Pregnancy
I had a strong idea of what to expect of the birth and Pebbles had a strong idea of how she wanted the birth to go. Natural birth, in hospital, no epidural – I had no idea I was marrying a masochist. She wanted it to be as natural as possible, to feel as much as she could. I’m not sure I’ll ever truly understand her reasoning. I of course understand in a literal sense, but how someone could know of the pain and stress on the horizon, and commit to it so as to try and help in the long run? That takes guts.
As I’ve said in previous posts, Pebbles had Obstetric Cholestasis. It affected her liver, and the long and short of it was there was an increased risk of death to both Pebbles and Rouan during childbirth. So safe to say I was bricking it a bit. I imagine while I was dropping bricks, Pebbles was forcing out entire houses. Weird metaphor but I’m sticking with it; just try not to visualise too much. With Obstetric Cholestasis you’re pretty much guaranteed to be induced, that is, have birth hurried along rather than let nature run its course. However, because the condition took so long to be formally diagnosed (three weeks off of due date), induction was sort of up in the air.
On one hand we didn’t want induction. Pebbles wanted everything to be as natural as possible and we also wanted to give our baby as much time in his natural incubation chamber as possible. Plus, it was Christmas, and our first house purchase was causing us stress, so we needed all the time we could get.
On the other hand, induction gives you a concrete timeline. One of the worst things about pregnancy is the uncertainty of it all. Going to work wondering if you’re going to get the call, worrying about your phone having signal at all times, having everything ready to go at the drop of a hat – you can’t focus on anything else in those final weeks. So induction offers you a literal date in which to be ready by, and that’s a huge help. It also helps you to plan paternity leave, as you can give a solid date in advance and make sure it is all good to go. In the end, we decided that induction would be best – not that we had a choice – and made peace with it.
For me, the thought of birth worried me. I’m squeamish, afraid of needles, and afraid of hospitals in general – so birth is pretty high up on the ‘oh hell no-ometer’. Add all this to the fact that the person you love the most is about go through trauma, and you’re about to become a dad – just thinking about it now gives me anxiety. It’s impossible not to worry. The amount of things that can go wrong will keep you up at night and change your internet browsing history forever. You’ll be familiar with the emergency C-section protocols weeks before the due date. You’ll know all the parking charges off by heart. But still you won’t feel ready. Because it’s impossible to be ready. Nothing prepares you for the birth of your child, and that’s fine.
A Bit Of A Shock
It was Christmas Eve. Most of us men were out panic buying the wrong perfume and deciding between the last remaining Christmas cards, wondering which looks less like a last minute job. But Pebbles and I were sat in the hospital, wondering when they were going to book us in for induction. Rou was due in 2 weeks, and induction usually happens at 4 weeks. The consultant left the room to go and see when they had free. I guessed 27th, after Boxing Day, you know, let everything calm down a bit. It took her ages to come back into the room but eventuslly she did and said something that shook me to my core.
“We have this afternoon at 4pm.”
Nah.
Nope.
Eh?
Nah.
Pebbles and I turned to each other knowing exactly what the other was thinking but too afraid to say. I asked if I could swear. I didn’t wait for permission and did anyway. Someone had just told me they wanted to induce Pebbles that same day, on Christmas Eve. The past months had been incredibly stressful due to buying our house and worrying about Rou, and we needed to get Christmas out of the way so we could think clearly. Plus, we weren’t 100% ready with our bags and plans etc. We told the nurse our concerns and were offered Boxing Day around 10am – we accepted.
We knew induction was necessary and it was best to get it done asap but it’d be better for everyone if we could hold off a day or two. We also secretly wanted a 2020 baby so it’d be easy to remember how old he is every year, but of course I’d take a healthy 2019 baby over a poorly 2020 one.
Hospital
So we spent Christmas with family and took final photos of Pebbles’ pregnant belly and just revelled in the merriment, knowing that the day after was going to be very different.
So we arrive at the hospital on Boxing Day knowing everything was about to change. We got checked in and settled in a little bay with a bed and a chair and various medical equipment. It felt like we were staying at a hotel, one that gives you a baby at the end of your stay. We were on a ward with 7 beds, each with a drawable curtain. There was a small bathroom with a shower and a toilet. It got very warm at times but if you asked for a fan one would be brought. It wasn’t an incredible room but you’re not really there for the amenities.
It was around 1pm when the doctor arrived to put the pessary in. A pessary is a small tampon-like device that is put into the vagina and slowly releases a hormone to soften the cervix and thus induce labour. Pebbles and I had researched it online and found out little information about it, so weren’t completely sure what to expect. So I’ll give some information we wish we knew beforehand – it hurts, a lot.
Obviously it didn’t hurt me, yet again I got away scot free, but it hurt Pebbles. At risk of being vulgar, it doesn’t just go in the vagina, it goes…beyond. At first Pebbles was looking at me like, “oh this isn’t too bad”, and then the midwife said, “ooookay” and just seemed to find more room to put the pessary in. My toes curled so god knows how Pebbles felt, but her face gave me a good idea. So pessaries hurt. It is now online, written down and there for everyone to see, because nowhere on the internet did it tell us that.
After that ordeal, we were just supposed to wait for the pessary to do its thing, so now we had to find a way to kill the time!
Hospitals are fairly boring, as if they’re not made to entertain, so you have to bring your own fun. We brought a couple of board games, a book, pens and paper for a good ol’ game of hangman, and a Nintendo Switch. Pebbles found a liking (and loathing) for Untitled Goose Game, which served its purpose and killed some time for us. Aside from that we went for little walks or just chatted. But as pretty boring a place as it is, I cannot speak highly enough of the place.
Our NHS is an absolute wonder. The midwives on the ward aren’t there because it’s a job, they’re there because they care. They will be with you in a flash if need be and will help you at every opportunity. The food is surprisingly good, contrary to old-timey stand-up sets. “Hospital food, amiright?” Yeah it’s ace! 3 different meals a day with as much as you can eat, that’s pretty impressive. The chairs are comfortable. The beds not so much but you can’t win everything. It’s hard to find anything glaringly wrong. As far as arguments for having another baby go, experiencing the NHS, being around such wonderful staff, and being fed 3 good meals a day are all pretty high on the list. But the time comes when it stops being a glorified waiting room, and it’s time to kick into gear.
Contractions
Contractions started on 27th December, around lunch time. Not incredibly strong, but regular and painful enough to give an indication that the pessary was doing its job somewhat. Pebbles described the pain as like very bad period pain. The midwife put Pebbles on a machine that measured her contractions – a cardiotocography machine – and they left her for 20 minutes to see how she was progressing. The decision would then be to see if she was in a position to have her waters broken, or if she needed another pessary, which was the last thing we wanted. I say we, the last thing I wanted was to watch Pebbles have another pessary, which is nowhere near as bad as actually having to have one.
The 20 minutes were up, but it was lunch time, so the decision would have to wait. So add another 20 minutes for eating, then we were told the doctor was swamped and we’d be seen to as and when was possible. Another 30 minutes went by so we decided to go for a walk to try and get things moving along. Anything to avoid another pessary.
I enjoyed the walks we took a lot. They were calm and relaxing in a stressful time. It felt like these were the last relaxed times Pebbles and I would have together for a while and I wish I’d savoured them more. We strolled the corridors and wandered outside to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. I’d highly recommend going outside with your partner if possible, it seemed to help both of us calm down and reenergise. Pebbles hadn’t been, or seen, outside for a while, whereas I had been home and come back the night before.
Partners are only allowed on the ward between 9am and 10pm. I’m of the opinion that partners should be allowed on the ward at all times, if anything I think it’d relieve some of the strain on the midwives, but rules are rules, and in hindsight it probably helped Pebbles and I get some sleep rather than distracting each other.
Back on the ward and the doctor came through to examine Pebbles and, in a rare moment of luck, said she didn’t need the second pessary. She was ready to have her waters broken, we just needed to wait for a space in a delivery suite. Cue more waiting.
We waited until around 6pm, still the 27th December, Pebbles still having regular contractions, before we were finally told there was a delivery suite ready for us. So I started packing all three thousand of our bags (not actually, it was about five) and Pebbles got herself ready. It was happening, we were about to go and kick things off big time. A day and a half of waiting and passing the time and now we were on the home stretch. So I stood, all five bags strapped to me or cutting off blood flow to my fingers, Pebbles achingly making her way out of her little curtained room, when another midwife came charging into the room – never a good sign.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, change of plan. There’s a woman further along than you that needs the delivery room, you’ll have to wait.”
Excuse me what now? Is this some kind of sick joke? Is Derren Brown running an experiment to see how far the sleep-deprived human mind can be pushed? Okay bit of an exaggeration, but still, we were gutted. Pebbles was distraught and I was annoyed because I’d just packed everything away! The NHS clearly has no respect for their patients. Who did this more pregnant woman think she was?! As much as I’m joking, it was pretty soul destroying. Pebbles was in a lot of discomfort, we were both agitated and itching to get into our own room, and we wanted to get the baby out! But, alas, more waiting…yay.
We waited and waited and waited, then waited some more before finally we waited. It got to 10pm. I was supposed to leave. We asked how the delivery suite was looking, and if there’d be a room any time soon but the only answer we ever got was a vague “dunno”. I was about ready to march onto the delivery suite myself and drag a child into this world, until the midwife said I could stay a little longer. Turns out a little longer meant an hour. Come 11pm, I was told I had to leave.
That was heartbreaking. 5 hours ago we should have been having waters broken and settling in, and who knows maybe Rou would’ve been born by now, but no. Pebbles was stuck in the same bed she had been for 36 hours and I was told I had to go home. A million thoughts raced through my head. What if they take her onto the delivery suite just as I start driving home and I can’t answer my phone? What if the same thing happens tomorrow and we’re still not on the delivery suite? Seriously, why couldn’t I just stay this night? But, as I said, rules are rules, and I left.
Pebbles and I felt deflated to say the least. Neither of us had been sleeping properly, Pebbles was in agonising pain, both from contractions and just uncomfortableness. The whole process was beginning to wear us down. But we knew our time would come, eventually.
Part 2 will follow on Saturday 2nd May.
For Dads Everywhere 