The Birth Story of Persephone Grace

As a high schooler with far too much of a penchant for Catholic mommy blogs, I always loved reading birth stories. Not only were they vulnerable and powerful lessons in feminine strength, there was also always [spoiler alert] a cute baby at the end of them. 

Throughout pregnancy I once again found my way back to the birth story corner of the internet - some written, many podcasts (I listened to the entire back catalogue of the Hypnobirthing Podcast), and a few very special ones sent to me by the sweet friends whom I had asked to write down their birth experiences and recommendations. I also devoured the birth stories section of Made for This: A Catholic Mom's Guide to Birth. My mind has been so full of dozens and dozens of women's stories of suffering and grace and unexpected strength in labour and delivery for years, and especially in these last few months.

So it's kind of surreal now to be sitting here, in the middle of the night, with my not-even-two-day-old daughter nursing on my breast (working hard round the clock at the moment to bring in that magical milk supply) and realise that I can finally write my own story. I have a birth story. We have a birth story, me and Callum and this beautiful Percy-girl, written indelibly by the Lord on our lives and hearts. And I'm aching to share it. 

Content warning: real bits, no filter on birth terminology or 'icky stuff'. Birth is raw and messy and I believe in showcasing that in its full glory. In terms of trigger warning content, this is what I wholeheartedly would call a positive birth story, but if you struggle with topics of long early labour, episiotomy, or infant resuscitation, please use your discretion in reading, as this story contains those things.

Please know that all opinions expressed about birth here are just my own preferences. If your plan or preferences are different, or your experience has had particular interventions that I chose to avoid, I believe that your birth is worth celebrating too! There is no judgment here for anyone else's decisions, simply statements of what I decided I wanted for my body and my baby during the labour and birth process.

Disclaimer: this is a very long story (15,000 words oh my goodness), but it was a even longer labour, so I win, and also you're choosing to read it 😂 

I know there is a lot of superfluous detail (do you really need to know all of the details of my home maintenance incident? probably not) but I am desperate to remember this birth in all its richness: the detail is for me, not for you. 

Also, good chunks of this were written at 3am by a euphoric, slightly manic postpartum woman with a baby on her breast, so if it makes no sense, that would be why. 

Sending love and prayers to you, wherever you are, especially if you are currently pregnant and preparing for birth. I hope this story blesses and encourages you. The Lord is truly a God who provides, and He hears the cry of His little ones. I bear living witness to the fact that a peaceful, holy, minimal-intervention birth is possible, even though, and because, it is the hardest thing you've ever done.

AMDG

Kate

The End of Pregnancy

I really loved the third trimester. After a very taxing November and December (much nausea. much vomiting. much constipation. also huge milestones in my PhD to complete), and a FULL second trimester (international travel to New Zealand and Hong Kong, lots of house guests, PhD research trips around Tasmania, and back-to-back colds in what seemed a weirdly germy summer, though maybe that was just my pregnant immune system) third trimester was dreamy and restful by contrast. 

I finally felt like I got my energy back around the end of March, and I was blessed to have barely any yucky third-trimester pregnancy symptoms or complications. Other than reflux, I was a happy camper for the final three months of this pregnancy. I was walking an average of 4.5km per day right up till the day I went into labour. I slept like a baby until the week I had a baby. 

On 2 June, I began praying this year's 54-day Rosary Novena. This is the fourth year my best friend Danielle and I have prayed this novena over these dates, and it's been beautiful to see some very particular fruits of it in my vocation. The first year, 2020, I particularly offered as an intention Callum's and my discernment of when to get engaged (which we did that September). The next year I prayed for our preparation for our marriage, which took place in December. Last year I offered our discernment about the timing for conceiving our first child. 

And this year, by the time we started praying on June second, I knew that our child would be born some time during the 54 days. This year Callum wanted to join in praying with me and Dani, as a particular way of preparing for Percy's birth. It was beautiful way, each night before bed, to contemplate and offer up the mystery of what was about to enter our lives. Our little girl's due date was June 24th, the Feast of John the Baptist, and just around the 'tipping point' from the 27 days of petition to the 27 days of thanksgiving. I personally felt she convinced she would arrive at dawn on June 28th, the exact day the petition section finished (and when are my spooky prescient feelings not correct?). 

Sunday 25 June - officially overdue

My mum flew over from NZ to join us a week before my due date, and the countdown timer was officially on. As my due date passed, things started changing: I was having much more noticeable Braxton Hicks contractions every evening (I hadn't felt them at all until 40 weeks), some significant mood swings, and quite a lot of very soft bowel movements, which I'd heard were part of the body's immediate preparation for labour. I began getting excited that by Wednesday morning we would have a baby in our arms. 

Wednesday June 28th, the final day of petition (54-day novena)

On the morning of June 28th, as I awoke to an already pink sky, I realised I would not be giving birth before sunrise. I was 40-weeks-plus-a-few-days pregnant, I had barely slept from the excitement that today could be the day, and I was disappointed. It was a beautiful dawn, and there was fresh snow on the mountain, and everything was exactly as I had pictured it for the morning of our daughter's birth. Had God let down His end of the bargain, or had I simply managed to convince myself that some sweet imaginative ideal story was in fact one of those 'spooky prescient feelings'? 

Callum and I went to 7.30am Mass at the Cathedral, and I did the first reading: 

"My Lord," Abram replied, "What do you intend to give me? I go childless... See, you have given me no descendants."

Feels, Abram. Relatable content.

And then this word of the Lord was spoken to him... taking him outside, He said, "Look up to heaven and count the stars if you can. Such will be your descendants," He told him. Abram put his faith in the Lord, who counted this as making him justified. (Genesis 15:1-12)

Sigh. Well played, God, well played.

So Callum went to work. I went home and had breakfast with my mum. I invested in the usual daily 'come on baby' routine: six dates, red raspberry leaf tea, diffuse some clary sage, pray and journal, take a nap, bounce on the exercise ball, walk and walk and walk and walk. It was a stunning day, the wattle was already blooming, and as I walked, I made peace with the Lord that today would not be the day. 

"Kate," I felt Him say in my heart, "I am not punishing you by delaying my promises with a detour. Your journey is still on track; your body and your baby know what they're doing. Darling one, believe in what I speak to you know: she is coming and there is nothing left to prevent her. Oh taste and see that I am good! I do not leave you alone in this time of waiting."

When I got home from walking (and walking), I felt a little nauseated with some back and abdominal aching. "Hm!" I thought, "That's new! Maybe something is changing." And just like that I started believing in June 28th again. Could our baby still be born before midnight?

In the afternoon, I set up my lap pillow and syringe and cup to express colostrum, a little earlier than I usually would - but maybe it would bring on labour! Unfortunately I remembered too late the reason for my usual timing (i.e. that Callum was home and could help me with the syringing and balancing process)... I spilled the cup. It was only maybe 1.5mL of colostrum, but it was spilt milk nonetheless, and yes, I was crying over it. 

I sobbed. Callum got home shortly afterwards - and I sobbed and sobbed some more. The baby would never come, I told him. I would be pregnant forever. I had misinterpreted God's promises, this novena, the meaning behind everything in my life. My body and my baby didn't know what they were doing. I would have to be induced next week and I didn't want to be induced, especially for something as arbitrary as being overdue. And then there would be a cascade of interventions, and I'd get an epidural and an emergency caesarean and then probably die. Or I wouldn't get induced and instead we'd have to go ahead, with all of these overseas and interstate guests, with the scheduled baptism of a baby who hadn't even been born. She was staying in forever. 

Callum hugged and reassured me, and I realised that my sleepless excitement the previous night had probably taken a toll on my emotions. I needed to rest, and I needed to surrender my plan and hopes to the Lord. I was defeated, but in a good way. I could give up now. Baby's birthday would not be June 28th and that was okay. I went to bed early and slept long and well.

Thursday June 29th, the first day of thanksgiving (54-day novena)

Thursday was the Feast of Sts Peter and Paul. We woke up chilly and realised that our bedroom heater had died in the night (let's be real, it was probably 25 years old). It was three degrees outside, and not much warmer inside. I thanked God the baby had not been born the previous day. We went to Mass. The Archbishop wore red, we wore coats (Casablanca reference anyone?). I waved Callum off to work (a full week after his farewell-before-pat-leave drinks), and went home to sort out this heater. I felt weirdly crampy, in a different way to Braxton Hicks, but that was not my priority right now.

A few weeks earlier, I had removed a very similar old panel heater from the wall in our living room, since it was superfluous to need after the big reverse cycle heat pump had been installed, and might be useful in the second bedroom instead (N.B. the big heat pump was installed in our unit just before we moved in. Reader, why did she wait eighteen months to realise that the small, superfluous one could be put to better use if moved? Nesting, reader, nesting). Tragically, DIY handywoman Kate had already been foiled in her attempt to attach it in the second bedroom by a stud finder that was overzealous in its electric-cable-sensing, some thickly mysterious 120-year-old walls that in all likelihood did have that much cable behind them and a husband who forbade her from drilling into potentially electrocuting material at full-term pregnant. So the panel heater was sitting in the guest room waiting for the landlord to arrange a real handyman to come put the bracket up properly. 

But this broken heater in our bedroom? Now that was identical to the already-removed one, and therefore could just be popped off its bracket and replaced with the functional one in a jiffy. So I popped our bedroom one down, brought the other in, vacuumed them both, and held the functional one up to the bracket on the wall. It didn't align. I looked at the model number; I looked at the size of the bracket from the functional one. They didn't match. They weren't the same heater. The brackets were an inch or so different in height and length, enough that three of the four attachment screws would need to be in different locations. I sighed.

Out came the stud finder. Brightly flashing came its electric-cable-sensing light. I sighed some more. Why could nothing ever work as easily as it was meant to? 

In any case, we needed a heat source for our chilly bedroom and impending infant.

"Mama, can we go to Bunnings to buy a heater?"

We drove to Bunnings and walked around and found an excellent, great-brand freestanding convection heater at half price. I was getting quite crampy by this stage, uncomfortably so. On the drive home I mentioned it to my mum and resolved that once I was set up comfy I might start trying to notice if the crampy tightenings were coming in a specific pattern. We set up the heater (so quick to warm the room! so effective! so much better than what we'd had! thank you Jesus for letting our heater die right before the baby came!), I tucked up in bed with a cup of tea and my book, and began jotting down the times of my cramping sensations. 

The details you really wanted to know in this birth story - DIY fails and Bunnings trips. Look, it's our new heater!

At 11am, Danielle and I talked on the phone for about an hour. I had four significant tightenings during that time, each lasting a good thirty seconds. I mentioned it to Dani and she was like "OHMYGOSH are you in early labour? this is insanely cool." I definitely thought it was way too soon to count any chickens, but nevertheless got her to pray with me before we hung up. 

(As a side note, I think it's pretty special to think that Dani has prayed with me over the phone right before most of my big life events: half an hour before Callum picked me up for the date where he proposed; on my wedding morning standing outside in the sunshine about to get in the car to go to the Church, the morning my labour was beginning. Find yourself a best friend who is flooded with the Holy Spirit and wants to bless you deeply in the midst of life's sweetest moments, people, then cling to her for dear life.) 

I messaged Callum to tell him that maybe something was happening and to just be prepared to leave work in the afternoon if it ramped up. 

I walked into the city to meet him for yum cha for lunch, and by the time he came down to meet me I was pretty convinced that this was very early labour. I was contracting bang on every fifteen minutes, with a decent level of intensity, for over thirty seconds. We ate our dumplings and chatted excitedly about what the night ahead might hold. 

"She could be born tonight!" Callum said. 

"Probably more likely tomorrow," I said. 

Ah reader, little did we know.

Dumplings and contractions

By the end of lunch we were both convinced this was a real start to things, so Callum popped back up to his work for a bit to put on his out-of-office response for the next six weeks, say farewell-for-real to his colleagues, and grab his things. 

At home, we monitored for a bit longer and then called my MGP backup midwife (my primary was on her days off) to give her an early heads up that things might be happening tonight. She told us to rest up as much as we could, and she would do the same in order to be ready when we needed her. I had a shower and shaved my legs so as to be perfectly glamorous for the not-at-all-unglamorous experience ahead (haha).

I had decided a few days earlier that I wanted to watch the 1995 miniseries of Pride and Prejudice (the Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle one) in early labour as a distraction tactic. I figured that it was cosy and familiar enough to boost oxytocin well, and long enough (six 1-hour episodes) to offer extended distraction should early labour go on a while (lol - went on much longer than six hours, as you shall see, dear reader). Plus it didn't matter if we never finished it, because Callum and I have both seen it so many times. We watched the first few episodes and I jotted down the time of each contraction in my journal, fairly able to talk and breathe through them.

Around 6.30pm, my backup midwife let me know she was diverting her phone to Pregnancy Assessment Centre early so that she could sleep before I needed her, and that when I went in the ward midwives would look after me until later on in established labour, at which stage they'd call my MGP team to come in. 

Things stayed pretty steady until just before 7pm, and then ramped up in a way that felt super encouraging to this first time mama. My mucous plug began coming out in great gobby golden gloops. The gaps between my contractions dropped to around seven minutes, they were more like 45 seconds in duration, and intense enough that I needed to focus my breath work to get through them. The appearance of the mucous plug reassured me that something was happening at my cervix, effacement and hopefully a little bit of dilation too. 

My mum and Callum had some dinner, and I had two pieces of toast, which I promptly threw up with the next contraction. Oh hi, first trimester nausea and vomiting! I had forgotten you! I'm so not a vomiter in normal life, but pregnancy - and it turns out, labour - is its own kettle of fish for me. 

After dinner, we FaceTimed Callum's parents to say hi and let them know that progress was pretty slow at this stage. I ducked in and out of the call to go move into child's pose whenever a contraction came on, but was happy chatting between them.

We prayed our rosary for the day (I was contracting about once per every two decades of Hail Marys at this stage) and made sure the hospital bags were fully packed for when it was time to go in. We assumed that would be some time in the middle of the night. Mum went to bed, with the promise that we'd give her at least five minutes' notice to wake up properly before having to drive us to the hospital.

At about 11,  I told Callum to go to sleep too so he could have energy for the real work when it came. I would wake him if I needed his help.

I tried labouring in bed and sleeping between contractions, but I was uncomfortable enough during them, and hyped enough between them, that that wasn't happening. Instead I hung out on the floor, shifting into child's pose to cope with the mounting intensity of the contractions and stretching out when they passed. Some time around midnight I moved into the living room to continue this process and make a little noise if I needed to without worrying about waking Callum. 

As the work of early labour got a bit harder, I noticed myself resorting to lots of familiar choir warm-ups to control my breath and manage pain.

Vvvv-vvvv-vvvv-vvvv

Zhhh-zhhh-zhhh-zhhh

Fffffffff-----hoooooooo

Mmmm-mmmmm-mmmmm

Still quietly, but needing to be quite intentionally "low and open" to not just say OW OW OW instead!

Mum came out around 1am to sit with me in the fairylit darkness. We didn't really talk, but it was nice to have her there supporting me silently. I tried to sleep on the sofa between contractions, and moved to the rug to child's pose with each one. 

Some time just before 3 I decided I needed Callum's help and solidarity, so I went back into the bedroom and woke him up. 

"Can we pray the Divine Mercy chaplet?"

We did and I was shocked by how short it was. Well that was one-and-a-half contractions worth of distraction and self-offering.

Callum massaged my lower back and the pressure point on my hands between thumb and forefinger, and wrote down the times of contractions for me in the journal.

I had been waiting for '4-1-1' to call Pregnancy Assessment Centre: under four minutes between contractions, lasting one minute, for at least one hour. By 4am, I'd been at 'four and one' for two hours, and I thought it was worth ringing to see if they were happy for me to make my way into hospital soon.

"Hmm," the ward midwife on the end of the line said, "We're really looking for slightly shorter intervals, more like four contractions in a ten minute period, as in two to three minutes between them. You'd be more than welcome to come in for a cervical exam, but just be prepared that we may well send you home. It might be worth waiting just a bit longer."

Slightly disappointed but remembering that it was my birth preference to labour at home for as long as possible, I decided it was time to try the TENS machine to alleviate some of the intensity of these longer, stronger contractions. A sweet friend had loaned me her TENS for the birth (along with sending the most fabulous care package of postpartum goodies), and a few days earlier Callum and I had tried it out on my arm to see what it felt like and how it worked. I was still sceptical - the whole concept seemed bizarre - while we put the pads on my back and got the handheld monitor set up.

Then I pressed the 'Boost' button during a contraction, and my life changed forever.

What a magnificent thing. What a phenomenal invention. It worked, and it made everything so much more manageable. 

After half an hour or so using the TENS machine while kneeling on the floor, in and out of child's pose, I realised I was coping well enough to try labouring on my side in bed again and trying to sleep between contractions.

Callum and I got back into bed, and I tried to drift off between bouts of zapping myself and vvvvv'ing. I didn't sleep, but I definitely rested.

Friday June 30th (day two of labour)

Morning was a little discouraging. The TENS machine had helped me to rest, if not actually sleep, between contractions, and had eased the intensity of the experience so much that I'd been able to labour on my side in bed for a few hours in something approaching comfort. And as a result, the gaps between contractions had widened from four-minute intervals back to ten or eleven minutes. Oh well, I thought, gravity will help get things moving again eventually. 

While still in bed, I texted my backup MGP midwife an update on what the night had held. She immediately called me, driving to work, and we talked through how things had been going. She was kind and sympathetic and talked about what a long game early labour can be for first time mothers. I should keep resting where I could, and go out for a gentle walk in the sunshine when I felt like it to get gravity on my side. She'd be in at the hospital most of the day and would be very happy for me to come in any time I felt like it if I'd like to have a vaginal exam and see where dilation was up to. 

I tried having some breakfast, and threw it up within a few contractions. Man, I was hungry, and tired from a full night's work. All three of us were a bit subdued that morning, perhaps disappointed that we hadn't actually had to drive out into the cold, dark night to go to hospital. 

But a new day was here, the TENS machine was now permanently affixed to my back, and hopefully by lunchtime we'd be seeing some progress. On went another episode of Pride and Prejudice. 

Friday morning: the actual final bump shot - looking glamorous in my nappy and TENS machine

We went for a nice walk in the morning sun, which seemed to help things get back on track a bit. The gaps between contractions dropped down to five minutes again, and the intensity of them ramped up enough that I started playing with the settings on the TENS machine to make the zap more zappy (side question for mums who have used one: how would you describe the effect of TENS? Zap really doesn't capture it, but I don't know what does)

At 10.30am I texted my backup midwife again to update her and say that I wouldn't mind coming in soon for a VE to see how much (if any) progress we were making and to check up on baby's heartrate to make sure she was handling labour okay. The midwife said she was ready whenever I was, and to meet her at Pregnancy Assessment Centre. I told her I'd try another hour labouring at home, and then make my way in.

My mum dropped us to the hospital. We brought all our bags with us in the car just in case (wishful thinking) the midwife said I was actually fully dilated and ready to have a baby. But we didn't take them upstairs, because none of us really thought it was that stage of the game.

My backup midwife, and the lovely midwifery student she had with her, were such reassuring, motherly presences after my night of hard work. They had a feel of my belly and listened for baby's heart beat. It was strong and steady, but both of them were surprised by the location of where they could most easily hear it with the doppler. They each palpated my uterus again and agreed that it was tricky to tell what was what. They thought baby's head was down, but the bottom up the top was very hard as well, and it was strange to be hearing a heartbeat as high up as they were. There was a chance baby could be breech.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew (I had asked at my 36 week appointment) that there was only a very slim chance I would be allowed to attempt a vaginal birth with a breech baby. My MGP primary midwife had agreed that it was a shame, but there were almost no obstetricians at the hospital that were experienced in vaginal breech birth, and none who would comfortably allow it. Breech meant c-section. 

They asked the ward doctor to come in with the little ultrasound machine to accurately check baby's position. We were left alone a minute while we waited, and I held Callum tightly with tears in my eyes. I was scared.

The doc breezed in and got set up, glooped up my belly and waved her magic wand. And there was a head, right down in my pelvis where it needed to be, a spine up the right side of my abdomen, and a very bony little butt up the top. We all breathed a sigh of relief. A head-down baby is a good baby. And this one also appeared to be - at long last - engaged in my pelvis, rather than floating free as she had been the whole of pregnancy.

After the doc left, my backup midwife offered to do a vaginal exam, to which I gladly consented. I was desperate to know what the heck my cervix was up to, and just how much was being achieved by the effort I was putting in.

I was 2cm dilated and about 60% effaced. I wasn't surprised, and only a little discouraged. Okay, moderately discouraged. I was so tired. And so hungry.

The midwife offered to get someone to write me a script for some anti-nausea meds, and disappeared to go find a doc with a prescription pad. 

The student midwife sat with us for a little bit, and noticed how shaky I was. She was so kind and reassuring, and we talked about the long, long process of effacement in first labours. She had two kids of her own, and shared a little about her birth experiences.

My backup midwife returned with a maxolon in a cup for me to take then, and another in a pill pack for me to take home. She showed me a labour posture where Callum stood behind me to lift my belly during a contraction while I thrust my hips forward - this might help encourage baby deeper in to my pelvis. I was doing great, she said, and shouldn't worry - things would progress in their own time. 

So off we trundled back home.

On went another episode of Pride and Prejudice. 

On and on went my contractions. Callum and I had agreed as we were leaving the hospital to stop timing them or writing down times. If things really ramped up, we would know.

I had some toast. It stayed down for two hours or so, then I threw up again. 

I had a shower. It felt good.

On went another episode of Pride and Prejudice. Surprise, surprise, Darcy and Lizzie ended up together. We were out of episodes. No baby yet. 

My backup midwife texted around dinner time to say that my primary midwife would be back from her days off tonight - she came on call at 10.30pm, and so she'd be the one keeping in touch with us from there on in. I was so grateful to my backup midwife for her kindness and support, but also relieved to know that I now had a five-day window in which it would be my much-more-familiar primary midwife who assisted at my birth. 

I was also a bit shocked that we were already there. When I had started feeling contractions the morning of the first of my primary midwife's two days off, I had resigned myself to her not being there at the birth. Now there was very little chance she wouldn't be.

After mum and Callum had dinner (I had just thrown up again, with enough violent force that I couldn't be bothered risking food again) my body was back into a period of intensifying hard work. But something didn't quite feel right this time. The contractions were painful in a way they hadn't been, and it felt like bub's head was hitting my left hip rather than my cervix. Had she managed to disengage? 

Back to fairly short intervals, 60-80 seconds in duration, stronger and more painful, for hours. Callum and I prayed the rosary (sorrowful mysteries, fittingly) and the night wore on.

Just after midnight I realised I wasn't coping any more. I was doing what I could with the TENS machine and breathing and vocalisation and postures and Callum applying counterpressure, but I was in real pain now, and feeling increasingly discouraged that it was actually achieving anything.

I called PAC and explained this. I wasn't coping well. I was so hungry and so tired and I couldn't keep going this way. The very gentle, loving midwife on the line told me I was more than welcome to come in to have a check and a chat and we could see where to go from there. 

I had a very teary chat with my mama, who held me and told me it was okay if I needed to change my birth plans. If I needed help there was no shame in asking for it or changing my mind about things like an epidural. The most important thing was keeping me and baby safe. 

"I think I want them to augment me," I told Callum, crying, while he packed up the last bits of our hospital bags again, "If they offer to admit me and put me on a Pitocin drip, I think that's what I have to do. I don't know if I can keep going like this. Oh Lord, maybe I want an epidural after all. It's so hard, Callum, and it just feels like it's going nowhere."

We got to the hospital just before 1.30am, and we did bring our bags in this time. It was dead quiet as we made our way up to PAC.

The ward midwife who had taken my phone call looked after us. She was a soft-spoken, kind-eyed woman who radiated peace, and even in my shaky, exhausted, teary state, made me feel like it was going to be okay. She checked my urine sample and blood pressure, had a feel for baby and listened for a heart beat. All well on those fronts.

She said we by no means had to do a vaginal exam, but I said I really, really wanted one to see if I'd made any progress at all in the last thirteen hours.

I hadn't. Two centimetres. 60% effaced.

"Well, you have an induction pencilled in for next Wednesday," the kind but misguided ward midwife reminded me, "So at least there's a light at the end of the tunnel if things haven't moved along on their own by then."

Wednesday. Was she &*%$ kidding me? It was Friday night and I felt like I wanted to die from exhaustion already. There was no way I would physically survive another five nights of this. 

I explained that I was feeling pretty discouraged, that the maxolon hadn't really been effective in helping me keep food down, that I just needed some relief.

Bless that ward midwife. What I wanted in that moment was to be medically managed and to get this baby out with any intervention they would offer. What she saw instead was not a woman who needed to have a baby right now, but a woman who needed rest and nourishment in order to keep working. She treated me as someone who had the power within her, who was capable of the birth she wanted to have, but just needed some support to get through a very rough night.

She found a doc to write me a script for some panadeine forte and ondansetron. I took them both at the hospital, and the ward midwife let me know that I'd probably get drowsy by the time I was home and to sleep as soon as I could. 

Mum was surprised when we called her to come pick us up again, and sceptical that panadeine would do much for me. I was sceptical too, and disappointed to be driving towards home again, but just too exhausted to fight it any more. And maybe I was getting drowsy.

I had thought that I wanted to have a snack and a shower when we got home, but I was dopey enough when we walked in the door that I collapsed straight into bed and slept for an hour without even waking up for contractions. After that, I woke up every seven minutes when a surge came on to zap myself with the TENS machine, but fell asleep between each and truly rested.

Saturday July 1st (day three of labour)

"Well, at least we know our baby's birth month for certain now," I said to Callum when he woke up at around 8am, "Unless I'm still pregnant and in labour for another thirty days."

But I had slept! I had truly slept, nearly six (broken) hours altogether, even if most of it after the first hour was interrupted by seven-minutely contractions. The feeling of having slept was glorious, almost like starting this whole labour thing afresh. I took an Ondansetron tablet and showered and ate a big bowl of muesli and yoghurt, the first food to stay down since Thursday lunch. I took the TENS machine off (it had been on twenty-four hours by this point, and I was ready to try labouring without it again). I was rested and nourished and back to believing that I could do this. I was made for this. 

I texted my primary MGP midwife (who was back from her days off) an update at about 8.30am, and she called not long after to say I was doing a great job in what had clearly been a big few days since she had last been at work. She offered a few suggestions for how to help things along throughout that day, including trying the Miles Circuit and focusing on the belly-lift that my backup midwife had showed us the previous day.

Callum and I spent the first part of the morning using the belly-lift technique for most contractions, which not only brought me huge amounts of relief but also seemed to be helping baby shift into a much better position and deeper into my pelvis. I felt her do some big squirms, and contractions started feeling "right" again. We alternated belly lifts with Callum applying strong pressure on my lower back during a contraction while I was on my hands and knees, which also brought great relief. By 10am things had picked up again to intervals of about five minutes, contractions still at least 60 seconds and getting more intense each time.

A friend in Brisbane was getting married that morning, and so I set up to watch the livestream from the living room floor while doing the first two sections of the Miles Circuit (both of which are resting/stretching poses). I said to Callum that he should go out for some sunshine and fresh air and exercise while I was prostrate on the floor, so he left me with my mama and went for a short hike. 

You're meant to stay in the stretches even during contractions, but I found it difficult not to move back to all fours each time a surge came, and spent most of the Liturgy of the Word and the lovely couple's vows switching between these positions.

The third step of the Miles Circuit is an upright, active phase - ideally walking - but in order to watch the Liturgy of the Eucharist on the livestream I opted first for bouncing on the exercise ball while rotating in a kind of hula-hoop fashion, and doing some side lunges with one leg on a chair. By the time the wedding had concluded, Callum was home and we decided to head onto the street to do some curb-walking and sideways stairs.

Things started ramping up significantly at this point. My contractions were building in intensity and getting reasonably close together again (3.5 mins apart), and we had to stop many, many times on our short street for Callum to support my belly through each one. There were a surprising number of people out and about on our insignificant one-way street for a Saturday morning, and I felt incredibly awkward having them see Callum hold me in such an intimate posture each time we stopped! I did sideways stairs and curb-walking until I was tuckered out, and then we decided to go home for a rest to conserve my energy for the real work ahead. 

I had a bit of toast for lunch, and decided to watch a couple of episodes of Frasier to see whether some mindlessness and laughter would help with relaxing. I don't know how much of the content I took in; contractions were staying long, strong, and close together at this stage.

I called my midwife at 3pm to say that things were feeling "right" and getting pretty intense, and to discuss the possibility of being assessed again. Rather than us both go into the hospital, she offered to come over to the house, and had arrived within half an hour after getting off the phone. 

It was so good to see her familiar, friendly face, and even better to hear the magical words "4cm dilated and fully effaced." Fully effaced meant the long, hard first-time-mother task of thinning the cervix for the very first time was done, and relief flooded through me. Now all we had to do was dilate a bit more. Things were on track. 

"I'll be seeing you again tonight, I reckon," my midwife smiled as she left us, "Call me if your waters break, if you experience any heavy bleeding, or if you feel intuitively that you're ready to head into hospital. You'll know when things are at the right intensity to go in." 

Throughout the late afternoon, labour was hard work but full of joy and optimism. My contractions were getting longer, close to 90 seconds, and I was using a lot more low vocalisation to get through them. The TENS machine went back on, and I began really ramping up how much 'zap' I used with each contraction. The first 70 seconds of each was incredibly intense, but the final 20 seconds or so as each wave eased almost felt satisfying, like jogging out of a sprint. 

At 6pm I called my midwife with a pretty firm conviction that we were finally, finally heading towards admission. I was coping, but I felt ready to go in and get set up in our birthing environment. My midwife said she would call ahead to let the ward know I was coming, and reassured us that it was worth bringing our hospital bags up this time. She was pretty confident they weren't going to be sending me home any time soon. She would rest until the ward called her to let her know that I was into a later, well-established transition stage, and the ward midwives would look after us until then.

And so for the third time in three days, my beautiful saintly mama grabbed the car keys, Callum put the bags in the car and dished himself up a container of dinner to bring along, and I prepared for the ordeal of at least a few contractions sitting in the car without anyone helping support my belly or apply counter-pressure. 

Mercifully, my body responded to the change of scene by giving me a much bigger gap before the first, and only, car contraction. We're only a seven minute drive from the hospital, and we had nearly turned onto the block before a big surge came. I zapped myself hard with the TENS machine and mooed like a cow and breathed, and then it was done, and we were pulling into the drop-off bay. Mum gave me a big hug goodbye and good luck, and snapped a picture of us heading in the main entrance.

6.52pm - Our third and final drop-off at the hospital! Smiling because we know it's for real this time

We arrived at the hospital just before 7pm, and got to enjoy being that classic movie-scene-trope couple standing in the elevator foyer working through a long, hard contraction. It was a super quiet night, but a few people still walked past while I was breathing and moaning and hanging onto Callum, and a few offered to get us a wheelchair or something. We said we were fine, the moment passed, and got in the elevator. We made it up to level 7 and checked in at the birthing unit desk, whom my midwife had called to notify that we were on our way.

They examined me in the pregnancy assessment centre room (5cm dilated, baby in the -1 station, oh thanks be to God!) and said they would prepare a birth suite for me. At long last, this was it: we were being admitted. I was genuinely going to have a baby. It wouldn't be before midnight - every instinct in my body told me that we had more than five hours to go - but it would be tomorrow, some time in the small hours in all likelihood. Floods of relief and joy got me through the two or three contractions that came while we were waiting to be taken down the hall to our birth suite.

"We're heading to room nine," the midwife said as she came to fetch us. This was the birth suite at the far end of the hall, the quietest place on the ward, with a stunning eastern view out over the river and an enormous birthing pool. During antenatal class our hospital tour had included a showcase of room nine set up with fairy lights and equipment. I was chuffed that we had been allocated there, as I hadn't thought it very likely we would be so lucky. Maybe they looked at my Birth Preferences and saw the deep determination to labour naturally and if possibly in water, and thought that we might the sort of couple that actually ended up using the tub. 

The room was dark and a lovely temperature as we walked in, and the blinds open to show the city lights twinkling below and across the river. It was so serene, and the ward midwife almost immediately left us on our own to deposit our bags and get set up comfortably. When she came back in she was holding several packs of fairy lights and some battery-operated candles, which she quietly set up in the background while I was contracting in Callum's arms. The nurse popped in with two different sizes of exercise balls and asked me which I preferred, and again left us in peace. 

We laboured for a little while in the same manner as we had been at home, alternating belly-lifts with me being on all fours and Callum applying lower back pressure. When the nurse popped in again she noticed how much time I was spending on the floor, and got a thick gymnastics-style mat for us to kneel on. And again we were left in peace. It was incredibly serene.

Between contractions, I started setting up my birth affirmations next to the fairy lights around the tub. I had written and illustrated these at about 36 weeks pregnant as a lunchtime procrastination project one day. They were an assortment of scripture verses, saint quotes, and phrases from hypnobirthing that I knew would be helpful to me.

My birth affirmations (12 out of the total 24): a mixture of saint quotes, scripture verses and hypnobirthing-style phrases.

Hospital birth? Felt more like a spa retreat

I would get through blue-tacking and putting up about four affirmations before another surge would start, and then I'd return to the floor mat with Callum to breathe and make mooing noises and TENS-zap my way through it. As soon as one was over though, I felt refreshed and calm and ready to keep blue-tacking. 

After they were all up, I stood by the tub and read each on aloud, slowly. They filled me with so much confidence and hopefulness. A few in particular resonated so deeply that night:

Jesus, I trust in You

Low and Open

I will cherish this birth forever

That third one in particular made my eyes well up each time I considered it. I would cherish these moments. I would cherish the long road that had led to them since Thursday. Already, I was cherishing it. Labour was hard work but inconceivably it felt good in that same deeply, difficultly satisfying way that pushing yourself too hard in exercise feels impossible and rewarding all at once. 

Callum and I were blown away by how much we were left alone by staff, and so grateful for the privacy. On the half hour, every half hour, the ward midwife would come in to check baby's heartbeat and observe me for a contraction or two, and then quietly depart again. They trusted my body and my baby (and my husband) to keep progressing, and gave us the space for that progress to occur.

After a while, I rolled the exercise ball in front of me so that I could hang on it while kneeling on the mat, rather than using my hands. But after maybe an hour or two of labouring with the mat and the ball, my knees were exhausted and I was ready for a change of posture. We put the hospital bed in to the full upright position and I knelt facing the wall behind it with my torso fully supported by the upper half of the bed. I could just get my elbows onto the top to clasp my hands, and it felt very much like I was kneeling in prayer.

Some time during this period, Callum and I prayed our novena rosary for the day: the glorious mysteries. This was the third rosary we had prayed during my labour thus far. Thursday evening when we had said the joyful mysteries I had been elated to be in labour and convinced our baby was close at hand. Friday evening I had prayed the sorrowful mysteries with tears in my eyes, struggling with contractions that felt wrong and a deep sense of discouragement. Now, Saturday night, the glorious mysteries seemed fitting and full of anticipation, like the bonfire at the start of the Easter Vigil. 

I had one contraction with each decade of the rosary, and paused our praying to work (hard) through each. I noticed that the timer on the TENS machine was showing more like 110 seconds for each contraction now, with far shorter intervals (although the TENS machine times from the end of one to the start of the next, rather than the start of one to the start of the next, so the gaps seemed shorter than they really were in medical terms). 

At 11pm, four hours after I'd been admitted and most recently examined, the ward midwife came in to have a chat. Would I consent to a vaginal exam? They noted on my birth preferences that I'd stated my desire to have a VE on arrival but not subsequently unless I requested it myself, but since their usual procedure was to examine every four hours they thought they would offer. I surprised myself (throughout all of labour, really) by desperately wanting to know what "my number" was. I think because early progress had taken so, so long, I found any change in number of centimetres encouraging beyond belief, to know that at least my hard work was paying off.

I said yes to the exam, and the midwife let me know that the obstetrician was waiting outside and that she would like to do the exam. 

"Now, I just want to warn you, the OB is almost certainly going to counsel you that it would be good to augment your labour at this stage, either by breaking your waters or by giving you some Pitocin. You are perfectly able to say no, and you should know that if we do augment you, we'll need to do continuous fetal monitoring rather than intermittent. Have a think and be ready with your answer when she comes in."

I was so grateful to this midwife for giving me a heads-up on the approaching conversation. I knew my answer, but I felt so much stronger in giving it to the OB because I'd been forewarned that the discussion was about to take place. 

The OB came in and we had the chat about augmentation before she examined me. I told her "no, thank you," and that I'd much rather play the slightly longer, slightly more manageable game than speed things up unnecessarily. She respected my choice, and I hopped onto the bed for the VE. I was 7cm dilated, and the ward midwife smiled. "I think it's nearly time for us to give your MGP midwife a call. We'll give it a bit longer but will try to get in touch with her soon."

When they left, I grinned. I felt like a badass for defending my labour preferences. This was the first time I'd had to stand up for my choice, and I filled with pride at the thought that I was choosing a slightly longer labour for myself even after everything that had already passed. I knew both rupture of membranes and Pitocin would likely increase the intensity of my contractions a lot, and since I was coping well and still progressing I was glad to keep things as they were.

Another hour passed in quiet intervals and slightly-less-quiet hard work in what now technically qualified as 'transition', the hardest part of labour for most people. As my contractions stayed long (110-120 seconds) and close together, and continued to get stronger, I vocalised a lot. Callum did a phenomenal job reminding me to stay "low and open" and to "breathe baby down" any time my moaning got higher than a middle C. 

"You can do this. You are doing this," he whispered over and over again (dream birth partner, am I right?). And the more he repeated it, the more I believed it. I grabbed the metal crucifix I'd brought with me, and kept it gripped tightly in one hand each time a surge came on.

I could do this. I was doing this. Between contractions I felt completely tranquil. During them I felt fierce and strong and capable. It was glorious. 

Sunday July 2nd

At midnight, Callum whispered, "Happy birthday Percy," and we kissed, and prayed the Angelus together. 

12.18am - Elated because it's finally my baby's birthday.

Some time around 12.30am my beautiful midwife arrived, along with a midwifery student who introduced herself after my very-long contraction finished. I was so happy to see them! And to know that their presence there meant that everyone believed I was genuinely going to have a baby in the next few hours. They watched me for a contraction or two, then quietly moved to the desk in the corner to fill in paperwork and leave us in peace.

After another forty minutes or so labouring over the edge of the bed, I sensed a bit of a shift in my system. I wanted a new coping mechanism and I was very, very ready to be in water. I called out to my midwife that I felt I'd like to try being in the tub soon, and so they began filling it up (which took a while. Big bath).

1.19am - the last few contractions on land, with my crucifix, TENS machine and three of my favourite birth affirmations:
'Jesus, I trust in You,' 'Low and Open' and 'I will cherish this birth forever.'

At 1.30am the pool was ready. I stripped down to my stretchy nursing bra and climbed up the steps to get in. The water was delightfully warm, much hotter than I'd expected 37 degrees to feel. And instantly my body felt incredible. I propped my chin on the edge of the tub and let my whole body drift upwards so I was floating on my belly. Everything in me was comfortable again, in a way that made me want to laugh. 

My midwife let me know that sometimes water immersion can make labour stall for a little while, but not to worry - I wasn't going to go backwards - so I could just soak up the rest while it came. She was going to take a short break, but the student midwife would stick around and call her if anything intensified. 

But would you believe it? Not only did nothing intensify, it actually became completely calm. Labour stalled in the most beautiful, reliving way. After several hours of having two-minute long contractions with only a minute or less to rest between them, once I was in the tub I didn't have a single contraction for at least twenty minutes. I just floated, and manoeuvred my body effortlessly without the burden of gravity. I felt like I was at a fancy spa, rather than a woman deep into transitional labour. 

While I was floating around contraction-free, I said to Callum that he should try to catch a cat nap. I didn't need him, and it would be useful to boost his energy levels a bit. He was worried I'd get too comfortable and drown, so I called the student midwife over to come keep an eye on me. He went to the bench in the corner and was instantly asleep, tuckered out from being the world's best support person for hours (let's be real, days). The student midwife and I chatted for a while, and I enjoyed my first true comfort in a long time.

Eventually another contraction did come, but it surprised me by being far, far gentler than any I'd had for hours. I could breathe through it without any absurd vocalisation, and simply knelt leaning against the edge of the tub. Another came similar to this one, and I thought to myself, "Huh, maybe this is just what labour in the tub feels like. Maybe gravity was the issue all along."

Then the next one came. Oh nope, we were back to the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Lol jokes.

My midwife came back in around this time, and after another hard contraction I suggested that they might wake Callum up to come support me again. He came and sat on a stool at the edge of the tub near my head, and I stayed on all fours in the water, sometimes floating up to lie on my belly between contractions. I asked Callum to get the crucifix for me, thinking that I would grab onto it during contractions like before, but instead Callum just ended up holding Jesus in front of my eyes so that whenever I opened them I saw the cross and could keep on choosing the way of suffering that He chose.

I laboured like this from around 2.15am until 3am. I was working really hard, and drinking a lot of water to stay hydrated, especially in the warm pool. Pretty soon I needed to get out to do a wee, and my midwife offered to do a vaginal exam while I was out, seeing as it had been four hours since the last. I was keen, so I hopped back onto the bed.

Nine centimetres with just a small front edge of cervix left! And my membranes were gone. Some time during my hour and a half in the pool, my waters had broken without any of us noticing. The midwife could feel baby's head, including lots of hair. Hair! I wondered whether it was red. 

2.57am - 9cm dilated and still mostly a happy lady floating around in my tub

Back into the tub, knowing I only had a centimetre left to conquer (and the pushing stage, but whatever, that was insignificant), I focused all I had on visualising my uterus drawing upwards, pulling that last bit of cervix away. We were so close to meeting our baby.I think it was around this time that I asked if I could try some oxygen to help focus my breathing. The midwife at our antenatal course had said there was an option to use the gas-and-air machine (usually used for nitrous oxide) with the nitrous turned to 0 and the oxygen to 100, so you were just breathing in oxygen and none of the laughing gas. I needed a new coping mechanism and thought maybe this was it.

They got the machine set up and brought me the tube, which can reach to the bathtub. I used it to inhale oxygen during one contraction... and I hated it. It tasted weird. It made me feel refluxy. Why did people think this was a good idea? My lungs ached all of a sudden, and I asked Callum to bring me a quick-eze tablet to alleviate the heartburn that was suddenly raging.

Okay, no oxygen for me. Worth a shot though. 

Back to basics. Low and open... and LOUD. I never screamed but oh how I mooed and moaned and vvvvv'd and growled. Cling to Callum's hands. Jesus on the cross. 

We must be nearly there. 

I don't know if I suggested a check or if the midwife did, but at 4am I was back on the bed, and - confirmed! - fully dilated. We did it, we did it, we did it. We could have a baby now.

I got back into the bath (again, so much relief!) and my midwife gave me a run down on pushing when I felt the urge. I didn't yet, and, slightly sheepishly, I also realised I didn't know how to push. I asked the midwife what I was actually meant to do - which bit should be pushing? How should it feel?

"Into your bottom," she said.

I had another contraction or two with absolutely no urge to push, so I just worked through them with Callum per the usual routine (how many contractions had I had in the last three days? Let's call it an average of one every seven minutes since 7pm Thursday... were we at five hundred yet?)

But then the next one was different. I think I bore down a bit instinctively. The elusive urge to push! Okay, let's figure this out. Into my bottom. 

It was about 4.15am. 

"This is way less intense than the other kind!" I said after the first push, "Like not *comfy* but not as bad either."

That lasted about three contractions, and then HOLY DOOLEY they were suddenly a lot of work. 

I don't know how many pushes I had done, making a lot of noise, before my midwife told me that I probably was misdirecting a lot of my energy by breathing and vocalising so much. I needed to save that breath and instead send my strength downwards, not outwards. Focus on the pushing, and try not to vocalise.

That was hard. I had been coping for hours and hours with the same breath and voice work, and holding my breath felt so counterintuitive. But I tried it, and pushed hard silently instead, and felt my baby move down. It was working.

Once I was in the pushing stage, the midwife and student had to use the doppler to monitor baby's heart rate after every single contraction. They could get the doppler under the water, but not as deep as they needed when I was on all fours, so I would contract and push on all fours, then shuffle to sit on the step so they could listen to baby, then move back to all fours in time for the next surge. This felt like an enormous amount of effort. 

After maybe an hour of pushing, the midwife grabbed a mirror to put behind me in the tub so they could monitor baby's head with each contraction. She was getting close to crowning.

And then I was working harder than I ever have in my life. It didn't hurt, exactly - I had heard the term 'ring of fire' and couldn't relate at all. Maybe the hot water was easing that sensation, but my cervical opening and vagina felt just fine. It was my lungs and my back and everything in me that was sending energy downwards that was testing me to my utmost limits. I was exhausted but I knew I needed to do this.

This is my body, given for you.

There was the top of her head! They could see it in the mirror - Callum could see the top of our baby! - and then she was gone again. Another contraction, same deal: the tiniest bit of crowning and then, whoosh, she's gone again.

"Really work to keep that pressure going as long as you possibly can, Kate!" the midwife said, "You're doing such a great job, keep sending all that energy down and hold it, hold it, hold it there."

This process of giving all my strength in getting her to the edge and then holding her there as long as I could was insane. And it went on forever. 

Not only did this crowning part feel like an hour - it actually was an hour. My total second stage of labour, the pushing stage from that 4am fully dilated cervix check until birth was TWO HOURS AND FIFTY SIX MINUTES.

I'll pause for your applause.

Anyway, Percy was crowning and receding over and over again, and I knew that I had nothing left to give. 

"I just need a moment before the next one," I said to Callum in desperation.

"You can do this, baby, you are doing this!" he told me. 

"I know I can do this, I just can't do it YET," I gasped, "I need a second, I need to breathe, I need a moment, oh please Jesus, I can't I can't I can't."

I think that was the only time in the whole of labour I said the words 'I can't' - and even then, I knew and I felt with every fibre of my being that I COULD - I just couldn't right this second. But this second was here, and so was the next contraction, the next push, the next send the energy down and hold it until I felt like I was exploding from the effort. 

This is my body, given for you.

I knew she was right there - they told me I could reach down and feel her head - and I stroked her hair, and there was so much head, and how had it not come out yet? Why did she keep slipping back? 

Just a little harder, just a little more effort and she would come, wouldn't she?

And every contraction I gave more effort, worked harder than I believed possible, and she was there and she was coming... and she was gone again.

Around this time I felt like I had slipped into a sort of dream sequence. Reality was not real. I was high as a kite on the hormones surging through my body, beyond exhausted, lightheaded from the hot water, and freefalling through my own consciousness. The midwife checked my blood pressure to be sure I wasn't about to pass out, and I assume it was fine because nobody said anything. 

Baby's heartrate was still going strong between contractions. She was doing so well. 

The head midwife for the floor had come in at this stage and was watching my ongoing efforts to get this head out. 

"Her perineum just isn't stretching," I heard her say. "I think we need to try being on land for a while, get gravity back on our side."

I turned and looked at the birth affirmation on the wall behind me.

I surrender.

I had wanted a water birth. I hadn't been fully attached to the idea, but it seemed so calm and gentle and right to me as a way to bring out baby into the world. And now I had to get out of my magical, wonderful tub. I was going to have to get on my back on the bed, which is where I hadn't wanted to be. But my baby just wasn't coming in the water - I knew it for certain now - I had given all I had to the last fifteen-odd pushes while she crowned and there was nothing left but to surrender to a different way.

I surrender. 

It was 6.45am (not that I knew that). I had been in the water more than five hours and was wrinkled as a prune. I had been pushing for two and a half hours.

Getting out of the tub was exhausting. My body was heavy and weary and so ready to keep pushing. A contraction came while I was on the steps drying off and it felt like her head was hanging out of me and I needed to bear down.

"Try not to if you can, Kate, just hold on for this one contraction."

The water was right there and I just wanted to be back in it, but the surge finished and I breathed and surrendered and walked over to the bed. 

And as I did, something absolutely took my breath away. There was light in the eastern sky. Dawn was coming. She would be born at dawn, just as I had always imagined. 

That thought gave me the strength to hoist myself onto the bed and lie back with a newfound confidence.

I surrender.

Another contraction on the bed and I pushed with all I could give. The head midwife shook her head. They checked baby's heartrate: it hadn't responded well to that one. 

And just like that the OB was in the room, and gently but firmly she was explaining that my perineum wasn't stretching enough to let baby out, baby needed to come out soon, and that the safest way to do that was to cut an episiotomy.

"Can we have a moment to discuss it?" Callum cut in. Bless him. He knew the line. He knew that 'Episiotomy only in extreme circumstances with my express permission and time to discuss with partner' was written on the birth preferences sheet.

But I didn't need time to discuss. She wanted to come out. I wanted her to come out (and I really didn't want to end up with third or fourth degree tearing). I had given absolutely everything I could to this birth, and I truly didn't mind one little snip. This was the way. 

I surrender.

"Yes, do it, I am happy for that."

Everything happened so quickly from that moment. The lights came on in the room. The needle for the local anaesthetic went in. Someone told me to block my ears. I could feel movement, but the anaesthetic was going its job and I was completely numb to whatever was happening with the episiotomy.

And then I was contracting, I was pushing, she was out!

It was 6.56am.

And she was on me, slippery and squirming and breathing... and surprisingly dirty.

"Meconium liquor, and a lot of it," I heard someone say.

"Her head must have been plugging the cervix enough for it to not come out in the water."

"Call for the paeds team."

"Is it a boy?" my midwife asked (we hadn't told even her the sex and she was convinced baby would be a boy).

It's a girl, I said in my head, it's Persephone. Is she a redhead?

"It's a little girl."

"Congratulations."

"We're going to need to take her to the resus table. Dad, did you want to cut the cord?"

"It's fine, just do it quickly if you need to get her to resus."

I looked down at my little brunette daughter, making little mews and squawks on my belly, pink and breathing and HERE and covered in blood and poo. I held her slippery body and stroked her surprisingly dark hair. Her cord was clamped and cut - I had a moment of sadness thinking that she wouldn't get all of the blood that was still in her placenta - and then she was whisked away onto the resus table and surrounded by staff. (Apparently she was actually on me for a full minute, and cord clamping was delayed until after 60 seconds, so that's something)

Callum was over with them at resus. I didn't know it at the time, but he filled one of the battery-operated candles with water from the birth pool to be ready for emergency baptism. He was terrified. 

For some reason I wasn't worried at all. I knew she was fine. I had heard her little noises and felt her warmth and breathing on my abdomen. I was vaguely aware of what was happening over on the resus table - they were suctioning her mouth and nose to make sure no meconium got in her lungs, and giving her oxygen through the CPAP - but mostly I was in a sleepy state of surrender.

I did what I could to answer the question being asked of me. Was I fine with receiving the synthetic oxytocin for third stage to push out my placenta? Yes, that was the plan. Injection in my thigh. Another contraction. OB pressing my abdomen and tugging the umbilical cord. Placenta came out smoothly and I had no more pushing to do. My discharge notes say the placenta was delivered at 7.03am. Labour was over.

The paeds doctor showed up and joined the other staff at the resus table. She was breezy and confident and had no concerns whatsoever about baby. Her face had been perfectly clean when she came out, and in all likelihood she had pooed at a point where none of it could reach her mouth and nose in the birth canal. 

By this stage Percy had had five minutes of CPAP, and her APGARs had gone from a 7 at 1-minute, to an 8 at 5-minutes, and now a 9 at 10-minutes. She was doing great and they brought her back over.

At 7.07am, a Percy-pronounced-perfectly-healthy was laid back in my arms. The lights were turned off again, all the additional staff that had flooded in disappeared again except for a few midwives, and our little family of three held each other for the first time. 

It had been just over twenty minutes since I had gotten out of the tub, and in that time the sky had gone from dark with a glimmer on the horizon to full-blown purple and orange dawn. It was the most beautiful moment of my life.

Taken at 7.08am - our first family photo with Percy back in our arms after 10 minutes on the resuscitation table

I saw the tears in Callum's eyes and realised how scared he had been, and we kissed and held each other and looked at our incredible, beautiful, fully alert daughter. She was calm and wide-eyed. I turned her so she was skin-to-skin with me, with the towel over us both. 

We had done it. Persephone Grace was here in the world, at dawn on Sunday morning. The sun was rising. Our daughter was with us. And it was good.

"You are precious in my sight and honoured, and I love you." Isaiah 43:4

~~~

It blows my mind that it all happened so quickly during those twenty minutes from getting out of the tub to having her back in our arms after resuscitation. I am so filled with gratitude for the environment in which I birthed: so serenely like a home birth for 98% of the process, but then entirely and wonderfully a hospital the moment a potential emergency arose. Thankfully she didn't need help, but if she had, a full paediatric team was only one button-push away. 

And then again, right after the birth, we were left in serene silence and given hours to soak up being a new family. Scarcely anybody interacted with us during that time, although my MGP midwife and the student were at the desk making notes and doing paperwork the whole time. At some point a doctor came in to suture up the cut from my episiotomy, but I barely noticed what was happening since I had Percy in my arms and a beautiful sunrise to watch. 

They also popped an IV line in my wrist at some stage to give me a drip bag of therapeutic oxytocics as there was concern about how much blood I had lost and continued to lose during the stitching process. A complete bloodwork was ordered for later in the afternoon to check my haemoglobin levels six hours after birth. However, my midwife weighed all of the soaked bed pads and confirmed that I'd only lost 500mls of blood in total, nothing to worry over.

Percy breastfed instinctively for the first time around 7.30am, and right from the get-go had a pretty good understanding of what was needed. Then she dozed on my chest, and Callum first went downstairs to grab a bite to eat, then went over to the sofa-bench to have a doze himself. I just sat and savoured it all.

9.51am - Still soaking up golden "hour" nearly three hours later

Callum had messaged our families at some stage around the time Percy first nursed, but once all was calm and my two loves were both sleeping, I sent a few more messages to the friends who had been praying for us during labour and other significant people. I called my mum and filled her in on a few details - she had been awake most of the night worried and praying.

I also played Percy her 'Sapling Lullaby' which my dear cellist-songwriter friend Monique Clare had written and recorded for her as a baby shower gift. 

I had expected, and written down a preference for, a 'golden hour' of uninterrupted skin to skin once baby was born. What I hadn't expected was the full THREE hours we were given before the midwives approached us again. It was such a serene and beautiful time.

At 10am, my MGP midwife came over and congratulated us again and checked how I was feeling. Of course, they had been watching from a distance the whole time, and noting down the times she nursed. Now it was time for the official checks: birth weight, length, head circumference, a long series of tick boxes on 'heads, shoulders, knees and toes, eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and then some'. 

Percy was beautifully alert and mostly calm throughout the process. My midwife noted how rare it was that babies already have their eyes open for the eye test!

10.00am - little one's first weigh-in and assessments: 3060g and 53cm long

She weighed in at 6lb 12oz (3060g), and was 53cm long: in the 98th percentile for height for baby girls, but a dainty 35th percentile for weight! The midwife was relieved Percy weighed as much as she did, because she had seemed quite scrawny and the midwife wondered whether she might end up needing to be on the 'small for gestational age' pathway. 

After her measurements and initial baby assessments were done (perfect score on all counts), Percy went to daddy for some skin-to-skin time, and the student midwife helped me up out of bed to hop into the shower. The initial gush of blood on standing up was farcically dramatic, and the floor soon resembled a butcher's shop as I walked with my bloody footprints and dripping undercarriage to the bathroom, wheeling my IV bag along with me. 

A hot shower felt incredible. The midwife encouraged me to try to pass urine in the shower, which I did quite happily. I was astonished that I felt no pain around my perineum or stitches at that stage. I washed off all the blood and meconium and evidence of the night's toil, and emerged fresh and peachy.

10.21 - skin to skin with Daddy for an hour while Mama had a shower

 

While I was showering, Callum prayed the Benedictus over Percy, which he had been wanting and waiting to do for weeks. Her due date had been the Nativity of St John the Baptist, and Zechariah's prayer of elated thanksgiving, which Callum and I pray every day in Morning Prayer, seemed such a fitting "welcome to the world". It was particularly poignant given the fact that she was born at dawn

"...As for you, little child, you shall be called a prophet of God the Most High, 

for you shall go ahead of the Lord to prepare His ways before Him,

to make known to His people their salvation through forgiveness of all their sins,

the loving-kindness of the heart of our God, who visits us like the dawn from on high.

He will give light to those in darkness, those who dwell in the shadow of death,

And guide us into the way of peace."

Luke 1:68-79

Around 11.30am, we dressed our girl in her first onesie and snuggled up as a family of three. My MGP midwife and the midwifery student left to go get something to eat, but took a few family photos of us first. They had been working eleven hours at that stage, and had both done the most incredible job supporting us. We thanked them from the bottom of our hearts. 

Our afternoon passed by in absolute tranquillity. One of the ward midwives popped in to say that the OB had requested for my bloodwork to be taken twelve hours after birth rather than six, so we would be sticking around until at least 8pm to wait for those results. Would we prefer for me to stay one night on the postnatal ward, or to be discharged directly from birth suite in the evening? We wanted to go home that night if we could, we said, and so we were allowed to stick around in our luxurious birth suite all afternoon alone as a family. 

A sweet, mellow first afternoon as a family with an incredible view over the river

Grandma Alice popped in for a visit and first snuggle in the early afternoon

We FaceTimed Callum's parents and sister to introduce Percy. My mama popped in for a little while to meet her granddaughter, and held Percy for a few hours while Callum and I both napped, then left us alone as a little family of three to soak up the remains of the day while waiting for my bloods to be taken. 

It was magnificent to pray the novena rosary for the day and to realise that my primary intention had been fulfilled: a peaceful, holy and minimal-intervention birth, with a safe, healthy daughter in my arms at the end. Thanks be to God.

My bloods were taken and came back with the all clear. We were finally discharged around 8.30pm, straight from birth suite, and mum came back to pick us up. 

"Welcome to your first home," we said as we walked Percy in the door, "This is where we live."

We. The three of us. 

Thanks be to God.

Reflections on our birth experience

When I started writing this birth story, I realised that I hadn't heard very many positive birth stories from first time mums. A lot of the beautiful hypnobirthing stories and Catholic mom blog stories were all about subsequent babies. They often seemed to be framed "I had a really rough intervention-laden experience with my first, and with my second I was determined to do things differently." Even many of my friends had first births that bordered on traumatic.

I think in my heart I had begun to wonder whether a positive first birth was possible. Were these lovely stories of subsequent births the simple result that second and later labours are easier because the body knows what it's doing? I had worried, before our birth, that I was naive in thinking a natural birth would be possible, and that my novena request of "peaceful, holy, and minimal-intervention" was taking it a step too far even for God.

This birth blew my expectations out of the water. It was the most beautiful experience of my life. It was so hard, so long, so demanding of everything I could possibly give. The Friday night in particular held a crisis in confidence for me, and I think with different medical staff that night things might have turned out very differently. But the rest of my labour, especially my later labour in birth suite, was a deeply sacred experience.

Something I keep on thinking about is how insanely blessed we were in the care we received, absolutely for free. Midwifery Group Practice is 'the gold standard' of antenatal and birth care, and we were so lucky to get into the program within the public system. Our continuity of care, the midwives' birth philosophy, the luxurious facilities at the recently renovated public hospital, ongoing home visits every two days for the weeks after the birth - it has cost us nothing and the experience has been priceless. It is my prayer that every expectant mother be blessed with such excellent care. Birth should be free, accessible, evidence-based, and surrounded by kind professionals who believe in your body and your baby. It blows my mind that I had such an experience, and I want to do my best to advocate for all women to experience that kind of birth care.

Callum remembers that around midnight in birth suite, when I was deep in the 'transition' stage of labour with two-minute long contractions and short gaps between them, I would work hard and breathe and vocalise during a contraction but even before it finished be smiling radiantly. 

I will cherish this birth forever.

I believed it in the moment and I believe it now, so deeply. 

The other night when my milk was coming in and my big hormonal feelings were arriving, I came out into the living room, where Callum was holding Percy in the fairylit darkness, with tears of joy in my eyes.

"I just realised something," I sobbed, "It was the Triduum."

And it was. My labour, as I see it, properly kicked into gear at 7pm on Thursday night, the time that the Mass of the Lord's Supper would usually begin on Easter Triduum weekend. Friday afternoon and evening were the hardest part of my whole labour, a kind of Calvary. Saturday was quiet and expectant. I was admitted to hospital at almost precisely 7pm on Saturday, and so began my Easter Vigil in a darkened room waiting for dawn. And at sunrise on Sunday my resurrection glory, my daughter, was in my arms.

The Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His name.

Every single time I remember walking from the birth tub to the bed and seeing light in the eastern sky, my eyes fill up with tears of gratitude. That sunrise meant the world to me.

There may be pain in the night, but joy comes with the dawn. (Psalm 30:5)

Our Persephone Grace came with the dawn after three nights of suffering and strength. Her birth story fills me with such humble gratitude. Was it painful? You know, I'm not sure it was. Now, popping an episiotomy stitch and then getting wee on it? That's painful. I did that the other night, and it made me want to die from the excruciating agony. But the birth itself? Not painful for the most part. Maybe the Friday night was, when labour didn't feel 'right'. But the last twelve hours were not painful, just intense, crazy hard, glorious work for the best goal I have ever had. 

I have no idea how I did it, but God sustained me - us - through the hardest work I have ever done in my life. Our beautiful daughter is a week old now, and I love her beyond anything I could imagine. What a gift.

Thanks be to God.

Hi friend

Thanks for reading along, if you've made it to the end. My heart is with you in whatever you are experiencing right now. May the God who provides bless and sustain you in all your needs.

My love,

Kate

AMDG