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The birth of Imogen Emily
By hissychick | January 15, 2010
It’s hard to believe miss Immyjim* has been with us for sixteen days already and I haven’t yet had the chance to record the story of her birth.
(Oh that’s right, husband having gallbladder surgery and older children not sleeping in addition to meeting newborn 24 hour needs. Pathetic really).
Sometime after midnight on December 30 I awoke in a wet bed. After crying like a big scaredy cat at what was ahead ringing the hospital we decided to head down the hill and see if the 40 minute drive would bring on some action.
Upon arrival it was confirmed that I was leaking amniotic fluid and having a show, however thirty minutes hooked up to the monitor revealed that nothing of substance was happening contraction wise and bubs was in a blasted posterior position. So the husband and I settled in for some rest.
Sunrise….nothing. The next six hours or so saw us walking around a lot, trying to get the show on the road. All we had were some irregular pissweak contractions, with little miss merely descending enough to block off the leak.
And so it came to pass that a midwife entered the room at around midday with a syntocinon drip and I promptly burst into tears. I simply couldn’t believe that I was facing what I dreaded most, an induction. I’d been there and done that with miss Abi, and the ineveitable cascade of intervention and lack of control was what I feared the most.
I started signing the permission paperwork for an epidural…and then stopped. I wasn’t about to let history repeat itself. I demanded to see my obstetrician.
An hour or so later, after much tearful discussion with mr hissychick (who simply stated tha he would support my decisions, bless him) and Dr J arrived. Here I will shamefacedly admit that at first I begged him for a caesar, to which he calmly responded that with bubs so well descended and everything looking OK it would be a bit frivolous to perform unnecessary surgery when an epidural was an option when the time came.
And then he examined me. I cried like the big sook that I am was found to be 3cm dilated, and so a stretch and sweep was performed (did someone saw owwww?). My doctor boldly declared that there was no leak as he could feel the forewaters bulging, and told me to go home until something started. Bubs was still posterior.
My midwife, her face a passing storm of thunderclouds during the examination spoke up as soon as my doctor had left the room. “You were definitely leaking amniotic fluid. Do you have someone you can visit locally, because if I were you I wouldn’t go too far from the hospital…”.
Those sage words of advice saved me from a motorway birth peoples.
The husband and I headed off to my parent’s place at around 1:30 pm, a ten minute drive from the hospital. Already I was starting to get the type of crampy pains that signal the start of something, and the snappy attitude that precedes and remains when labour is inevitable.
Upon arriving at my parents place, my sister, her husband and my niece who had been visiting for a swim took one look at me and hastily bade their farewells.
A cup of tea later, and I started to get to my feet when the contractions started, marching back and forth as I rode each wave. These pains were localised in my back.
Rapidly they stepped up a gear, and I started to add the chant of “left right left right”.
And then out came my new BFF, my mr happy stress bell. Here he is:
I started out by squooshing him around, using the noise to distract myself. This quickly progressed to tapping him against the wall in time with my march/chant, and the tapping rapidly became thudding as the pain intensified.
Within the space of an hour the pain had moved from my back to both my lower abdomen and back, and then suddenly it was all in my abdomen. Contractions were still irregular, but starting to get closer.
At around 3:15 pm I could see my mother starting to get concerned, and she called mr hissychick who had just popped out to a local shop to grab some supplies. By three thirty she had ushered us both into the car, as I had had four contractions within the space of fifteen minutes. And all the while I kept telling anyone who would listen that my contractions weren’t regular and that the epidural was going in no matter how little I had dilated.
Again a woman’s intuition saved me from a road/home birth.
The seven minutes it took us to return to the hospital are among the longest of my life. Contraction started slamming into contraction…and we kept hitting red lights. At one intersection I found myself in tears and slamming mr happy against my window, much to the horror of the people in the car next to us who I swear must have thought I was being kidnapped.
At long last we arrived, with mr hissychick driving the wrong way into the underground carpark to spare me the agony of speed humps. As I dealt as best I could with a contraction that hit me upon clambering out of the car a nearby mother wheeling a pram apparently grinned and told mr hissychick that it would all be worth it. The carpark security guard heard the commotion, and as I stamped my feet, chanted and slammed my stress ball against a column timidly suggested a wheelchair, to which my response was a very impolite “NO!”.
By the time I was engulfed with another excruciating contraction in the lift I no longer gave a flying one what passersby thought, I just wanted something for the pain.
And why is it that you are greeted with grins and a calm “So something is happening, come in” as you bellow chant and stamp and stomp your way back into the birthing suite you left a mere couple of hours earlier?
Somehow I found myself standing at the wall adjacent to the door to the bathroom, where I stamped my feet, chanted and slammed mr happy against the wall. I have no idea why that spot suited me at the time, all I knew was that I was not budging.
One midwife told me I needed to go to the bathroom to provide a urine sample. I ignored her.
And then my angel midwife arrived, surveyed the scene and promptly took over. I am not sure how she convinced me to leave my spot and walk the three steps to the bed for an exam, but she did.
When she pronounced me 8cm dilated and that it was a bit late for an epidural, she did it in such a way that I found myself trusting her that I could get through this (although having said that she did step back as she announced this to me).
She promptly got on the phone to my obstetrician and it vaguely occurred to me that he was not going to make it in time. Strangely enough this did not concern me, as I implicitly trusted my midwife, even though we had never met before.
As I went back to my spot at the wall and immediately entered transition, it was her calm and supportive voice that I listened to, telling me that I could do this, but perhaps I might like to just try and lean over the bed before I felt the urge to push.
I made it back to the bed in the nick of time, and as mr hissychick rubbed a heat pack hard against my back the urge to push hit me.
“I can’t do thi….GRUNT!” as my body overtook proceedings. “Yes you can!” said angel midwife in my ear. “You’re a warrior woman!”.
And so I made it through a very rapid pushing phase by visualising that my diaphragm was a coffee plunger and I simply went with it, bearing down when I could, alternating with a combination of a type of birth roar, pounding my fists on the pillows in front of me…and on a couple of occasions even biting them (spare me the jokes people).
Not once did my midwife tell me when to push, nor did she try and force the wretched gas on me. As a rapid birther with no resting phase to speak of she kept me calm. In fact, I was dimly aware that as I pushed she was organising a caesarian for another patient and the fact that she was doing this as I birthed reassured me that everything was going OK for me.
And then suddenly there was the burn of crowning, a futile attempt at panting to slow down while my midwife tried to stop my newest daughter’s hand from coming out alongside her head.
With a final heroic push (I wanted the pain over NOW!) and Imogen was here, passed between my legs for me to catch. It is a most incredible way to focus a mother, scooping up her slippery newborn and gently cradling her without pulling too much on the cord still connecting us.
As Imogen and I both howled with the enormity of what had happened, and mr hissychick clamped and cut the cord, the syntocinon shot was put in my leg and I clambered up onto the bed and promptly delivered the placenta (and they initially wanted to induce me?!).
My third daughter, our miracle child was here, all 3.6 kilograms and 50 cm of her. It was 5:04 pm, no more than an hour after I had arrived back at the hospital.
The flood of endorphins and oxytocin was, and still is overwhelming.
About an hour after she was born, my littlest miss finally stopped crying enough to lie down with me for a feed. She latched beautifully, and I am blessed to say that we have had no troubles with feeding ever since.
What an amazing birth experience. I am truly in awe at what my body is capable of in spite of my control freak mind. And I owe it in large part to Juju Sundin’s Birth Skills.
(I should also add here that my obstetrician did turn up after I had delivered the placenta and in time to do the necessary stitching that is the legacy of yet another rapid birth. He was rather sheepish about it all but when I asked for a discount told me only if I go for number 4!).
Imogen Emily. She’s here and I cannot imagine life without her. I am so deliciously in love with her, as are her devoted sisters and father. I am truly blessed.
* How miss E pronounces miss I’s name…so gorgeous.
Topics: Birthing ahoy, I'm a Mum, Immyjim, what to expect when you're expecting #3 | 8 Comments »
Well done Beautiful One!!! Congratulations again and thank you so much for sharing Immy’s birth story. I’ve got goosebumps! Thank heavens for your awesome midwife.
Immyjim (how cute is that name Miss E!) is such a sweet little poppet. Just want to smooch her!
Happy babymoon my friend xxx
Em
Posted by: Em on January 16th, 2010 at 4:43 pmOh Emily. Emily Emily Emily you are a goddess, a true birthing goddess. What a beautiful birth story, I am crying my eyes out here: happy tears for you, for the gorgeous Imogen, for the lucky lucky sibling sisters and for Mr Hissychick.
This birth story is so remarkably similar to mine with my number three……..spookily so…..makes me realise that there are, no doubt, golden threads that link us…….
Oh, I LOVE a good birth story and yours are THE BEST!
Well done Em, you are amazing. xx
Lucy’s last blog post..What do we want our life to look like next year?
Posted by: Lucy on January 17th, 2010 at 8:58 pmMassive congratulatios Em!! She is beautiful.
Shel’s last blog post..Settling in
Posted by: Shel on January 20th, 2010 at 5:17 amYou write such beautiful pieces Em – your third birth is no exception, just gorgeous!!!!!
Immyjim is divine. I LOVE that crying photo – she looks like the wild, fast ride out shocked the pants off her, hee hee!!!
I can’t get over her smiling on the scales though – what baby SMILES when being weighed?!?
She’s stunning. Utterly stunning.
Congratulations Em – you were amazing with those Birth Skills too!
xx Ave
Posted by: Vanilla on January 21st, 2010 at 9:24 pmWhat a wonderful birth story!
Congratulations on the birth of Immyjim (cute!), she is a gorgeous little baby!
Posted by: Kirsten on February 9th, 2010 at 12:57 pmI’m a wee bit late to the party but I am having a good ol’ belated birthing sob with you. She’s so lovely Em – congratulations!
Jenn’s last blog post..Dear Rita
Posted by: Jenn on February 9th, 2010 at 7:44 pmWell it pays to read peoples blogs every now and then (I must confess that it has been absolutely ages!) What a lovely surprise to see this news. Congratulations – she’s gorgeous.
Posted by: Foof on February 22nd, 2010 at 1:28 pmI’ve no idea how I missed this. Your last few posts haven’t showed on my feed.
This was beautiful – you almost (almost) had me wanting to go back in and do that again.
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Posted by: Melissa on March 14th, 2010 at 10:40 pm