ISH
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It started on the stormiest night in living memory, early hours of January the 5th - I was in bed, trying to go to sleep while having rather vicious BHs. One of them suddenly came with period pains and I was wondering, could this be it? The wondering didn't take long, there was a gush of fluid and I managed to get myself out of bed fast enough for my size and into my study where I virtually flooded the whole room (luckily it's floorboards!)
Woke Doug up (his face was a study), and we all started getting rather excited, packing the rest of the bags and getting everything ready. We even made some little films, being all cheerful, to show Vince later on what was happening on the night he was born (rain and gale force wind mainly). Little did we know at that point!! Soon enough my contractions got from period pain to horrible to unbearable, I kept calling the MW led unit and they kept telling me to stay at home for as long as possible. Some of you may remember I had some motivational labour notes: http://www.pregnancyforum.co.uk/third-trimester/225762-my-labour-motivation-notes.html I kept reading them as I waited at home, and I am sorry to say, once the REAL pain kicks in, you might as well not bother! I will keep them for the comedy value.
I finally called MW unit around 5 and I said, there is no way I'll keep staying at home, I am having contractions every 2 mins, I need to come over asap. We arrived at hospital at around 6 in the morning, by which time I felt I was in the throes of death, only to be told I was 2 cm and I'd get sent home if people came over and were in active labour *insert lots of swear words* Then the much advertised, state of the art, cozy birthing unit ('Oh, it will be just like a home birth and you will feel SOOOO much more relaxed and will have a MW there all the time') left me alone with a terrified husband and bloody Paracetamols for pain relief for a few hours, during which I attached myself to a handle bar in the disabled bathroom and tried not to scream in pain. That meant I was exhausted in minutes, trying to hold back and tensing my whole body instead of making noise was a bad call. Then the 'fuck it' moment came, and I'm sorry to say I started screaming like a banshee. It helped though, and meant I didn't tense quite as much and saved up a lot of energy.
Hours later (lost track of time by now) I persuaded a MW to get me into the pool. It felt quite nice and soothing, but contractios were getting worse and worse (I kept getting told 'oh don't worry, it will be much worse soon'. Thanks!) I finally persuaded MW to give me some gas and air (one would think I was asking for their first born, they were that reluctant) and that helped me concentrate on my breathing a lot more.
MW then inserted a mirror like object in the water and told me I was almost there and I should start pushing. Cool, so it's almost over, I start pushing like mad for ages and nothing happens. Then she takes a look at my stomach and says 'that looks like the baby is in the wrong position'. So she gets me out, inspects me and it appears baby is head down but in the wrong position. Also, I shouldn't have pushed as I was only 6 cm and I'd damaged my cervix.
By this time I'm thinking, 'this woman, if left to her own devices, is going to destroy me'. I decide I must get out of there at all cost and ask for an epidural in the regular unit.
I get carried there soon enough, lots and lots of uncontrollable screaming and asking people for mercy killing until the anaesthesiologist arrives, a lovely girl who gives me my epidural and I finally start to feel human again.
Then there's a waiting game until I'm dilated enough to actually deliver the baby. The waiting game involves lots of suction on gas and air, after a while the pain becomes unbearable again, more asking for shotguns and mercy killing until doctors understand I need my epidural topped up, then things are starting to look up again, then the cycle repeats itself. This goes on for hours, I get to 8 cm slowly and agonisingly because the previous pushing made the cervix swell up, the legions of doctors in the room look concerned, they tell me they need to get blood from the baby's head while he's still inside, to make sure he's OK. They do that, then, hours later, they do it again, I am starting to lose the will to live and envisioning an emergency Caesarean more and more clearly.
Somehow I get to 10 cm and the doctor decides it's time to deliver the baby ASAP, otherwise he might get too distressed, mentions a forceps, at which point I completely lose it, start crying uncontrollably, etc. Fortunately things start to happen very quickly, the doctor gives me an episiotomy and tells me to push and next thing I know the head is out. Two more pushes and the whole baby comes out (16:30 PM, he weighs a healthy 3520 g), but he is looking in bad shape and not breathing, they carry him off to ICU, but luckily for my sanity return with an intact, crying, gorgeous baby, he gets placed on my chest, proceeds to do a massive poo on me and then to feed. All's well in the world, angels are singing, placenta comes out, I get stitched up, notice there's blood on the walls, but all that matters very little, my epidural is still working, and I feel on top of the world.
After that, there was a little bit more drama as we were left to recover for a while and I was told I could go get cleaned up if I felt up to it. I did, so got up, then fainted straight away. OH caught me, after which I fainted again; the poor thing said it was the scariest thing he's ever experienced, as I looked dead, didn't breathe and had fixed open eyes. He managed to get me on to the bed, after I'd ripped my IV on the way down, turns out my BP had plummeted.
Then there was a lot of waiting in the postnatal ward until we could get baby home, now we're all together and it's just lovely, can't quite believe we MADE him
Woke Doug up (his face was a study), and we all started getting rather excited, packing the rest of the bags and getting everything ready. We even made some little films, being all cheerful, to show Vince later on what was happening on the night he was born (rain and gale force wind mainly). Little did we know at that point!! Soon enough my contractions got from period pain to horrible to unbearable, I kept calling the MW led unit and they kept telling me to stay at home for as long as possible. Some of you may remember I had some motivational labour notes: http://www.pregnancyforum.co.uk/third-trimester/225762-my-labour-motivation-notes.html I kept reading them as I waited at home, and I am sorry to say, once the REAL pain kicks in, you might as well not bother! I will keep them for the comedy value.
I finally called MW unit around 5 and I said, there is no way I'll keep staying at home, I am having contractions every 2 mins, I need to come over asap. We arrived at hospital at around 6 in the morning, by which time I felt I was in the throes of death, only to be told I was 2 cm and I'd get sent home if people came over and were in active labour *insert lots of swear words* Then the much advertised, state of the art, cozy birthing unit ('Oh, it will be just like a home birth and you will feel SOOOO much more relaxed and will have a MW there all the time') left me alone with a terrified husband and bloody Paracetamols for pain relief for a few hours, during which I attached myself to a handle bar in the disabled bathroom and tried not to scream in pain. That meant I was exhausted in minutes, trying to hold back and tensing my whole body instead of making noise was a bad call. Then the 'fuck it' moment came, and I'm sorry to say I started screaming like a banshee. It helped though, and meant I didn't tense quite as much and saved up a lot of energy.
Hours later (lost track of time by now) I persuaded a MW to get me into the pool. It felt quite nice and soothing, but contractios were getting worse and worse (I kept getting told 'oh don't worry, it will be much worse soon'. Thanks!) I finally persuaded MW to give me some gas and air (one would think I was asking for their first born, they were that reluctant) and that helped me concentrate on my breathing a lot more.
MW then inserted a mirror like object in the water and told me I was almost there and I should start pushing. Cool, so it's almost over, I start pushing like mad for ages and nothing happens. Then she takes a look at my stomach and says 'that looks like the baby is in the wrong position'. So she gets me out, inspects me and it appears baby is head down but in the wrong position. Also, I shouldn't have pushed as I was only 6 cm and I'd damaged my cervix.
By this time I'm thinking, 'this woman, if left to her own devices, is going to destroy me'. I decide I must get out of there at all cost and ask for an epidural in the regular unit.
I get carried there soon enough, lots and lots of uncontrollable screaming and asking people for mercy killing until the anaesthesiologist arrives, a lovely girl who gives me my epidural and I finally start to feel human again.
Then there's a waiting game until I'm dilated enough to actually deliver the baby. The waiting game involves lots of suction on gas and air, after a while the pain becomes unbearable again, more asking for shotguns and mercy killing until doctors understand I need my epidural topped up, then things are starting to look up again, then the cycle repeats itself. This goes on for hours, I get to 8 cm slowly and agonisingly because the previous pushing made the cervix swell up, the legions of doctors in the room look concerned, they tell me they need to get blood from the baby's head while he's still inside, to make sure he's OK. They do that, then, hours later, they do it again, I am starting to lose the will to live and envisioning an emergency Caesarean more and more clearly.
Somehow I get to 10 cm and the doctor decides it's time to deliver the baby ASAP, otherwise he might get too distressed, mentions a forceps, at which point I completely lose it, start crying uncontrollably, etc. Fortunately things start to happen very quickly, the doctor gives me an episiotomy and tells me to push and next thing I know the head is out. Two more pushes and the whole baby comes out (16:30 PM, he weighs a healthy 3520 g), but he is looking in bad shape and not breathing, they carry him off to ICU, but luckily for my sanity return with an intact, crying, gorgeous baby, he gets placed on my chest, proceeds to do a massive poo on me and then to feed. All's well in the world, angels are singing, placenta comes out, I get stitched up, notice there's blood on the walls, but all that matters very little, my epidural is still working, and I feel on top of the world.
After that, there was a little bit more drama as we were left to recover for a while and I was told I could go get cleaned up if I felt up to it. I did, so got up, then fainted straight away. OH caught me, after which I fainted again; the poor thing said it was the scariest thing he's ever experienced, as I looked dead, didn't breathe and had fixed open eyes. He managed to get me on to the bed, after I'd ripped my IV on the way down, turns out my BP had plummeted.
Then there was a lot of waiting in the postnatal ward until we could get baby home, now we're all together and it's just lovely, can't quite believe we MADE him
Congrats on the birth of your son x
We're all good now and baby's perfect, which is the most important thing. Fingers crossed your baby follows suit soon and you have an easier time 
