Week 40
My due date comes and goes and I’m bombarded with texts, calls and emails wishing me well and asking if anything has happened yet. I put my phone on silent and go for a long walk with the hope of moving things along.
I have a midwife appointment and she does a stretch and sweep, which could bring on labour. She says that my cervix is short and soft, a sign that things could start happening soon. I’m disappointed to not feel much afterwards. I also have two more acupuncture sessions with no result.
Week 41
I didn’t expect to still be pregnant at this stage, but two good things come of it: I’m able to attend my best friend’s father’s funeral, and I also get to go to my friend’s wedding. I hit the dance floor at the wedding hoping it will bring on labour, but nothing happens.
On Monday I go to the hospital for a foetal assessment, where they put a monitor on my belly and observe the baby’s heartbeat for an hour. It’s all okay, which is a relief.
The next day I have an appointment with a senior obstetrician. He is an hour late, and then takes a private phone call when I’m in with him. He is abrupt and says he wants to book me in for induction without even examining me. I have to ask to be examined and insist on another stretch and sweep. He says that my cervix is long and closed and says that the midwife’s diagnosis was wrong. He books me in for an induction in two days and explains all the possible side effects. I sign a form saying I understand the risks. I leave the appointment and burst into tears. I really wanted to go into labour naturally and thought things were moving in the right direction.
My mum picks us up early on Thursday and drives us to the hospital. We check in at 7am and there is a long wait until I see a nurse at 9am who applies prostaglandin gel. There is a long wait until the next check, so mum and I head down to the waiting area with a pile of magazines and Adrian heads into uni for a few hours. At 3pm another dose of the gel is applied, and by 4.30pm I’m being sent to a room for the night. The nurses don’t expect anything to happen until the morning when they will break my waters. Mum heads home and Adrian helps me settle into the room.
I start getting pains soon after and don’t feel well at all. I go and have a shower but end up doubled over in pain. My dad decides to pop in for a visit and I have to ask him to leave. I get Adrian to attach the TENS machine but it seems to make the pain worse. I buzz for a nurse and tell her I think I’m in labour. She runs off to organise a wheel chair, call my midwife back (she had just been to see me) and get us a birthing suite.
The contractions are very close together – a minute to 90 seconds apart – right from the start, which I was told was a possible side effect of being induced. The pain is excruciating and I can’t get comfortable. To get through the contractions I keep trying the TENS machine, but find hitting something with my hand (my head, the bed, the wall) to be more effective. I also try the gas but can’t get the hang of it. At some stage a doctor comes in and breaks my waters. The baby’s heart is being monitored throughout the whole thing, which makes it hard to move around and change positions. The monitor keeps falling off. After about 4 hours of contractions I ask for an epidural, but my midwife tells me it’s nearly time to push. Pushing is good as it’s an outlet for the pain, but the baby just won’t come out.
Over the next hour a few different doctors come in and are concerned that the baby’s heart rate is dropping slightly. It’s finally decided that I will go into surgery, where they will try forceps, and if that doesn’t work, will do a caesar. By this stage I’m excited by the idea of a spinal block and can’t wait to sign on the dotted line. The anaesthetist is explaining the procedure when he gets a page and runs out of the room. Apparently there is an life or death situation and all available doctors are called into surgery.
I have to wait for over two hours until I can get into surgery. I’m still getting contractions every minute and am in agony. The midwife tells me not to push, but it’s the only thing that can take the pain away. There aren’t even any doctors around to administer the drug that slows contractions.
Once I’m in surgery the nurses and doctors are great. The anaesthetist inserts the spinal block and I want to kiss him. It’s so amazing to have no pain. They try the forceps but can’t get the baby out; he is stuck in a strange position. The team then preps me for surgery. They have a lot of trouble getting my baby out. He is big and has descended too far from all the pushing. After lots of tugging they finally pull it out and the doctor says in her Irish accent, it’s a “beautiful big baby boy”. He looks gorgeous and I’m so relieved he is okay. I don’t get to hold him and he is whipped off to the side of the room to the waiting paediatrician. Adrian goes with the baby.
The next hour is a bit of a blur. I haemorrhage while they are trying to sew me back together. At one stage I’m freezing cold and start flapping around on the table. They stop working on me and put a heat pack over me. The doctors sound concerned and ask for Adrian to be escorted from the room. I’m so worried I’m going to die and never see my baby boy. Thankfully the doctors work their stuff and I’m okay. An hour later I’m out in recovery and I can finally meet my boy. The midwife takes him out of the humidy crib and puts him on my chest. He doesn’t seem to know what to do so we put him on my breast but he doesn’t suck. The midwife says that it’s probably because he has gone through a traumatic birth too.
Back at the room Adrian and I stare at our beautiful boy asleep in the bassinet. We pull out the list of baby names and it’s easy to decide to call him Lewis Fox. We have both really liked the name Lewis for ages, and Fox just seems to fit. We doze until 7am when we start calling family to tell them the good news.
