The Birth Story Series: Part one. Natural Birth, three babies - my mother.

I thought it would be interesting & sentimenal to do a series on birth stories, from women that I  know personally - my mother, best friends, grandmother, bloggers, and girls that I went to school with. I'll be sharing stories from births by caesarean, natural without drugs, natural with drugs, twins, induced labour and so forth. All of these stories will be different - from private care, home births, government hospitals and delivering overseas. I have been glued to my inbox as I've received these stories from good friends around the world, and I wanted to start with my mother and her deliveries with Paul, Neil and then me. It’s fascinating that one woman can have completely different birth experiences with each child, as most do. If anything, these stories reminded me just how powerful a woman’s body is. Pushed to the limits, with three incredibly healthy (and grateful) babies.

This is my completely beautiful mother. My biological dad took these. He passed away when I was about two or three.

My first child was born naturally thirty-three years ago. I was young and stupid, and received my education from my mother who had five natural childbirths. I was told horror stories, and my entire pregnancy was overshadowed by waiting for this ‘terrible’ thing to happen to me.

My vitamin and mineral levels were tested via the doctor asking me to stick my tongue out, where it was decided I was fit and healthy - no supplements required. The fact that I had morning sickness twenty-four-seven for nine months and continually fainted seemed irrelevant. 

It was really awful and painful. I went into labour three days before my baby's birth. I went for a check-up and the doctor advised that I should only be admitted to hospital once the pain got increasingly worse, which happened at  around four am on day three. Upon arrival at maternity ward I was told to lie on my back, and that was where I remained until the baby was born. It was really painful and the only guidance I received was from the midwife. She told me to watch my tummy peak in to contractions and how to time them.

The worst pain was during the last hour when the contractions were forty-five seconds long and a few seconds apart. I cannot describe the relief when Paul was born, I was totally and utterly exhausted.

This is my brother Paul, my dad Andre and my mom Jacqui. How much does Ben look like Paul? My dad was such a fox.

When I found out I was expecting Neil, I decided to attend pre-natal classes. I was taught how to breathe, how to manage contractions, to increase comfort levels and basically everything I desperately needed to know during my first pregnancy. I was a happy and confident mum this time. 

My waters broke at eight-thirty pm, and I phoned the doctor to let him know. I also told him that I couldn’t go to hospital straight away, as I wanted to first watch Magnum PI. How confident is that? Anyway, he told me as it was baby number two,  it could be all over pretty quickly, so best I get myself to hospital soonest.

I checked into maternity at about nine-thirty pm. The Doctor came around, gave me a quick check over, and said that dilation has just started. He advised that my husband go home as it will take many hours for full labour to develop, and gave me a sleeping tablet.  

At about eleven pm I felt the contractions getting stronger and stronger.  The sister thought I was asleep, so I timed them as I was taught and started clock watching. 

I started walking around as I was taught, laid on my side when I did lay down and breathed properly to get as much oxygen into my muscles as possible. I cannot honestly say that I was in pain, slight discomfort during contractions perhaps, but no real pain. 

By twelve thirty pm I realised that the contractions were over forty seconds long and not very far apart. I rung the bell to summons the midwife, and she had just enough time to phone my husband and the doctor who both arrived in ten minutes flat. I was wheeled into the delivery room, and I remember noticing the warmed-up little crib. I was so excited. 

It was a perfect birth at ten to one in the morning. Absolutely perfect. When everybody was ready I asked if I could push, and three pushes later he was born. I was beside myself with excitement. I spent the rest of the night cuddling my baby, drinking tea and chatting to the staff. The doctor arrived again at seven am and gave me the all clear to go home. I was in hospital for less than twelve hours.

This is my brother Neil. He passed away in a motorcycle accident when he was nineteen and I was seventeen. I miss him.

Neil was always such a smiley guy, such a clown. You really would have liked him, he was a lot of fun and full of mischief.

When baby number three was on her way, I was very optimistic. The pregnancy was very normal, no morning sickness, no fainting, and I was very healthy. My waters broke about seven am on a Sunday morning, and I telephoned the same doctor that handled birth number two. He joked and asked me if I could get it over and done with quickly like the last time, as he planned to go boating that day. We had a good laugh about it. 

He met me in the maternity ward at about eight am. He told me that dilation was progressing pretty quickly, and that he expected baby to be born at about ten am latest. Unbeknown to him, he then left me in the care of the worst midwife ever. 

Labour progressed rapidly and it went more or less the same way as baby number two. Then things went wrong.  I could not dilate the last two centimetres and it was ten am. Within a short space of time I got the pushing pains, and baby wanted to come. The midwife told me I couldn’t push, and I knew I shouldn’t. Three hours of hell followed. I was panting and breathing and screaming and crying, the midwife was screaming. I was beyond exhausted and the contractions came non-stop. We had to try keep the baby inside until I was fully dilated.

Eventually at one thirty pm the midwife phoned the doctor and told him there might be complications. In the time that she went off to make that call, my baby girl was born and delivered by my husband. He stood with the baby in his hands when she came back into the room, her eyes like saucers. 

The doctor arrived shortly afterwards, apologising profusely. He promised me a little bit more discomfort, and then it would be all over. I had to push gently for the afterbirth to come out, but it did not want to. He decided to rather take me to theatre and scoop it out under anaesthetic. I went into theatre just after two pm and came out again eight-thirty that evening. As they wheeled me out of surgery I was in complete shock - I could see it was night, and I couldn’t stop shivering. The doctor was by my side trying to comfort me, but I could not understand what happened.

The pressure on my womb during those three and a half hours caused the uterus to tear. The afterbirth was sucked to the wall by the vacuum created in the tear. As soon as they removed the placenta in theatre, the tear ran and there was nothing they could do to save anything. A ruptured uterus was the official diagnosis, and my survival to this day is a miracle. I count myself extremely lucky that I was blessed with three healthy children, and I would still advise natural childbirth to anyone that asks.  

This is me at a few months and then at around 18 months I think. I was such a big fat baby, good grief. How adorable was I?

Boys I hope that one day your gorgeous wives, daughters and daughters in law will read this blog in whichever format you have it, and that you’ll be able to read the birth stories from the previously great women in your lives from three generations – your mom, grandmother and great-grandmother. Isn't this just so special?