Just Another Birth Story

You’ve read hundreds of them, listened to the gory details of your friends’ and watched them all on ‘One Born’ so another birth story won’t hurt, right? Cross your legs and breath deeply as I share MY birth story. SPOILER ALERT- it all ends well.

The plan (should there even be one?!) was to go in hospital for induction on Monday 6th August, two weeks before my due official due date. So I had the weekend all planned. On Saturday I had my close friend’s baby shower and I’d left Sunday free to get myself labour ready. Repack the hospital bag and repack it again, sensible stuff like that. It was Saturday, there I was in the garden at the baby shower having bump pics taken with my friend when unbeknown to me my phone was quietly buzzing away in my handbag. As I left the shower, my bag buzzed again. I’d had three miscalls from an unknown number and instinct told me it was the hospital. I was bloody right. They had a ‘spare’ bed tonight and would I like to come in early? As I rose from my own body and looked on down, I heard myself agreeing to be booked in for 6:30PM. I have no recollection of that journey home; all I know is it took forever. I was floating around on adrenaline- and not in a good way. I couldn’t think straight I was going from halfway through ironing a t-shirt to checking for nappies in the hospital bag -sorry, three hospital bags- and not remembering either. Bang goes labour prep Sunday. Eventually, Danny got home to calm my nerves and take control. By 7:30PM that night, Danny, the bump and I were nicely tucked up in our own little side room at Calderdale Royal Hospital.

#friendshipgoals- Hollie and me having our bump photo. Yes, I’m massive, I know.

Then nothing.

I’d forgotten how long induction can be. I was given hormones to help ‘soften’ things but I knew this wouldn’t kick start anything off anytime soon. Danny headed home for a good nights sleep about 10PM- there was a camp bed at the side for him but I really wanted him at his best for the next day. It was a good job too as the night was disturbed by hours of monitoring, observations and those annoying strap bands around your belly that really need rethinking in my opinion! Sunday came and Danny was there first thing. It was a lovely hot day so we tried to go out and walk around the hospital grounds. I was so heavy by then we didn’t walk too far, but we did find a little memorial garden with a bench that we wound up at a few times. It really calmed me being there, just watching the insects do their thing.

Danny and me on one of our many strolls to the ‘bench’.

Still nothing.

After an invasive ‘stretch and sweep’ things began to change. I was having a few pains on and off but all very manageable. Danny is restless at the best of times, but being cooped up in a tiny hospital room was slowly starting to take its toll so I sent him out for food about 7PM. My last, gorgeous, cheeseburger supper before birth, before dieting.

Still nothing.

Another stretch and sweep at about 8:00PM shifted things up another gear. If you don’t know what a stretch and sweep involves, Google it. The contractions were much more powerful by now so I put on my headphones and listened to some music- one of the distraction techniques I’d learnt at hypnobirthing. A few nostalgic tracks from our wedding helped me through for a while. The lovely midwife ran me a deep bath in a room down the corridor. I’m not even sure it was a bath, it was bigger than a bath but not as big as a birthing pool. Well, anyway, it was heaven. Blissful paradise. It took all the tension and pain away in an instant. The only problem was I wasn’t able to be left alone and it was in a closed room with no windows and a toilet for a seat. So, as I zoned out, all Danny could do was sit back and watch. I was no longer in the mood for conversation and I just laid and relaxed for what I thought was about an hour. Four hours I was in that tub- that must be a record even for me! The midwife came and told us that there was a midwife on the labour ward and once she’d had her break we could go down. I was 2CMS, hurrah! Danny looked relieved. I was bossing this labour I couldn’t believe how well I was doing compared to my previous experience. That hypnobirthing was really paying off, so I thought. I was calm, collected and ready to bring on the next stage.

I dragged myself out of the tub, dried off and got changed. I checked the time- 2:30AM. All I could think was; If I go down now I’ll have my baby before everyone at home wakes up. I was raring to go, for all of ten minutes. The next thing I knew it was 9:30AM in the morning. No contractions and no baby. What the f**k happened?! I fell asleep? Bossing full blown labour was I? Nope! I can laugh now but I thought I was being queen at handling labour the previous night. So, in true Steph style, I had an emotional meltdown. I was really, really upset with myself and heartbroken I didn’t have my baby yet when I thought last night she’d be in my arms before dawn! Then it started to sink in; I’ve still to go through it all. So happy, calm, hypnobirthing Steph was, sadly, no more.


Once I’d framed myself, put my make up on and readjusted my crown, (metaphorically, you understand) we were called to the labour ward. It really was time, this time! We trudged down the corridor, arms full of bags, armed full of emotion into Labour Room 6. I took it all in. My eyes darted from the plastic cot that would soon house my baby, to the clock tower in the views of the valley outside. It was a beautiful view and I knew it would come in handy when I needed to focus on something pretty- it was better than staring at a clinical wall. I paced about until the midwife came and introduced herself. She was lovely, really friendly and we quickly found out we had a lot in common. At 11:00AM she broke my waters. It was warm and there was A LOT. For the first few hours, I managed fine. We ran a bath in the labour room but this time it didn’t cut it. The bath was low and shallow, (not great at the best of times due to my arthritis) the water lukewarm. It didn’t even cover my colossal bump. Then, the midwife, my new friend for life, my female rock, casually announced she’d be going for her lunch. Now, I’m usually a level-headed person and I get it- a girl needs to eat but… whaaattt?! When I’m in labour? ‘Arrghh don’t leave me!’ I cried, trying to sound sarcastic but I actually meant it. When you’re that vulnerable, you just lose all common sense that this is their everyday. A nurse and a lovely student midwife came in to take her place. I remember them commenting on how ‘glam’ I looked and it made me laugh. My thoughts were: I’ve had time and space to get ready all by myself this morning in my very own ensuite room- I’m basically on holiday.

Once I got out of the bath I felt the true rath of the contractions. Ouch. Shit was getting real now. I threw up from the pain. It was time for gas and air. I was looking forward to this- don’t judge me, I hadn’t been drunk in a long time! I remember loving the gas and air last time, but this wasn’t cutting it. The mouthpiece was making a stupid noise when I breathed and the contractions were still strong throughout.

Now, this next part is a bit hazy- my perception of events may not be entirely accurate given the state I was in- but this is how I remember it. The midwife was back from her lunch by now (thank God) and very kindly dosed me up with Diamorphine. That really did do the trick. Then she asked me if an important lady from Oxford could come in for half an hour to look at the data systems. I obliged, of course, that was ok. In she came with her little beaded notebook, asking all these questions and getting very detailed answers from the midwife. THREE HOURS LATER she was still there. Is it me? Or is that ridiculous? At that time I could’ve told you all there is to know about that bloody data system, I was feeling like I was losing control and needed my lovely midwife back, thank you. The Oxford lady said ‘Do tell us if we’re rabbiting on too much.’ Now, at the time- and I am playing the labour card here- my response was very justifiable. I couldn’t work out why the colour had drained from Danny’s face. ‘You’re doing my F**ing head, to be honest with you.’ Well that shut ’em up. It wasn’t me, it was the drugs. Cringe. I was, however, still being very well looked after by the student, who was amazing, actually, and chatted along with Danny as the radio played in the background. I heard me being described as a bit ‘transition-y’ which must be code for an ‘absolute nightmare’. Oxford lady made a quick exit after that, I’ve no idea why. Sorry, midwives. Sorry, lady from Oxford.

The view. 

Finally, something happened!

Oh my god. I needed to push. But not the horrendous toe curling pushes I’d remembered from before. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it nipped a bit! I was just always waiting for it to get worse and unbearable, liked I’d remembered.  I pushed, three or four times, the midwives looked happy, like it was all going well down there. Thankfully I don’t remember much of Danny being down that end but I think he had a pretty good view. Again, I didn’t quite believe I was doing it all by myself! All of a sudden there was a huge cheer and I had a baby on my chest. A perfect, beautiful baby. No cries, a calm, intrigued baby just casually looking around Labour Room 6. I looked at Danny and his face filled with love. I looked at her, my heart filled with love. I looked at him again and his face changed. ‘Danny, have you seen her? She’s really here, look!’ ‘Mmm,’ he answered, he wasn’t engaging with me and he looked uncomfortable on his feet. Was this a let down to him? Not what he expected? The nurses then had the same strange look. The baby was fine. I, apparently, was not. I had no idea. I was literally on cloud nine. Mainly from the drugs, but still. I was losing blood, and fast. How can such a straightforward birth end so dramatically? There was a lot of commotion for a few minutes, but in the end, all was well. I felt very faint and dizzy for a few days and needed iron tablets but it could’ve been so much worse.

A dream come true. 

And here we are. It’s been 8 weeks since Lydia Faith arrived and she rocks our world. This time last year we were starting out on our IVF adventure and we didn’t know where it was going to take us. If it would take us anywhere at all. But, on the 6.8.18, @ 6.38, weighing 6lb 8oz, it brought us to Labour Room 6. Thank you, science. Thank you, midwives. Thank you, lady from Oxford (again, really sorry). But most of all, thank you to Danny. You were unbelievable in that hospital room at every stage and when I watch you with your daughter, I fall in love with you all over again.

4.00AM Thoughts

So you want to be a writer? Well, yeah, I do. What experience do you have? Er, little to none. But you’re gonna do it anyway? Yeah. 

Following the advice of every meme and #wordlover quote, I’m just going to ‘start’.

For me, writing has always been something I have wanted to do and, ashamedly, never seriously pursued. I could list my excuses but you’ve heard them all before. So as I enter this new chapter in my life, I can honestly say I don’t know how this is going to pan out. And if that sounds interwoven with self-doubt and low self-confidence, it’s because it is. I don’t know this is going to work for me, I don’t even know if I can do it, but I’m sure as hell going to try to learn along the way. All I know for now is; waking up at 4.00AM, tapping your restless feet until it is time to get up and write is not normal. Or maybe for me, it IS the new normal.

But then I had to write about something. ‘Don’t be just another mummy blog,’ was the eye-roll advice from one friend and it was all I could hear ringing in my head. ‘Lots start but then quit,’ was the tone of another (that’ll be me, actually). So I listed what I couldn’t really write about. I say list, they were just thoughts in my head, but by the end, the imagery was a waste-paper bin full of scrunched up ideas.  My lists of ‘can’t do well’ read as the quality traits of an all-time loser. Fashion? Nah. I can’t keep up. Health and nutrition? I would really have to follow my own advice. Raising kids? I don’t think I’d be telling you anything you don’t already know and usually, my advice is; it’ll be reet. Teaching? Well having done it for ten years, my angle would be: don’t do it. Ever. End of blog. I can’t design homes, draw or any of that. So in the end, I scrapped trying to force something and just thought about me. Something, I discovered, I don’t do very often and it got me thinking about all things I don’t share with people. I mostly wear my heart on my sleeve and can be very open to sharing aspects of my life that would make some people cringe at the thought of sharing. The real woes, however, the bits I can’t make fun about or make jokes of, are the parts I should be sharing the most. My illness, my everyday struggle that I try to hide as best I can. It’s time to uncover, own up and be honest about this disease. Rheumatoid arthritis. Through my journey, I will be sharing what life is like for the average girl, woman, trying to live her life, build a future and not be defeated by this chronic pain.