Ben's Birth Story

My pregnancy with Ben came as a complete and utter shock to both of us. Setting all obvious jokes aside we simply could not fathom how this little person came to be growing inside me. I remember taking a pregnancy test in Starbucks in Belfast and then sitting and crying down the phone to Ryan.
It came at a terrible time. Our relationship was at the lowest point it has ever been at. Ryan was depressed. I was struggling with toddler twins and the final year of my degree. I was struggling with coming to terms with the pregnancy. Ryan even asked me to consider termination (not that it's available in this part of the world!) but we both knew we could never do it.

I suffered terrible morning sickness until about 16 weeks or so. The train journey (50 minutes) to and from Belfast daily was a nightmare with restless toddlers in a buggy and a mile walk on both sides of the journey. I didn't have any sickness with the twins. It was completely alien to me. I wondered if people thought I was an irresponsible Mother who had been out drinking all night when I stooped down to puke behind a bush in Botanic gardens.

But I managed to get through my degree successfully. We picked ourselves up and slowly I started to bond with the little baby bump. I started thinking about the birth. I knew I was going to be in for a tough time getting the experience I wanted. Having a previous C-section seems to be akin to being a leper in the medical profession so for the second time I was 'high risk'.
I researched. Relentlessly. I spoke to my Aunt, who has had two vaginal births following a previous CS. I researched more. I wish I'd done more.

At 1 week "overdue" and no signs of anything starting to happen I was being pressured to agree to an induction. I refused. I wanted baby to come in their own time. And all the best evidence suggests that induction using any method is contraindicated in VBAC births. I couldn't understand why the were even considering it. Eventually I let them schedule me in for induction. I had no intentions of attending.

On Wednesday evening at 9 days overdue I felt quite restless. I wasn't in any hurry for baby to make an appearance, and still wasn't, but I felt...well, just restless. I stayed up late bouncing on my birth ball and drinking raspberry leaf tea (which I loved!). I remember watching a lot of meaningless rubbish on television until happening across a very graphic abortion documentary at about midnight. Ill advised though it was I watched it, cradling my wriggly bump and crying for both the babies and the Mummies.

Some time after 1am I went to bed. I woke up not long afterwards with pains. It took a while to realise that they were contractions since I'd never experienced one before! I dozed on and off during the night being woken sporadically by mild contractions. Ryan rolled over and hugged me when the morning came. "Any contractions?" he asked. "Lots" I replied. He sighed. "I think you misheard, I said lots!".

I didn't anticipate anything happening any time soon so I sent Ryan off to work and pottered about the house with the boys. Contractions continued throughout the day but they were irregular. Sometimes an hour would pass without one. At other times I would have 3 within 15 minutes. They still weren't very strong though.
The evening came and I went to pick Ryan up from the train station. I had several contractions in the car. They were getting stronger and made me realise I definitely shouldn't be driving. Things seemed to start moving along then. While I was cooking tea they started to stop me in my tracks. I had to lean on the kitchen unit for support. We asked if Ryan's Mum would have the boys over. She seemed very unwilling and I couldn't help but feel annoyed! They hadn't really grasped the concept of the baby but were very excited about going to Nanny's.

Things progressed slowly into Thursday night. I sent Ryan to bed and I stayed up. I sat in the dark in the spare room and played a puzzle game whilst bouncing on my ball. I talked to my Mum on the phone for about an hour in the early morning. By the time the dawn started to break contractions were fairly regular. Though bearable I had to have a coping strategy. I leaned forward onto any available surface and rocked my hips while breathing deeply. It worked really well. I decided to phone the hospital and they said to come in. I wish I'd been through this before and had known what to expect.

On arrival I was given a quick examination and told I was about 4cm and progressing nicely. We were taken up to a ward to wait for things to start moving a little more. I agreed to lie on the bed for a while for a trace to be taken though I stressed that I did not want constant monitoring. All was fine though baby was quite wriggly and kept kicking off the monitor. Labouring strapped to the bed was agony and I couldn't wait to get the damn thing off. A Dr came and gave me a very rough internal which I wasn't expecting. So unnecessarily rough in fact that she broke my waters. For me, this was the turning point. This was where things started to go wrong. There was some meconium staining in the waters. I expected this since baby was approaching 2 weeks over. I wasn't particularly worried. I felt that everything was fine.

They decided to move me down the labour ward since my waters had 'gone'. I was assigned a room and a midwife who was actually very nice. Contractions were getting intense. I leaned against a bin to rock and sway through them while I waited to be moved. There was a lady waiting for a caesarean in there with me.
I was hooked up to yet another monitor and told I would be given an oxytocin drip. I asked why. I forget the answer but I refused to agree to the drip. I never managed to get rid of the trace monitor though.
For the next few hours I laboured intensely, all wired up and sitting on a chair. Initially I tried to make my wishes understood. I was treated with little respect; as though I were a silly, little girl who had the audacity to think she knew what she was talking about.
"You've researched this have you? Oh really. That's lovely."
Refusing the drip was my only success. I sincerely wish I'd written it down and versed Ryan it what I needed. But he was a little bewildered by the whole situation.

At first I could manage to talk between contractions. After a couple of hours they were literally one on top of the other. I sucked on completely ineffective gas and air and sat on my chair. I thrashed and moaned through each contraction with clenched teeth, like a dying animal. I remember I made some terrifying sounds. I was barely aware of any one else being present in the room. I refused all other pain relief. I could tell my midwife disapproved.
About 6.5 hours after arriving at hospital and still not having progressed beyond 4-5 cm the consultant recommended a second section. I was too tired, in too much pain to disagree. I vaguely recall having to sign consent forms though I doubt I managed more than an illegible scrawl. I felt devastated. I had given up.

I wasn't allowed to move from the bed after that. Over an hour was to pass before I got taken to theatre. Continuing to labour on that bed was agonising. I couldn't stay still. I was writhing like something caught in a trap. I was sick into whatever was available to my left. I'm almost certain that I was in transition at this point. I think I probably progressed very quickly after that examination, just like my Aunt with her first labour and VBAC. But I just needed it to be over.

When I finally got to theatre I was given gas and air while they prepped me. This one actually worked. I felt light headed and dizzy. I don't think there was anything in the cannister I had been using previously because it had had no effect other than giving me a mouthpiece to bite down on. It took FOREVER for them to site my spinal. So much longer than with my elective. The needle was put in and out about 4 times. It took about 20 minutes I think. Then it took a long time to take hold. A good 5 or more minutes compared with the instantaneous effect last time. I was terrified I would feel anything. Even through the operation I could just about wiggle my fingers. The relief was immense though and suddenly I could function again, I could talk. I tried to concentrate on the imminent arrival of my son rather than regret for how things were turning out.

It took a long time but eventually I heard a loud yell and my son was born. My third little boy. For some reason he looked really big but it turned out he was only 7lb and a real titch. He was gorgeous. I was his Mummy straight away.

However I regret the way he came into this world. I regret that I wasn't stronger. I regret that I didn't have more support. I loved being in labour. It was exciting. It was incredible. I would do it again in a heartbeat. But I resent that birth experience.

What followed was no better. For a hospital that is working towards baby friendly status there was nothing baby friendly about it. For various - some arbitrary - reasons Ben ended up in the neo-natal unit for almost 2 days. The staff down there were fantastic and respected my instructions about his care and calling me instantly if he cried. However recovery from the section was so much slower this time. The neo-natal unit was on the ground floor and I was on the first. I was treated like a major inconvenience for refusing to allow them to bottle feed my son. I insisted on going down every 2.5 hours which meant a porter had to be called to take me in a wheelchair. Oh! The breastfeeding after pains! Agony!

Breastfeeding support was non-existent. Fortunately I didn't need it. But out of 7 women that were on my section of ward during my stay I was the only one breastfeeding. One young girl was attempting it but her little one was slightly premature and she was being convinced to express and give bottles as well. The answer to any breastfeeding issue was to express. Just after birth! No wonder none of the Mums were breastfeeding. At one point I needed to give Ben some expressed milk. A midwife sighed heavily and went off to get a breast pump. When she came back to see me holding a cup full of colostrum she looked at me aghast.
"How did you do THAT?!"
Apparently hand expressing is a little known art!

I would like another little one at some point and I would like to labour again and ideally aim for that VBA2C. But I know now that I need better support. Someone to tell me it's normal, that I'll get there. And I absolutely need to avoid that hospital at all costs.




He is more than worth it though.