I'd had a disappointing meeting with the registrar at my local hospital who told me that I would be allowed to labour for only 4-6 hours, would be expected to come to hospital as soon as labour started, that I would be continuously monitored, could not be mobile, would not be allowed to labour in water (they didn't have a pool anyway, but if they did it would be off limits to me) and so on. It all sounded dreadful. Given that I had had a long labour first time round I could not imagine at all how I would deliver a baby in under 6 hours and had hideous images of being strapped to a bed with a huge clock in front of me and the surgeon standing at the ready. So I decided it was time to do some research about the risks of VBAC and what is normal practice and that I should then meet with the hospital consultant and try to negotiate some sort of compromise.
After much thinking and debating, I decided I should try to find an independent midwife who would deliver me in hospital in a more flexible way. I was also concerned not to repeat my first experience where I rushed in to hospital assuming the baby was about to come out, only to find I was only 3cm dilated! An independent midwife could attend to me at home first and help me avoid rushing in too early. That seemed like a big advantage too.
So at 35 weeks we met Paul, a recommended independent midwife and he agreed to be on call to deliver our baby. He was surprised (but probably very pleased as it cut his workload considerably!) that we had booked him so late. I had kept a photocopy of my first time delivery notes and Paul went over these in detail to understand why I had the section first time round and to get to grips with any other factors that might inhibit my ability to have a VBAC. Paul came to the house for ante-natal visits, which in itself was a luxury, made more so by the fact that I could more or less choose when he came. The visits were long and much more alternative than standard NHS care. He advocated lots of different relaxation and therapy techniques, including massage, acupuncture and so on, though mainly he nagged me about doing too much and not resting enough! The downside of an independent midwife is that you have to pay them. But I felt it was really what I needed if I was to give my best shot at a normal delivery. As things turned out my labour was long and hard and I am convinced that if I had stayed booked at my local hospital the clock would have run out and I would have had a section. So to me it was worth every single penny and worth sacrificing that holiday, birthday presents for the next 10 years or whatever it would take to find the money.
I was supposed to go to Jo's (the local NCT student ante-natal teacher) house warming party on the day I had a tour of the local hospital, and agreed to pick a friend up at 8pm. At 10 to 8 I was lying, unshowered, on the bed moaning about my painful 'braxton hicks' and thinking that it would be lovely to stay in bed all night and forget the party. Finally I told myself I was just being a wimp and that going out would perk me up and I dragged myself in to the shower and on to the party. I remember a conversation with Jo about her ante-natal training where I told her that if she showed up as a student in my delivery room I'd show her the door! At 10pm I was struggling to stand and left Jo's on tip toe, unable to string much of a sentence together and just knowing that I had to GET HOME FAST. I stumbled in and said to Gary that I didn't feel right, followed by a loud and irritated "that's the 'we need to pack a bag now just in case' sort of not right." Poor Gary. There then proceeded an hour or so of me rolling about moaning and yelling instructions to Gary about what to pack/fetch me/say/not say etc. And with me demanding that he had to do everything at super quick speed but not look at all like he was rushing!
Paul, the midwife, arrived and instantly started to stuff me with chamomilla to try to calm me down and to rechannel the energy that I was wasting yelling at everyone in to managing my contractions. I wish I could say that this high maintenance attitude wore off as labour progressed but actually it just got worse. I was a beast! My contractions were coming very close together and already I needed to focus hard on my breathing through every single one. Paul examined me and I was gutted to learn that despite a few hours of strong pain I wasn't dilated at all. I felt indescribably let down that things were already following the same pattern as my first labour where I laboured in immense pain for hours with very little dilation. The idea of labouring for hours at home was quickly dimming. Quite simply it was obvious that I was not going to cope in the car alone on the 40 minute drive to the hospital if we left it too long to leave.
We agreed to go in and because my Dad (who was on his way to babysit Emelia) was still some time away, Gary phoned Jo to see if someone from the party could pop round to hold the babysitting fort until Dad arrived. Jo herself said that she'd come as the party had just wrapped up. She saw that I wasn't coping and took it on herself to breathe me through each contraction. The midwife had been doing this but there was something about Jo that I tuned in to instantly. She was very intuitive about what I wanted and unlike the midwife, who was keeping hold of the whole picture, or Gary, who was concerned with not getting beaten to a pulp and with more general decision making, she was just able to focus on me. I quickly became totally dependent on her and when we started to get organised to leave I started to panic. Jo offered to come in the car with me but I said that she shouldn't. It just felt like too huge of a favour to expect anyone to do. I then sat there with a voice in my head begging her to suggest it again so that I could be sure it was a serious offer, which I could accept. When she offered again I just about bit her hand off! We waited for my Dad, then we finally got in to Gary's car with Jo squashed in the back (it's a two seater!) and me taking up the entire rest of the car with my bum in the air.
We arrived at the hospital and I fell in to, then out of a wheelchair, preferring to walk (ie stumble) up the corridor to the delivery suite. By this time it was about 2am. The next bit was pretty awful as there was still such a short gap between contractions (about a minute) and they were now even stronger. I had bad pain in my back and tremendous pain in my bowel and could not find any position that helped. I have vague memories of stumbling round the room trying to lean or rest on various combinations of pillows and mattresses and rejecting all of them. I remember drinking lots of water, constantly wishing it was all over, and praying that Jo would not get up and leave! I learned afterwards that the midwife had called the contractions "ferocious and fierce" which made me feel so much better! Perhaps I'm not such a wimp after all.
After about two hours with no let up Paul said that I could get in the pool. This should have been a real high point as I knew it wasn't allowed within the strict hospital policy and had been desperate that they would turn a blind eye for me. But I remember feeling only so, so about it. In my first labour I was convinced that as soon as I got in the pool I would dilate at a rate of knots. In actual fact I hardly dilated at all in the couple of hours I was in there. When Gary once dared to encourage me by saying "Good breathing" I just turned and yelled at him "Don't you speak. You know nothing!" When he smiled I chucked water all over him! How awful I was!
Once I had been in the pool a while I started throwing up. For one joyous moment I decided I had dilated after all and was now in transition and the baby was only moments away. How naïve! The contractions slowed a bit but were still close together (maybe a minutes rest in between) and SO painful! I stayed in the pool less than an hour, hauled myself for an exam and was now all of 4cm!
We headed back to the first room and for what was probably the worse time of all. Mega contractions now with an even shorter gap in between! The pain in my back was almost unbearable. I managed to stay upright for the most part which probably really helped but boy did I complain about it! My waters were leaking all over the floor making it slippery and I was scared I was going to lose my balance with exhaustion.
We then had a hairy moment, although at the time I didn't know the full extent of it and feel for Gary who was fully in the picture and very scared. I had been warned that the sign of uterine rupture are a pain around the scar different to contraction pain and a sharp deterioration in the baby's heartrate. Suddenly I was aware that I had a "different" pain and tried to communicate this. At the same moment, coincidentally (it was decided later), the monitor that I was attached to packed up and there was no heart trace at all. Suddenly there were lots of people in the room who I realised later were the crash team responding to Paul's emergency call. They pit a scalp clip on the baby, decided everything was OK and I was able to get back to worrying about the contraction pains which were now even closer together!
After about an hour Paul had examined me and said I was 7cm. After another hour he examined me again and I was still only 7cm. Knowing that I'd made no progress after such awful contractions was really demoralising. I'd only got to 7cm in my first labour and so now I decided that I was just not designed to dilate any further. By now it was about 06.30. I was desperately exhausted and blurted that I wanted an epidural. Exhaustion won over and I decided I would have it, berating myself for giving in and convincing myself that it was now certain to all end in a section.
The epidural went in just after 7 and was fantastic! I could still feel some pain with contractions but so much less than it had been. The main pain that I could still feel was rectal pressure so after a while the epidural was topped up to relieve that. I was paranoid about being still and kept suggesting that I should get up and move about (which I could have done - it was the perfect "moderate" epidural) but Paul insisted that I rest. Gary went off to get breakfast for everyone and we had a surreal couple of hours where we all sat about chit-chatting! The registrar came and examined me and declared that I was 10cm and everyone clapped and cheered. It was all quite strange. It was as if my body had just got on and done it without me. I was given an hour to rest and for the epidural to wear off a bit and then started pushing. I exhibited more high maintenance behaviour as the epidural continued wearing off! At one point Paul said "hold your breath" and I yelled at him "Can't you speak English? Is it push or don't push?" Considering what he had to put up with looking at (not pretty!), this was pretty rich of me! Paul and Jo (Gary had learned to be quiet by this point!) were egging me on with "we can see the head" and of course (oh negative me) I told them they were lying. I was still convinced the baby wasn't coming out, but at least did feel now that it was worth having a shot at!
I pushed for an hour and was able to stand while pushing which presumably really helped things. Paul was incredibly encouraging and Jo continued to be unbelievably brilliant. I still needed her through every contraction and she stuck with me until the end. What a star. And poor Gary?! When I heard his croaky emotional voice say, "I can see eyes" I knew that this wasn't just pep talk and that I'd finally done it. The next hour was just the most truly magical time of my life. The baby was slid up to me and it was a good few minutes before we knew the sex of the baby, as I couldn't bear to break my hold to look. Paul was lovely, not in any rush at all, and happy for Gary and I to do whatever we wanted. Eventually we had to get on with the tidying up stuff - i.e. seeing to a tear! - but even that couldn't wipe the smile off of my face. We'd done it. The unexpected team but brilliant team of Gary, myself, Paul, Jo and of course Baby Harriet. Amazing stuff!
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