My first birth....

Well, inspired again by NG's call for us to share our stories, I thought, what a way to procrastinate doing any of my required reading and other hard work. So here is the story of how I came to be Alyssa's mum. It was a bit of a typical first timers tale, but here goes anyway. At the ripe old age of seventeenn years and 25 days, I began "labour" with my daughter. Well, I say labour. I thought it was labour. But, like so many other first timers, I had NO IDEA what I was expecting. I started having (what I now know were very mild) contractions, every ten minutes at about 11 pm. All night, I stayed up, timing and counting and waiting for more to happen. Nothing much changed, except I got really tired. I went to the hospital at 11am, and was sent home, not dilated. I went back at 3 pm and was sent home, again, only 1 cm dilated. Noone explained to me what was happening. Noone told me about latent labour, or how to cope with it. Just, "go home and come back when it get's worse". So, back I popped at six pm. And now I was the magic three cm's. So I was given the gas, and an ARM. Time to "get on with it".

Wow, oh boy, is there a good eason for not going to the hospital early? the impact of an ARM is understated hugely. They told me it would get things moving (no mention of risks like cord prolapse or infection, mind you). They didn't tell me that my pain, if not my labour, was about to enter warp drive! For half an hour after the ARM, nothing much happened. I got in the bath, but I didn't like it, and halfway down the hall to return to my room, the contractions hit. And how. Every two minutes, I contracrted for a full minute. Now, prior to that I had been having these pissanty little 20 second tightenings... I actually thought I was quite a tough girl, and that labour was nowhere near as bad as everyone said... screaming in pain I was given the gas and put on the monitor. Now just take a second and look at this picture:



Ok, so WHY did I need monitoring? I was 17, in perfect health, and labouring spontaneously (albeit with an ARM). But, instead of support I got my machines, and my gas, and I got left, on my back, on the bed. (by the way, it was 1993, and GHD's did not exist, and my hair ALWAYS looked like that. *shudder*) Back then, that was what labor care consisted of. My GP came and went, through the night. At around midnight, they decided my progress was slow, and I needed an epidural, so that I could get some sleep. I said no, thanks. they said, you have to have one. I said,it hurts. They then called the anaesthetist, who was busy at an appendectomy (I remember that being the joke), and I waited. Now, my memory of this is that I had no choice. I know now that I had a choice, but then, I thought, literally, that I had to have the epidural.

So, eventually epidural sited, I went to sleep... and woke up, alone, in pain, and with my birth partners shooed from the room. I could not reach my call bell, and was completely terrified in the half dark, where I lay for twenty minutes till my partner came in to get something from his bag. I ordered him and the other two back in the room, and someone (I don't know who) came and topped up my epidural..... THEN examined me and told me it was time to push. It was three am.

I had a full and complete numb all the way up to the top of my belly. I couldn't feel someone touching my leg or foot. But, it was time to push. So I did. or, rather, I tried. I pushed whenever the midwife nodded at me that it was time. I pushed like I was "going for the biggest pooh of my life" flat on my back with my feet held up in the air. I pushed and pushed..... and nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. They decided that I wasn't very good at this and after nearly two hours of this, they suggested a c- section, and left to organise it. while they were gone, my big sister and friend who were there, helped my completely unresponsive body up into a squat, supported by them. And in that position, I pushed. And something happened: my baby starting to surge down the birth canal.

The midwife called the GP who returned to catch my baby girl as she flew into the world. No tears, not grazing, nothing, just a ring of fire burning that hurt like hell, but was oh so sweet cause it meant I didn't have to have surgery, which terrified me. Again, my birth was so typical of first timers: I knew nothing. I was told what to do and when to do it. But unlike others, I was lucky enough to survive it with not only a healthy baby, but an intact perineum and abdomen to boot! Alyssa weighed 7lb 5oz. And this is the first photo of her.... If you look really closely between all those hands, you can see her little leg!


Seventeen months later, I was back for Erika, and a very different birth. but what stayed with me, forever, was just how lonely I felt, and how little I understood what happened to me. Not long ago, I snuck a peak at my labour notes in my hospital records: They do not tell my story. I do not even know how to tell my story, cause so much of it, I didn't get told about. I don't know if I had a syntocinon (pitocin) drip. It was awful. but, from that xperience, a midwife was born.... and so was my beautiful, wonderful, intelligent daughter, now nearly fifteen: Alyssa.