Conrad Ambrose Peter

Trigger warning… this is a bit gruesome at points

You have been warned.

Part one

Well this story starts with a baby who didn't know how to be upside down, ends with a giant head, and it has a lot of love from and for the NHS in the middle.

I was about 40 weeks pregnant when my midwife mentioned that I was ‘measuring big’. She was a bit worried and so sent me to hospital for a scan.

So that Thursday afternoon I jollied off to the hospital with Matt in tow. We were all extremely surprised to find during the scan that my fluid levels were pretty high and also the baby was hanging out sideways!

 We spoke to a lovely consultant who told me that I would need to be admitted as it was pretty late in the day and there was a significant risk of cord prolapse if my waters broke spontaneously. She also mentioned a C section which I was pretty resistant to. In the end we came up with a plan for me to come in the following morning for them to perform and ECV (aka External Cephalic Version aka you get a painful injection and then the doctor manipulates your tummy by grabbing you hard enough to actually bruise you which will hopefully get the baby into the right position) and then break my waters to get him on his way.

OR as matt so poetically put it ‘its time to pull the plug’.

When I got to the hospital the next day unfortunately there wasn’t enough midwives on shift for them to be able to carry out the plan. Though the lovely consultant was able to do the ECV (ouch) they weren’t able to follow through by breaking my waters. I was still very keen to avoid having a C section which some of the doctors were suggesting, so I said I would wait.

They woke me up on Saturday at 3am to have another go at breaking my waters but when they scanned me, baby had popped back up and was happily chilling in a breech position. The heartbreak.

So commenced the slowest weekend in the history of all weekends.

While the rest of the country celebrated king Charles and his nice shiny crown, the delivery unit at Harrogate went mental. Woman after woman came in to have babies, and I waited.

 Every day the midwives would scan me to see where my rascally baby was at, and true to form, he was in a different position every time they looked. He also didn't much like being monitored and would kick the sensors off my tummy repeatedly whenever a trace was needed which wasn’t much fun for anyone.

During this time we got to know lots of midwives, doctors and other members of staff and without exception despite the ridiculously busy weekend they were kind, wonderful and went above and beyond to make me feel comfortable. They were also SO supportive of me trying to have the baby vaginally which was amazing.

I had one further attempted ECV which was unfortunately not successful.

Finally things calmed down on the unit and by Monday night the staff had said that they should be able to get things going the next day. Alas it turned out that there wasn’t anyone on shift that day who could do the procedure.

 But all was not lost! The senior doctor had used the almighty wattsapp chat group to summon someone (anyone!!!) who could confidently give it a go it to come in specially.

She sweetly waved it under my nose to show me that the SOS had been issued.

Let me tell you, it was pretty terrifying to have the fate of my womb in the hands of a wattsapp group chat which most likely also contained many memes, and a nice array of pictures of Sally from radiology’s lovely coronation street party.

 However despite my doubts, once again the amazing NHS staff were coming up trumps and going above and beyond to give us the best care in an extremely non ideal situation.

 So on Tuesday morning I woke up around 3am, I was very aware that this was my last chance to avoid a section so I bounced for a while on the bouncy ball, listening to worship music and willing this child to get head down. When the midwife came around 8:am to scan us we found that he was finally head down and pretty much engaged. Matt and I hastily dashed out for a walk as I was too scared to sit down in case he bounced back up again.

We knew we needed to act quickly and the brilliant consultant (the fantastically named Mr Efstathios Altanis) arrived on the scene to save the day. His nickname was ‘magic hands’ which was an encouraging start.

I was prepped with a cannula and met the anaesthetist who was waiting in the wings to put me under general and get me to theatre if everything went wrong. (he was a small and cheerful man who ended our conversation by conveying to me his fervent wish to never clap eyes upon me again. The feeling was mutual.) Two doctors a consultant and two senior midwives all piled into the room and I was attached to the monitor and scanned the whole time.  Me and Matt were feeling distinctly nervy by this point.

The consultant was able to break my waters after a bit of toing and froing with a crochet hook and it was very clear that there was a LOT of fluid which had been enabling this kid to perform all the acrobatics. As soon as the waters were broken baby panicked and wriggled out of position again much to the dismay of the assembled crowd. They kept a collective cool head though and continued to scan to check the cord was well out of the way and not at risk of prolapse.

The doctors were Amazing. Magic hands justified his nickname and somehow pushed him back into a good position, the others applied pressure from above to keep him head down and held him in place, they kept this position for 20 minutes at which point we were all very sweaty and certain esteemed medical professionals had a lot of amniotic fluid in their crocs.

I was on an eye level with Mr A this whole time due to my (slightly compromising) bolt upright in bed with stirrups in the air position, so was able to use strong eye contact to convey my sincere thanks for my release from the predicament that I had found myself in.

Next they started me on the oxytocin drip until my contractions had started.

Then we were all able to breathe again as they declared the situation stable and left me to it.

Everything progressed nicely for a while and I got in my labour groove feeling pretty confident about the next bit. Matt and me are pretty well established in our roles by this point! But when I started to push it became apparent that all was not quuuiite as it should be.

 

Part two

In all the kerfuffle my sweet son had somehow managed to get his face turned around so that he was posterior.

Colloquialisms for a posterior presentation…. ‘Star gazing’ ‘sunny side up’ or simply ‘OP’ which frankly make it sound far too appealing. If I were to give it a name I would probably call it ‘torture of the highest degree’ or possibly ‘an absolute bloody nightmare’ .

Having breathed out my two middle children in a relatively smug hypnobirthing style I was somewhat taken aback by the change of program and started to make quite a lot of noise, despite the lovely gas and air.

At around this time a living legend strolled into the room.

Her name was Gail, she had a glorious Scottish accent and was unapologetically bossy. She led the conversation with ‘what are you making all that noise for, its not helping!’

The other midwife and a student midwife who had been with us from the beginning and who had been very nice to me, deferring to my experience as  person-who-gives-birth-with-relatively-little-difficulty were, I like to imagine, somewhat taken aback.  

But it turned out that Gails voice was the only one I needed to hear. She was like a bossy light guiding me back to the land of the living. She was the one who explained about the tricky position and she was the one that told me it would feel different and that I needed to let go of my expectations for how I had given birth before. She gave me clear instructions which some part of me was able to follow despite the tiredness.

She also had an enormous amount of confidence in me which was infectious. When I reached a point of exhaustion she and the others cheered me on and reminded me of why I had so wanted to give birth in this way in the first place (I had forgotten!!) we ditched the gas and air so that I could concentrate a bit better and somehow that helped.  

Their belief and incredible skill were how I came to push my son out into the world. It really did involve blood sweat and tears as he also turned out to weigh a huge 9lbs 5oz but largely and thankfully due to the midwives skill I only had a small tear despite my history.

I can remember snatched pieces of that night after Conrad Ambrose was born. The way he latched on to me and fed like a champion. Matt pouring water into my parched mouth. The cramps in my legs from holding them tense for so long. The massive kiss on the forehead Gail gave me when she congratulated me and told me ‘YOU DID IT! (this still makes my eyes fill with tears – she was truly invested.) Then the following stampede of midwives who had been involved in my care over the past four days who came in over the next few hours to congratulate me and have a look at the gorgeous baby who had caused all the kerfuffle! Doctors too, even wonderful Mr A was keen to know how things had resolved.

The next day we were discharged before lunch! But not before dumping a massive pile of chocolate and snacks at the ward desk. It makes me think that there must be a better way to say thank you. What I really wanted to say was this;

‘thank you, you gave me dignity in a terrifying moment. You listened to me and then gave me a voice when I didn’t have one any more. You used your time and skills to make my experience a positive one. You showed up that day despite the horrible bits of the job, despite the rubbish pay and the horrific hours. You got my baby out and I am so grateful.’

So there you go. Really this whole birth experience is a love letter to the NHS and the amazing staff who populate it, especially the women and the BAME staff members who keep the ship afloat. I was able to have the birth I wanted because of people who listened to me and used their considerable skills supporting me.

I could never forget any of my birthing experiences, for we are formed in the flames in these moments, as mothers, as women. But for this birth, my last birth, I will carry a feeling of triumph, of overcoming and for that I am so grateful.

Meeting the crew!!