Some of you may of noticed me bashing on about being pregnant, well that came to an abrupt end on the ninth of September and in the spirit of over sharing I thought I would blog the birth - a One Born Every Minute in written (typed) form if you will.
Firstly, I have to explain that I was fed up of being pregnant by thirty eight weeks and had tried just about every suggestion thrown at me to bring on labour. Fresh pineapple? Yes I had eaten a ton of the stuff and ended up with mouth ulcers for my trouble. Raspberry leaf tea? I had drank my own weight of the vile liquid. Sex? Yes we'd even given that a go despite my other half's insistence that the baby was 'too close' Long walks? Yes, up hill and down dale on a daily basis. Bouncing about on a physio ball? Every morning for an hour whilst watching an episode of The Killing. The only thing that had been suggested to me that I hadn't yet tried was 'nipple stimulation' apparently this can release the same hormones that start labour but you have to do it for at least an hour.
Secondly, I think I should give you an idea of how I thought this giving birth lark would go. I thought I would start having contractions at home which I would be able to manage with some paracetamol and breathing/relaxation techniques. When the contractions got a bit stronger I
would maybe have a bath and when they got stronger still we would go up to the hospital where I would plonk myself in a birthing pool and with a bit of gas and air push this baby out without even breaking in to a sweat. Some tea and toast and I'd be home in time for Coronation Street.
So on the morning of the ninth I sat on the physio ball for an hour of bouncing while watching The Killing but with some added nipple tweaking thrown in for good measure. Fifty five minutes
in and I went pop. I looked down and couldn't believe it, the physio ball, my slippers and a good bit of the carpet were soaked. I was actually grinning my head off at this point. I was so convinced I'd end up being so overdue that I'd have to be induced I almost couldn't believe my waters had gone. I got up off the ball and took off the pyjama bottoms and put the first thing I could find between my legs to stem the dripping. The first thing happened to be a
massive bath towel. So I'm waddling round getting my phone to call the other half while eyeing up the stain on the carpet wondering if Vanish carpet cleaner is up to the job. I call the other half and say the code word 'sploosh' 'really? You're not joking?' 'No, I'm stood in the kitchen with a towel between my legs and my waters have just broke everywhere.' The other half
was clearly delighted as he is the most impatient man in the known universe and the last two weeks had killed him more that they had me. 'Don't bother coming home though' says I 'my contractions haven't started and I'm not even dressed.' 'Are you at least going to phone the hospital?' Asks the ever concerned other half. 'Well, I wasn't going to bother, nothing's happening just yet.' 'I think you should just to let them know to expect you later.' Massive sigh. 'Okay then I'll ring them now and let you know what they say.' Getting off the phone from my other half I notice a text from my neighbour 'hi pet do u wnt 2 com for a cuppa' my reply was 'my waters just broke.' By which I meant I'm terribly sorry but I'm a bit indisposed at the moment what with the fact I'm leaking everywhere and not dressed I will have to come round for a cup of tea at another time. But my friend thought I meant JESUS FUCKING CHRIST MY WATERS HAVE GONE WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO? So while I'm calmly on the phone to the hospital my friend bursts in through the front door thinking she is going to find me in some state of panic. 'Are you okay? What's happening? She sees me on the phone 'oh, you're okay.' She looked supremely disappointed at finding me in one piece and not in need of her amateur midwife
skills. 'I'll leave you to it then shall I?' And with that she was back out the the door and I was left alone telling a midwife at the hospital how my morning had gone and being told to come up to the delivery suite to be monitored and if my contractions hadn't started I could go back home again.
So I decided I needed to shower and put some make up on before I went to the hospital. I called the other half and told him he needed to come home - even I didn't think I should drive myself. By about 11am I was finally ready to leave the house and as I sat in the car I began thinking ooh, that's a bit uncomfortable and when the other half saw me brace myself and grab the dashboard he just said 'we won't be coming home without a baby.'
At the hospital we managed to go to the wrong ward - anti natal, delivery suite, they're all the same aren't they? No, apparently not. They wired me up to the monitor and as the lovely midwife was taking my details she could see my toes curl 'oh, are you having a pain? Good, we could have this baby soon.' They monitored me for twenty minutes and by the end of it, just lying on the bed was deeply uncomfortable and as soon as I was allowed I assumed a strange kneeling on the floor leaning over a birthing ball position. Contractions were coming thick and fast and my breathing and relaxation techniques weren't really doing the trick so in a rather pathetic voice I asked the other half if he could please see if I could have some paracetamol and gas and air. (Paracetamol?) Now last time I had gas and air I was convinced it wasn't working and ended up throwing the mouthpiece at my mam in disgust. This time however it was amazing. I was properly off my tits and for a short time it helped a lot with the pain. But all too soon, the gas and air wasn't helping in any way other than the breathing keeping me focused. My contractions were really close together and without a break in-between I couldn't regroup and prepare for the next one. At one point I begged the midwife for an epidural. My begging went like this. 'Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please can I have an epidural? The midwife very calmly and in a lovely soothing voice told me I was doing very well and that I didn't need an epidural, it could slow things down and cause complications. 'I do! I really need one!' So she checked my progress (stuck her hand up my flue and measured with her fingers how open my cervix was) Somewhat triumphantly she pulled her hand out and said that I was five centimetres already and as things were going so quickly - it was about two o clock by now - I should just carry on. I was a little bit proud of myself for being five centimetres already so with renewed vigour I breathed in the gas and air.
My enthusiasm for just using gas and air lasted about five minutes before the other half was sent out to get me some Pethidine. My lovely midwife's shift had finished, so another lovely midwife came in with an injection loaded with beautiful painkiller that she jabbed unceremoniously into my left thigh. It took about half an hour to work and then after that I'll be honest it's a little bit of a blur. Apparently I would shush my other half if he had the temerity to talk to the midwife when she came in the room and in my seven hour playlist on the I pad I would occasionally insist on a song being skipped for no reason other than it was offending my ears at that point in time. After another couple of hours my contractions changed a bit. They would still start off with the fucking awful my-insides-are-being-ripped-out pain but in the middle there would be the urge to push. My midwife noticed and asked if I needed to push, from my fog of painkiller I mumbled that yes, sometimes I did. She told me just to breath through it and she would check me in an hour to see if I was fully dilated. Now, if you really, really need a poo no one advises you to breath through it, and keep that poo in for as long as possible do they? In the same vein, it seemed nonsense and totally against what my body was telling me not to push when I got the urge. So every now and again my other half would notice me holding my breath and my face going bright red and he would tell me to 'breath. Stop holding your breath.'
After the Pethidine I took to lying on my side on the bed and after about six or seven of these sneaky pushes, something felt a bit odd "down there" I had a feel and to my shock found myself saying 'quick, get the midwife, I'm crowning.' My other half with a very confused face left the room to find our midwife. Now this shocked me because when I had my nine year old, the stinging hideousness associated with the pushing part of labour has remained etched in my brain forever and described by me and a friend in conversation as if acid has been thrown on your bits. This time, it was a bit stingy but nothing like the first time so to have managed to push a baby's head right down with frankly not much effort left me a bit startled. The midwife came in the room, had a little look and said 'oh yes, we're having a baby.' I had clambered up on to my knees and with one more push, the head was out. Then everything stopped. No more contractions and nothing to push against. I kept turning to the midwife and apologising, 'I'm really sorry the urge has gone' After a full five minutes I got one more contraction and out popped a baby at 17:12hrs with The Prodigy's No Good playing in the background.
In a film, they would shout cut, and all would end happily there without any mention of the messy gubbins that comes after. Not me, oh no. Normally, closely following a baby comes a placenta. My placenta however was a bit reluctant to leave my body and after half an hour of a midwife's gentle tugging a doctor was called in, massive injections were given in to the umbilical cord and a hand was shoved up me to try and scoop it out. On the first attempt this horrible version of a magician's trick didn't work, but after another fifteen minutes and a massive intake of gas and air the doctor finally managed to pull it out a la a rabbit out of a hat.
And there, I will leave it. Logan James is fantastic. He was 8lb 6oz when born and five weeks later he's 11lb 4oz. I won't mention, piles, bleeding or achey, leaky boobs. I'll save those delights for another time.
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