by Michelle Maurice (Vale of Evesham NCT)
As the birth of my first child had not gone anything like
according to my birth plan, I was pretty nervous about having my second. My
wonderful plan of a homebirth for my first baby with soothing music, candles
and a birthing pool was cruelly shattered at 38 weeks and 4 days when I was
diagnosed with pre-eclampsia and had to go into hospital for an induction.
After a 28 hour labour, much pain relief (including an epidural) and a forceps
delivery, my beautiful baby boy was born. I was delighted, but I was exhausted
and I felt a failure for not having delivered him drug-free and ‘naturally’.
This was all compounded by my developing blood clots a few days later which led
to 6 months of medication and further feelings of having failed and wondering
how anybody could ever have a second – even third! – baby. Perhaps worse, I
never met anyone else at Mum and baby groups later who’d suffered a similar
fate, so I felt isolated as well as suffering depression and panic attacks.
Yet this second baby was exactly what I knew my husband
Martin and I both wanted, and wanted also for our son. When Seth was less than
a year old, this knowledge was something which used to make me feel depressed
and panicky ... it was something I ‘couldn’t’ do (despite doctors saying
actually, I could – although I’d be given heparin as a safeguard against the
possibility of any clots forming again).
When Seth was about 3, my body and mind had recovered as
much as they were going to, and I genuinely felt fine to see if I might fall
pregnant again. This wasn’t a 24 hour a day feeling – I don’t know if the
decision to have a baby ever can be – but I knew it was the best time for me.
I was determined to make everything different about this
pregnancy, and so hopefully birth. The pregnancy hormones that make one calm in
so many ways kicked in almost straight away, and in themselves shielded me from
anxiety. I prepared for this second baby in a more indulgent way. Silly, small
details now made a difference, and were a bizarre way of ‘ensuring’ a better
time this time around. For example, whereas items for my son had been practical
and plain, sourced often from Tesco’s, now I determinedly went out and indulged
my passion for gorgeous accessories – a Cath Kidston nappy bag was a must!
Friends laughed along with me, knowing my passion for handbags. But for me,
psychologically, this sort of behaviour was different from the first time
around and so in some way might help to lead to a different birth. (Illogical?
Yes. Comforting? Definitely.)
The run up to the birth was very different to my previous
experience. This time, my blood pressure remained resolutely normal. Amazing!
Especially in view of the fact I could never have my blood pressure read
without feeling some anxiety as the familiar band was wrapped around my arm.
Already, I was feeling a small sense of achievement ...
My reflexologist had confidently predicted that my baby
would be born around week 39, with a certainty that I found charming if
unconvincing. I continued to enjoy my monthly pampering at her hands and was
happily attending a visit to my midwife for a check-up in the middle of my 39th
week when she said, ‘I think you’re going to go into labour very soon,
Michelle’. Panicking at the thought of my waters breaking suddenly and publicly
on my planned visit to the local swimming pool, I questioned the wisdom of
proceeding with my schedule for that day. Her confidence and calmness in
stating that it would be fine for me to carry on was in fact typical of my
treatment from pretty well all the medical staff I encountered the second time
around: eminently reassuring and confidence-inspiring.
So on that fateful Friday, despite some odd sensations that
started in my back around midday (nothing you could exactly call an ache,
however) I swam my 30 lengths before rolling my rotund frame into the
oh-so-small shower cubicles at the local pool. I came home, remembered I’d
promised to buy my son some Christmas cards to send his friends at school,
rolled round to the shops (which were also starting to feel oh-so-small these
days). I came home and plopped myself onto my birthing ball to see if some
pelvic rotations might help my back which was still feeling...odd. I thought
that perhaps some distraction might help ... watch a good film, brilliant idea!
I lowered myself towards the DVD (whose
idea had it been to put it practically on the floor? Why had I agreed?
Madness!) and put ‘Atonement’ on. James
McAvoy therapy, that should do it.
By the time my husband returned from work about an hour
later, it hadn’t done it – my back still felt odd and I felt a sense of
excitement that I found hard to restrain. We decided to summon his parents, and
snap a photo of my truly impressive profile before it might be too late. My in-laws
arrived a few hours later, having travelled up from the coastline of South
Wales, to find me decidedly restless and my husband quite calm. I decided to
have an early night (‘just in case’) and retired to bed feeling guilty in case
I’d caused them an unnecessary journey.
I managed to drop off to sleep quite late – I was still
trying not to be excited and nervous about what the midwife (and my
reflexologist!) had said. I awoke at 1.30am, experiencing period type pains,
which were followed at about 2am by a distinctive ‘pop’ from within my stomach
that told me my waters had broken. Things then happened quite quickly.
Pacing around the living room and sitting on my birthing
ball helped me through the next half an hour or so. My husband calmly rang the
hospital at about 2.30am to see if it was time to go in: they thought not. An
hour or so later of trying all my breathing exercises and walking/waddling
round the living room forced me to conclude that nothing was now really
relieving the pretty strong contractions, and I definitely wanted to go to the
hospital. My now slightly-less-calm husband rang the hospital again at 4am, and
spoke to a midwife who happened to know me from my first baby. She said I could
go in. Hurrah!
The birthing ball and overnight bag were abandoned
temporarily as we made our way to maternity triage, en route losing one of my
shoes (although this was only discovered later). Two lovely calm WONDERFUL
midwives inspected me and said ’Oh, we can see the head’, which explained my
difficulties in getting out of the car and into the hospital. I remember at
this stage being very conscious of everything that was being said around me,
but of not being able to talk myself in response. I felt happiest remaining on
my knees gripping the headboard of the bed (not a practised position, or even a
planned one, but it just felt right at the time). With a few sets of pushes,
and LOTS of breathing, our beautiful daughter Scarlett May was born at 5am.
I felt such an incredible rush of love when I looked at her
(and even at my husband and the midwife) – it just goes to show what oxytocin
does to you. Marvellous stuff.
So there it was. A beautiful baby girl, and finally
‘closure’ from my scary first birth. This time, no pain relief and not a forcep
in sight. The words of my fab NCT teacher rang clear in my mind: ‘Every labour
is different, every birth is different.’
Ladies, go get yourselves that designer nappy bag!
No comments:
Post a Comment