The first time ever I saw your face: birth story #3

Baby 3: Another daughter

Mid-morning, I called the Antenatal Ward at the hospital to see if there were any spare beds. I was 38 weeks pregnant, it was late August and the weather was hot. The midwife who answered the phone spoke in a bright and breezy tone. There was room on the ward; I could arrive after lunch.

My in-laws had come to stay to look after our daughter whilst my third labour was induced. My pregnancy had been closely monitored and had planned a 'managed, natural delivery'. They drove us to the hospital and wished us good luck. My daughter, sitting in the back seat, gave me some advice: "Mummy, don't forget to push the baby out like this!" *made a 'straining for a poo' noise*

We were shown to a small room on the antenatal ward and I was officially admitted to the hospital. Over the next few hours, there was lots of monitoring of baby's heartbeat and movements. We knew that we were expecting a baby girl. She kept wriggling around and kicking the foetal monitor, so the readings were inconsistent and had to be repeated several times. When the doctor was happy with the results, we were allowed to begin the induction process. A hormone-laden pessary was inserted; we were told it could take up to 24 hours to take effect. The waiting game had begun.

I walked around to stimulate the induction and, within an hour or two, I could feel a strange set of nervous pulses down the backs of my legs and around my lower back. It was difficult to work out whether or not I was having contractions. Sitting down made some of the sensations subside, so I sat and tried to concentrate on what I was feeling. There was something regular but not very painful. We called the midwife and I was hooked up to another monitor. Yes, there were contractions and they were regular but they weren't doing much and baby was very active.

It took a while for the doctor and midwife to reassure themselves that the baby wasn't distressed - she was very active. I told them that she was often active but since her heart rate kept rising and falling, they wanted to be careful. After a few more hours, they removed the pessary and performed an internal exam. The doctor thought I was probably dilated enough for them to be able to break my waters. "It won't feel very comfortable" she warned "but it will move things along." I went to the loo, my husband gathered my bags and we walked slowly along the corridor to the Delivery Suite.

I was shown into a large, high-tech delivery room. The midwife chatted to us about our birth plan and talked us through the net stage of the induction: breaking my waters. The doctor marvelled at how active the baby still was and gasped when she saw the outline of baby's foot through my bump! My husband got the TENS machine ready and the midwife filled in her paperwork and got her tools. We waited for a big contraction and she broke my waters. I felt a gush of warm fluid and breathed deeply through the pain. I stood up so that the bed sheets could be changed and my husband applied the TENS pads.

Very quickly, the contractions came faster and more intense. I knew things were progressing rapidly. "Does it feel pushy?" the midwife asked. "It can't do!" my husband exclaimed "It hasn't been long enough!" It did feel pushy, though. I climbed back onto the bed and knelt up. The midwife told me to let her know when I wanted more pain relief and my husband got ready - he was going to catch our baby girl as she was born! In just over an hour, she arrived. There hadn't been time for extra pain relief.

Our daughter cried out. I was so relieved to hear her cry! My husband passed her through my legs to rest on the pillow under my tummy. I looked at her face and noticed her dark hair. I requested the hormone injection to speed delivery of the placenta and within another few minutes, that was out too. I turned around to sit down and cradle my baby girl. The midwife weighed her and checked her over, then brought her to me and popped her inside the top of my nightie for some skin-to-skin cuddling. My daughter turned her head and latched on for a feed.

It was nearly midnight.

I was told that, like her brother and sister before, my third baby had been born with her hand by her cheek; this time, I only suffered a small scratch and didn't need stitches. After the feed, I got up to shower and change into clean pyjamas. It was hard to walk or stand up straight - my back and abdominal muscles were incredibly sore and I felt weak. Tea and toast helped. My husband dressed our daughter and we got ready to be transferred to the postnatal ward for the night.

My husband wasn't allowed to stay. We said goodbye and he promised to return in the morning with our elder daughter. I spent the rest of the night dozing next to my beautiful new baby, watching her chest rise and fall as she slept in her crib.

The first time ever I saw your face: birth story #1

Baby 1: A daughter

I spent the day of my due date at home doing a jigsaw puzzle. There was no sign of baby coming. My husband came home from work and cooked dinner. My Dad phoned; I said nothing was happening. Since it was a nice May evening, we decided to go for a stroll. We got home at around 8pm and sat down to watch NCIS.

At some point during the programme, I noticed some cramping sensations. Nothing painful but over the course of about an hour, I realised that they were regular. I quietly started to time them: every 6 minutes or so and for about 30 seconds. My husband continued to watch TV - his favourite show Justified was reaching its conclusion. By half-way through, I was pacing the room. I told my husband about the cramps, which were more intense but still not very painful, and he started to time them.

At around 11pm, I decided to phone the hospital. We had been told at antenatal class to stay at home for as long as possible and only to go in if the pain was unbearable. I could talk through contractions and just wanted reassurance that it was OK to go to bed and try to get some sleep! The midwife who answered the phone was lovely. She asked when I had last felt baby's movements and when I said it had been a few hours earlier, she suggested that I should go to the Assessment Unit for monitoring. I pointed out that baby normally got active when I went to bed and that I was still up but she insisted that I go in for a check. "Just bring your maternity notes and a spare pair of knickers" she said "as we'll probably send you home again in an hour or two."

I slipped on a pair of shoes and a cardigan and grabbed my notes. We put my overnight bag in the car just in case. It felt uncomfortable sitting in the passenger seat but, at midnight, it only took 20-minutes to drive to the hospital.

I was hooked up to a foetal monitor and was relieved to see baby's heartbeat. When I was reclining on the bed, the baby started moving around too. The contractions got stronger and longer and the pain more intense. After an internal exam, I was told I was only 2-3cm dilated, so not in labour and couldn't be admitted to the Delivery Suite. I could go home if I wanted. I didn't. I was given two paracetamol, which I promptly puked back up. The doctor said it was very quiet on the neighbouring ward and kindly ran me a bath to help ease the discomfort.

I think I stayed in the bath for a couple of hours, until the water went cold and we could get no more hot from the tap. When I got out and put my clothes back on, the pain was much worse. I shuffled back to the Assessment Unit and they offered another internal exam. I was 7cm dilated! Hurrah! I could go to the Delivery Suite. They wheeled me up in a wheelchair, notes in one hand, spare pants in the other.

I don't remember much about the room I was taken to. By now, the contractions were every couple of minutes and so intense I couldn't speak. I accepted the offer of gas and air and my husband applied the TENS machine. I deployed my best 7-11 breathing - a technique learned through my singing hobby - and focused on the job in hand. I noticed the light begin to change as the dawn broke and I heard the birds wake up and start singing.

I wondered how much longer I would wait before asking for more pain relief but then it became time to push. The *short* journey down the birth canal seemed to take forever! At 7.30am, my daughter arrived. She was quiet and blue but they revived her with some oxygen and tested her responses. She was OK. I delivered the placenta whilst they checked her over and we decided on her name.

I had given birth kneeling on a floor-mat and cushions. The midwives asked I if could get up onto the bed so that they could check if I needed stitches. I said 'yes' but I couldn't - the rapid loss of weight had changed my centre of gravity and my stomach muscles were floppy; I couldn't find my balance! They helped me up and checked me over. One of the midwives told me that they had found two true knots in the umbilical cord, which could have had catastrophic consequences if they had pulled tight. The other told me that my daughter had been born with one hand by her head and that I had a third-degree tear. A Registrar was called and I was taken off to theatre for a spinal block and a proper suturing.

When I got back to the delivery room, my husband was there cuddling our baby girl. Everything was peaceful. He had popped out to the car whilst I was in surgery and collected my overnight bag. The midwife had helped him to dress our daughter and wrap her in a blanket.

I spent the whole day waiting for the effects of the anaesthetic to wear off. In the early evening, my catheter was removed. I had to stay overnight. I ended up staying another day and night after that too, in order to establish breast-feeding. My daughter was very sleepy and reluctant to feed. Kind midwives helped me to express colostrum. On the second morning, after an almighty effort, my daughter took two good feeds and we were discharged.

Outside, the sun shone strong and warm and we drove home very slowly with our tiny, precious bundle in her car seat, to begin life as a family.

Do you believe in life after loss?

On the afternoon of the day that I was told my son had no heartbeat, a doctor reassured me that I could have more children. "We know you can carry to full term" he said "you've done it before." At that moment, it was difficult to hear his words and impossible to think beyond the inevitability of giving birth to a baby who would be stillborn.

He was right, though, and I have been lucky enough to have another baby.

After a year of grieving, I conceived. After post mortem test results, physical rehabilitation, support groups and bereavement counselling, I was given hope. After the anxious wait of an emotionally challenging and physically demanding third pregnancy, I have a second daughter.

Do you believe in life after loss?
I do.

Hold that thought

My daughter has asked me twice this week "Is the baby is your tummy now?"

The first time, we were messing around, playing boats. We had put the sofa cushions on the floor and were rocking and reeling to 'Row the Boat'. She lifted up my T-shirt, poked at my navel and posed the question. The second time, we were in the car on our way to the optician. It was a question shouted from the backseat whilst I was driving; part of the toddler monologue that forms the new soundtrack to every journey we make.

We have been told that young children take longer to process grief and that it's normal for them to ask questions for months or years after the death of a family member or pet. Perhaps my daughter is still just trying to work out what happened to her brother? Or perhaps babies are on her mind because we met up with a friend and her toddler and 7-week-old baby?

It was lovely to catch up with my friend and her girls. We went on maternity leave a few weeks apart, so I hadn't seen her since the beginning of October. The two older girls played nicely together whilst we chatted and the baby slept. After the baby had woken and had some milk, my friend very kindly asked me if I'd like to hold her. I said yes, although I was a bit nervous about how I'd feel.

I needn't have worried - it was fine. In fact, it was better than fine. It was nice to hold a tiny baby again. It felt comfortable. Maybe, one day, I'll hold another of my own...

My daughter saw me holding the baby and came over to have a look. She asked questions about the baby. We practised saying her name, confirmed that she likes milk and sleeping, and described the babygro she was wearing. The conversation probably reminded my daughter of her big sister book.

That's probably why she's wondering if there will be a baby in mummy's tummy again.

Missing Monty

This morning, my daughter brought a book into the bathroom when I was in the shower. "Mummy, read the names" she said.

I promised I would read it with her when I got out of the shower, dried and dressed. I kept my promise.

Snuggled up, comfy on my bed together, she handed me the book. "Mummy, read the names" she said again.

I looked at the cover: "What's Inside Your Tummy, Mummy?"

We hadn't read this book in months...

I asked her what the book was called. "All about how babies grow in mummies' tummies" she said "but Monty isn't in your tummy - he died in the picture."

I read the book. She asked me to read it twice more. I did. We looked at the pictures. We practised saying some of the words: 'umbilical cord', 'embryo', 'size of a pumpkin!'.

I said that I felt sad that Monty had died and she didn't have her brother to play with. She said she was sad too.

I asked if she would like it if mummy and daddy tried again to give her a brother or sister. She said yes. I said "We'll see..."

Then we came downstairs and she took the photo from the windowsill. "This is baby Monty" she said "and this is the bear. I want it." I got the bear, originally bought as a toy for him but subsequently given to her as a 'big sister present from her brother'. She put the bear and photo next to each other on a chair.

Then we made Mothers' Day cards for Granny and Grandma.