My own birth story
I am completely in awe of the birthing experience.
In fact, I would love to train as a birth doula and provide full-spectrum support to expectant mothers, I probably will in the future, but alas it doesn't feel like a comfortable fit in this season of raising my own babies.
In any case, that passion remains within. A passion born of my own birthing experience.
Funnily enough, in my first pregnancy, I avidly avoided birth stories, fearful that they'd plant seeds of doubt and anxiety in my mind. Mostly I'd only heard the horror stories, never about psychological birth or how woman's bodies are exquisitely designed to give birth.
I went into labour, not entirely naive but so very unaware of the 'system' in which I was giving birth. I had what I perceive as a successful induction - for reasons explained in the story below. The experience was out of control and reflecting back I would make different choices but nevertheless, I still felt completely euphoric on the other side and so incredibly powerful.
It was a positive experience and I firmly believe it set me up for a more easeful postpartum journey.
I wrote the story of my first birth in the month after it took place and I'm publishing the unedited words here.
As most women who’ve birthed children can attest, the experience is an absolute kaleidoscope of emotion. It feels like achieving the impossible, taking everything of you and then some. The reward though is profound.
My experience began routinely, two days before my due date with a show and irregular, dull contractions. There was some uncertainty as to whether my waters were leaking though so we spent most of the fourth in the antenatal clinic with tests. We were given the all clear though Oliver was having a very active afternoon and with a rapid heart rate we were stranded for hours until he settled down. It was a similar story the following day and we found ourselves back again for the same reason. This time the test came back positive.
With leaking fluid and concern over whether my waters were green, it was recommended I be induced. The final decision was ours to make though and it was agonising. I felt hesitant about the idea of induction, I’d been told stories of its failure and I was eager to let the process unfold naturally.
Overcome with emotion and indecision about the best decision, Aaron (my husband) was reassuring and a voice of reason. Our fear of not acting and possible repercussions weighed out and so by late afternoon we were preparing to move to the birth suite to begin the induction.
Once the decision had been made a calm anticipation settled in. I was nervous, naturally, though I also felt well prepared and eager to meet our son. Remarkably, it also made for rather a peaceful beginning to labour. We settled into our suite quietly as our midwife, Pauline, began preparations and at five o’clock I was started on the oxytocin.
An hour passed quite uneventfully. My contractions were slowly building though not unmanageable, more noticeably jitters had set in and I found myself getting uncomfortable laying down. By six o’clock it was time for an internal examination. I was three to four centimetres dilated and my membranes were still intact.
After Pauline released my waters, which thankfully were clear, I changed position, kneeling on the bed and leaning over the back rest. Gravity seemed to work some serious magic because after no time at all my contractions were all consuming. Feeling debilitated by the pain, doubt and panic crept in fast.
Despite not intending or wishing to have an epidural, the prospect of continuing without one seemed incomprehensible. I told Aaron I didn’t think I could do it without one, so he asked Pauline for pain relief. She started me on gas. Surprisingly any relief provided by the gas itself was outweighed by the satisfaction of being able to bite down on the breathing tube through each contraction.
Not knowing the stage of labour or whether this pain would continue for minutes, hours, or days, hearing conversation in the background that our baby would soon be born was rousing. At this point I could feel a heavy pressure in my pelvis, I was pouring sweat and any intentions to breathe calmly through each wave were entirely discarded. It was now about survival. Each contraction felt like a marathon and I could do nothing but cry out to weather the pain.
Aaron’s support made all difference through this stage, his encouragement and reassurance kept me tethered to reality and as he whispered in my ear that the baby would be born with the next contraction, time and time again I felt capable of making it through.
Toward the final push, Oliver’s heart rate wasn’t stabilising after each contraction. Doctor’s were called and I could sense everyone’s urgency. I was dragged down onto my side with Aaron holding up my right leg and encouraged to focus all of my energy to bear down with each contraction. Oddly it had not occurred to me before that moment that it was up to me to push Oliver out. It now seems something so obvious.
In those final throes, I found, as I had been told, that you leave yourself. You’re present and conscious for moments, but in between, you travel off elsewhere. It might be self-preservation but I only have flashes of recollection of those last moments. There was immense burning pain as his head crowned and shoulders were born and that final wet slide as his body followed after. I don’t recall the first cry or reaching for him but apparently, I was desperate to hold him. The midwives and Aaron quickly rid me of my robe and Oliver was placed on my chest in a surreal haze of emotion and elation. I recall gazing down at this pale blue baby whimpering and wriggling in absolute disbelief at the fact he was ours and he had just come from me.
We sat quietly marveling with love and awe at our little boy for hours, watching him nuzzle his way across my chest for his first breastfeeding and then into Aaron’s arms so that I could be stitched and showered.
Standing blissfully under the warm water I was sore and bleeding and yet the entire experience was unparalleled and utterly magical. Our little family had suddenly come into existence.
Final Note
If reading this story stirred up any challenging emotions around your own birth experience/s it can be helpful to talk to someone who supports birth as a normal life event and who also has a clear understanding of how today’s birth culture influences birth outcomes.
The Australasian Birth Trauma Association (ABTA) is a national charity committed to reducing the instance and impact of birth-related trauma whilst supporting affected women, families, and health professionals. They have a number of useful resources and support options for both physical and psychological injuries (trauma).