Ollie's Birth Story by Imogen

First time moms rarely give birth early, and often go over their due dates. At least, that’s what I’d been told leading up to the birth of our baby. I was prepared to ride out the rest of my pregnancy with this mentality. Besides, my friends who had just given birth a few weeks earlier had gone just past their due dates, why would I be any different? 

Turns out, each baby has their own plan, as did ours. 

At 38 weeks and one day, I woke up with some light cramping. “Could this be the start of something?” I wondered excitedly as I tried to convince myself to go back to sleep. “Within a few hours you’ll probably know if this is the real deal or not” I promised myself as I dozed off. Turns out, that wasn’t quite true. Sure, there were light cramps, but they were consistently there (no waves or obvious contractions), they were completely manageable, and they weren’t progressing. 

When we went to our midwife appointment (which coincidentally was scheduled for later that day), I let her know how I was feeling, and she asked if I was dehydrated. Of course, I was. When things didn’t progress that day, I chalked it up to dehydration and I begrudgingly drank more water. I felt ready to go, but alas it wasn’t our time yet. 

A few days later, when I was 38 weeks and three days, the light cramping came back and this time it was accompanied by pink spotting when I went to the bathroom in the morning. At this point, I knew my cervix was preparing. Whether or not the big event was imminent, my body was certainly starting to get ready. I went to the chiropractor at noon that day, and she noted that I was very easy to adjust, and that often was a sign that the big event was imminent. As we drove home, I looked at my husband and told him I thought I was starting early labour, and he agreed. I took some final photos of myself pregnant that day – just in case. 

That evening things didn’t seem to progress, but I wasn’t eager to “chase labour”. I knew I didn’t want to tire myself out, and I trusted that this baby would come when they were ready. In the last bit of pregnancy I’d taken to telling our baby, “I’m ready when you are.” That evening I rested with a peanut ball between my legs and put on a comfort-movie and went to bed around 11pm. I took one Tylenol in the hopes that it would help me sleep through the light cramping and that I could get a good sleep in case things got going the next day. As it turns out, I wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. 

At 1:30 am I woke up to a sharp ache in my abdomen. “Oooph!” I remember saying as I peeled my eyes open. That hurt! I felt a small warm gush and instantly knew what had happened – my water had broken. I started yelling to my husband to get up and that I needed some tissues. I made my way to the bathroom and couldn’t stop shaking. Ready or not, it was go-time and that terrified me. One of my fears was going into labour in the middle of the night, when I wasn’t well-rested. Turns out labour has a funny way of making you confront a lot of fears, this being but one of them for me. Contractions were coming frequently at this point, but they felt somewhat inconsistent to me. 

We proceeded to call our beloved doula, to let her know that things were starting. She asked us if the water had been clear (it was) and told us to lay down and get some rest if we could. Of course, this was a herculean task given how excited and how nervous we both were (oh, and the fact that contractions were ever-present, ouch!) Somewhere between 3-4:00 am, I realized things were getting more intense. I had been labouring in bed with my husband’s love and support until this point, and now I began to throw up with my more intense contractions. As soon as I started to get physically sick, I knew I needed my doula there with me, and by 4 am she was there holding my hand. 

She sent my husband off to get a little bit of sleep (if he could) and sat with me through my contractions and held my hand and reassured me and held up emesis bags whenever I needed them. I tried to breathe through each contraction and felt my hands pulling at the pillows nearby. I was pulling on everything I could reach and pulling as hard as I could, it seemed to be the only thing that helped me physically. Our doula reassured me, and then let me know that we should call our midwives at 7am as I was progressing quickly (I was at 3-1-1 apparently, although I couldn’t tell for the life of me what was actually happening as I’d gone into “labour land” at this point). My husband’s very brief nap was now over, and he came back and proceeded to call the midwives.

While we waited for our midwife to arrive, I tried using a TENS machine for a while and it provided some relief. Our doula let us know that if I wanted to give birth in our birth pool it was time to head down to where it was set up. After a contraction at the top of the stairs, I moved to the basement as quickly as I could and when I arrived on that floor, I looked at my “labour room” (the spot I had anticipated labouring and had prepared with birth balls, lights, and affirmations) and the guest room (which had a bed). Ironically, I didn’t step foot in my labour room once during labour.  I went straight for the guest room – I believed if I went onto the floor of my labour room, I wouldn’t be able to get up again. I laid on the bed in the guest room and cried as I rode out more contractions. They were so intense at this point, and I feared the pain.

It was then that our midwife arrived. I remember she said hello and that’s about all I recall since I felt as though I was on another planet. “As long as you’re coping well, we can stay here” she said at one point, which internally I laughed at – coping well? Here I was writhing and crying, if this is coping well, what on earth is not coping well? After what was likely only a few minutes, I was told it was time to get into the pool if that’s where I wanted to give birth. I knew that was where I needed to be, so I began to make my way over. 

Stepping into the pool was the most surreal experience. Knowing that this was the last time I’d be standing up as a pregnant person, knowing that my life would be forever changed after I entered that pool, that I’d come out a different woman, a mother, was indescribable. 

The water felt so beautiful as soon as I stepped into it. Warm, comforting, calming. At least, until the next contraction. At this point the contractions began to really shift and I could feel my body bearing down and starting to push on its own. The force and power of it was shocking to me. I wasn’t actively pushing, and yet here my body was. It felt as though my body had hit the “eject” button, and it was pushing for me with everything it had. At this point the midwife offered to check how dilated I was so I could know if I could start pushing (I was scared to push before my body was ready). This was my first check, and I was 9.5 cm. I cried and cried praying I could just get to ten as the contractions just felt so intense, as did the desire to push. I pulled and pulled on my husband’s arms and hands (I’m shocked I didn’t injure the poor guy) and I began tearing and pulling at the pool’s edge – my rational brain told me not to pop the pool, but my “lizard brain” couldn’t listen at that point. I was pulling at anything I could get my hands on. After a while, my midwife offered to check again. I agreed, praying I was at 10. Instantly she said that the baby’s head was right there and that it was go-time. I was so relieved. It was time to roll with my body and push along with it.  

I’m not sure how long I pushed for, but eventually the baby was almost out. I remember shouting “Stop!” at my midwife after I felt an extremely uncomfortable pressure/motion. I thought she was doing something down there, but she showed me her hands and gently said that the sensation I was feeling was my baby moving. I could’ve sworn this little one was giving me a kangaroo kick! I remember feeling a bit panicked and I said “help!” as the baby squirmed again, and within seconds I heard a baby crying and our little one was placed on my chest. My husband and I looked at one another in complete shock and awe – we had done it. We were so wrapped up in shock we didn’t even know the sex of the baby until we asked a minute later. 

Every pain, every moment of fear, every doubt, (and my second-degree tear), all of it was worth it for our sweet little Ollie. 9.5 hours of labour for our baby boy. Ollie’s beautiful homebirth wouldn’t have been possible without the support of our incredible midwives and our wonderful doula, and my incredibly calm and supportive husband. 

Birth has left me in such awe of all birthing people around the world. However your little one came earthside, you are powerful and I celebrate you for getting through one of the toughest things out there.   

 

Imogen is a new mom, communications specialist, and hot chocolate enthusiast. She lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with her husband, their feisty little cat, and baby Oliver.