In HuffPost Birth Diaries we hear the extraordinary stories of the everyday miracle of birth. This week, Chanelle McGarry, 28, shares her story. If you’d like to share yours, email amy.packham@huffpost.com.
Like many other women, I had my birth plan in place. I was hoping for a natural delivery at hospital with gas and air – the same as my first labour. No drama. No fuss. And, seeing as my last labour was four and a half hours from start to finish, I was expecting it to be quick, too. Said birth plan did not go as planned.
Things kicked off around 6.30am one morning, when I woke up with a few stomach cramps. I phoned the hospital 15 minutes later, and a midwife advised me to take paracetamol and have a bath. I was happy to oblige, but slightly concerned. Throughout my whole pregnancy, my midwife had told me I should go to hospital as soon as I felt anything because my first labour was so quick.
“She was being overly cautious,” they told me on the phone. “Have a bath and call us back in an hour.” Unfortunately for me (or them), the cramp stage turned into full-blown labour pretty quickly.
We stayed calm, my husband and I. While he started to get the to-do list in check (phoning our friend to pick up our daughter), I tried to soothe the pains in the bath. But it just wasn’t happening. I was in agony and the only way to get through the pain was to push – so we decided to head to hospital. We didn’t have time to wait for my friend to arrive and pick up my daughter Mia, so we agreed to meet her there.
My husband helped me down the stairs, and ran to strap Mia into her car seat, leaving me at the front door. By the time he got back to me, I told him we couldn’t go – my daughter’s head had come out. It was 7am, and the overwhelming urge to push wouldn’t subside.
I could see the daunting realisation wash over my husband’s face that he was going to have to deliver this baby. He phoned the ambulance, who gave him step-by-step instructions on how to deliver our baby in the downstairs toilet.
“The daunting realisation washed over his face that he was going to have to deliver this baby."”
I was crouched down in the loo when my friend arrived to pick up my daughter – but first she was roped into getting towels from upstairs in preparation to wrap the baby in. I had mixed emotions: excitement to meet my little girl, but fear of what could go wrong; in agony with those continual contractions, but a sense of relief when the head came out.
My husband was incredibly calm. He wasn’t telling me to push – it was too late for that – it was more putting me in a comfortable position on the floor, watching my daughter come out, covering her with towels, and helping her to latch on and feed. Thankfully she came out perfectly healthy and screaming, which was exactly what we needed to hear.
Niamh was born at 7.15am and paramedics then advised my husband how to deliver the after birth (that was a little trickier, he says). Once paramedics arrived we were taken to hospital and my husband was listed as the midwife, which I found quite amusing.
We were both checked over at hospital and, surprisingly, I felt peaceful. I had a clear head – with my first daughter’s birth I took too much gas and air, so as soon as she was born I was sick everywhere.
With Niamh, I remembered everything.