MY SECOND BIRTH STORY

TL;DR Baby was born within an hour of arriving at hospital. No option for epidural. Pain level 1000+. Speed Grade: A+.

After Firstborn turned 1, we contemplated a second baby. Why? Had I always longed for many children? No. It was a poorly thought-out, childishly irresponsible no-plan plan. We’d just see how it went, and if I got pregnant, then so be it.

I was pregnant a couple of months after that initial contemplation.

The pregnancy wasn’t great- again. He was heavier and kicked harder. My stomach muscles had stretched out and didn’t support as well. My back hurt more. It was an awful week in the dead of winter when I again went 5 days over my due date. I wasn’t bouncing on a yoga ball this time, though. My back hurt so much I was lying down most of the time.

As my husband got ready to start his day working from home, I felt slight pains. Knowing that I don’t feel much labour pain, and working on the assumption that I had gone over my due date, I called the midwife. I left a message on the service saying that I felt something, but wasn’t sure.

As I began moving about, I started to feel more pressure and the pain began to grow. I still wasn’t sure, but instinct prompted me to go to the hospital. The midwife hadn’t called back yet. It was around 8 am on a Monday morning.

We got in the car and I tried calling the midwife again and left another message telling her I was on my way to the hospital. Halfway there, I began to get contractions. And boy, did I feel them all of a sudden. I couldn’t catch my breath; it was such an intense, localized pain. I began to pant like the labour scenes you see in the movies. I hadn’t attended any birthing classes again this time around either, but figured that’s what you do. Let me tell you, it gave me something to think about and attempt, but it didn’t help with the pain at all.

I had no idea how to measure the time between contractions (begin timig when the pain starts or when the pain stops? when do you stop the timer?) so gave up on the contraction app. I still had a pretty good pain-free break every so often that I wasn’t yet in a panic.

I wanted the husband to go drop off the toddler at his mom’s house, so when we arrived at the hospital, I got off at the emergency entrance alone and sent him on his way. All I had was a winter coat and every step I took was suddenly torture. The pain was quickly getting unbearable and the contractions now barely paused.

I got disoriented and couldn’t remember the maternity ward’s level. I got on the elevator and asked a nurse getting off what floor it was on. She saw me bending over, in pain and pressed the button for me. I went to the check-in desk with no ID and health card. I was by now, bent over the counter in pain. After attempting to get my registration done, she checked me in immediately after seeing me having trouble breathing. I went into the birthing room and was instructed to change to a hospital gown.

I spent the next hour with my eyes mostly squeezed shut and only have scattered memories of nurses rushing in and out while I struggled with each excruciating contraction. The doctor on duty checked me and determined birth was imminent. I could hear discussions about what to do because I had been seeing a midwife and she hadn’t arrived yet. When the contractions got so close together that I could only take in a few laboured breaths in between, the doctor asked me if I wanted to wait for the midwife or if she could assist me.

Let’s go off in a hopefully-not-long tangent here. Although I do like the idea of natural, homeopathic… everything, in the face of real pain and trouble, I also do revel in modern medicine with all its scientific and chemical breakthroughs. The only reason I had gone the midwife route with the second was because with my first birth experience, I’d found it very restrictive how after I had had an epidural, I was forced to lie back in bed and discouraged from moving lest I dislodge the monitors stuck to me. I thought this time around, it would be nice to labour more naturally; walking the hospital corridors or bouncing lightly on a yoga ball or by meditating in a bath. Spoiler alert: I didn’t know this one was going to shoot out of me so fast I wouldn’t have to worry about a long labour.

If I could have yelled it at the top of my lungs, I would have. As it was, I couldn’t even breathe properly and just panted, “Yes, yes, now, no, I don’t want to wait”. Unfortunately, as the doctor prepared, the midwife rushed in. The contractions were really close now and I’d started crying out in agony. The midwife’s assistant unhelpfully kept telling me to breathe in a low, unnaturally slow tone (which I guess is supposed to feel reassuring but I found immensely annoying).

I was seriously panicking because of the pain, and wasn’t pushing well ( a recurrent theme in my birth stories). Another nurse had come in and stood beside me. I proceeded to try to clench her hand in pain and was told “Ow, don’t do that”. I was told my yelling and hollering were not helpful and to stop- I think this nurse was later sent out of the room. The midwife’s assistant was still intoning inanities and my eyes were still shut tight. Layers of women’s voices added up to nothing that alleviated the pain.

Finally, a voice very close to me (a new nurse) told me to push, for my baby. By then I was sobbing and thinking I would die from the physical torment. But I listened and gave as mighty a push I could muster- I don’t know if I could have continued doing that as it took all I had (Women who labour actively for hours without an epidural are superhuman).

The ring of fire? Oh yeah, baby. You feel that rip. But the relief was immediate and welcome as he shot out of me. I would later find a shower of blood droplets dotting the sheets and the floor beneath. It must have been quite a show- thank goodness I had my eyes closed.

As he was weighed and checked, the midwife proceeded removing the placenta, all the while telling me the story of how my first message hadn’t sounded urgent and that she hand’t thought I would labour so quickly as the reason she’d been late. I was just so grateful to have been pulled back from hell that I smiled and nodded a lot and kept thanking her for coming like a demented tea party host.

The midwife stopped chattering away after a while of pulling on the umbilical cord. She suddenly rushed out and got the doctor. Turns out the cord had broken and she’d been unable to remove all the placenta. Needless to say, my advice to my former self would be to stick with an ob/gyn and go with a doctor’s care. The doctor congratulated me and apologized for causing more discomfort before putting what felt like her entire hand in me to fish out any remaining particles of placenta.

It was uncomfortable and not painless, but compared to the torture just experienced, definitely tolerable. The doctor left with my effusive thanks and the midwife finished stitching me up.

My husband then came in with my bags and the nurses congratulated him on the new baby. He missed the whole thing. But I don’t regret sending away the toddler as it would have traumatized her for life hearing me scream like that. Quick and dramatic, it was a completely different experience from my first.

We had one more hiccup with the birth weight being recorded incorrectly. This led to the team at post-care to think he had lost a significant amount of weight and to keep us an extra day. The pediatrician confided that she thought it was just an error in misreading a 4 for a 9 when it was transcribed, but the midwife couldn’t remember and the paperwork remained unchanged. Yes, midwife experience? Not great. For me.

Baby boy is healthy and bubbly and fun. So, at the end of the day, the job got done so who cares, right?