In HuffPost Birth Diaries we hear the extraordinary stories of the everyday miracle of birth. This week, Lucy Flower, 32, shares her story. If you’d like to share yours, email amy.packham@huffpost.com.
Ask any pregnant woman about the hopes they have for their birth and you can guarantee they’d want it to be as quick as possible. Mine was quick and slow. A long beginning and a ridiculously abrupt ending to my labour all – and one of the most overwhelming experiences of my life.
My pregnancy itself had progressed relatively straight-forwardly – despite some unpleasant sickness in the first trimester – and I was feeling healthy and ready for birth. Frustratingly, in one of my final midwife checkups, I had a high blood pressure reading. Cue a series of hospital check-ins and constant worrying. Because of this, I was strongly advised to be induced before my due date.
The induction process was frustrating, as any other woman who’s been through it would probably tell you. I was in hospital for three days and nights – women were coming and going into labour, while I was still there with nothing happening. I had a pessary inserted, removed after 24 hours, then another pessary inserted, and again removed after 24 hours. I wasn’t even dilated.
To get things moving, I had a fast acting gel applied to my cervix (and cried throughout). The contractions started soon after, then died away completely.
By this point, it was New Year’s Eve.
We’d been assured I wouldn’t be admitted to the labour ward for the next stage of induction until the following day so at 10pm I sent my husband home and settled down to get some sleep. But at 11.45pm my contractions started in earnest. My waters broke – although I was only 1cm dilated – and I rang my husband. It turned midnight as we spoke and I heard fireworks during our call.
He arrived back 40 minutes later to find me launching myself off the bed in agony. I’d been given gas and air, and to my horror I felt the overwhelming urge to push. My husband says this is when my midwife’s face fell – it shouldn’t have been happening this quickly. I was fully dilated and ready to give birth.
I was urged to get on a wheelchair, with a vest top on and sheet slung over my lower half, and I was pushed through the corridors into a room in the labour ward – roaring in pain the whole way. I climbed onto the bed, with the feeling of my baby’s head ready to come out. The midwife turned her back for a moment to attend to something. I had a contraction and – almost against my will – pushed, hard.
It was then I felt the entirety of my baby’s body come out at once. I knew this wasn’t right. I was aware that in order for this to happen I had to have torn, and it was accompanied by a sudden sharp pain.
Shocked, I said nothing. My midwife turned around and gasped. More medical professionals entered the room and my baby was wiped and put on my chest. “What was the time of birth?” one asked. My midwife was flustered – she hadn’t even had the time to check because it had been so fast.
Very quickly, I was told by the midwife that she thought I’d had a bad tear, but that it would need to be confirmed by a doctor. In order to check, I had to be examined vaginally and anally which was so painful. More and more bloody towels kept being taken up from under me and rapidly replaced, and various medical staff had to come in and check out down below.
We were urged to ‘take pictures and bond’ with our daughter, despite the fact that shortly I’d be taken away for surgery. I almost laughed – I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less than have a picture taken. My husband was in shock, he’d left his wife falling asleep and returned shortly after to find me in full-blown labour.
I was taken for surgery to repair my tear and given an anaesthetic which mercifully numbed my lower half – and for the first time in what felt like hours, I was completely comfortable. During the surgery I remember looking at my monitor – “why aren’t you measuring her heart rate?” I asked. “Because she’s no longer inside you,” they answered, bemused.
Two hours later, I was reunited with my husband and daughter. With the pain numbed, I felt euphoric. Fortunately, our gorgeous baby girl was unscathed by the birth. My husband was not faring as well, though, following the fast, traumatic birth where he’d had to watch the bloody towels, the concerned faces of the medical professionals, and his wife in absolute agony. He felt helpless.
It wasn’t until three weeks after that my health visitor explained my tear to me and how rare it was. I asked ‘why me?’ and still ask it sometimes – but my husband and have sought help and been offered a counselling session back at the hospital. We are able to talk to each other, and have been open with our friends, family and medical professionals that our birth was traumatic – and we have so much love for our baby girl.
As told to Amy Packham.
Follow Lucy on her blog Girls Just Wanna Have Mum.