The Birth Story Series: My best friend, Claire van Dyk: Induced Labor

This is a story so similar to mine - from one of my oldest and closest friends, Darling Claire. Just for sensitive readers, Clairie does tell it like it is and if you don't like the F-word, then you probably shouldn't read this. But then you'd be missing out on a seriously beautiful, real birth story from a gal filled with buckets of strength, courage and love.

"Before I had my son, I had always looked down on women who chose not to have a natural birth. For me it felt like driving an automatic or making cheese sauce from a packet. It was the lazy route. The easy route. Now, if I see a pregnant woman on the street I want to run up, grab her and shout “Just take the drugs. ALL THE DRUGS. DON’T LET THEM LIE TO YOU!!”

You see, my birth story is not a fun one. If it were made into a movie I would not be played by a glowing Scarlet Johansson. I would be a red faced and screaming Britney Spears (in her chubby, psycho phase). No candles or aromatherapy, just fluorescent lighting and the smell of disinfectant.

Let me start at the end. I was 9 months pregnant. My room was booked at the maternity hospital and my bag had been packed for weeks. There was a ‘birthing’ CD of relaxing music (lol), a massage ball for my lower back (double lol) and a camera to record the special experience (can hardly breathe from laughing so hard now.) Pre-birth me had no idea. Guurl was naaaiiiive. Sure I’d read the books and I’d learnt how to breathe, but I’d had such an easy and problem free pregnancy that I’d skipped all of the ‘what could go wrong’ sections of the books and DVD’s. When my doctor was explaining the possible complications, I was zoning out and planning my hospital outfits in my head (“I wonder if waterproof mascara is too much?”)

My son was a few days late. When my due date came and went I felt a massive sense of relief. “Oh well, I can relax now. He’s not coming after all. I’ll just be pregnant forever and keep eating Cheese Curls and jumping queues at the bank”.  I woke up at 3am one morning and got out of bed. I didn’t feel right. Not hungry or thirsty. Not too hot or too cold. I wandered through to the kitchen and stared into the fridge for a while before waddling back to bed. The instant I lay down, a huge jolt of pain swept through my body. Then, as fast as it had come, it was gone. Then my waters broke. You know the 5 stages of grief? It was kinda like that.

DENIAL. “I’m not actually having a baby right now. I’ll just climb back into bed and go to sleep.” 

ANGER. “I can’t be having a baby right now. I went to bed really late and I’m tired and I don’t wanna!”

BARGAINING. “OK, I won’t go to bed late anymore or eat entire packets of viennas and I promise I’ll do pregnancy yoga as long as I don't have to give birth now.”

DEPPRESSION.  No, not really. Replace this one with "blind panic.”

ACCEPTANCE. “OK, I can do this. I have to do this.”

I woke my mom and went for a bath. We woke my then boyfriend and headed to the hospital. So far, so good.

The night nurse in the natural birthing unit examined me and announced that I would have to go to the Emergency ward. Er, sorry what? Because my little pork chop was late, there was a risk of Merconium Aspiration and I would need to be monitored. They sent me downstairs and hooked me up to a fetal heart monitor. Only then did I realise this wasn’t going to be like in the books. At all. 

When that first contraction hits, it is like everything goes totally silent for a second. The world drops dead. All I could think was: 

“Oh fuck.”

I begged for drugs. I had no shame. I was one hour in and I had given up. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t booked an anesthesiologist. Naively, I’d been booked in for a natural birth, but there was nothing natural about any of it. After a few hours, my contractions slowed down. My labor wasn't ‘not progressing’, it was stopping. I had to be induced. Now, the pain you experience during childbirth is a natural pain. It’s your body moving and bringing your baby into the world. The pain from an induced birth is indescribable. It’s a chemical, unnatural pain. It will make you scream. It will make you cry. It will make you pass out (I did, many times). 

For the next 12 hours I swore at nursing staff.

“I don’t want to fucking breathe! I want to scream!!”

I swore at my ex.

“Go for a smoke break? Sure, why not? I’ll just stay here and PUSH A BABY OUT OF MY VAGINA, YOU SELFISH PRICK!”

I swore at Doctors.

“Oh, you've delivered hundreds of babies? I didn't know men could give birth! YOU DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING CLUE!!”

I wanted to die. 

Your body is a sneaky thing and it blocks out the memories of a traumatic experience. But I remember giving up. I remember having nothing left. I remember being exhausted. How I managed the last few pushes I don’t know. 

At around 19.45pm on 11th September 2008 after a total of 17 hours of labor  I met the love of my life. He came out with the grumpiest face you've ever seen. He was whisked away and suddenly a room full of people (2 nurses, a doctor and my ex) cleared out and I was completely alone. 

The next few hours are a happy, hazy blur in my mind. I was in love. I was a mom (A MOM!) And I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would never do that again.

It was only weeks later when I spoke to my doctor that I found out how much blood I had lost. I found out that Dylan had been stuck in the birth canal which had slowed the labor and caused all of the complications. I asked him what would have happened years ago when they didn't have the medications to induce. 

“You would have died,” he said.

My point is not to discourage women from having a natural birth, but to encourage them to explore their options. My friend Tash always says that if the result is a happy mummy and a healthy baby, who cares how it happened?"