might be someone one day…tell you that you didn’t really give birth as you didn’t labour. You have grown a baby and tha baby has exited your body. Whether that was via your vagina or your sunroof, you have still given birth.  

You are a mother and you are amazing!  

Labour and Birth, First Time Around.

“Giving birth should be one of your greatest achievements, not your greatest fear.” Jane Weidman.

From a youngish age, or at least when we find out where babies come from, we know it’s a given that childbirth is the most painful thing any of us will ever experience. My mother described it as trying to push out a watermelon, an analogy I’m sure many of you have heard. What most mothers fail to tell you and something I’m sure to tell all of my expectant friends, is that while childbirth is indeed brutal, taking absolutely everything you have and more, its also the most beautiful, exciting and awe inspiring event any of us can hope to experience or bare witness to. My mother in law used to tell me that bringing new life into the world is the one, true miracle. And I don’t say this often, but she’s right! Birth and labour are very individual and unique to every woman, meaning its impossible to share what it’s really like.

With my first son, Oliver, I always had this unexplained feeling that he’d come early. It was probably wishful thinking as by 38 weeks, I was huge. Unable to put shoes on myself or stand up unaided, like most full term mothers, I was well and truly fed up.

 

Our once jumble of a spare room had been radically transformed into a Pinterest worthy nursery….see Happiness is Feeling Prepared to find out how we did this…and I’d sit in my IKEA Poang chair, wistfully stroking my belly, urging the little one to hurry along. Little did I know, he wouldn’t arrive for another month! 

Literally every twinge feels like the start of labour when you’re almost 42 weeks pregnant. I really didn’t want to be induced as I’d read that induction births were generally longer and more painful and because baby was lying back to back, it was already looking likely to be both of those things. So I was wiling to try anything to get this labour going. I invested in raspberry leaf capsules and tea, went for super long walks, bounced on a birthing ball, drank lots of pineapple juice, you name it we tried it. Well, apart from sex as my husband was too scared of my body at this point! I had all but given up on this baby ever coming out, deciding that being pregnant for the rest of my life wouldn’t really be the worst thing in the world, when on Thursday the 10th of July, whilst bouncing on my ball and watching Penny Dreadful, I finally felt my first contraction! I’d never been so happy to be in pain! I excitedly activated my contraction timing app, texted my mother, sister and best friends and hooked up my TENS machine. I can honestly say that realising you’re in labour is one of the most exciting things! Nothing beats the anticipation of meeting your baby and you think that the beginning of contractions means you’ll have them within the next 12 hours or so. Or was that just me?  

Well, he wasn’t born within the next 12 hours. Or the next 24 or even the next 36. In fact, it would be almost 60 hours before our little man would make an appearance, keeping me waiting in true, Wolsey fashion. 

We were back and forth from the hospital, which is luckily only 5 minutes down the road, 3 times over the next 2 days. I was in and out of a warm bath which helped to soothe the pain. Sleep was impossible as even though I was exhausted, every time I drifted off, a contraction would wake me. Plus, lying down was the most uncomfortable and painful position due to the back to back position of the baby. At one point I had every scatter back cushion from the sofa stacked behind me to see if I could sleep sitting up. I couldn’t. It was literally The Worst. Finally at 6:30am on the Saturday morning, I was admitted at 5cm dilated. Over the last 24 hours I had dreamed of getting to hospital and having some drugs so that I could sleep, but getting to my room, I got a second wind. 

My Mam arrived at 9 to support us both through the birth and when the midwife examined me again at 11:30, I was almost 8cm and the baby had turned around the correct way. She couldn’t believe that I’d gotten that far with only a TENS machine for relief and she said that at this rate it was more than likely he’d be with us just after lunch. Then she said the words that would change everything – “Do you want us to break your waters to speed things up?” I was giddy, of course I bloody did. I honestly thought that if this was as bad as things got, I’d d be able to do it without any pain relief at all.  

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. The breaking of the waters wasn’t bad at all, in that it didn’t hurt a bit. Although, I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I wasn’t ready for the flood that was about to evacuate my body and I remember wondering what I’d d have done if this had happened in public. Probably died of shame, is my best guess. With every contraction, more liquid gushed forth. I was mortified. James was banished to the corner, he didn’t need to see me like that. Mam was trying to mop it up with those disposable pads they put on the beds but it was no good. I had no choice but to sit on the toilet for ten minutes until the waves abated. When I emerged, I was hooked up to a drip which was designed to speed up the contractions. From then on, everything was hell. Like, The Worst. 

The pain got so bad so quickly that I thought I might pass out. Not only that, but the contractions were coming so close together, that I hardly had a chance to breathe after one before the next one would crash over me. The pain was like nothing that I’d ever imagined. Like, imagine how bad you think it can get, triple it and you’re somewhere in the neighbourhood. I was quickly given Diamorphine and with that, came the sweet relief of sleep. I can’t tell you how long I slept for, probably a couple of hours, but when I woke up, the drugs were wearing off. Then someone said the E word. The midwife, my second of the day, asked if I wanted an epidural and I shouted yes before she’d even finished asking the question. James asked if I was sure as I’d always said that I hated the idea of them. I told him that that was back when I knew nothing. Now I knew and if I was told I could have the epidural only if I shot him in the foot….well, you get the idea! The downside of an epidural is that you have to remain perfectly still for 20 minutes or so while they administer it, a toughie when you’re having contractions every 90 seconds but we get there in the end and my god, it was worth it. It’s like when you’re ill, the most poorly you’ve ever been in your life and you can’t imagine ever feeling better again. Having an epidural is the moment when you wake up and realise you feel normal.  

I can’t remember what time it was at this point but we must have been somewhere in the mid – afternoon and I felt like I’d been in hospital for my entire life. Everytime someone came to examine me they’d say “All good, will be back to check again in 4 hours” FOUR HOURS! Let me tell you, when you’ve been at it as long as I had, 4 hours felt like 24! Cue another shift change and the arrival of Pat. I remember thinking that she seemed really stern. She admonished us for plugging phone chargers in, while none of the others had bothered. Mam cracked a joke about the plugs having been Pat – tested. Little did I know, she’d be an absolute rock when I heard the worst words of my life.  

Midnight came and I was ready to push. With Mam on one side, James on the other and Pat down below calling out instructions, I pushed for all I was worth. And pushed. And pushed. Mam told me that she kept expecting Pat to say that she could see the head, but that moment never came. I wasn’t progressing, contractions were slowing and so was my baby’s heart rate. The room filled with people who seemed to have come from nowhere and that’s when I started to get scared. The doctor examined me and decided it was best to go to theatre and see if they could deliver him with forceps. Failing that, the next step was a Caesarean section. We said yes, because yes is what you say when a doctor tells you that this will save both of your lives. He quickly explained the possible complications but the only words I heard…remember, the worst words of my life…were “we may have to perform a hysterectomy.” I can’t remember the context or why he would say such a terrible thing but that’s when I started to cry. And that’s when Pat came into her own. She held my hand and explained everything again, slowly and simply so that we could all understand what was going to happen. I felt better but still terrified, it had never even occurred to me that I might have to have a section. It had never even registered as a possibility.  

Mam had to leave us here as only one birthing partner was allowed to attend the surgery. Once in theatre, things happened very quickly. As it turned out, the baby had turned around into the back to back position again, inconveniently pulling my cervix closed at the same time. So all of those contractions, you know, the ones that went on for days, had been for nothing. A section it would be. They simply topped up my epidural and away they went with what can only be described as washing machine feeling of pushing and pulling, to find this baby and yank him out. It’s very strange indeed to have several peoples hands rummaging around in your abdomen and I actually felt a little bit sick. And after what seemed like only a moment, he was here! All 8lbs 3 ¾ ounces of him. The relief was immeasurable. Relief that he was finally here safely, relief that we were both still alive and that the ordeal was finally over. Well, for him at least. I still had to endure, and endurance was what it was, the cleaning and stitching up. Having never had major surgery before, I had no idea if what I was feeling was normal or f the epidural was wearing off. Not pain, so to speak but a large amount of discomfort followed by extreme queasiness and fairly severe trembling. James and the baby had been ushered out at this point so I was all alone while they talked above me. I know now that I should have spoken up, but I just wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.  

After what felt like an eternity, I was wheeled into recovery. Seeing my Mam and my husband gushing and cooing over this tiny, brand new life, made everything id just gone through seem insignificant. Our little boy had red hair, blue eyes, 10 fingers and 10 toes and a V – shaped mark between his eyebrows that, even though they said would go, still pops out when he’s angry.  

We loved him and we loved each other and that was all that mattered.