Birth Story (Part 1)

Please forgive me, I may be some time.

Rebecca was due Sunday 2nd January 2011. Sunday came and went. I felt nothing, not a twinge. Monday 3rd was the Bank Holiday so Dave was still off work. Still nothing. I had a feeling that she was going to be really late, and I’d have to be induced, which was something I really didn’t want. That night I had bad backache, not exactly unusual for he heavily pregnant me but I was hopeful. I’d been doing lots of bouncing on my birth ball and had a few long walks over the weekend. I’d started to lose my plug too, although that didn’t really mean anything was imminent (and was also really gross).

Tuesday 4th Dave had to go back to work. I had a long lie in, and pottered around the house for the rest of the day feeling pretty bored and fed up. I turned off my facebook wall and ignored all texts from people asking where the baby was or could I hurry up with that damn baby already. Yeah, thanks, like I’m really trying to take my time? The only person I talked to (other than Dave of course) was my mum, and that was only because she was clever enough to ask how I was doing today, how I was feeling today, what I had been doing that day, and not say silly things about moving things along. I got the regular Pizza Express voucher in my inbox and decided we were going there for dinner.

As soon as we walked in the door and sat down, I started having cramping pains. They weren’t painful, just uncomfortable, especially when trying to eat dinner. She was wriggling around in there so I thought this can’t be it. The pain got worse when we got home, but they weren’t regular or frequent so I figured there was a way to go yet and went to bed.

Wednesday 5th I woke up as usual at 5am to go to the loo. The pain was still there, and was definitely worse though still completely manageable. It seemed a lot more regular now though, so I started timing while lying in bed. They were coming at about 7 minutes apart, and stayed that way all morning. I couldn’t get back to sleep though, so I got up and had some breakfast and bounced on the ball. TV is pretty shitty that early in the morning. I had my regular hospital appointment at the Foetal Wellbeing Unit that morning at 9am, but I didn’t feel like I could really drive with the contractions and, as my midwife had said they may give me a sweep at the hospital, I didn’t really want to have to drive back if they got any worse. I woke Dave up and asked if he could take me and then go into work after.

We set off for the hospital and the pains were getting stronger but still 7 or 8 minutes apart. Thankfully, the contractions were showing up on the monitor, so I knew it was for real. Still felt like it was going to take a long time though. They were a bit concerned about my blood pressure as it had gone up a little bit, but it would do if I was having contractions, so we had to hang around a while for them to do a good few readings. It was still early though, so they sent me home with the advice to come back when they got to 5 minutes apart or the pain became ‘unmanageable’. She thought I would probably be back by that night.

Got back home and they were still coming, and getting stronger, but no closer together. I was so tired I ended up having a nap and when I woke up they had stopped. Not good news. Decided to take down the Christmas tree and all of the decorations just in case this was really it, and that did the job of getting them started again. At this point I had to stop and breathe through them each time, but they were still ok. I was feeling the pain at the bottom of my bump and right around my back. I was feeling pretty hungry, and really fancied steak and chips, so we went to Sainsbury’s to buy food. Walking around Sainsbury’s heavily pregnant, having to pause every few minutes and brace myself against the trolley while trying to still look normal, was an interesting experience. I’m sure no one even noticed but I did feel like a bit of a twat. The steak was totally worth it though. Mmm.

They carried on getting more intense, and now at 6 minutes apart. It still felt like this was going to go on forever, and they were pretty damn painful by now, but I didn’t want to end up in hospital for a really long time so I was trying to stay at home until as long as possible. I was looking forward to getting to the magical 5 minutes apart. I was now having to really focus to breath through each contraction, and squatting against the sofa or leaning into the door frame each time. We watched a lot of rubbish tv until the early hours of the morning, when Dave went to get some sleep. Finally, they got to 5 minutes apart at about 3:15am. I phoned the hospital. “I’d say stay at home until they’re 3-4 minutes apart, we want you at home as long as possible really”. Man. What a let down. The pain was really intense now, but I had no idea how bad it was meant to be. People keep asking me if it’s “painful or uncomfortable, manageable or unmanageable”. Well, to me it’s pretty painful, but I seem to be managing. I could have a really high pain threshold and this is actually excruciating, or maybe I’m a wuss and this should normally just be uncomfortable. How the hell do I know? I’d already tried having a bath, and this didn’t really help as I couldn’t get the whole bump under the water. It did make my back feel a bit better though. At this point, I gave in and took 2 paracetamol.

Feeling a bit disappointed, I decided to clean the rug. My mum had given us a rug a few weeks ago, and I’d bought this cleaner stuff to scrub it with as it had a few stains. I hadn’t got around to doing it yet, and now felt like the perfect time? Of course it did. So I spent about 45 minutes on my hands and knees scrubbing this weird smelly sand stuff into the rug, pausing every 5 minutes for a contraction and trying not to cry. FINALLY by the time I’d finished they were almost at 4 minutes apart. The pain was so bad now I decided enough was enough and called the labour ward back. I told them this was now distinctly unmanageable, and I would like to come in thank you very much. Come on in then, they said, and I went to wake up Dave and get my things together. We got to the car, and I called my mum while we headed to the hospital, with me clinging on to the hand rest with every contraction (which were even more painful in the car). Dave dropped me at the door and went to park the car (and check in at the hospital on facebook, naturally), and I got signed in. It was now 4:59am on Thursday 6th January, 24 hours since I woke for a wee. I’d had an hours sleep.