Just a few deep breaths…
42 weeks + 1 day
0800: I have been having light surges around every 20 minutes since 2200 last night. They vary in strength depending on if I am stretching, massaging Clary Sage into my belly, laughing or Simon is applying acupressure and/or massaging me.
We now sit masked in the waiting room of MADU JHH (Maternity Assessment Day Unit – John Hunter Hospital) after having had to swiftly flip my scripts two days ago upon reaching 42 weeks gestation. Why? Because this had meant my plans to birth at Belmont’s Midwifery Group Practice (a woman centred, natural, low intervention birthing clinic) were no longer an option. Like entering the doors of JHH wasn’t enough to wire one’s nervous system up, doing it amidst a year of global pandemic added another level.
BUT I had tools and the reassurance that it was only 4 years ago after all, when I had given birth to Gracie here (oh, how this time would be so different!).
0930: We are taken into a private room, babe’s heart rate and movements are monitored for 40 minutes. All is well. Meanwhile, 2 midwives come in to explain “the procedure from here”. A hormonal tape, called Cervadil would be inserted and placed on my cervix to encourage cervical ripening i.e. start contractions naturally. If this didn’t work, a balloon would be inserted in the evening to encourage more “ripening” and a hormonal drip would be inserted at around 6am the following morning to bring on labour.
Despite originally being told I would be able to go home for the night if labour didn’t progress today, we agree – fully expecting I would go into active labour shortly after the insertion and I would birth our babe that day.
1015: The strip is inserted. Minor surges continue at rate they have been since last night. Nothing seems to happen, they monitor bub for another 40 minutes and at lunchtime send us down to the Maternity Ward for the night.
1330: Simon and I go for a walk to grab some lunch (why didn’t I think to pack this!?) and go outside – the air inside is stifling and babe and I are craving the sun, air and grass knowing that I will now be in hospital for the night.
I have not been offered (nor was I during our whole experience) a drink of water.
The “Healthy” Section of the cafeteria has flavoured milk, sugar laden “juices”, silverside on white bread sandwiches and tubs of fruit salad (aka a few chunks of rockmelon, watermelon and a few grapes). Seriously!? I roll my eyes and Simon laughs “I feel an insta post coming on!”
I remember I have fruit, nut bars and filtered water upstairs.
The sun and jokes from my man outside are literal heaven on earth.
1500: We’re inside again, trying our best not to listen to the woman in the cubicle next door. She has been repeating “I just can’t bear the pain anymore” ever since our arrival. My light surges continue, but are now around 7-9 minutes apart. I continue rubbing my belly intermittently with my massage blend, reassuring myself ‘all is well here’ each time.
1700: I take around an hour to convince Simon to go home and do the ‘dinner, bath, bed routine’ with Gracie. I am missing her and whilst I know she is in good hands, I want her to know we are ok, we haven’t abandoned her and will be home soon with her baby.
I am now convinced I will continue slowly progressing overnight and desperately want Simon to have a good sleep for what lies ahead tomorrow (noting he undertook an absolute marathon alongside me for Grace’s birth without any sleep or food for over 36 hours).
1800: Simon reluctantly leaves. Alone now in my curtained cubicle, I feel as though I am absorbing the complaints from the woman next door a bit too much. Not wanting to lose the calm, controlled and positive space I’d so consciously created, I reassure myself ‘It’s time to go inward. You can do this, you’ve done it before, just breathe deep – this will continue throughout the night, the path to meeting your next little light.” So I put my headphones in, start my “Calm Birth” Spotify playlist, sit on the bed and stare out the window (thank god for that window). With every surge - long, slow deep breaths – in for a count of 6, out for a count of 8. I begin to repeat “Surrender” on the inhale, “Release” on the exhale while visualising my cervical muscles rising and releasing with each breath.
1830: A midwife arrives to do an internal examination to assess whether I need a balloon inserted. ‘Please no’ A few deep breaths.
She says “You’re about 2cm dilated, with a very soft cervix, so I don’t feel the balloon is necessary.” Thank GOD!
I quickly get back into my zone, although things start to intensify now. The internal exam has stimulated things. If I lay down to try and rest, the surges are more intense. If I stand up, the surges are less intense but more frequent…I swing between the 2 depending what I feel I can handle.
More time, more surges, more breath passes. I try to continue the 6/8 count, but some are just too strong, so I simply breathe as deep as I can. I am now reminded that the surges are just like waves (a visual I could not get my head around during Grace’s birth – maybe because it was all just so new and felt so out of my control - but this time – I get it). ‘They come. And then they go Vic.’
I am then taken to a vision of Grace and Simon in the waves just a week before. Riding the tumultuous waves of a receding tide…Grace coming towards me atop her bright pink Minnie mouse boogie board, her shaka hand held high screaming “Muuuummm! Knarly waves broooo!!! ” I laugh out loud. My wave has ebbed.
Occasionally the pain reaches around to my back so I rub my “Pain Away” mix on soothing myself with the warmth. We are beyond a simple massage blend now.
2030: After what feels like 10 minutes, 2 hours has passed. My surges are now 3-5minutes apart. I message Simon “I’m so sorry, I think you should come back.” I call the midwife, “I think I can manage the progress at this rate, but can the strip should be removed?” She agrees and removes it – another internal I would rather not have, but I am too focused on breathing to concern myself with the “rather nots” now.
As the surges continue fastening in arrival and intensifying in strength. I breathe on. Anchored. “Surrender. Release”
The meditative music at one point sounds Native American and takes me to a place of deep reverence, honor, respect, gratitude and oneness with all our foremothers. I am tranced.
2115: I have just opened my oil pack and in too much of a rush for Balance, I grabbed a bottle of Lavender Peace and inhaled 3 long deep breaths of – yes that’s exactly what I needed…surrender and release amplified.
Another midwife comes to check bub’s heartrate. I say “sorry, I was in the zone.” She observes my state and responds “Yes, I came to check on you earlier and could see you were in a zone, so I didn’t want to interrupt. Unfortunately we are closing off this area, so will have to move you to another ward, that is unless you think you need to go up to Birth Suites?”
Simon arrives right on cue.
“I think we need to get to the Birthing Suites”
“I can see if we can, and as much as I don’t want to do this to you – maybe if I did another examination, I can see how dilated you are?”
”If its going to get me to Birth Suites – do it”
“You’re about 5cm and rather soft. I’ll call them now”
Its pack up and walk time. As we walk out of the ward, into the lifts and down what looks like a mile of corridors to Birth Suites, I think “why the bloody hell are these wards so far apart and not directly across from one another!” The most intense surges arrive now that I am walking. With each one (about 4 between wards) I am stood still, holding Simon’s hand – well bearing down so hard on his arm I think ‘Thank god for this man of incomparable selflessness, compassion, love and strength’ With each step I feel the muscles down my back tighten like a vice.
We get to the Suites and I hear “Room 11” ‘yessss – I get the bath!!!’
We enter and our amazing midwife introduces herself, starts running the bath as “it takes a while to fill.”
I lean on a window, the view is glorious compared to where I just came from. It is raining outside, water streams down the windows. ‘Just Perfect’ I think as I recall secretly wishing over recent days that I would birth in the dark of a rainy summer’s night.
2200: In between surges, I manage to sit on a seat to have a rest. I collect my breath and ask Simon “Can you please get out my oil pack - the pain relief blend - yes the clear bottle. Black label. Now rub it over my back.” He applies the perfect pressure and I feel my body let go.
I feel another big surge coming on, grip the handles of the seat in my palms and long inhale…exhale….BURST! Just like a balloon filled with water my membranes break and fluid runs all over the floor (something I never experienced with Grace). Instant relief…for some seconds until the next surge when I immediately felt the urge to stand up, hang myself over the end of the bed and push…the midwife heard the change in my sound and said “are you pushing?!” “yes” I respond calmly.
I see her gown up, prep some things and step behind me. Simon beside me – thinking he is helpless. He is not. He is my faith, my steady, calm, unwavering island on the horizon of an unpredictable ocean.
For some minutes now (what I now realise was “transition”) a thought tries to enter “I can’t do this anymore, how am I going to get through this?” The power in one consistent answer:
”Your surges cannot be stronger than you. They are you.”
I continue to breathe – deeper, but quicker now. After a surges and bearing down, I hear another person enter the room and ask if she should turn off the bath tap. In my mind I am saying “No!” The sound of the water, this atmosphere is helping my mind. The midwife says “Yes, we were planning to get in, but there’s no time now”. Even if I wanted to, I am stuck, quite literally frozen in this position now.
It is only then, that is dawns on me that we don’t have hours of pushing left, rather this baby is seconds away. “Just a few more breaths and she is here. You can do this.”
Listening intently to the instructions of the midwife. “You’re doing so well Victoria, now push. Now breath, slow down, breath” I am intent on controlling my breath and body in accordance with the midwife’s voice this time (as with Grace after 36 hours, when the time came to push I was hell bent on getting her out irrespective of those guiding me and I bore months’ worth of pain and recuperation as a result).
BREATH! Control it. BREATH. In. Out.
A few more surges, a few more pushes, a few more deep breaths and the relief of a head. “Seconds away” I think, recalling the ease of which Grace’s body had followed after her head.
“PUSH!” the midwife says and I do - stretching my everything but no more relief.
“Right we need to get you up on the bed NOW…Simon please – hit the red button on the wall.” The tone of our marvellous midwife’s voice has changed. Steely. Alarmed.
Simon has hit the button and rushes over to help me turn over onto the bed as I am flat out paralysed from the waist down. As I am hoisted onto my back the room fills with people rushing around me.
PUSH Victoria.
2230: With one or two pushes I feel her body flood out of me. They lift her over my legs and place her on my chest….
Limp. Silent. Apparently lifeless.
My whole body falls into tremors. Vibrating off the table. I can feel someone rubbing our baby’s body…no response. I stammer “Why isn’t she crying!?” Our baby is ripped from me. I feel like I am being attacked by 5-6 medical staff. My hands are being stabbed, with one jab sending my body off the table and into further tremors. “What the fuck are you doing to me” I think but cannot speak.
My placenta is shortly after carried from the table. I am staring at my baby in a cabinet across the room – face mask held on by a male doctor. Steady as a rock. Calm as a cucumber.
“WHY ISNT SHE CRYING!? What’s going on?”
Simon is holding my hand “You’re ok” I hear from several people. “I don’t CARE how I AM – what’s wrong with her!”
Cough, splutter.
INHALE.
Choked EXHALE.
Oh god. She’s ok.
For the next several minutes – I have no idea how long, our babe is oxygenated, coughing and spluttering. We are being reassured she is fine. The doctor leaves without a word to us.
After some time, I am getting anxious, I need to hold her. Another doctor enters, assesses her for some time, this one much more communicative – babe is breathing rapidly and they are considering whether to take her to NICU for a few hours.
THANK GOD she doesn’t have to go.
After what feels like a lifetime, they FINALLY place her on my chest. I watch her breathing slow down – immediately. As does mine.
Silent tears roll down my cheeks as this little angel stares through my eyes and into the deepest most vulnerable part of my soul.
I see the whole universe in hers.
All of a sudden I realise the room is empty. Darkened. My head is resting on Simon’s as we drink in our newest reason for existence. She is calm. Suckling. Breathing.
0030: The midwife comes in to check on us. Soon after a doctor. “You have slight tear at the front, of which we’re worried is quite close to your urethra. It is only minor but we will have to anaesthetise you and put stiches in now. We will also need to leave the catheter in until tomorrow to ensure some healing occurs prior to you passing urine (this had been inserted at some point before being left alone). There is a slight graze at the back, but it will be fine without stitches.”
As I see the doctors tray, the lower half of my body starts tremoring again. Legs shaking, the doctors raises my legs with the stirrups and coldly says “Would you like me to set up the gas for you?” “I’ve just done all that without anything, I think I will be fine.” I huff.
As she touches me without warning, I tremble and say “I’m sorry I don’t think I can hold her for this.” Looking to Simon he stands to take our baby as the doctor coldly, stifles a breath and rolls her eyes. I choose to ignore her and anchor into my breath yet again…3 needle points inserted later and I can’t feel anything as she steadily sets to work (a stark difference with Grace as I remember feeling every stitch pulled – despite the anaesthesia and copious amounts of gas inhaled).
We are left alone again for some time before our midwife returns to get me in the shower, “I’ll leave your towel here if you want to hop in yourself otherwise I’ll be back shortly to help. Then we’ll head down to the ward which does not allow for overnight visitors.” ‘WTF so Simon has to drive home after a night like that, on his own, in the rain, at 4am only to return again just hours later?!’ I think. More deep breaths.
A shower with two legs as weak as worms. More deep breaths.
Sitting in a wheelchair with a catheter in. More deep breaths.
Getting into a bed as our beautiful birthing midwife (who, due to her swift actions, quite simply saved our babe’s life), briefs another midwife of our journey thus far. The tone in her voice makes it clear tonight was a big deal for her too. The new midwife, cuts her off and sends her heartlessly sends her on her way. More deep breaths.
Simon kisses babe tenderly. Then my turn “You did such a good job. I love you” as he gives me a gingerly squeeze and leaves. More deep trembling breaths.
Hours pass by as I stare at my new angel on earth’s side.
Forever more, deep breaths.
