‘It’s a beautiful day!’

The day my second son started his way into this world was perfect. A beautiful June day – Monday June 1, one of my due dates in fact (the other was 3 June; two dates because the midwives couldn’t agree on a date following my dating scan!). It was warm and sunny, with a gentle breeze.

I had finished work four weeks earlier and worked myself into a sweat, panicking that this baby would come early, as his brother had, and that I was physically and mentally unprepared. As my due dates approached and nothing happened, it occurred to me that he might not be early at all. Indeed, he might be late! Then I started worrying about the cycle of intervention that might start, and which I was keen to avoid, if he didn’t start heading our way before long.

It was hard to imagine that any time soon I’d be holding a baby in my arms, he seemed so comfortably ensconced in my belly. Shame that I couldn’t just relax and enjoy having some time off work, with Babe in nursery part-time, ahead of the next arrival. But there was a lot to do; I was feeling pretty awful, and to be honest it’s quite surreal waiting for the second most momentous moment of one’s life to take place, and wondering when exactly it will be.

On the Sunday night I’d spoken to a good friend of mine, whose parting reflection was that she thought due dates are given for a reason and are often accurate. I went to bed hoping she was right. During the night I had one brief and slightly painful twinge, and wondered if things were starting.

Once Other Half had dropped Babe at nursery on the Monday morning, I set about pottering – despite the best of intentions to rest, as I hadn’t been sleeping well for some time and knew I needed to relax when I could.

I was watering some plants in the garden when I realised something was going on down below. I’d had a bit of a ‘show’ and was overjoyed and really excited. It meant things were happening, and bang on time. The anxious speculation could end!

Babe had been born six days after a show, so I didn’t expect things to start happening right away. I went and had a shower, cooked some food, and tidied round a bit, making sure my hospital bag was ready, etc. To be honest the bag had been ready for at least a fortnight. I am pretty anal in the organization department and after some initial panicking when I finished work, had got the house up together very fast. Ordered kitchen blinds, headrests for beds, you name it…! The only stuff that hadn’t been done was the long list of DIY tasks that Other Half had failed to complete, despite promises to the contrary.

During the course of the morning I had what felt like menstrual aches and pains, which I knew were a sign of early labour, and which hadn’t started straight away like this after the show with Babe. I had some lunch and laid down on the sofa to have a rest. The sun was pouring onto the rug through the grape vines we have outside our sitting room doors, and I felt really warm, relaxed and comfortable. Put on Monsoon Wedding, but couldn’t concentrate, so switched to TV and fell asleep for an hour. When I woke, the pains had gone – I guess as I’d been on my side and weight was thus off my cervix.

Other Half collected Babe from nursery at five and brought him home. I said I’d get him into bed, and that if OH wanted to go to the gym or whatever, to go early, just in case things kicked off. I’d spoken to my mum during the day, to warn her that things might get moving soon, as I wanted her with me during the birth and she had to get up from Dorset. I’d spoken to my younger brother as well, as the plan was for him to come round and look after Babe when I went into hospital.

My low platelet count means that I was to go into hospital as soon as labour started, so that they could test my level and give me a transfusion if required. But because my first labour had lasted four long days, I didn’t want to rush in until I was sure labour had actually started. I was also secretly worried that the reason I coped without pain relief the first time round was because I’d had so long to get used to it, and that I’d be screaming for an epidural hours into this one. Low platelets means that I’d need a transfusion in order to be given an epidural, so there were potential stresses ahead…

Babe had a snack and we played games and then I got him in the bath. I was getting intermittent pains by now (about 7pm – every 15 minutes or so?) but assumed it was just the start of a long process and didn’t pay them much attention. At half seven I called mum and we agreed that she’d come up in the morning, as I was pretty sure the pains would die down once I went to bed and laid down.

I started to feel pretty grumpy getting Babe dried and dressed, and while I was reading him his bedtime stories I had to lie against the side of the bed, stop reading and breathe long exhales during the contractions (although I was not yet admitting these are what they were) which were pretty painful. I was running out of patience and let Babe read to himself while I found the tens machine and laid out the wires etc on the sofa. Was beginning to wonder where the hell Other Half was, when he got back. He had been to a well known supermarket to buy… several pots of jam. The mind boggles.

‘Get Babe into bed’, I gasped. ‘Then help me get this bloody thing on!’
God know how he did get Babe down, as the little fella knew something was going on.

As OH came downstairs I stripped to my underwear and passed him a camera. I think he hoped we were going to try some of the rubbing and smooching recommended by my spiritual midwives book. ‘We haven’t got any pics of me pregnant,’ I said, and stepped out onto the decking for him to take some 360 degree shots. Then he stuck the tens on me and I got dressed.

‘Is your mum on her way?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I think this is going to wear off, so she’s coming in the morning.’
‘Are you mad?’ he replied. ‘Get her here, now!’
So I called. ‘Mum, this might be a false alarm,’ I said, ‘and I really don’t want to mess you around, but it might be as well if you come up tonight.’
‘Fine’, she replied. I then called my brother and arranged for Other Half to come and pick him up after work – about ten pm. It was now about half nine.

I walked through the kitchen to the loo. Other Half was eating.
‘This is going to be bad, effing bad,’ I said. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ If this is what pre-labour is like, I was thinking, how the hell am I going to cope with the real thing?

I called the hospital and they said I should come in, to be on the safe side. I had to pause on the phone when I was contracting, but thanks to the breathing techniques I learnt in active birth classes I was coping fine. The sister in charge who had taken the call later said that she’d thought I was going to be a fast one!

I waited half an hour - God knows why, what was I thinking? - before calling my brother and asking him to get here asap. I think the pain must have intensified, but more likely, the contractions were coming at about every 4 – 5 minutes by then, so I knew that I should get into hospital, even if I was managing the pain.

I got Other Half to pack the car. Brother arrived at about half ten, and between contractions I told him there were pizzas in the freezer and that mum was coming etc.

We set off. The roads were clear and it wasn’t far. I had two contractions en route that it was fairly hard to deal with, sitting down in the front. So I twisted round and stuck my bum towards the front window.
‘Get me there before I have another one,’ I seem to remember pleading.

When I arrived at the delivery suite, I was asked to wait for a few minutes, and then shown to a room. ‘I’m not sure whether to bring my bags in or not,’ I said, ‘As I might be asked to go home.’
‘The midwife will have to decide that,’ the woman who had met me said, and led me to a room. Quite spacious, and a window! We had joked at active birth classes about not wanting to get one of the rooms that don’t have any natural light.

I think I was in there alone about twenty minutes. In that time I told Other Half to get the bags; we put the mattress and ball on the floor, and I took my socks, shoes and trousers off. Think I realised I’d be staying! The mattress, by the way, was a thin, self-inflating camping mattress. I left the stoppers out so that I wouldn’t burst it and would totally recommend it. It gave me a large clean space that was soft underfoot/knees to move around on.

When the midwife came in, I was coming out of the loo, with an ‘I’m having a contraction’ look on my face that probably wasn’t very welcoming as she introduced herself to me. I took to her immediately and was hugely relieved. She seemed to know what I wanted and needed, and I felt I could lean on her, both literally and metaphorically.

It gets a bit hazy from here – First Babe’s birth is still clearer in my mind than this one! She took blood from me, and I think checked my blood pressure etc and the baby’s heart beat (which was a bit fast, so had to be monitored, around my tummy. This didn’t cause me any problems as I standing all the time and not needing lots of room) before she looked to see how dilated I was. That check was at 11.40, and I was fully prepared for her to say I was only two cm gone. But I was six! I felt hugely relieved, and that I was in really safe hands.

At some point I started putting my arms around the midwife’s neck during contractions (OH was like rock and didn’t know what to do), but didn’t put much weight on her. I really focused on blowing out a long exhale, pushing the weight through my feet, circling my pelvis, dropping my shoulders, shaking my hands, and lifting my face up. Really tried to relax, smile, feel excitement and joy. Which doesn’t mean I didn’t mutter ‘help me!’ at the start of each contraction, but I knew that I had to keep calm, in control and enjoy the experience as much as I could to endure it. I wouldn’t say I entered a ‘zone’. I was pretty compus mentus between contractions, managing the situation. Not especially hot, but quite thirsty as the blowing was making my throat dry. Was I coping? (as our active birth teacher encouraged us to ask ourselves). Yes, I was.

My mum arrived at about 12. I cried something about not feeling ready and she misunderstood. I was meaning metaphorically, not literally. She pointed out that I still had four cm to go and that it would probably be a while yet anyway. I could see in the midwife’s face that she didn’t agree and that was hugely comforting. She must have been noticing my contractions speeding up and getting longer, and after a while asked if I wanted to give birth where I was, standing by the bed.
It didn’t seem real to me, that I was going to have the baby so soon. I was pleased, confused, shocked I think. I was very happy not to be told to get on to the bed, as I had been with Babe, and said that yes, I did, if I could. The midwife spread some plastic pads down, ‘to save my mattress’, and said she was asking them to bring in a resuscitator, which was normal practice. It was really good to have these things explained so that I didn’t panic.

[A while earlier, but after mum came, a man (the anesthetist?) had arrived to cannulate me for the platelets. Getting the pipe in my arm took a couple of shots as I was moving during contractions. It wasn’t very pleasant and I felt he was a bit ham-fisted if I’m honest, but that’s a minor detail, can’t have been easy for him.]

Not long after this, the midwife told Other Half that she and he were going to have to swap places while she put her gloves on. They did. I think around this time, maybe a bit before, I’d said I had a ‘needing to poo’ feeling (although I’d felt a bit like that since before I left the house), and she told me not to push, but breathe through it. ‘That’s the baby,’ she said. I can’t remember when she said it was ok to push – how did she know when it was ok? - but when she did, I wanted to break my waters. I bore down hard and they sloshed onto the floor, breaking all over OH’s lower legs and he shot backwards. He must have had a premonition as the only thing he’d put in the birth bag was a pair of toweling socks! Other stuff slopped onto the ground as well – the poo feeling wasn’t just the baby… That was about 00.35.

I think the midwife then asked if I’d like to get onto all fours to make things easier, and I wasn’t sure if I could move, but tried, and did. The sister-in-charge was with us by this time. With a huge push I got the baby’s head out – and a hand, against his ear. After a few minutes (?) seconds (?), I had to get the body out. I think they told me I was going to have to push really hard. With another mammoth push I got the body out – I could feel it passing through my cervix and leaving me. I think I remember some burning from when the head crowned, I can’t say what I was feeling was pain – but it must have been - so much as something that required tumultuous effort and concentration on my part to deal with. I was roaring – a low guttural ‘god this is hard’ sound. Vaguely aware that it might be disturbing to anyone who could hear it, but it wasn’t fearful or out of control, just the noise of someone working very hard. I was almost afraid I was going to lose my back package altogether, the feeling in that region was so intense, but amazingly I didn’t tear at all.

OH through this time was amazingly lovely and encouraging, and the physical support I needed. Think I was leaning on him now, so he must have been taking a lot of weight. He sure saves up his compliments for when I need them most.

The pushing was done in about ten minutes – just two big pushes I think. Huge relief! And delight that it had been so straightforward and manageable. Thank god that the midwife read me, understood what I wanted and needed, and handled everything so well. Time of birth was 00.45. The baby was smaller than Babe, at 7.9 (3.44) despite the fact that I’d been told to expect a big baby, and an additional scan had shown he was a month ahead, size-wise.

The baby was a bit a quiet and shocked when born. I asked for him to be handed to dad – I didn’t feel ready to take him. They must have cut the cord before that – I don’t remember them inviting OH to do it, and I don’t remember it happening. I was given the injection to remove the placenta.

At some point during labour my platelet count had come back at 28 – ie under 30, so the medical plan stated that I should be given a transfusion - and I remember asking where the platelets were some time after that – the response being that they were in a taxi. So, once the baby was born, the midwives wanted to get the placenta out, and the platelets, which had arrived, in. I was a bit surprised that they still wanted to give them to me, but as I say, we still had to get the placenta out. It must have been stressful for them, knowing I should have had the platelets before delivery, when they hadn’t arrived. When I reflected further on this, it seemed pretty shocking that they hadn’t had platelets on hand to give me, and I am following this up with the hematology department. I had a detailed medical plan that went pear-shaped at the last minute. But wasn’t helped by me not getting in to hospital sooner.

I tried to turn on the mats and lean back against mum, but was worried about putting my weight on her, so she took the baby and OH knelt behind me. This still wasn’t working, so I got up on the bed, and before long, and after a couple of checks/attempts, the placenta came out. Think it hurt a bit – my back passage area felt shot away! Once other stuff had been done, the midwife showed me the cord and placenta. It had been whipped away from me when I gave birth to Babe, and my birth plan for number two included wanting to say goodbye to it!

Babe was handed to me soon after, and took straight to the breast. Some time later we had a cup of tea, reveling in how fast and straightforward everything had been. I felt fine, excited, happy, a bit dazed. I didn’t feel the rush of intoxicating emotions I had with Babe, but felt calm and sure that everything was going to be all right. It felt strange to be feeling so normal when something so amazing had just taken place. I don’t think I could have had a simpler or more straightforward labour. The midwife said it was textbook and that I’d done really well.

I know I did do really well. Giving birth (twice, now) has made me feel the most incredibly powerful, strong and resilient person. I feel validated in a way that I never had before. I know I can more than cope in difficult circumstances. Millions of women give birth every day, I know, and many with no medical assistance. Millions more people struggle with other hardships I’ve never had to face. I’m not suggesting that I’m an incredible person! But in giving birth I came up close and personal with someone I’ve been afraid to look straight in the eye all my life. And I like what I saw.

Having said that, three reflections: I will never forget the midwife who helped me deliver my second son. She was wonderful, and I know my labour might not have been the same had I not been in her hands. You can’t put a price on that connection, which gives you reassurance and confidence when you need it most. And my active birth teacher – had it not been for the knowledge she shared with me, and the wonderful, inimitable way she shared that knowledge, I wouldn’t have known how to deal with labour, and I needed help. She will always be part of who I am, and I’ll always think of her on my sons’ birthdays. And thanks, too, to the old friend from home, whom I re-discovered when I was pregnant with Babe, and who suggested that I go to active birth classes. Do all things happen for a reason?