So I was one of the 5%. In fact, Freya's time of birth was 12:59pm on Thursday the 9th of Feb. When they told me it was only lunchtime I didn't believe it!! I didn't know where I'd been all that time.... it felt endless... I guess I was inside myself, going on the journey with her, struggling with her to find a way for her to come out. She was coming anyway, I should have known that much; but truly I did not know what to expect; logically, I feel I should have – but it was still the most confronting physical challenge I have ever met, and the most powerfully transformative experience of my life.
The night before was a subdued one. We knew enough about where we were at to try and go to bed and try and get some sleep. I think I slept until about 2:45am before I was woken by more regular contractions again. I wanted to try and sleep more, but I didn't think I wasn't going to have much hope. By 4am I was resigned to the fact that they were definitely coming continuously (at about 6-7mins apart) and I made a nest of pillows and cushions on the bed so I could flop face-down in them and rest/snooze in between. For the record, I'll say at this point that "resting between contractions" is the kind of idea you get from reading books and other peoples' birth stories - and seriously, when you're doing it, you just feel like a dick because it seems like the most futile activity in the universe! Well, it did for me, anyway!!
So, up at 6 or so to stare at the affirmation wall and settle into some serious timing and pacing and wondering. I dealt with Cole when he woke up, but it was hard to make space for what was going on. More diarrhoea ensued and whilst I wasn't conscious of contracting while that was happening, it was interesting how to explain it all to Cole who was hovering around me in the bathroom. I had a whiteboard marker with me because I'd written down a couple of timings that I'd missed using the app on my phone. Cole wanted the marker so I gave it to him and encouraged him to do drawings on top of the white pedal-bin that we use for laundry in the bathroom. The marker didn't really work (it was a black one) so I offered to get him one that did, but he seemed very suspicious of the new marker and clung to the old one; despite this, there was much continuing chatter about it not working... and as time ticked by, a couple more contractions came and went ... I went and got another marker out for myself so I could record them. Update from Cole was that the marker really wasn't working, so eventually he came around to swapping to the new one. A couple more toilet trips ensued - I offered Cole to swap his black marker with my bright red one: the resulting artwork looks exactly like a black and red placenta print on top of the round bin!
When Tom got up we started making plans. First was to call his parents and ask them to come ASAP to pick up Cole. All good, but probably wouldn't happen until 9. I called our midwife; she said it all sounded great and that we just needed to call her when we felt we needed her. I was coping, so I guess I thought it probably wasn't time for that... as much as I might have said differently during the contractions that lasted about a minute each. Then I heard from my mum: a text that said she was on her way to work when I thought she was on a plane on the way to a conference. I had texted her first to say she was probably going to miss the birth (as she wasn't to return until the following evening). So it meant she was actually able to could come and entertain Cole until his other grandparents arrived and, considering what a distraction Cole was turning out to be, I readily agreed. Tom and I also agreed that it was a good idea to summon my cousin Bec, one of our support people, who'd been prepared the night before for the possibility of being needed. We didn't hear from her right away, but she arrived shortly before our midwife.
In the meantime, we ended up with a quite needy Cole, who was reacting a bit to the sight of me dealing with my contractions; and either distracting me, or distracting Tom from being able to focus on me completely, which was what I desperately wanted. When my mum arrived, it was great to have the extra help. Then Tom's parents arrived... and suddenly the house was full of our parents! We hadn't envisaged any of them being present during labour, but everyone did a great job of working out how to be useful and then scooting off pretty quickly once Tom was able to come back to me and focus on helping me through.
There was actually an unbelievably soothing quality about having him with me – as strange as it might seem for me to express a note of surprise about that! I just hadn't really thought about him as one of my "support people". To me, he was as emotionally invested in the birth as I was – but after the trauma of our last birth experience (for both of us) I had encouraged him to organise his own support for this birth, as I didn't want him to end up in a position where it was 'all about me', especially as that had been so tiring for him last time. It's certainly not that I felt he couldn't be supportive of me: but I suppose I just mean that we hadn't prepared for it (ie. talking about any techniques he might use, or positions we might try). However, when he placed his hands on me and comforted me, it all just worked and he was really my rock. So much so that if I couldn't have him near me for a contraction, I would get quite teary and vulnerable, which made all the other feelings so much harder to deal with.
When I heard Bec arrive, I was in the middle of some very seriously hard work! Nic was on her way... but I was feeling teary; then actually felt quite terrible to think of my poor (pre-childbearing) cousin arriving right at a time where she was going to hear me bellowing the house down. I know some women are very contained – and labour inwardly, and even silently – I am NOT one of those people!! My experience of labour was intense, and very difficult for me to embrace.... the only way I could ride the contractions was to roar, groan or even sing along with them. It was a very noisy little house that day. Tom said he didn't think it sounded like I was screaming my head off (eg. 'One Born Every Minute' style) but to me, it really felt like I was screaming. Luckily Bec had actually spoken to my mum before coming and mum had given her a heads up about how advanced things were likely to look by the time she arrived, so it wasn't quite the unprepared entrance I'd assumed she was making.
She fitted in seamlessly with just the right energy, low-keyness and willingness to help. She had a gentle presence, similar to Tom's and they both were completely focused on comforting me. I felt extremely vulnerable and really probably quite afraid of the intensity, as it reminded me a fair bit of my labour with Cole and I still didn't quite know where this labour was heading. I was still waiting for our midwife to arrive.... and knew that it would then be some time after that before we went to hospital. Visualising the time stretching ahead was pretty challenging, and not a good idea when you're trying to get from moment to moment. When Nic arrived, I was on all fours in the bottom of the bath with the hot shower on my back. 'The Team' reported to her that things seemed to be under control. The hot water had been helping and the contractions had been shorter and more predictable (with a very challenging part in the middle that I could see coming and going, which made me feel a bit more grounded.) But the hot water was running out, and Nic offered to examine me to check my progress which I knew I wanted her to do. I just had to know where I was at. I would have been lost without knowing, even if hearing it meant hearing something dispiriting and challenging to my feelings about continuing.
Getting from the shower to the couch was awful and contemplating lying on my back for the exam and risking contracting in that position filled me with dread. I had 3 before she was able to examine me... and the examination concluded with one of my less graceful manoeuvres as I rolled off the couch into the 4th contraction with not enough control of my body to support my weight. Tom tried to catch me but it was pretty useless and I was completely lost during that one, which always seemed to make them worse. If I could "go inside" the experience, it was infinitely better, but I'd be hard pressed to present anyone with a more impossible task than getting "into" the experience of intense labour. Every previous experience in my life had taught me to fear and reject such intense and confronting physical experiences as being "wrong" or "bad" – and this phase of labour is especially challenging because it's so impossible to know how much further you have to go. Even if you can meet the challenge: you're doing it blindfolded. At best, I would say that I thought I 'coped' (inwardly) with 2 out of every 3 contractions I experienced during my labour this time around. With Cole's, it was more like 1 in 3 (while the going was good).
My team were undaunted, telling me how brilliantly I was doing and truly holding me throughout. Nic's news after the examination was neither terrible nor what I particularly wanted to hear. I was 4cm dilated and the head still seemed a bit high. She thought if we went to hospital there and then I would have less chance of avoiding intervention so suggested we stay put a little longer. However, I was not about to get off lightly. She said I now had a job to do to try and get the head to descend, and I'm sure I must have paled: any suggestion of change, that would force me to make it through a contraction in a different way than I had previously, caused me internal panic. Fresh doubt would arise and with the hourglass already flipped, time escaping steadily before I'd have to do it all again. She explained that I would need to encourage the baby to move down and that the best way to do it was to walk from the kitchen, through the lounge room and up the hallway, raising each knee up while I walked... I was to do this silly walk until I had another contraction, and then she brought a stool for me to keep one foot up on while I was having the contraction and either lunge into it, or open my hip out to the side to allow the baby's head to descend. Somwhere in there Tom managed to make a joke about how I needed to do that move from Beyonce's Single Ladies flimclip where the dancers all wriggle their way suggestively down toward the floor! I can't say that this matched with any idea I had of myself at that moment (!!!) except that the idea of seeing myself in a one shouldered black leotard while in my current condition was potentially amusing.
I made it to the top of the hall way near the front door. I spent a few contractions here, alternating legs up on the stool and carrying through with the plan. I was unwilling, but it was also good to have a focus, I think. Also, I felt the baby's head descend – and even though I knew it was the head, found myself telling everyone "I'm going to poo, I'm going to poo" because I thought it would be better to offer some warning just in case I did! Nic looked me square in the eye and told me that the baby's head would feel like a giant poo and then when I was pushing, it would feel like the baby was being born through my bottom. I think this was possibly the only thought that went through my head. It was like she was telling me precisely what was going to happen next... as I don't know how long it was before I was pushing, but it didn't feel like very long. The next thing that happened was that my waters broke and it was on!
Here, I'll have to flash forward to our next 'setting' which was in the lounge room and ultimately where our baby would be born. Tom was sitting on a dining chair and I was collapsed over his lap, kneeling on the floorboards on pillows that had been hastily shoved under my knees in the hope of relieving some of the agony I felt in my over-worked (or, should I say, HUGELY underprepared) legs. I had my arms around his seated form, leaning rich the way over to grip the rear two chair legs with a force that I'm surprised the chair withstood. I was absolutely drenched in sweat and Tom's clothes felt completely sodden where our bodies made contact. I could hear everything quite clearly in between contractions; something about if we were going to go to hospital, we needed to go now (not a chance in hell - most preposterous suggestion I'd ever heard!); then Nicola saying she needed to go and get her kit out of the car (she hadn't done that yet???!!). Questions about the location of gloves and drop sheets, and various other instructions for poor Bec who was trying to find things (I knew where they were, but couldn't speak to tell anyone). While she was running around getting hot water and cloths and rubber gloves out from under the sink, she was also texting my mum to give her an update amongst all of this! I also heard a snipped of Nic's phone call to Helen; and the words, "she's pushing"... are all I remember.
Somehow I'd gone from that uninspiring examination: to roaring on the floor like a feral animal and feeling my entire body (and bottom!) open up to this being who had suddenly decided she was going to come roaring down through my body, propelled by the force of a muscle that was clearly the most impressively toned and efficient one in my entire body! If only I could wear it on the outside!!
Far from being the scarred organ with a potentially life-threatening "weak link" in this birth story, as the medical profession had it labelled, it was now the star of the show. I was an unwilling spectator, but was peeking through my fingers in awe of what was occurring inside of me. Whilst it was unbearably intense, I cannot accurately describe it as "pain". There were bits that "hurt" – my legs and knees are actually the first thing that springs to mind. As well as something about my hips being forced apart that made the back and sides of my hips really hurt. In terms of the pushing, it was really just the uncontrolled spasming that was overwhelming, and that made my voice crack as I cried out and every time – which felt to me (and sounded like) I was something I couldn't cope with. It made each contraction so hard to mentally prepare for; but as for whether I would describe it as PAIN– ??? It was mostly just the sheer FORCE and INTENSITY that was so mind-blowing!! Even if it was; already I'm finding it so difficult to remember the intricacies of the sensation: the only part I can actually recall is my thoughts and feelings about it as it happened.
The warning of the next contraction came quickly, giving me just enough time to expect the complete retraction of my uterus behind the baby's head, followed by the pummelling sensation of the her body being driven down into the waiting space. Bec was force feeding me teaspoons of honey that stuck in my mouth and the long strands of hair in front of my eyes and I heard Nic saying it would help with the expulsive reflex. I think that term stuck with me: expulsive reflex. The baby was definitely being expelled!!!
The feeling of the uterus pushing the baby down – all by itself and without any input from me – was, as I had heard/read others describe it, quite satisfying in its own way... but still too intense for me to consider pleasurable. I think the pleasurable part was the completeness of the focus; the absolute certainly of where you're at; the complete anticipation of the baby's birth and it all being over! Maybe that makes it sound terrible, but it isn't. It's just so overwhelming and so tiring. Wishing for it to be over has very little do with how difficult each part is in isolation. Most of us wouldn't say that vomiting is the worst thing that's ever happened to us in our entire lives, but when you're body is wracked with uncontrollable spasms and you're vomiting (or having diarrhoea) you are definitely wishing for it to be over in that moment because it's all jut too much for your brain to process. Birth is like that – times 100! But you know you're not sick and you know why it's happening... and the anticipation and the effort; and the transformation that you undergo; makes it more bearable than any other experience of that magnitude could ever be.
At times I was moaning, "No, no, no" over and over as the waves would come... and Helen was coaching me not to say no, but to say yes. The most lucid thing I had to say in that moment was that I didn't mean "No" ... it was just something I had to say in order to surrender... to acknowledge that it was hard and that I had gone completely inside that world without running away from any of it. I was pushing my daughter into this world... and to be honest, more completely focused, not on the end result, but on trying not to rip myself open in the process!
As the head and body were pushed down, I could feel the driving force being naturally slowed by the stretching of my perineum, and the associated heat and not-quite-burning sensation. I think it would have burned or stung more if more damage was being done – but it was quite clear to me that if I allowed this 'slowing' to occur naturally at the end... even though I knew it would mean more contractions and going through the whole process all over again .... then maybe I wouldn't tear. Ladies, birth is a powerful thing... and as much as I wanted the job to be done, I still was able to think clearly enough and didn't quite consider it worth it to 'hurry things along' and push through that barrier. Don't get me wrong, the thought crossed my mind: just push through, all in one go, bugger the consequences and have the job done! But I know that pushing through that barrier would definitely have hurt like hell, if only for a minute, and would definitely have left me far worse off than I am right now. And as enthusiastic as I might have been about my own progress, I hadn't heard those words yet: "I can see the head" and I was puffing and panting and suffering and wondering when the hell I was going to hear them say it. Then, the moment arrived where the awful continuous retracting of the body had stopped and the baby remained in the birth canal. The moment had arrived.
I knew I had to be careful. Those contractions were powerful and would now be barrelling down directly against the skin that needed to be stretched. It was agonisingly difficult to try and be inert. I could feel her crowning and Nic and Helen frantically urging me not to push but to breathe, making me copy their light puffing sounds. I didn't feel like I was doing a very good job of that, but I was seized with internal concentration. It was happening whether I pushed or not - - so now was the time to slam on the brakes! I braked like buggery on that steep hill and the head kept coming and the stretching kept happening and I hoped to hell that I was going to come out in one piece. Bec pushed the screen of my phone under my nose and made me look at the ghostly picture of my daughter's completely inert head and face protruding from my body. Her head was out!! My brain couldn't look at the picture and concentrate on the feeling of it at the same time. It was sensory overload. But I had done it.
"One more push and your baby will be here".... Are there any more welcome words in the world? Those words are echoing out in every language under the sun, countless times a day, and women everywhere are sharing in that moment. The moment where all you do is want to cry and thank God and the galaxy and the stars and every little thing you could have possibly done to deserve such amazingly good news. There is not even enough time in the waiting space between the head being out and the body being born to enjoy the full splendour of that sentence. In a matter of moments, it seemed, she was out.... and time was on fast forward with action and voices and I was able to lift my head from the place it had been hiding to come out and have a look around. My body was shattered... They were saying, "Pick up your baby, take your baby" ... and there was this little vernix smeared body on the towels beneath me, too small and limp and slippery for me to pick up. I was crying and laughing and saying "I can't pick her up" and so they helped me as I incredibly awkwardly got my hands under her arms and tried to hold her against me. She was so warm and floppy and small, it was just so surreal. I was trembling all over, wanting to see her, wanting to do it all right. But she was so content and peaceful and patient with me, as I brought her to me and Tom was kissing me and everything was suddenly right with the universe. My baby girl had arrived in my own house into my own arms and absolutely nothing had gone wrong. I had just experienced the perfect birth.
Smiling faces were everywhere around me. I was moved to the plastic covered and linen-draped couch to rest and wait for the placenta to follow. We were absolutely covered in muck - I was sweat sodden and smeared with blood and vernix and remnants of the giant meconium poo that the baby had done on the way out. It would have been nice to be still, but my body was aching and trembling and letting me know just how hard it had worked. Looking down at her face made it all okay, but I guess it was not completely over just yet. Helen said I would feel a lot better after the placenta was out, but I could not feel anything coming just yet.
It took a while, but eventually I decided I could get up again and just before the hour was up I was helped to walk to the bathroom where I could sit on the toilet and properly concentrate on the urge to push the placenta out. They had been absolutely right! The relief was fantastic. Tom came over and cut the cord, which he hadn't been planning to do, but everything was just so relaxed it seemed
Tom said, "So is she Freya?" and looking down at her face, with her strange, spidery lashes and fair brows and those distinctive, almond shaped eyes I simply said, "Yes". She looked so much like Freya to me, I couldn't even remember what other names we'd picked out. The perfection of the moment was sealed in the simplicity and seeming-rightness of this decision. We then involved the surrounding committee with selecting an appropriate middle name; as Bec had the laptop ready to fill out the details of her birth announcement at http://hascoleslittlesister.beenbornyet.com so that waiting subscribers could get the news.
It was hard to believe that it was only lunch time and there we all were, gathered around this beautiful little being, already named and already looking so different from that blue and yellow creature who'd emerged from the deep. She was rosy pink and smooth-skinned as Nic gently placed her face down on the baby scale on a warm towel (with her first clothes warming in the dryer) and we took some photos of this impossibly peaceful new Earthling. A hot pink crocheted hat was retrieved from the hospital bag and placed on her head to keep her warm and caused another flurry of photographic activity - she looked like one of those picture postcard babies, although accidentally so. It seems everything that was so perfect about this birth was completely unorchestrated... and I'm convinced that this is the only way it could have resulted in such perfection.
The bond with Freya has been instantly strong and a seamless continuation of our relationship from within me to without. It is like she has always been here - her sweet little soul. Our little Norse goddess of love, charging into our lives on her gilded chariot (pulled by two cats!) She has charmed us effortlessly; and we are not surprised to learn that Freya was also the goddess of childbirth! She is a very healthy and peaceful baby and everything she has touched has also been healthy and peaceful. I was worried about my capacity to love her, but loving her is simple and natural.
As the days have gone on, I am learning to love the experience of her birth. It has taken some time to process - which makes sense, given that the birth itself was quite quick. Tom kept asking me if I was proud of myself; and kept telling me he was proud of me... saying, rather cheekily, "Aren't you the goose that laid the golden egg". He had pressed me to understand why I didn't immediately beam with pride over my 'achievement'... I am very proud of my daughter and my part in her creation and safe entry to the world. I've just been unsure as to how much credit I can actually take for it. It was going to happen, no matter which way! But maybe I can take credit for all the work I did leading up to it. All the mental preparation, that at times made me wonder if I had over-thought the whole thing and actually made it less likely I'd have a good experience.
But my capacity to love has been expanded, and my capacity to be open. Whether or not the transformation had taken place before the birth... I can certainly claim it as my own afterward: my love for Freya; for Tom; and for the incredible women who helped me and showed me how to open myself up to birth my baby and then how to celebrate it! I am very proud of myself for allowing this transformation to take place. I have made myself more vulnerable and more open to all aspects of myself, including my faults. Including the part of myself that wailed, "No, no, no," as Freya's birth drew near. I am not judging my performance the way I might have before; none of it feels "wrong" to me. I can accept it for what it is – and myself for who I am. I know have a beautiful and complete (?) family and I am have been healed by my home birth experience in ways I could not have imagined before or during.
I truly believe that after months of reading, research and hospital appointments that I had the healthiest and safest birth I possibly could. I needed truckloads of reassurance and I got that from Helen and Nicola. Through our trust relationship I was able to really listen to them during the most challenging aspects of my experience and make the most of their wisdom, their faith in me and desire to see me succeed. I know for a fact that they would never have done anything to compromise my safety, including packing me into a car when it became clear the time had passed. They humbly made space for every automatic function that they knew my body and my baby were capable of achieving, and in that quiet and sacred zone, mother nature demonstrated her awesome wisdom to everyone present. Everything the hospital staff told me I "needed", I didn't need. I'm not saying I was invincible, but I believe that the respect we showed for the natural processes of labour and birth, in an undisturbed environment, meant an optimal outcome for me and my baby... from my mindset at the beginning of labour, through to the effective delivery of baby, placenta and the natural and effective establishment of breastfeeding. I did not necessarily "believe" this could be clearly attributed to birthing at home before I had the experience, but now that I have done it, it seems odd that we considered there should be any other way. Our accidental home birth has been the antidote to every negative thing that's happened to us in the past... and nobody pushed us to do it. It just "happened" and that's what made it so perfect.
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