Birth story - Lucy and baby Arthur

The knowledge gained and mental preparation the digital pack offered, enabled me to enjoy the most positive birth experience.

My first birth was 8 years ago. It was 54 hours long. I went to hospital and was sent home 3 times, as progress was slow. I laboured alone for many hours in the darkness of my bathroom. Rather than experiencing the surges like the ebb and flow of ocean waves, coming and going, they felt constant. I felt desolate and alone, as if clinging onto a piece of shipwrecked timber, trying to keep afloat in the abyss of an unrelenting storm. 53 hours had passed. Getting from the bathroom down the steep staircase, without help, to put my boots on took me forever - I now know I was transitioning at this point - I spoke for the first time in hours and simply said, “I can’t do it!” referring more to getting my pregnant feet into winter boots and then physically getting to the car parked outside the house. On arrival to hospital, I was examined and was told I was 10cms - I felt reassured to be in the hands of two kind-faced women and my daughter was born 40 minutes later with a little gas and air and without complication.

Fast forward 8 years and I find myself to be 43 years of age. The father of my unborn baby is my best friend and confidante; our baby is his first. My pregnancy was straightforward and I was pretty happy and calm throughout. I felt green with sickness for most of it and was very tired in parts. We did NCT to make friends, I enjoyed YogaBellies once a week and I bought The Positive Birth Pack because I wanted my head to be in the right place for the best birth experience possible.

I was consultant led (due to being high risk - purely because of my age). I was told I couldn't have my baby in the sparkly new, midwife led birthing centre and so we set up a meeting with the head of midwifery. She looked at my notes, listened to my story and said she would support me with a home birth and would also welcome me to The Bluebell Birth Centre, up to 40 +12. The consultants were keen to book me in for induction before I hit the 40 week point but my partner and I used BRAIN at every meeting and requested additional monitoring instead. From 39 weeks, it felt like I was having either a scan, baby heart rate monitoring or a membrane sweep pretty much every day. I found this process really useful because it gave me peace of mind and also showed me how well my body was progressing. The midwives use something called the ‘Bishop’s scale’ to determine how favourable your body is for a vaginal delivery and how your cervix is progressing: it’s on a sliding scale from 0-10 and it was much to my relief that one day I scored a 2 and then four days later I was a 6, it helped me to keep focused and it reassured me that my body was doing lots of hard work and things were moving in the right direction.

I’d highly recommend you use the phrase, “My baby is due from (not on)…” I learned this too late to implement it. The days dragged their well-worn heels and every night I went to bed feeling like it was Christmas eve, only to wake up gift-less in the morning. I felt the possibility of induction was looming like a monster I didn't want to shake hands with. I was so worried that my determination to hold out for a natural birth could possibly harm our baby in some way - the word ‘stillborn’ had fallen loosely from the lips of many medical professionals - and the worse case scenario was haunting me.

I had a show on New Year’s Eve and went into The Bluebell on New Year’s Day to be examined. I remember being told by the midwife to come back for another membrane sweep if nothing had happened in the next 5 days. 5 days? 5 days felt like an eternity! I cried…

That night we stood in the garden and saw a shooting star.

My due date had been reached and I’d overtaken it (January 2nd). Braxton Hicks was really cranking up now and this gave me the perfect opportunity to spend lots of time on my up-breathing technique. Some evenings each surge would last about 30 seconds and they would come at regular intervals of about every 5 minutes. Excitedly, we timed them! Every time this happened I was hopeful that things had really started. I bounced on my ball, kept myself moving, rotate to dilate, rotate to dilate! I listened to the affirmations most days and, ‘My baby will come when my baby is ready,’ became my mantra.

I was booked in for induction on Saturday 12th @11am on labour ward, by which point I was 40 +10. My window of opportunity for a natural birth had nearly slammed shut, so too had my chances of making it to The Bluebell - I felt deflated. The day before my booked induction, I had a positive chat with my friend, who is a Shaman and all round cool woman, and she helped me to get my head around induction. She is one of my most favourite people on this earth and, with love, she told me I needed to, ‘Calm down’. She was right! I decided I would be well looked after the next day in hospital and wouldn't have the long, lonely and quite frankly scary experience of my previous long-winded labour. (I have only realised, since having my second baby, just how frightened I was when I was sitting alone in the darkness of my bathroom for hours, holding onto the side of the bath when every contraction came and staring at the dark OPI nail varnish called ‘Lincoln Park after dark’ that I had on my nails - I will never wear that colour again.) At the end of our chat, my friend gave me acupuncture and when I got home my partner and I went for a lovely river walk; we watched a robin singing in a tree; we lit the fire; ate profiteroles; I had a deep bubble bath and listened to Tina Tuner (bit random), singing at the top of my voice; and we ate mum’s home made cottage pie. I had finally let go and decided induction would be a good thing. My partner and I didn’t talk about what might happen tomorrow - we just enjoyed the NOW. I went to bed happy and had the best night’s sleep I’d had in weeks.

I woke up just before 6am and I instantly knew the first gentle surges of labour had started. I lay there for a while, really enjoying up breathing and hoping this was it. Had I managed to go into labour naturally just 5 hours before I was booked in for induction? I woke my partner up and told him I thought it had started. I didn't want him to time anything, for fear of somehow jinxing it and the surges subsiding, like they had each time for the past 3 weeks. They didn't subside. They got stronger and after a couple of hours my partner rang The Bluebell and they told me to come in, I hopped in the shower and got myself ready. I stood in the bathroom and laughed as I remembered my friend telling me that when you’re in labour you should, “Relax your mouth and purse your lips so they look like a vagina.”

I went downstairs and I slipped my feet into my comfy slippers (no winter boots for me this time), wrapped my coat around me, hooked myself up to my music and my partner passed me my trusty woollen, peaked hat. I listened to the soundtrack of the new Mary Poppins film- the fluffy happiness of it kept me chilled, happy and focused. We had seen it a couple of weeks previously with my daughter. I hurried my partner along and we jumped into the mini. At one point, he squeezed my leg and told me to brace myself: I felt like we were going sideways around the roundabout. We arrived at the unit and between the car and the entrance I managed to do one of those pregnant-woman-in-labour-leaning-on-handrail-outside-hospital moves! The sliding doors welcomed us and I was asked if I had an appointment. I flamboyantly declared, “I hope so, I’m in labour!”

The doors opened to the inner sanctum of the unit, fairy lights twisted around the handrail along the wall. It felt like we were at the pearly gates and Peter had fast-tracked us. We were ushered into room 4, they examined me, told me I was 4-5 cms and I could stay. I was elated. The midwife handed me the gas and air and told me it would make me feel ‘gin drunk’. Great! Then I was suddenly all alone in the room, peacefully labouring whilst still listening to Mary Poppins and feeling so in control.

I had made it!

Apparently my temperature was up, so I was given paracetamol and when my temperature dropped I was allowed into the birthing pool. The relaxing tunes of Jack Johnson were floating around the room and the midwife told us we were the happiest couple she’d ever attended to. I was aware that between surges I should really try to relax my body and so I focused every now and then on freeing my shoulders and moving my arms gently, as if they were wings. I really enjoyed moving around the room while labouring but getting into the warm waters of the pool was something else. The surges felt less intense and I felt like they were further apart but apparently they weren’t. My partner was in charge of the gas and air and fizzy Lucozade, which I sipped every now and then. He also smeared some lip balm onto my lips which was amazing at the time! I wallowed for a couple of hours and then the midwife wanted to examine me.

My phone rang and I felt baffled as to why anyone on earth would be trying to communicate with me… didn't they know I was in labour? I requested quiet. Silence the phone. Mute the music. It took me a few surges to be able to get out of the pool.

By this point it was about 2pm (a mere 8 hours in) and I was 6-7cms. The midwife said she would have liked me to have progressed a little more than this and asked if she could break my waters. I instinctively agreed to this. Throughout my time there, they had been placing a doppler on my tummy every 15 minutes to listen to the baby. This time when they did it they said our baby’s heart rate was over 200. Not good. The mood quickly changed and everyone became very serious all of a sudden. They got me to lie on my left side, as this puts the least amount of pressure on the baby. My friend’s voice popped into my head form the previous day and I started saying, ‘Calm down’ over and over. After a short while, our baby’s hear rate stabilised.

When everything had calmed down I was standing up with my partner by my side and the midwife was telling me that I might feel fear - I must have now been 10cms and was transitioning. I remember standing there and looking her square in the face, declaring, “No fear, there will be no fear!” I turned to my partner and he echoed my sentiments to the midwife too, “No Fear!” He may as well have been beating his bare chest, dressed in an animal skin whilst fending off wild animals from our cave with a firestick. We had turned Neanderthal.

The midwife told me I could get into the birthing pool to have my baby and started explaining about the use of mirrors to see what was happening and about reaching between my legs to catch the baby. At this point in time it was information overload - I’d been labouring for nearly 10 hours on a bottle of Lucozade and half a slice of toast (I’d eaten my M&S macarons, which were my ‘labour food’ because they went out of date on the 8th January and I wasn't planning on the baby being so overdue!).

Like Goldilocks, I turned to my right and looked at the beautiful birthing pool, ‘Far too swishy!’ I turned to my left and looked at the comfortable configuration of birthing cushions, ‘Far too low!’ I looked in front and saw a chest of drawers, ‘Just right!’. I gravitated to them and they were the perfect height to hold onto, legs akimbo and gravity on my side I had found my spot to give birth: I was as happy as a cat in a cupboard.

I knew my baby was about 8lbs 10oz and so I figured standing up would be a good idea! My partner placed a cushion on the top of the drawers so I could rest my weighty head between surges. Things were cranking up and I started pushing. As I slid about on the amniotic fluid I looked down and saw my partner’s ‘socked feet’ and worried that they would be soaked through. It suddenly became very frenetic and the midwives needed to assemble all of the final stages of labour paraphernalia which just happened to be stowed in the chest of drawers I was clinging onto for dear life. “Excuse me…sorry…excuse me…just need to get…” as they reached between my legs to awkwardly delve into drawers. I’d reached the bit that stings, the no-turning-back-head-coming-out bit. The ring of fire. The midwife left the room to get medium sized blue gloves.

The two of us were alone.

My partner said my name in a way he has never said it before and will probably never say it again. “Oh Luce!” It was strong and protracted and was a mixture of realisation and excitement that our baby was about to put in an appearance mixed with the sheer horror that he might have to deliver the baby. The pushing bit was less than a quarter of an hour. It did sting and I felt sharply aware of the sheer size of the baby’s head. By this point there’s certainly no turning back: our baby was entering the world and his arrival time and sex was about to be declared. I felt exhilarated, focused and stretched. A couple of pushes and the head was out and then one final push and the body was born. I looked between my legs and was met by an impressive set, upon which I breathlessly declared, “It’s a boy.” The midwife caught him and handed him straight to me for skin to skin. Wow! 15:51 Our boy was finally here. Euphoria!

I stood there holding him in my arms. Pure emotion. No words.

I sat on the cushions and we had delayed cord clamping and I opted for the injection in my leg to assist delivery of the placenta - the midwife had advised this, due to my age, and it decreasing the chances of blood loss. I birthed the placenta without really noticing as I lay there with our boy on my chest and my partner lying next to me for a blissful, golden 45 minutes.

Alone, we marvelled. We drank sugary tea and ate delicious sandwiches from the well-stocked fridge. The midwives then reentered the room and checked over our boy. She commented that he had the healthiest pink skin she had ever seen on a newborn and weighed him in at 8lbs 10oz. I showered and then she shone a bright light to see how many (if any) stitches would be required. A slight tear which I decided to leave to naturally heal. The double bed was flipped down from the wall and we spent the following hours gazing at our boy and toasting his beautiful arrival into our world with a bottle of Veuve!

I would give birth again in a heartbeat.