The birth of the journey

Now I realise the journey towards birth and motherhood begins long before the pangs of labour do but for me, the birth of my eldest son was an epiphany for me which cemented our path towards natural parenting.

I guess the most poignant part of my birth is knowing that it could have gone so differently. I could have been one of those women passionate about VBAC, or I could be one of those women who sprout the benefits of epidurals and drug however I was... lucky.

Lucky, not because i think luck plays a major part in the birth process but lucky that along my journey from conception to birth I met so many people who through their experiences and understanding guided me on my path towards an empowering birth and parenting journey, most of all the miraculous midwife who participated in my birth.

I was 21 years old and 36 weeks pregnant with my first child. I had no siblings who had given birth, in fact I had never seen a woman give birth - unless you count those ridiculous scenes in movies where the woman lies on her back screaming for drugs and assaulting every man that walks into the room. I had only ever seen a woman breastfeed her child once in my life. I was booked into a private hospital in Brisbane under the care of an OB. So you can see how my birthing journey could have very easily turned out differently.

So at 36 weeks my OB advised me to go into the hospital on the following Monday the 23rd of December to have my blood pressure checked as it had risen and I was puffed up like a balloon. I spent the weekend downing fish oil and milk after reading a study which showed it could lower blood pressure and chances of pre-eclampsia. I toddled into the hospital that Monday at 9am with no bag packed but a sinking feeling that I wouldn't be doing much running around between now and New Years. At 10am after much monitoring and blood tests I was informed by the staff that I needed to see the doctor as they suspected I had pre-eclampsia.

At 11am the doctor examined me, finding my cervix at 4cm dilation and told me he believed I would be having my baby very soon. My emotions swivelled from intense excitement that finally I was going to meet my baby and fear of induction. Because I wasn't keen on induction he agreed to wait for the blood test results before deciding. I spent the next 2 hours alternating from doing squatting and hip rotations in the toilet and pacing the hills outside the hospital, hoping against hope I could bring on labour before the induction was decided on. Of all the things I wished to avoid - it was induction. I had heard horror stories of the pain and the effect induction could have on the intensity and timing of contractions. I was also keenly aware of the cascade of interventions that often sees induction lead to an epidural and then a c-section.

By 1pm I was told to go to the hospital immediately for induction, blood tests were not good and baby was arriving either today or tomorrow. The adrenaline was coursing through my veins and I knew that was not going to help me. I begged them to let me go home and pack my bags and see if I could get things started myself. But no I was to go directly to the hospital and the doctor would be there within 30 minutes to break my waters.

So a waddled to the hospital and back into the maternity ward assuring my husband he had plenty of time to go home and get my gear before we got started. A midwife very ungraciously accepted my request to eat something before labour started as I hadn't eaten all day. She was a grumpy old thing and luck was on my side as her shift was almost over.

When the doctor arrived at 1:30pm to break my waters I enquired about letting me go for a while before the syntocin was started to see if labour would establish itself but no he claimed due to my blood pressure we wanted to get things finished up quickly and being my first baby he expected baby would be born possibly tomorrow if we were lucky. Although I hope he had my and baby's best interests at heart I can't help thinking it may have had something to do with the fast approaching Christmas season?

I still remember vividly the way my baby struggled as my waters were broken, as if in a panic by the sudden loss of it's protective and peaceful bubble. I can still feel that horible desperate squirming feeling when I think about it.

At 1:45 I had my first contraction. It came like a wave rippling over my body and I mentioned to the grumpy midwife. Her response to the young little upstart was that it couldn't possibly be and "trust me when you have a contraction you'll know about it". I was hooked up to a monitor which registered the next contraction which rocked me harder than the first. I was flat on my back hooked up to a machine and extremely tense. It hurt. I needed to up, every inch of my body was screaming at me to get up out of the bed. But I lied there alone and gritted my teeth.
Again I asked if the Syntocin could wait now that I was having contractions but again it was refused. The doctor wanted the contraction 2min apart as soon as possible. But yes I could get out of bed if I really wanted too.

When the next contraction came I got out of bed and despite being hooked up to a drip and a blipping machine began rocking through the contraction. And that was how the midwife who would become my angel found me. She had a copy of my birth plan in her hand and we talked through it as I moved with the contractions. As the contractions came faster I began squatting as I reached the apex. It felt natural. I was no longer in control of my body I was the passenger as the primal part of my body took over completely and guided me through my birth. My midwife (whose name I have never been able to remember) suggested we disconnect the machines so I could walk to the toilet. It was such a shame that the monitor with all it’s leads and straps, couldn’t come into the bathroom. And that is where I spent the rest of my labour; as free as I could be, on labour mats on the bathroom floor - squatting, rocking and on all fours.

At some point through this we were joined by another wonderful midwife as my husband, bless his heart, hadn't returned yet. I distinctly recall the two of them, crouched down on the ground with me while I rocked on all fours commenting on how much they were enjoying sharing my birth with me.

After what felt like hours I sat on the toilet, exhausted and admitted to my midwifes that if this was going to go on for another 24 hours like the doctor had said, I didn't think I could do it. My midwife suggested we check how far dilated I was and reassured me that although it didn't really mean anything it might give us some idea of what options we could consider. I was 8cm and it was 4pm. I laughed hysterically when I thought of the poor doctor’s face who wasn't planning to come back until 7pm to see how I was progressing.

Sometime after this, who know how long as time passes in such a distorted way during labour, my husband arrived with my massive labour bag, full of all the thing I thought I needed to have during labour. That bag was never even touched. As another massive contraction rocked me and I dropped into a squat, I felt a twinge in my arm. As the wave passed I noticed blood running down my arm. I had somehow managed to rip that hated drip out of my arm and the midwife decided we would leave it out. I loved her so much as that moment. And then came that urge to push. That uncontrollable, indescribable feeling that rolls over your body and leaves you with no other choice but to let go and push with every fibre of your being. It was almost orgasmic, as each wave subsided and I rested, peaceful, in between.

I remember vaguely the doctor showing up at some stage too and there was a heated discussion between him and the midwife as he wouldn't examine me or deliver while I was on the floor. So she in her knowledgeable way suggested we put the birthing bean bag on the bed so the doctor was happy and I could be comfortable. You see why I call this woman my angel.

So there I was, fanny in the air for the doctor to gaze at and the contractions stopped. I was very mindful of the fact that my midwife had trusted in my body and allowed that drip to stay out. Also aware that putting it back in might cause the contraction to come too quickly for me to cope with now I told no-one. I waited as a contraction would begin to build but then it would peter out. I know now in hindsight that this was my bodies rest time and if I hadn't been forced to move out of my comfortable labour spot to a bean bag precariously balanced on a bed so a doctor could peer at my nether regions without having to bend over my contractions would have returned in their own time. But the doctor kept telling me I wasn't trying hard enough. I wasn't pushing probably. I was scared and had lost my safe space. He began saying things like this is taking too long, if you can't push this baby out soon we might have to order a c-section. I remember my key questions: Why do we have to do this? When do we need to decide by/how much time do we have? What are the alternatives?

Again my angel saved me. We tried some different positions, including lying on my side and slowly the contractions returned. I was only beginning to feel the crowning when the doctor stepped forward and decided I was too tired to push and an episiotomy needed to be done. He cut me as my contraction rode over me and I screamed and swore at him. It hurt more than the labour itself and I saw the shock in his eyes as he looked at me and gauged my reaction. I never felt the burning sensation that should have marked the stretching of my perineum and the crowning of my baby.

Despite his actions and after 2 hours of pushing my beautiful baby boy emerged into the world and was placed on my chest. And the final action my angel left me with was to still the doctor’s hand and wait for the cord to stop pulsating before it was cut.

The rush that swept over me was exhilarating; feelings of intense love, amazement and pride. I had birthed my baby. My body, my amazing body had created an entire human being and in such a primal act had delivered him into the outside world and it was beautiful.

Even though my birth was far from 'perfect' - whatever that is. It filled me with the most awe inspiring belief in the female form and the power of birth and today on my sons eighth birthday I again am so grateful to the people I encountered in my birthing journey; not only my miraculous midwife but all the other woman who helped me right my birth plan, talked to me about the process of birth, why it hurts, how to work with my body. The authors of books like 'New Active Birth' who educated me on how to allow my body to birth my baby. So many people who had a hand in guiding my feet onto the path of empowering birth.