Ok, so I got lost on Facebook for a while. I have deleted the stupid thing now and promise to be faithful to my blog (although I have heard some things about Twitter recently).
Last time I left you I was in the early stages of pregnancy. Well the baby came out and now I am a stay at home mummy!
Let me tell you the harrowing (not really) tale of Noah coming into the world.
People feel the need to tell you horror birth stories while you are pregnant. I heard my fair share, some of them pretty lame, others down-right planned C-section inspiring. I don’t want to give details of the latter kind here, in case there are pregnant people reading, but let me tell you I watch horror films and it sounded way worse than The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (the one with Paris Hilton, of course)
My story isn’t so gory.
On Tuesday 29th April, a week before my due date, I decided to give some old wives tales a go to get the labour started. I had heard from a guy at school that eating a teaspoon or so of fresh nutmeg can get things started. Did that, nothing happened that day. Went out for Indian that night. Nothing happened. Felt crud all Wednesday, went to bed early and then BHAM!! I woke up at about 1.30am feeling a bit weird, so I went to the loo and discovered that either 1. I had hit a low point in my pregnancy and lost control of my bladder or 2. My water had broken.
I went with option 2 and thus started my epic labour.
Contractions continued getting stronger until about 5am where they were 5 min apart and really kickin’. I went into the birth centre for a progress check at about 8am on Thursday 1st May and they sent me upstairs for monitoring. This is where things get annoying. My contractions still kept up with the intensity, but dragged out to 10 minutes apart, I was sent home with the promises of having a baby in my arms by the days end. WRONG!! I continued at home until 8am the next morning (2nd May), not a wink of sleep (that’s 31 hours now) and started to get a little bit anxious about the possibility of induction after all. SO, for all my sleeplessness and pain across the 31 hours, it turned out I had dialated 1 cm. What a joke.
From here, I got on the intervention train and was transferred into the hospital birthing suites. About 5 minutes after they started pumping in the inducement drugs I knew what pain was all about. The worst part is that the pain didn’t seem to stop in between contractions. I couldn’t catch my breath and I really think that gas as a pain relief option is a complete joke. Just made me want to puke.
When the Doc came in and checked out the progress an hour later and said “Should be only 8 hours or so of this and then you should be ready to push” (like this was good nes) I buckled and demanded an epidural.
Oh, the bliss. BLISS BLISS BLISS BLISS BLISS.
I slept for about 3 hours in the afternoon, and then at about 7, to my lovely calming birth music (Beatles) in a dim lit room, I finally started pushing. And pushing. And pushing. At 8.30pm on the dot, Noah popped out. Hurray!
I gotta say, in the movies, they push for about 2 minutes, everyone is screaming at them and stuff and then out pops a baby and that’s that. There was no talking while I was pushing. And the midwife said not to waste my pushing power on making grunting noises, to keep it all in and use it to push down. So aside from the music, my birth was very quiet.
I guess I can see how Scientologists do the silent birth thing.