Three things have made me cautious about writing out my birth story. Firstly, I toyed with the fact that it was a very personal experience but I’ve since pushed this to the side because so many people have asked about it. Secondly, I don’t want to scare or horrify anyone so if you feel that this might be uncomfortable for you to read, STOP READING NOW. Thirdly, (and probably most importantly) parts of this story have felt to me like an out of body experience: there were times when I was simply too drugged to remember segments of the labour and I’ll flag this up as I write to avoid any confusion.
Induction normally comes with a bundle of horror stories that people feel they desperately need to share with any newly expecting mother. I knew induction was going to be a possibility at the beginning of the third trimester when it was confirmed that our baby was going to be BIG. The decision was made that we would be induced at 39 weeks as our consultant said: “by then baby will be about 8lbs in weight, there’s no way they’ll reach the 10lb stage and that’s where we’d be concerned”.
On Sunday 17th June we went into hospital to begin induction: we got checked in at 2pm with a cabin sized suitcase, an overfilled baby changing bag, and a large bag of snacks (frozen capri suns are the way forward!). The room had four beds and a shared shower room/toilet: though it’s worth adding that the ward also had a Day Room with sofas, free tea and coffee, and a television that was now supplying World Cup footage for expectant Fathers… I can’t really complain about the ward as I had the opportunity to meet some other Mothers who were going through the same experience. Partners were not allowed to stay overnight until you were admitted to the Labour Ward so I had worried about feeling lonely and vulnerable, but this really wasn’t the case.
The worst part of my initial induction process was most likely the examinations of the cervix: I can only liken it to watching farming programmes where the farmer must shove their whole hand inside the cow to drag the calf out. Unpleasant? Without a doubt. Our first examination showed that we were 1cm dilated so the first pessary was put in at 4pm after 30 minutes of being strapped to a monitor to check that Baby Robinson was ok. The monitoring then went on for a further 30 minutes after the pessary was put in: my baby was generally uncooperative during these periods and so the process lasted longer than it needed to.
Light contractions started but at 10pm (after the same monitoring process…) it was declared that I was still only 1cm but the cervix had thinned. There’s something quite disheartening about being told that you’ve suffered for six hours and made no progress. However, despite my anxiety about failed inductions and my mind wandering off into thoughts of c-sections, I persevered with the second pessary attempt.
When Mr Robinson left that night, at around 11pm, I was still only getting slight contractions. This was not to last as by the time we reached midnight, I was in real pain. Midwives came in to offer paracetamol which was gladly accepted but within an hour we had moved onto dihydrocodeine (the work of Gods). It was a very, very long night of painful contractions and sleep wasn’t achieved until around 5am when they brought a bundle of heat packs. Thankfully it was worth it – in the morning we’d reached 2cm and our waters could be broken. Unfortunately, there was no room on the Labour Ward so it was determined that we’d go for a third pessary (oh joy!) to try and get us to 3cm and make the breaking of waters easier once there was a space available.
Monday was a very long day of discomfort, heat packs, dihydrocodeine and waiting. The hospital food was particularly bland so I think I contributed quite heavily to the profits of the soup shop in the main hospital next door. Monday also came with sickness as I couldn’t cope properly with the pain. Thankfully I’d had the forethought to include my Mum as a birthing partner which meant that Mr Robinson could go off to work and I’d still have company.
Midnight arrived and still there was no room at the Inn. We couldn’t have our waters broken until we moved to the Labour Ward but I hid my frustration as I knew it wasn’t the fault of the midwives. Then a lovely midwife called Helen appeared to tell me that there was space!!! I messaged my Mum and the Mr as quickly as I could, worrying that I’d have to go through sections of the process without any support. I needn’t have bothered. In a cruel twist of fate, the lovely woman in the bed next to me was having some complications with her baby and Helen reappeared to tell me that an emergency had cropped up. They were going to be taking the lady next door for a c-section as her baby was no longer happy. She was scared, and her partner had been sent home earlier that evening – I gave her words of encouragement through the curtain. I like to think someone would have done the same for me in that situation.
At 3.30am on Tuesday 19th of June we went back onto the monitor to check my baby was still comfortable. By the end of the half hour I was experiencing strong contractions and at 4am there was an ominous ‘crunch’ sound. Being honest, I was worried that something was wrong. Helen appeared from behind the curtain like a magician, declared that baby was happy, and that I could get up. Before she could even leave the room, I was calling her back as my waters had burst all over the bed and floor. I like to think of this portion of the story as The Great Flood, given that my waters burst out in mass excess every time I tried to move (this continued for HOURS). At one stage I was barricaded in with towels while standing on what can only be described as puppy training pads, while water flooded out of me as though I was wetting myself. Helen seemed overjoyed with this development as supposedly it’s “always better when nature takes over”: I was slightly less enthusiastic given that it was my birthday and I’d soaked through nearly every pair of underwear I’d packed.
For most of that day I was oblivious to the fact it was my birthday: people sent me well wishes but my brain was mostly consumed by pain, wetness, and irritation at there still being no space on the Labour Ward. In fact, there was no space available until 7pm that evening when a midwife finally escorted us down there. Looking back, I should have requested a wheelchair as the walk from one ward to the next was really too much to manage.
Things get a bit hazy around this stage, so I can’t remember the exact order that things happened. To set the scene it’s worth knowing that the room was incredibly small: so small, in fact, that my belongings had to put into the adjoining bathroom to save space. A doctor appeared to try and insert a cannula into my arm but after two, very painful, attempts in my right hand, an anaesthetist had to be called in. I’m really quite grateful to this man who managed to successful get the canula into my left hand on the first attempt as by this stage I was getting anxious. The bruising in my hands has only gone away now: two weeks after the event.
My initial checks were completed by two midwives who pre-warned me that their shift was about to end. In some ways it was nice that they were upfront about this but it did make it harder to settle into the environment when you’re unsure as to who will be caring for you. They checked Baby Robinson on the monitor as well as checking my blood pressure, but nothing really happened until the shift change over. The new midwives offered me a hospital gown but I preferred to change into the very large nightie that my Granny had bought me as a Baby Shower present. I’ve yet to see the condition of this nightie since the birth but I live in hope that Mr Robinson has put it through a couple of laundry cycles.
Upon another examination it was determined that there was still a pocket of fluid in front of Baby Robinson’s head that had to be burst: really it’s no wonder I was so large during the pregnancy as I was clearly carrying the contents of a small paddling pool inside me. They also placed a monitoring device onto the top of Baby Robinson’s head so that I could stay mobile but in reality the wires made this very restrictive. Finally, the hormone drip was started and slowly increased every half hour until it was at the maximum level. The contractions were intense and attempting to go to the toilet for a wee was utterly excruciating.
Pain relief was something that I’d struggled to make firm decisions about during the pregnancy. We’d been advised to have an epidural at 3cm in case we needed intervention due to my high BMI, my asthma and my apparently ‘tricky’ spine. I’d opted against this but by midnight I agreed to try gas and air: I’d been reluctant to try this because so many people had told me it caused sickness which I didn’t think wise given that I was already vomiting. After two puffs I told Mr Robinson that I didn’t particularly like the sensation, I felt out of control and drunker than I’d ever allowed myself to be. The midwife advised continuing for half an hour and then making a decision. Of all the advice I received during my labour, this is the piece I’m most thankful for as without the Gas and Air I wouldn’t have managed to get through my labour.
Shortly after I was given an anti-sickness injection and some diamorphine: I can firmly say that I don’t remember much in the hour or two after taking the diamorphine. However, I do briefly remember that my baby’s heart rate dipped and there were concerns even though he recovered relatively quickly. The midwife told me “if you were considering getting an epidural, now would be the time to take one”, she advised that if baby hadn’t had the dip then she wouldn’t advise me to take it as I was managing very well but that if baby reacted this way again I’d be looking at a c-section. Reluctantly, I agreed to the epidural as I felt it was the safest option for Baby and myself.
The process of getting the epidural was particularly difficult, the first anaesthetist Mark was very lovely and his assistant Paul stood in front of me so I could lean forward onto him. They applied local anaesthetic but in reality I could still feel the epidural attempts and it was unpleasant. With every contraction they had to stop what they were doing, and poor Paul got his hand squeezed while I puffed on Gas and Air. After four failed attempts, Mark was called into theatre to help with an emergency and a new anaesthetist appeared. I can’t really remember her name (Gas and Air problems…) but she finally managed to get the epidural in place on the first attempt. The only problem was that it wasn’t fully working: I could still feel pain on the right-hand side, so did still feel contractions.
One positive aspect of taking the epidural was that I was apparently able to get some sleep (I don’t actually remember this but have been informed that it was the case – though Mr Robinson said that I did still wake up for every contraction). At around 6am it was declared that I was 10cm but that they would wait an hour to allow my body to bring the baby down naturally. 7am arrived and baby hadn’t moved much so pushing began. I remember the pushing stage as an out of body experience in which my mind was purely focused on getting my baby out. The midwives and my Mum exclaimed at how long I could hold my breath for. I’ve been told that during this period I didn’t make any sound and was so quiet that I sometimes surprised the midwives that I’d started pushing again. Two hours passed but Baby Robinson still wasn’t managing to come out.
My Mum has informed me that it was my consultant that made the call that I’d been pushing for too long and was becoming too exhausted. Later, I would be informed that if I had been left to push for a bit longer, I likely would have managed to birth Baby Robinson on my own. However, with my asthma being a bit precarious, my consultant didn’t want to take the risk. I was too drugged to really remember the discussion process but I do remember being told I needed to sign forms to agree to an attempt at a forceps delivery but potentially a c-section if the forceps failed. Even now, I don’t remember physically signing the forms but I must have done given that we were moved to theatre.
In theatre I remember being moved onto a board and onto another bed, I also remember my epidural being topped up and being sprayed with an icy cold spray to determine what level of numbness had been achieved. The poor anaesthetist Jamie must have been sick of me telling him not to let me die and demanding his reassurances that I wasn’t going to die in this process. Mr Robinson was busy being gowned up while they prepared me and it was truly terrifying being surrounded by a bundle of unknown people, while completely drugged.
Thankfully I was still able to feel myself pushing: after two pushes Baby Robinson’s head was out and after a further two pushes, his whole body was out. He was practically thrown onto my chest and hurriedly rubbed at with a towel. I remember looking into his beautiful eyes but not being able to see much of him. He gave a few wobbly cries and was taken to a table to have his airways cleared. It was pronounced that he was 10lb 6oz: much bigger than anticipated but I loved him instantly as he was laid on my chest, bundled up in a towel. We stayed in theatre as they stitched me up, I’d had acquired a second degree tear as well as an episiotomy and I’d also lost 1200ml of blood.
I won’t go into the recovery process which has been difficult and painful. It has all been worth it for our beautiful baby boy whom we have named Gabriel. People have asked me consistently if we will be having any more babies and the honest answer is that right now, I don’t know. Our labour was trickier than expected and some conversations with consultants will need to happen before a firm decision can be made. For now, Gabriel is enough and is the best baby we could have ever hoped for.
Mulling It Over 