My Story

My story:

It wouldn’t feel right to ask women to be vulnerable and take part in this without stepping into this space also. So here is my birth story for those who wish to read it. I have 2 beautiful children, for whom I am beyond grateful. Thankfully they are healthy, and I came out the other side. There are so many things I would have done differently in caring for my body in the lead-up to and during childbirth if I could rerun my experience, but gradually I am coming to peace with the journey I had and its blessings and consequences. I want to first say that I am beyond grateful for my partners role in supporting me through both childbirths. It is such a challenging space of surrender for a man to step into, and my partner Chris was there during my 2 long labours every step of the way, supporting me with such deep devotion and kindness. It only strikes me now how terrifying it must have been caring for our babies without me for the first few hours of their lives while I was in surgery. I feel very blessed to have had the support of a partner as I know many haven’t and specifically throughout covid contact was limited.

My first birth

My first baby was overdue by 2 weeks (this is a huge topic in itself, as many countries have different ideas on gestation timelines, but I won't go there now).

I had severe pains down both legs for 3 days prior to giving birth which made it impossible for me to sleep. I had planned a natural birth, with no intervention and a doula/photographer by my side to help advocate for my birth plan. I had also planned to give birth in a birthing centre in Frome, but after a few trips in and out and a limit to how much pain relief they were allowed to provide, I ended up heading to hospital.

In the end I was induced, as I was given the advice that I wouldn't have the energy I needed for childbirth without having slept in so long. I was grateful for this permissiom from my doula and it felt right to do this. This intervention included strong pain relief, a midwife manually breaking my waters, the oxytocin drip, 2 epidurals — one for the birth and one for sewing me up after — gas and air, and a forceps-assisted delivery. She came straight to my breast to latch so I could comfort her for the great effort that she contributed herself to her birth and we delayed the cord clamping for as long as possible. I had a second-degree tear and haemorrhaged and had to be rushed to surgery to stop the bleeding.

I should mention that the midwives and doctor delivering this baby were incredible. I felt truly blessed to have the doctor I had; she respected my wishes entirely, and though nothing went to plan, she checked in with me at every decision to make sure I was comfortable with the change in plan. My only real complaint from the staff during this birth was the techno music playing in the surgery while I was being sewn up, and the feeling that, kind as everyone was, I was just a piece of meat on a table.

There were many choices left out of the recovery process, and many assumptions made about the drugs put into me — The language around what I "had to do" certainly needs revising, and any choice that didn’t land within the recommendations was seriously questioned. I felt very judged by one particular midwife (whom shall remain nameless). As with any social interaction in this world, I felt closer and more cared for by some nurses than others. I left the hospital a few days later in an anaemic state, but soaking up the joy of having my baby girl Amelia by my side. She came out weighing 9lbs, with a good head of hair — definitely her dad's genes.

Immediately after this experience and still to this day I have felt torn between whether I should be feeling grateful or angry for my experience. I know now there is no simple answer and there will always be a huge mixture of contrasting emotions present.

My second birth

Two years later, Caspian, my son, came the day after my birthday, one week overdue. My goal was to have a home birth. When the moment came, though, there wasn't enough staff to send me a midwife, so we decided once again to head into hospital.

A few days earlier my waters broke. I had this confirmed by my midwife, and then began the waiting — walking, moving my body, and preparing for labour — but contractions didn't come. Then every day a call came in to get to hospital and be induced, or my risk of infection went up. Eventually, 4 days later, I went into hospital so they could examine me and check baby's heart rate. Turns out there are 2 waters (who knew), and only one of them had broken. We ended up manually breaking the second. and like clockwork, contractions started naturally.

I was really pleased with how I was managing the pain with breathwork and gas and air, but along came the nurse 2 hours later to add the pressure of induction, as I wasn't dilating quickly enough. I refused and wanted to give my body more time, so continued unassisted for another two hours. Again, like clockwork, the woman came in and added the pressure. By this point I was 3cm dilated (the same as 2 hours previous), and I gave in. I massively regret this decision.

I was then given the oxytocin drip and my body went into panic. Not only did contractions become unbearably painful, but there was also no space between them for me to get a word in, so without the space to ask for pain relief I continued for the whole experience with just gas and air and any allusion I was under that I had a high pain threshold went up in smoke. I wish my body had been allowed to go at its own pace and to experience the journey as nature intended it.

When I finally got to the point where I started pushing, the nurses were furious. I was just following my body, which was saying push, and was being told off for it. I was 9cm dilated, which to them wasn't enough. The doctor who delivered Caspian, forceps-assisted again, was struggling massively. I could sense this, and I know my constant screaming for hours on end would have been challenging for anyone, but her attempts at delivering Caspian with ventouse kept failing, and the many "I'm sorry’s coming from 'down there' didn't inspire me with confidence. She was a younger doctor, and I questioned whether perhaps I was her first delivery. Of course, every doctor has a first, and I know this one would have been challenging. I can only say I hope the mental health support that maternity care workers receive is sufficient, as this is a job that I certainly can’t imagine being able to do.

Caspian finally came out, weighing 9lb 2oz — another big baby for me and another great head of hair. Haha. Again, I delayed cord clamping and breastfeed immediately. He took well, like Amelia, though this was cut short as the need to get me to surgery, due to another 2nd degree tear and haemorrhage took precedence. This surgery experience had different challenges. It was shift changeover, and I now had to listen to everything that had happened to me — much of which I hadn't been told about myself — being handed over to the new staff on shift. In my delirious state, this had to be one of the hardest parts of this experience, to relive it to quickly with no time to process it myself. I was also and am still angry about the fact that they lost my placenta, which I had requested to keep.

A few days later I returned home, and Amelia got to meet her baby brother for the first time, and the recovery and relative quiet surrounded me starting my healing journey. To this day I am still trying to heal my diastasis recti (stomach muscles separating), but I am grateful for my body and all it has accomplished in bringing my beautiful children into this world.