My pregnancy diary: Part three

It had been such a stressful week and I remember leaning back, looking up and down the table and just feeling so much love and luck to be there with everyone. I thought to myself “If this doesn’t bring on the oxytocin, nothing will.”

Sure enough, the following morning on Christmas Eve, I woke quite early with period-like pains. I didn’t think too much of it until going to the toilet and seeing a very slight ‘show’.

We went for our usual 40-minute walk into town and back home through the woods, only this time it took us around two hours. I felt quite shaky and weak, so nipped into the bakery for a pastry. Halfway through the woods I stopped still and just cried. My hormones were doing somersaults.

We went over to my parents’ that afternoon and by around 3pm I was getting a sort of upward, shooting pain every half an hour or so. I had no idea at that point what a contraction felt like, but looking back I don’t think they were contractions. Perhaps Braxton Hicks, or my body just getting ready for showtime!

By 8pm that night, part way through watching Love Actually, we decided we’d better start timing. Until that point, I hadn’t quite accepted I could actually be in labour. Ever prepared, we downloaded the first app we came across and I started logging every contraction.

At some time around 3:30am we called the hospital again to say we thought it was time for the midwives to join us. They listened to me over the phone having a contraction and agreed. As per procedure, one midwife came straight to our house while the other went via the hospital to collect the kit. Sam then called my mum, who had been sleeping by the phone with one eye open!

By the time the midwife arrived, at around 4am, I had been on my feet since we’d given up on watching Love Actually at 8pm the night before! I had found my contractions much easier when stood up but hadn’t realised I was exhausting myself. 

The midwife suggested I took some Paracetamol and go to bed. This was enough to take the edge off so I could catch some sleep between contractions, which were around five minutes apart at this point. I woke at some point to hear my mum’s voice downstairs. As I slowly made my way down the stairs, she was stood there waiting with the biggest hug. I was so relieved to have my mum there, and despite not being able to communicate very well, I was so excited and grateful to be sharing this with her.

We had different midwives coming and going as they all finished and started their shifts. Each one was incredible.
All of the medical equipment and paperwork was kept in the kitchen, as per my wishes, meaning the lounge was my quiet, safe space. Sam had filled the room with candles that friends had sent to remind me they were thinking of us, photos, blankets and cushions. My birth playlist was playing and the lights were low. 

Each midwife read my birth plan when they arrived and when the moment was right, they quietly nipped into the lounge to introduce themselves to me. My mum was busying herself in the kitchen, making cups of tea for them and nipping in every so often to top up the birth pool with hot water. 

It is bizarre how little I remember of what was going on. For the most part, I was completely unaware of my surroundings and was so focused on the process my body was taking me through. My memory of what follows is pieced together by Sam, my mum and my labour notes.

By 10am, now Christmas Day, I was 6cm dilated and having minute-long contractions every two minutes. The midwives started to prepare for delivery and suggested I got into the birth pool as I had said I would like a water birth.

Frustratingly, the birth pool slowed everything down. Perhaps I was too relaxed or maybe my body didn’t like the change in temperature. Over the two hours I was in there, my contractions had slowed down to five minutes apart. Despite the change in ‘progress’, it was a very welcome relief. It seemed to take some of the weight of my bump off me and the warm water soothed my aching back and legs.

The midwives knew that baby was laying back-to-back. This meant baby’s head was not pushing onto my cervix as it should, so now almost 18 hours since starting to time my contractions, my waters still hadn’t broken. They suggested I got out of the pool and laid on my side, I do remember the contractions being far more intense this way but knew this meant they were more effective. 

At around 3pm, the midwife examined me again and found I was still at 6cm dilation. She went back into the kitchen to phone the team at the hospital. A conversation was had about breaking my waters artificially. As this is classed as an intervention, they needed permission to do this at home. I am so grateful to the midwives for advocating for my home birth and doing everything to let it happen.

She came back into the room to explain and discuss this with me and unfortunately, I started to feel panic. I think through my exhaustion, I hadn’t fully rationalised the situation and in my mind all I heard was “Going to hospital” and “Baby is stuck.” None of which were true. Soon after, my waters were broken artificially, and the intensity of the contractions ramped back up. A lot! 

Up until this point, the only pain relief I’d had was the two Paracetamols when the first midwife arrived. I had stated in my birth plan not to offer me pain relief, but I think my mum recognised where I now was and knew that taking the edge off this new level of intensity would help me over the final few hurdles. I’m not sure whether it was because my waters were now broken, or whether it was because I had been knocked off my stride mentally, but this was the first time I felt I needed pain relief. 

My mum suggested I try the gas and air, and I agreed. It was set up quickly and I took my first few gulps of it. It took a few contractions and a lot of guidance from my mum to get the timing of it right. When we got it wrong, I sure knew about it! 

I was in this phase for around an hour and a half, but in my mind it was no more than 20 minutes. 

I switched from the sofa to the floor, to my side and then finally onto my knees on the carpet. Here, I felt an almighty force from the top of my head right down through my body. I think this must have been what people call the urge to push. I can only describe it as feeling like I was being crushed from my head downwards, and the only way to release the pressure was to push. I can clearly remember hearing my mum saying, “She’s near, she’s making the groan.” as I made the most primal sound from somewhere deep within me.

By this point, my cool and calm breathing techniques had gone straight out of the window and were miles down the road! I was grabbing at the gas and air and really fighting with the intensity. 

I remember pushing and somehow knowing that baby’s head was very nearly born but hadn’t quite got there. When the next surge came, I very vividly remember saying to myself in my mind, “You have to give this absolutely everything you have got.” I have never, ever worked as hard at anything in my life, both physically and mentally, as I did in those few moments. Sure enough, the midwife told me with so much joy that the head was here.

Sam cut the cord and at some point, I birthed the placenta. I started to shake quite heavily as my body was in shock, which we had already read about and was assured it was normal. I breathed through it and concentrated on feeding our tiny girl. 

Around this time, the midwife I had got to know through my pregnancy arrived. Her shift had started just as baby was born, but as it was Christmas Day, she hadn’t seen the messages from the other midwives. As she popped her head into the lounge I burst into tears of pride and relief, it was so reassuring to see her.

She weighed baby, who still had no name, checked her over and helped Sam to dress her. I had been helped back onto the sofa and was given the best cup of tea I will ever drink!