Birth Story: Expectations Vs Reality by Sarah Turnbull

Maybe expectation is the wrong word. Hope. Hope of how our birth will go, what we will experience, our resilience or power when the time comes. Then the reality of what we are about to endure. 
The uncertainty of what we are venturing into, no matter the number of pregnancies, births before us, each is its own, each has its challenges, each can leave us unprepared no matter how prepared we try, aim, think we truly are. 

Fear of the unknown for the first time, fear of repetition of previous births that did not go to plan or yet so far from ideas we didn’t think those outcomes were possible. 

Reality is that birth is an experience that is like no other. Physically, emotionally, mentally, it has its own unique challenges for each aspect, each person, each baby, each experience. 

There is also a reality that isn’t always spoken about or expected.

Resentment 

That your birth didn’t go as you’d planned, that aspects of your birth were not in your control, had to change, you lost all control, or that other birth stories you hear of, friends, family, online, were the births you’d hoped for, wanted, we’re taken from you.

There can also be an aspect of grief with a birth for some. A loss of what was and is no more. 
No more pregnancy, no more feelings of baby moving, kicking, safety of them inside, will there ever be another pregnancy, baby, will your body ever feel the same again, experience life inside you, the highs and lows. That round belly that was heavy but you now miss absent-mindlessly caressing 

My first birth was traumatic in every possible way, in ways I hadn’t even considered. 
10 days overdue, a natural Labour that had begun 2 days before suddenly stopped, as did baby’s movements. A hospital visit assured baby was fine but we needed to get things going. My natural water birth immediately went out the window. I didn’t have time to process that or truly prepare for what was to come, but I remained open minded, was ready to breathe my way through any birth as I had practiced. 

I needed admitted and my waters breaking. A sweep helped kick start contractions again and I’d already lost my plug and was 2cm’s dilated on arrival. A routine check showed a concerning low heart rate for baby at 40bpm with each contraction. A decision to move me up the list and get my waters broken sooner was made and from then all control was lost. 

An emergency c section under general anaesthetic 

7 hours later I woke in intensive care with an oxygen mask. No idea where I was, where my baby was or what had happened.

I had lost 4 1/2 litres of blood. They had cut through an artery getting him out.  I almost died. 

My husband told me we had a boy as soon as he was allowed to visit. 

14 hours. 14 hours from his birth before I was moved onto the maternity ward before I saw my baby. My first baby. 

I have no memory of his birth, I didn’t know he was a boy, what he weighed, what time he was born, what he looked like. I wasn’t the first to see him, hold him, to dress him, to change him, to feed him, to smell him, to love him.

When I was finally taken into my room to meet him and I finally held him, I waited for that overwhelming feeling of love at seeing him. It didn’t come. I was worried it was lost in all that we had been through. 

All eyes were on me. Parents and husband. Watching my reaction of finally meeting my baby. I smiled, I stayed quiet. I wanted them all to leave. I wanted time back that had been taken from us. I wanted my dream birth back. I wanted my bond. 

I felt robbed. I tried breastfeeding. I’d been desperate to breastfeed while pregnant, that beautiful bond I had seen with other mothers. Maybe it would give me back some of what I felt I’d lost with his birth. 
14 hours of bottle feeding as much as he needed, my poor supply wasn’t enough. His tummy rumbling from my non-existent milk supply. 

Just like that I was sent home.  Broken. My body was covered in bruises from needles, drains, iv drips, blood transfusion.  C section scar and post-surgery pain. Weak from such a massive blood loss
I was lost. I wasn’t who I was, I was traumatised from almost dying and yet I was this little human’s life source.
My milk never came in, I tried for 5 days, nothing, my body didn’t have enough strength to lift me let alone feed another mouth from it. Another blow. Another resentment. Another heartbreak. 

This wasn’t what I’d seen from other people’s stories.  This wasn’t on tv, online, friends, family. Where was this truth when I was trying to prepare.  I lied to midwives when they came to visit. I had had enough of people being around. I needed alone time to try and bond with my baby. Take back some of what I had already lost.  Yet I needed support, I just didn’t know it. 

I mourned his birth, how he was brought earthside. The story I thought we would have. The experience I hoped for with my beautiful baby. 

Then one day out of the haze, looking into his blue eyes, I realised, this was not my story, how I had dreamt our journey would be. This was OUR story. 

My son and I. What we suffered, what we conquered, what we survived, to get to this point, to be together. Our story that was only for us. That was our bond. That we both fought for our lives to get to this point, to have him in my arms. 

The resentment still comes sometimes. I see other birth announcements, wonder what that would have been like. Then I remind myself, that was not meant to be our journey. 

We have this experience for a reason, because it is only ours. This will be the story I tell when he asks, show him how strong we are. 

Motherhood is a journey, it is a story formed between you and baby. Unique in every way and yours. Yours alone. A show of strength, experience, growth like no other. Some need more care than others, some are very different paths to get there, yet everyone’s is the same destination. 

Love. Strength. Motherhood. 

I live in the UK, and am a 30-year-old stay-at-home mum of 2. I live with my husband of 10 years, my 2-year-old son and my 9-week-old baby girl. I became a stay-at-home mum after my maternity with my son due to covid but that was the best blessing as I get to spend every day raising my beautiful babies and watching them wonder at the world. My days are currently spent learning how to juggle an ever-inquisitive toddler and a newborn.