Twenty-seventh of January

The day I gave birth is meaningful to me in two ways: first of all it led me to meet the most precious person in my life, and second, I see it as the first event of an initiation journey that is motherhood. My birth story below is mainly based on my memory of it, but it is also complemented by details from the hospital report to provide a more accurate picture.

Trigger Warning: Parts of my story can be distressing as it describes a traumatic birth and in particular, an episode of seizure. This is not a positive birth story (if you read it all the way through) so I strongly advise against reading it if you are pregnant.

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Friday 26^th January 2024, 12:55: “It’s a beautiful day to be born”. This is the text I sent to my family group chat along with a photo of a beautiful blue sky after parking at the hospital. As if it would only take a few hours for my baby to come into the world. In reality, it took about 24 hours, which I suppose is not that long for a first baby. I was scheduled for an induction on that day, at 39 weeks, mainly because my baby was measuring big. I had hoped that he (me and my partner knew it was a boy) had come naturally by then but it seems that he was not yet ready to show his face. Before heading to the hospital me and my partner had eaten out, our last meal before becoming parents; I had a huge portion of pancakes to cheer me on – an early reward. It was indeed a beautiful day and I had very much been looking forward to going through the birth experience to meet my baby.

I fell pregnant in May 2023. On the 18^th of May to be precise, and “fallen pregnant” might not be the most accurate description (it implies unexpectedness): I had IVF/ICSI and 18^th May was the day one embryo (among two “successful” fertilised eggs) was transferred into my uterus – but this is another story. Despite a few worries I had a relatively smooth pregnancy. I enjoyed growing a little human inside me and I took care of myself as much as I could to grow a healthy baby.

I was a little nervous about giving birth at the start of my pregnancy, mainly (as many pregnant women are concerned, if not all) about the pain (was it as terrible as it was known to be?) but also because it was an unprecedented, life-changing experience. I got prepared (although I don’t think anyone can be prepared enough to give birth) by learning as much as I could about the different stages of labour to know roughly what to expect and to gain as much control as I could (“knowledge is power”), and about ways to relieve pain.

I had a clear idea of the birth experience I wished to have: a water birth as calm and relaxed as possible, ideally unmedicated (I especially wanted to avoid the epidural). I familiarised myself with hypnobirthing techniques for a positive birth experience, and spent a lot of time writing my birth preferences to hand to my partner and the midwives. For some reason I was worried I would be forced into making unwanted decisions, and I really wanted my preferences to be respected.

From the start my pregnancy was considered “high risk” as it was through IVF (how it is categorised depends on the hospital), and I was a little worried that this would compromise my birth preferences although I was informed that ultimately my choices would be respected. Towards the end, my baby was measured above the 97th centile and I was advised to consider a planned birth – induction or caesarean – to avoid the elevated risks associated with large for gestational age (LGA) babies such as shoulder dystocia, emergency caesarean, bad tear… I considered both options and weighed the pros and cons, but in the end I barely hesitated. I still wanted to try and birth my baby vaginally and opted for an induction before full term, which was scheduled at 39 weeks – Friday 26^th January at 1pm.

Pain – it is a very personal experience, how each and every one can handle it. A few years back I had injured my lower back (the injury was probably due to a pinched nerve following a yoga session) which led to the most unbearable pain I had ever experienced in my life at the time. I remember thinking of labour pain as a benchmark (“can it be even worse than this?”) and the thought stayed with me until the day I gave birth. As if the pain I had experienced had prepared me, I was ready to face it again, especially when it wasn’t for nothing – I got to meet my baby. In the end, as I recall it, the intensity of the pain was pretty similar in both contexts, although I have to acknowledge, it is hard to compare physical pain in different contexts and ultimately to fully remember physical pain. The memory of the pain probably changes over time.

Upon arrival at the maternity unit I was taken into a shared room with 6 beds separated by curtains. That wasn’t the ideal setting but I considered myself lucky enough to be next to a window and to directly receive the natural light of this beautiful sunny day. Me and my partner were in a joyful mood and overall excited. Whilst waiting for the induction to start we were talking and laughing, enjoying the relaxed time together before the unknown. The ward was busy on that day and my induction was delayed. Around 4pm I had a first vaginal examination (VE) to assess where I was at, which I found extremely uncomfortable. I had prepared myself to face the pain but not physical discomfort in this way. My cervix was soft but not quite open yet. I had a first vaginal tablet (prostin) to ripen my cervix (that is, induce labour) and then had to wait for six hours to see how it was progressing. As it is advised, I wanted to move around as much as possible and avoid lying on my back so my partner and I went for a walk around the hospital (it also involved the hospital’s M&S and some cheeky chocolate chip cookies, as if the pancakes weren’t enough…). The day before I had a treatment combining both reflexology and acupuncture to naturally help induce labour, and I like to think it helped as I only needed one tablet: the muscles in my uterus had started tightening and by 10pm I was 1 cm dilated. For a period of time my contractions were even too frequent (what is called tachysystole) so me and my baby were monitored regularly throughout the day. Quite unexpectedly, I couldn’t precisely identify the contractions. I had read about them as waves coming and going, whilst what I was feeling was similar to period pain – a dull, continuous ache with no real peaks of intensity. My heart rate was remarkably slow and it remained as such throughout my labour, which was of surprise to the midwives. “Are you an athlete?” – no, especially not for the past 9 months!

Around 11pm my partner had to leave the hospital (birth partners weren’t allowed to stay overnight in the antenatal ward) and the possibility that I could go into established labour without him by my side felt scary. I was relying on him for emotional support but also to help create a calm environment: I wanted the lighting to be dimmed and I had brought battery-operated tea lights to place across the room, as well as a small speaker to play the birth playlist I had created for the occasion. But I was left on my own. I knew that it could take a while for labour to start following an induction – many hours or even days, but in my case things moved pretty quickly. After my partner left, I managed to get some sleep until the pain woke me up around 3am. I called the midwives for help but didn’t feel like having another VE: was it worth going through the discomfort again? Would it actually help me to know how many centimetres dilated I was at this stage and how my labour was progressing exactly? Even with gas and air the first two examinations were too uncomfortable and I wanted to defer the next ones as much as I could, or avoid them altogether. I was trusting my body to push whenever it would be ready. Throughout the day I was given some tablets to relieve pain (analgesia, paracetamol and dihydrocodeine), but it was no longer enough. I remember refraining myself from calling the midwives too often as they didn’t seem to think I was ready to be taken to the delivery suite. I was telling myself I had to stay strong and use the natural techniques I had learnt. Around 5am I was offered to run myself a bath in a nearby small bathroom, and I was delighted with the idea: I could already feel the power of hot water wrapping me like a comforting blanket. Sadly, the water temperature wasn’t hot enough to help relieve the pain efficiently and I was a bit disappointed. I was dreaming of a boiling bath like at home! But altogether, the experience was different from what I had in mind: there were no tea lights, no music, and above all, I was on my own. But I remembered my hypnobirthing techniques and focused on my breathing: inhale for 4 seconds, exhale for 8. At this stage, I could handle the pain and felt strong. I had no idea how my labour was progressing, how far along it was: it was still hard for me to distinguish contractions – I still felt a dull pain both in my pelvis and my back. I kept topping up the bath with hot water and stayed there for quite some time. Once back in the bed I was given a TENS machine to try, and it helped for a little while.

Around 8:30am the pain was getting more intense, and my intuition was telling me it must be time to go to the delivery suite. I agreed to have another VE which was way less painful than the first two, and I was pleased with the progression: I was 9 cm dilated. I had gained 8 cm in 10 hours! I had been in established labour for a little while (it starts when the cervix has dilated to about 4 cm) and felt proud to have stayed calm and contained in the bath, with the help of the breathing techniques from hypnobirthing. My partner was on his way back to hospital and I called him to meet me directly in the labour ward. Just before I was transferred I reached a point where I really wanted the pain to go away, and I asked to have an epidural. I was taken to a birth room on the hospital bed, but as soon as I got there this scenario didn’t feel right anymore. I remembered reading that towards the end of established labour, it wasn’t uncommon to have a wobble and I thought “this is it – that’s exactly where I am and that’s exactly what’s happening.” I remembered my birth preferences and snapped out of the weak state I was in: I couldn’t not try the birth pool, especially when the one and only birth room with a pool was available.

I was transferred into the room where it was mainly just me, my partner and one midwife the entire time, with doctors visiting for emergencies (my baby’s heart rate dropped several times). I put on the swimsuit top I had bought for the occasion, went into the pool and I felt good. I was trying to stay active, in an upright, forward and open position (as per the hypnobirthing recommendations), using gas and air whenever the pain was getting too much. But just like with the bath I had during the night, I was a little disappointed by the water temperature, not as hot as I had wished. I went out of the pool around 10am – I can’t remember why exactly, perhaps for closer monitoring. Shortly after, I agreed to have another VE: I was still 9 cm dilated. The midwife broke my waters to speed up labour and my contractions then occurred with increasing regularity. I was trying to stay mobile and whilst standing on the edge of the bed, I felt more amniotic fluid coming out. Around noon I was fully dilated, finally.

In my hypnobirthing book I had read that when it is ready, the body itself pushes the baby out, in an uncontrolled way (or more precisely, the muscles at the top of the uterus push downwards with each contraction). I hadn’t experienced my uterus contracting to open the cervix in a “typical” way, so when I could feel my body pushing it felt somewhat reassuring to experience something I was prepared for. It was the most intense sensation I had ever felt physically in my entire life (and I doubt there will ever be anything to beat this) but I welcomed it, amazed at what my body could do. It was equally arduous and beautiful to experience such a powerful feeling, and nothing will ever compare to it. I told the midwife: “my body is pushing” and she replied, without sharing my excitement, something along the lines of “then let it push”. I wanted to follow the lead of my body and to try and breathe my baby out using breathing techniques, rather than being told when or how to push. Despite the intensity of the contractions I was still trying to keep an ideal position, mainly on all fours. I was also trying to keep in mind that each contraction, however intense, was bringing me closer to my baby. I was just a few minutes, a few hours away from holding him in my arms. At some point (I can’t remember exactly when – 1pm? – or if my body had started pushing yet), the midwife said that her shift ended at 3pm and that by then, she was fairly confident that there would be a baby with us – or at least that’s how I interpreted it. That comment filled me with strength – I was exhausted but the end (or the other side, whatever it was) was within reach. I reminded the midwife that I was expecting an LGA baby and that it may therefore not be a quick delivery, and she didn’t seem to have read it in the notes. My heart rate was still pretty slow, and my blood pressure elevated (154/>72). 

3pm was getting closer and closer but the end didn’t feel near. The medication I was due to receive (remifentanil) never came, the anaesthetist was busy in theatre. After pushing for some time (perhaps a couple of hours?), all we could see of my baby was the top of his head (at least he was in the ideal (vertex) position for a vaginal delivery). My partner was excited to see his head as it crowned and to catch the first glimpse of what he looked like (it was a very hairy head!) however my reaction was quite different: how could I push for hours just for his head to crown?! How much longer? I had read that once the baby’s head was born then it could be a matter of only a couple of contractions more. But I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the case. Most importantly, I think my baby was showing signs of distress. A doctor came to help me push and coach me. This time, rather than letting my body work alone, I was also pushing with each contraction. When I could feel them coming to a close, the doctor was encouraging me to continue to bear down longer. It surprised me how much and how long I could push for. I was working closely with my body. But it wasn’t enough. I was exhausted, overwhelmed and scared by the potential negative outcomes (shoulder dystocia, bad tear…). For the first time, I wished everything was over, I wished I could go back and opt for a caesarean. I could no longer do it and I asked the impossible – is it too late for a caesarean? I could see the pity in the doctor’s eyes: “oh sweety, it’s impossible now, you’re too far along.” My baby was too far down in my pelvis. She advised an episiotomy, which for some reason was really the only thing I feared about labour. But at that moment the will to get it over with was stronger than fear. When the anaesthetist finally arrived in the delivery suite he started reading a document to obtain my consent to the procedure, which I was supposed to listen to and agree with throughout the contractions.

I was taken into theatre around 3.15pm. The lights were bright, there were a lot of people in the room, everything was so far away from the birth preferences I had outlined. Everyone was getting ready and was doing their part. I was given a tablet to increase my blood pressure as per protocol. The information wasn’t relayed that it was already high. The anaesthetist injected the spinal. And then it happened. I knew from the start that something wasn’t right. A throbbing headache came on suddenly; the pain spread to my neck, which was more and more stiff – or was it the other way around? Then I started shivering. I can still see myself on the operating table repeating “what’s going on, why am I shaking”. I was losing control of my body. Everything I had been feeling so far I had welcomed it. But at that very moment, my instinct was telling me that something was wrong, that I shouldn’t be feeling what I was experiencing, and I trusted it. The doctor was trying to reassure me, telling me that it was normal, that it was the effect of the spinal. She asked me if my vision was affected, no it wasn’t, is your vision blurry, no, yes, yes it is, I can’t see a thing any more, I’m panicking. And then nothing.

I woke up the following day (Sunday) in the intensive care unit, without my bump, and countless intravenous drips in my hands and arms. The nurse was called Adele, “it’s easy to remember, it’s like your middle name”. She smelt nice and my first thought was “are they allowed to wear perfume here?”. She was sweet and reassuring. I couldn’t explain why or how but I knew where I was, and I could feel that my baby was safe somewhere. Was my brain aware of what had happened? Or did my subconscious hear my partner talking to me? He had stayed by my side all night, along with visits to the maternity ward to be with our newborn son, but he was resting in a nearby room when I woke up and the hospital staff couldn’t wake him up. What happened during my stay in ICU is very blurry in my memory. I have flashes – the clock in front of me which was going too slow; the overweight patient on the left and the lady with the bandage all over her face on the right – why were they here?; the curtain that I wanted closed all the time so that nobody could see me in such a vulnerable state. I was given earplugs and an eye mask for some quieter time. A hairbrush. A breast pump to collect colostrum for my baby. A special pillow to support my tummy/wound to ease the discomfort when coughing, which I was encouraged to do to help clear my lungs after being intubated. The blood pressure monitor set the rhythm of the day, starting automatically every 10 minutes. I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep and recover and be strong to meet and look after my baby. Right then I didn’t have the strength for that. I didn’t have the strength to think, to speak, I didn’t have the strength for anything. It’s impossible to organise my memories chronologically, but at some point a doctor was talking to my partner next to me. He asked for details: “was that before or after the seizure?”. That’s how I learnt why I was here. “Did I have a seizure?” It’s like suddenly they remembered I was next to them. In theatre, I had had a seizure that lasted about 5 minutes, following which I had an emergency caesarean under general anaesthetic. My blood pressure went up to 200/110. Eclampsia was presumed so I was given magnesium bolus as per protocol, and I was intubated until the Sunday morning. My body went through a lot whilst I was unconscious in ICU, but here is not the place to tell it, and I wouldn’t rely on my own memory.

My son was born on the Saturday at 16:05 and weighed 10lbs (4.545kg). He experienced the seizure in utero and had to be pushed back up the birth canal before the caesarean was performed. He needed help to start breathing but thankfully he was healthy. He was admitted to NICU for care whilst I was in ICU with my partner looking after the two of us.

On the Monday morning I was told that there was a room available for me, my partner and my son in the labour ward; I was ready to be transferred. The nurses were excited for me to leave and meet my son, but the truth is I was still exhausted and wanted to sleep and I was scared – I felt very fragile and I wasn’t sure how I could physically look after my son. I wanted to feel strong and capable to protect him. I was helped to have a shower and get dressed and it all felt strenuous. A nurse pushed my wheelchair around the hospital’s corridors (an absolute maze), whilst someone else was following us with the breast pump trolley. I met my son in the early afternoon, two days after his birth, surrounded by nurses and doctors and my parents who had flown in from France in the morning. Of course I was overjoyed to finally hold him in my arms, but I think I was also a bit numb by everything that had happened and by the fatigue, and the experience was so far away from what I wished – me and my partner holding our son together, just the three of us.

A couple of nights later we moved into a big room in the postnatal ward (definitely a special treatment). My blood pressure was monitored closely and there were a lot of visits from doctors and nurses. I had to recover from a life-threatening experience whilst learning to be a new mum and trying to breastfeed an insatiable baby. We eventually left the hospital on Friday the 2^nd of February, one week after I was admitted.

I had come into hospital with a couple of copies of my birth preferences, but in the end I never handed them to anyone, for several reasons: I can be self-conscious and didn’t want to appear as though I was telling the midwives how to do their job; I came to think that writing my birth preferences was primarily for me and since I was there, I could control the situation; my partner had familiarised himself with them, and I thought this shared knowledge was enough for me to have my wishes respected. After the birth I regretted not handing them out. I had spent so much time writing them for a reason, and my self-consciousness shouldn’t have got in the way.

From my reading about birth I had mainly retained one important thing: it was divided into two main stages (I repeat main stages, as I know it is far more intricate than that) – the first stage with strong, more regular contractions (established labour) and the second stage, from when the cervix is fully dilated until the birth of the baby (the pushing stage). When I think about my labour there were indeed two stages, but the boundaries don’t coincide – mine are subjective, based on my own experience. Although far away from what I would have imagined and from my initial wishes (but again, it is such an unpredictable event), the first stage of my labour was a positive, calm, empowering and enjoyable experience (I’m not sure I would have dared to use the last adjective during that first stage, but looking back I surely welcomed what was happening and I would go through it again). It started the moment we parked up in the hospital car park and I looked up at the beautiful blue sky. It ended when I was brought into theatre. That was the start of the second stage of my labour – scary, unexpected, dismissive, and totally out of my control: I didn’t birth my baby vaginally, I didn’t give birth underwater, I wasn’t conscious when my baby was born, and most importantly, I couldn’t hold him or have skin-to-skin contact immediately after the birth. Deferred cord clamping or a gentle/natural caesarean were no option, and I didn’t experience delivering my placenta nor could I see it. Nearly all my wishes were compromised. For the right reasons, of course: to give the best chances possible for me and my baby. But it left a scar.

This is my story. When I was pregnant I had enjoyed reading (positive) birth stories, thinking I would one day write mine as well. After I gave birth, I kept thinking of doing it but at the same time I kept postponing it – I didn’t have time, it wasn’t a priority. In reality I think I was subconsciously avoiding thinking about the birth. When I was asked by friends or relatives or doctors what had happened (and more precisely, what went wrong), I would let my partner do the talking. After all he knew firsthand given that I was unconscious. I kept asking him the same questions over and over, about the series of events and their chronological order. I was blaming myself and my faulty memory for not remembering. But I actually don’t think I was fully capable of concentrating to remember. It’s like my brain didn’t want to. A few months after the birth I received a report from the hospital detailing the events, and for a while I carefully avoided reading it. And then one day, I realised that it was time for me to stop seeing my experience through someone else’s eyes and to tell my story. It isn’t a fully positive birth story so I haven’t written it with the primary intention to inspire future parents. It is for me, both to remember and in the hope that it will be cathartic; for my family and friends if they wish to know what I have experienced and how I felt; and for them and everybody else who will read and want to have (more) children, there is a broader message: it will never be how you expect; which doesn’t mean it will be worse or better; just different. Be prepared and informed (again, “knowledge is power”), and be ready to adapt quickly.

They say that when a baby is born, so is a mother. As a matter of fact I am not the person I used to be; I am stronger than ever.

Thank you for reading.