Dawn's Birth

I was forty-two weeks pregnant, and had tried every trick in the book to get the baby to come, but I’d had absolutely no sign of imminent birth. The midwives told me I’d need to have an induction. I was extremely unhappy about this, as I had read about the cascade of interventions and was desperate to have as natural a birth as possible.

I called my midwife, and at her suggestion went to the hospital to discuss my feelings. I asked if they could somehow monitor the baby and me for safety, but let me go longer, and she told me that was not an option.

So I went back to the hospital at 10:00pm and had the prostin gel pessary. My husband didn’t stay long, as it usually takes many hours for the gel to take effect, and I went to bed. However, after about an hour the contractions had become strong enough that I couldn’t sleep, so I was moved to a labour-room and my husband was called in, along with my birthing-partner, Grace.

At first I was excited and confident, breathing through each contraction, rocking for a bit on the birthing ball, and privately congratulating myself for managing labour so expertly.

Before long though, the contractions became very intense and the techniques I’d been trying were clearly not going to work any more, so I lay down on the bed on my side and began asking for some pain-relief.

This was a particularly busy night at the hospital, with most of the midwives occupied by emergency caesareans, so the remaining midwives’ attention was spread very thin. Having asked for a tens machine, I had a long and painful wait until one came. Alastair sat with me and tried to be encouraging while Grace disappeared to muster some strength for the time ahead.

I had no joy with the tens machine – maybe because I didn’t really believe it would work, maybe because the student-midwife who applied it had not been certain how to attach it to me or how to use it, or maybe because it was simply too late in the labour.

None of the midwives believed that my labour was progressing. At no time was I offered an internal examination, and I was not confident enough to ask for one. Around 3:00am I found that making a sort of deep, abdominal groan helped a lot with the pain – it was like an internal massage. A stern midwife came to see why I was making so much noise, and told me that I would ‘have at least another twelve hours of this,’ and that it would get much worse. That same midwife suspected gestational diabetes, from the sweet smell of my breath, and I didn’t dare admit to her that my breath actually smelt of the orange-juice that Alastair and Grace had smuggled to me because I was so exhausted.

At some point the midwives decided it would be a good idea to speed things up a bit, so they asked it I would like them to break my waters. I was in so much pain that I no longer cared what they did, as long as it got the baby out quicker, so I agreed to that.

Several times Grace asked if I could have gas and air, but because the midwives were so overstretched, it took hours to arrive. By the time it did, I must have been arriving at the transition stage. This was not the ideal time to learn a new technique, so I don’t think I was breathing deeply enough, and the only effect of the gas and air was a great deal of vomiting, during which Grace stalwartly passed kidney-bowls back and forth and comforted me while Alastair retreated in horror.

I remember confessing with shame that I thought I may have soiled the bed. The midwives lived up to their fantastic reputation though, and kept everything clean without so much as blinking.

After this, I became adamant that I couldn’t go any further without drugs, regardless of my previous intentions. It was now 8:00am, and the night-shift midwives went home. The day-shift midwife arrived, examined me to see what she was dealing with, and swiftly informed me that I was having a baby. Now.

My memory of this time is very hazy. I know that, at some point they became concerned because of the baby’s dropping heart-rate, and some meconium in the waters, so the midwives were keen to get the baby out quickly. A doctor was called in to help. I was on my back with my legs in stirrups.

I commented that I was scared of tearing, which the midwife picked up on, and amazingly I managed to find the clarity of mind and assertiveness to say loudly, ‘but I don’t want to be cut!’

With a bit of tugging, Dawn came out, facing backwards, at 8:23am. The midwife handed her to me to tell the sex, and I wasn’t sure! ‘Is it a girl?’ I asked, uncertainly, and the midwife confirmed I was right.

Alastair cut the cord, which delighted him. I held Dawn at my breast and attempted to breastfeed, which wasn’t very successful, mostly because she was so sleepy. But she stayed there inside my nighty with a blanket over us and a hat on. I delivered the placenta without an injection, after only two more contractions. After the pain of the birth, this felt surprisingly warm and soft and soothing. Then I had to have my tears stitched up, which took a long time and did hurt, but I was told I could use the gas and air, and this time I made it work for me!

Finally Dawn was taken to be cleaned and weighed and so on, and I had some tea and toast before going back to the ward.

An afterthought - I have since found out that they can monitor you and the baby as an outpatient for as long as you wish to go. They can't make you do anything, and loads of people have 10 month babies safely.