A little history

Things didn’t go the way I thought they would right from the start.

My pregnancy was as close to perfect as you get: I had hardly any morning sickness, I didn’t put on any excess weight, I walked or swam at least three times a week throughout it, I ate really well and avoided all the foods the books say you should and didn’t feel that tired (even when my iron level was next to nothing!). Based on this, my labour was going to be pretty straight forward...and as natural as possible. Even my midwife agreed that she foresaw no problems.

So when my labour was far from straight forward, I got quite a shock. In fact, I was pretty much traumatised for a good few of days after it. After 24 hours of established labour, I was still only about 4 centimetres dilated and things were just not progressing. Another few hours later, now at the hospital, the contractions were getting so big, I wanted to push. But I was only 5cm dilated. My midwife decided on an epidural. I readily agreed. Goodbye natural birth. Now days the “ideal” (I hate that word in this journey of motherhood) birth is natural. Shock number one: me, Perfect Penny, who’d done everything right in pregnancy, was not going to be one of those women who “did it”!

Anyway, back to my labour story. A number of other things were going well. I have no idea what order these things happened in so here they are, in no particular order: I still wasn’t dilating so they decided to break my waters and when this still didn’t move things along, they induced me. My baby’s heart rate was fluctuating and had to be monitored with a little hook in the skin of his head. If I lay in certain positions, he would get distressed. Hours later I was still not dilated enough to push so a doctor was called in and had to push my cervix open (thank goodness for the epidural!). I started to push and still my baby would not come down the birth canal. My midwife then said I could push all night and still not get this baby out. She suspected the cord was around his neck, which turned out to be right.

So then out come the ventouse (suction instrument). I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the machine. The last bit was a blur and before I knew it, Benjamin was born. Healthy, with a bit of a cone head from the suction. But it wasn’t over. With my legs literally shaking in the stirrups, I had to endure another 40 minutes of stitching for my second degree tear.

Yes, it could have been a lot worse. But for me, this was pretty bad. And very far from ideal.

Things didn’t go the way I thought they would right from the start.