Delivery Suite
It was 5:30am on 28th December 2019.
The midwife came through to Pebbles to take her onto the labour ward and into a delivery suite, and I was called shortly after. I was in the room with Pebbles at 6am. Up, showered, out and at the hospital in 30 mins. Impressive, if I do say so myself.
That call is intense. You’re on edge the whole night, thinking a call might come through, but you still fall asleep because you’re so exhausted. And then you’re awoken by your phone and you see your partner’s name and you are more awake than you’ve ever been in your entire life. Even though you’ve had no sleep you’re more aware of every hazard on the road than usual. You drive safe but fast. Your body is 99% adrenaline, 1% fear, and then you arrive and everything’s…calm.
The delivery suite is a fairly big room. There’s a bed in the middle, lots of medical equipment, tea, coffee, sugar, milk, a fan, a small retractable tv, an en suite with a shower and toilet, gas and air, a few chairs – it’s great. Pebbles had already been fed toast before I got there and had juice brought to her. They’d looked after her well but now I was here and I’d brought snacks and drinks and all sorts. In the end I ate most of the food and drank most of the drink but it’s the thought that counts. Isotonic energy drinks are a must by the way, although the ones we got weren’t great (Asda’s own – don’t judge, we had a child on the way), so just bite the bullet and get Lucozade.
Soon after, Pebbles’ mum arrived. She was sticking with us through the whole thing which I was thankful for. And soon after that, the doctor arrived to break Pebbles’ waters. Usually the midwife will do it but because Rou hadn’t made his way fully down yet it would be a bit more difficult, so the doctor was called. I don’t think there was one procedure throughout the whole thing that didn’t look incredibly uncomfortable and/or painful. To break the waters, the doctor inserts a long thin hook into the vagina, and plucks at the amniotic sack until it opens, which, reading back, sounds horrendous and I’m glad I’m not a woman (as if the last 9 months hadn’t already cemented that). Unlike the movies, waters breaking is usually just a small trickle that can last as long or as little as is needed, very rarely is it the cinematic gush we see on the big screen. After a couple of attempts, the waters were broken, and nature was to take its course.
When the waters are broken, the body should now start ramping up for delivery, but sometimes things can go a bit slower and that’s when a hormone drip is brought in. Rouan didn’t progress too much once the waters were broken, so in the end the doctor did decide to use the hormone drip. They inserted a cannula into her hand and after a while of tinkering, Pebbles was hooked up and ready to start things for real.
Most mothers say that you forget the pain of childbirth, and Pebbles has agreed to an extent, but she does say that she will never forget the pain of the cannula. Whether it was inserted wrong or if they are just that bad I’m not sure, all I know is that her hand was in agony. The pain lasted a long time, two weeks in fact, with a pretty big bruise, which makes me think it was inserted a bit dodgily. But what do I know, I’m not a midwife.
Something that surprised me was that a midwife stays with you pretty much 24/7 when you’re in the delivery room. Even if nothing’s really happening she’ll sit with you and chat and look after you. It was very comforting and pleasant and it distracted a lot from what was going on, which for Pebbles was a lot of pain a lot of the time. It helped that our midwife was a big Disney fan so we had A LOT to discuss. Disney fans don’t talk about Disney, they discuss it. And even if she wasn’t a Disney fan, I’d still be singing her praises. She was younger than both Pebbles and I, and I think she had only been on the job a few months, but she was brilliant. She knew exactly what to say, knew what we were going to ask before we did, was constantly looking after us. She was so attentive she was even going to forego her lunch break but we insisted she go, and even then she got someone in to come and cover. And she was brilliant too! Maybe it’s a requirement. You have to be an upstanding citizen and general good person to be a midwife. I cannot speak highly enough off our midwives and the midwife role in general – they are superhuman and we don’t deserve them – but I’m glad we have them.
From the off they were tracking Rou’s heart rate with a small device they strapped to Pebbles’ belly. On the screen next to her it would display his heart rate. I cannot stress this enough, try not to get too engrossed in his heart rate. If you do then the slightest drop or peak is going to send your worrying sky high.
Because nothing goes swimmingly for us and we’re the embodiments of literal awkwardness, the device was having a hard time getting Rou’s heart rate regularly enough for us and the midwives to be confident he was okay. It would shoot up then drop down and disappear altogether, which was toying with our emotions quite a lot. Turns out Rou was kicking it off. No matter how well the device was strapped to Pebbles, Rou was strong enough to boot it out of position. The doctor decided that a Fetal Scalp Electrode was necessary. As far as names go, that one seems to have been dragged from hell by the NHS personally. It’s essentially a small clip that is attached to baby’s head (while still in the womb of course) that measures their heart rate consistently and accurately. It didn’t take long but didn’t look like the most comfortable procedure. While it felt cruel and we did feel guilty about putting it on him (it kind of hooks into baby’s head), sometimes you have to do what’s best. And now we could see on the screen that he was fine and there was nothing to worry about.
With Rou doing okay, attention turned to Pebbles. The contractions were now pretty strong since the hormone drip had started, and were pretty regular, a few minutes apart. Pebbles was in pretty bad pain at this point and gas and air can only do so much, so she was offered Diamorphine which she gladly took. I didn’t dare ask if she’d wished she’d had an epidural, but I feel like the answer would have been “no”, or some variation, perhaps a more sweary one. Diamorphine is a painkiller that is injected into the leg, it lasts up to 4 hours and isn’t used towards the latter end of labour. It seemed to do the trick and while she was still in agony, I could tell she was a lot better off (she’ll say otherwise, and who am I to argue).
This was around 1:30pm and Pebbles was 3cm dilated (thank god for messaging timestamps). For the next four hours or so, Pebbles just went through the motions like a trooper. Contractions pretty regular, getting more and more painful, we were all desperate for the midwife to tell us the baby’s ready. It was around 5:00pm that my future mother-in-law and I realised Pebbles’ contractions were getting very strong and more frequent, two minutes apart and sometimes even closer. The midwife examined her and said she was at 6cm, which was about right as a rule of thumb is 0.5cm every hour. But Pebbles was in terrible pain at this point. It was horrible to watch, you’re so helpless and hostage to the situation. We asked for more Diamorphine, which she was due but needed the doctor’s sign-off on, so the midwife left to get that sorted. She was gone for about an hour. There was some kind of emergency that dragged her away which is fair enough, but things had become a little more extreme in our room.
By the time she came back, around 6pm, Pebbles was in serious pain. The midwife had the Diamorphine though which would hopefully help. Before giving it to her she checked how many centimetres Pebbles was, as we told her how many contractions she was having and how often and how severe, and Pebbles felt the need to push. As I said before, Diamorphine can’t be used in the latter stages of labour so the midwife had to check. Pebbles was 10cm. She was fully dilated. She had dilated 4cm in 40 minutes. Rather than 0.5cm in 60 minutes as is standard, Pebbles had done 4cm in 40 mins. No one could quite believe it but at least there was some justification to the trauma we had all seen Pebbles go through while the midwife was gone.
Birth
So the baby was coming. Just like that. Unfortunately, that meant no more Diamorphine, but the best painkiller of all right now would be to get the baby out as fast as possible, right? I don’t know, very easy for me to say. So we all started to get ready for the final act and to begin pushing. Everything became very tense and scary and real in that moment. I went to the side of Pebbles as I was under strict instructions to go nowhere near the baby producing end. Although as I passed I took a quick look. You’re probably expecting squeamish old me to regret that but I didn’t. There’s something about the situation that made it more fascinating than anything else. A human was about to enter the world. And it was going to be my human. A little combination of me and Pebbles!
Back in the room and the midwife got Pebbles into position – on her back, legs apart and knees to her chest – and said, “on the next contraction I want you to push”. There is a technique to pushing which I’m sure all woman are aware of after frantic Googling throughout the pregnancy, but in case the guys don’t know – she should push down into her bum, keep her chin down, push with the contraction and stop when it stops, don’t scream and make as little noise as possible. The last point is to focus all your energy down rather than out of your mouth. So Pebbles starts to push. Pebbles’ mum and I were either side of her and were doing our best to encourage. It’s hard to make yourself do that, as you’re essentially saying, “come on I want you in more pain do it harder come on cause more pain to yourself,” or at least that’s how I saw it. But, this is one of those moments in which you’ve got to grit your teeth and plough through. It’s very difficult being a birthing partner.
She might actually kill me for that one so if I suddenly go missing…
Back to it and Pebbles is pushing, her mum and I are encouraging her to do so, focusing her attention as much as we can. We tell her to push, and push down. We tell her to keep her chin down and give everything she’s got into pushing down through her bum. It’s an incredibly tense situation and it’s easy to start becoming unfocused yourself, so make sure that what you’re saying and doing is actually helping her. If she tells you to shut up, do so. If she doesn’t say anything then it’s probably helping her, or she just has bigger fish to fry. I think the best advice I could give is to ask your partner what she wants beforehand. I know Pebbles well enough to know that if I start blowing on her face or stroking her arm she’d rip my head off, but shouting “push” over and over will keep her concentrated. But if you’re not sure, just talk to your partner beforehand, the earlier the better, because it might not be the ideal time when a baby’s trying to force it’s way out of her.
One thing I was surprised to learn, and I don’t know how I didn’t know this, is that the pushing part can go on for hours. In the movies it’s just like 5 minutes or so and ploop, baby, but in reality it takes time. Generally they let you push for two hours then tell you to stop, because that is bound to be draining and damaging for both mother and child. Pebbles had been pushing for about an hour, doing incredibly well, and there was progress being made. It took a while to get the baby past the “U-bend”, which is the most difficult part, but now was the dangerous part. The baby is now in a small space with limited air flow and blood flow, so this part needs to go as quickly as possible. If his heart rate dipped or sped up then we’d have a serious problem, and occasionally with each contraction his heart rate would dip. He’d get close to coming round but then just head back in – he was pretty comfy I think. Bear in mind he was ten days early, I don’t think he was quite ready to come out.
The midwife decided to get the doctor in. She wanted to check if Pebbles should stop pushing, carry on, use forceps, or something else? Pebbles really didn’t want forceps being used, (they can squish baby’s head) and she felt like he was close and believed in herself enough that she could get him out. The doctor came in and said he’d give it until 7:20-7:25pm, (it was around 6:45pm) and if Rou still wasn’t here, they’d make a small cut at the bottom of the vagina to give the baby more room to come out.
That had always been Pebbles’ worst nightmare. Throughout the pregnancy, at any mention or thought of that, she just refused it as a possibility. Again, fair enough. I know I wouldn’t want some doctor coming near my nether regions with a scalpel. I sometimes wonder if the doctor used this as a threat as he knew Pebbles had it in her to do it without aid, and just needed a bit of encouragement in the form of fear, or if he actually meant it. But either way, it worked.
The doctor left having threatened my fiancée at about 6:50pm. Rou was born at 7:08pm.
Afterbirth
In those final pushes there seemed to be a newly found determination in Pebbles. Maybe the small rest when the doctor examined her helped or maybe it was just fear, I think a combination of the two, but either way with one final push, my son was born.
I will warn you guys, from the start of that last push, to seeing your baby being held aloft and brought onto your partner’s chest will be the craziest minute of your life. Nothing will fill you with as much terror as seeing your partner scream with a ferocity you had no idea was possible, only to see her face essentially return to normal in a split-second, and for it to dawn on you why that happened. And you look down and there’s this strange mandrake of a baby, all curled up and crying, as red as your hand from your partner squeezing it. I wish I could tell you how you’re going to react or feel, but I think that’s something as unique as the baby itself. For me it was just awe and pride in Pebbles. I cried when I saw him, and when he cried for the first time and his lungs filled with air I cried a bit more. And I looked at Pebbles who was crying too, but whether it was happy tears or painful ones I’m not sure, probably both. You will feel every emotion possible. Love, happiness, fear, worry, guilt, excitement – and countless more.
And maybe it’ll dawn on you what just happened, maybe it won’t, it still hasn’t for me and I’m four months in. I was just so thankful that we had got through it without major complications, something that seemed impossible given our track record. I couldn’t be prouder of Pebbles and how she handled it all, and I can never make it up to her for everything that she did for me by bringing Rou into the world. To dilate 4cm in an hour, and give birth an hour after that is ridiculous, and maybe a little bit down to hypermobility, but mainly because of Pebbles’ determination.
And when the adrenaline wears off after a minute or so you can actually focus on your baby rather than just panicking about everything. Seeing him there on Pebbles’ chest, both of them staring at each other was immeasurably cute, and that I was a part of that filled my heart. The world seemed to stop, like it was giving us a moment all to ourselves. After all we’d been through, especially Pebbles, we were having our comeuppance. And then you realise there is a world around you that is still moving.
Unfortunately, the placenta still has to come out. While not as bad as a human being pushed out, still not great. Luckily, an injection can be given which hurries the process along and in a couple of minutes, out came the placenta. I thought I’d already seen the most insane thing of my life that day, but then I saw a placenta. An organ that Pebbles had grown, used to look after a human, and then disposed of once its use had been fulfilled. It was…something.
Once that was taken care of, the midwife examined Pebbles and said there was a tear. As far as tears go it wasn’t awful, but I’m not going to sit here and say her torn vagina was nothing to worry about. So the doctor and a midwife stitched her up, much to Pebbles’ displeasure. At this point all the painkillers had worn off long ago, so she went back on the gas and air and I got to hold my baby. Seemed like a fair deal.
I took my top off to get some skin-to-skin with Rou – guys, do this – and just relaxed and basked in that new baby glow. It was surreal. It still is surreal. Pebbles looking at me while she essentially got operated on, me with my son naked against my chest, him looking around and taking the world in. It was very tranquil, despite Pebbles’ groans and grimaces – she can’t even give me a minute with my son without interrupting! That was another joke, if you don’t hear from me she may have fed me to a tiger.
And then we spent a while just looking at him. Pebbles getting stitched, my future mother-in-law and I taking turns holding Rou and staring at him. Eventually Pebbles was sorted, or as sorted as one can be given the circumstances, and we put Rou in his little outfit. Make sure you’ve packed an outfit for your baby to be put in, and bear in mind they’ll need a hat, but also bear in mind that every single hat you buy from a shop will be way too big. It’ll slide off, it’ll drop on the floor, it’ll be a pain in the arse, but babies lose most of their heat through their head so it’s important to keep it toasty. In fact when my sister, Sophie, and family came to see him later on, not long after Pebbles’ minor surgery, we assigned Sophie the job of hat duty, so if it started to fall without us knowing she had to catch it. She was pretty good at it. Shout out to Sophie.
They try and keep the amount of guests to a minimum while in the delivery suite, so my in-laws had to leave after they had spent some time with us and Rou so my family could come in. My mum, dad and sister came, appropriately just as Pebbles was trying to breastfeed for the first time, which was difficult, which I’m sure nine times out of ten is the case.
Couple of things I didn’t know that maybe you don’t know either. Breasts don’t immediately produce milk, they produce colostrum first, which is a much thicker, yellow liquid, which is more concentrated in nutrients to help the newborn get all they need in the critical early days. It can take a long time to breast feed too. You can be working on your baby latching and feeding for an hour or two, and they only actually feed for a few minutes. It’s difficult, and it takes patience, and once again I type this as a man telling women how best to proceed – but breast is best, that is undeniable, give it every ounce of patience and time you have.
Back to the delivery suite and my family had had their snuggles and pictures taken and the like. In between visits we were brought toast and tea and juice and looked after well, a theme throughout the whole thing, but as soon as my family were gone, we were on the path to being shipped back onto the ward. Pebbles needed to take a shower and get herself as generally sorted as possible, while I basically made sure she didn’t pass out on the way to or in the shower. I don’t know if you’ve ever taken a shower in the tiniest cubicle ever, after the most tiring, traumatic few days of your life, after severe blood loss and minor surgery – and neither have I, but it looked difficult. While this was happening, Rou was safely tucked up in his little bed/plastic tub on wheels, snoozing as he had done for the past 9 months or so. And then when Pebbles was finished, we gathered everything together and were told it was time to head back to the ward. All five bags, a wheely tub with a baby in it, and Pebbles in a wheelchair, would’ve been impossible to make our way back but luckily a midwife helped us out.
Back On The Ward
And that was it. Our time in the delivery suite was over. We were back where we started, albeit on the otherside of the room, on the ward. It was now around 11pm. If you’ve made it this far, you might remember that partners had to leave at 10pm. Surely they wouldn’t send me home though? Surely they wouldn’t send me away from my 4 hour-old baby, and leave my partner to fend for herself while on strong painkillers following severe trauma.. right?
Wrong.
Yep they sent me home. I felt awful. Pebbles was in no state to look after a 4 hour-old, and maybe not even herself, even if Rou had been fast asleep for a couple hours and showed no signs of stirring. I took unnecessary bags with me and after elongated goodbyes and a while of staring longingly at Rou, I headed home. Driving as a new dad is scary. You become very aware of everything going on around you, which is probably how you should be at all times but I know no one is. You drive 10mph below the speed limit, you have both hands on the wheel and you check your mirrors constantly, because you have a baby now.
It won’t stop you from going for a McDonalds though, which is exactly what I did. I was starving and needed a second just to stop. It had been a stressful, long, intense, amazing day, and eating a chicken selects meal in the car at midnight was exactly what I needed. Then I headed home, texted Pebbles, demanded pictures of him, and fell asleep.
It was quite helpful coming back home to be fair. I got some sleep, not much but every little helps, I could restock clothes and drinks and food and anything else Pebbles might need, but I definitely would’ve chosen to stay with Pebbles and Rou. Having to leave them, Pebbles in agony and barely able to look after herself, and a 4 hour-old baby – 4 hours – was hard. He was 4 hours old and I was forced to leave them both. Not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for not kicking up more of a fuss about staying, and I definitely would have done had I not trusted the staff as much as I did, but Pebbles got through it and even managed to feed him, which to me sounded like something so obvious. Baby is born, mum makes milk, baby has milk from mum – right? But no it takes a while. Babies don’t always just feed right away, they need a lot of encouragement and patience, and a lot of hard work by the mother to get them to latch and feed.
Anyway, Pebbles and Rou survived the night, and I was up and out as soon as I could be to go and see them. I was back on the ward at 9am catching up with what had happened during the night and spending what I felt was the first real time with Rou. He was amazing. He was peaceful and calm, didn’t make a fuss. Even during his checks with the doctor. They check babies top-to-tail, eyesight and hearing to hands and feet and everything in between, he didn’t make a huge commotion. He did however, wee, poop, vomit and cry on the doctor, which made me very proud. But everything was fine. He was in perfect health, which is all you want to hear.
Attention then turned to when we’d be able to go home. Because of Pebbles’ obstetric choleostasis we thought they might keep her in overnight again, but the midwives said if they see Rou feeding well they’d discharge us.
We left the hospital around 7pm.
And that was that. 10am Boxing Day til 7pm 29th December. The beginning of the rest of my life.
I know this wasn’t very advice heavy, and it was pretty much just a chronological retelling of the birth of my son, but I will write another post more on the advisory, subjective parts.
And that’s it! Birth. It’s long, it’s difficult, it’s painful, and I guess it is for the mother too wahey!
On a more serious note, I couldn’t be prouder of Pebbles. She handled herself incredibly well, especially considering the lack of painkillers she had during her stay, not that there’s anything wrong with painkillers, hell I’d recommend them and I wasn’t even in pain. But she was formidable. Giving birth and 2 hours later having a shower. Spending Rou’s first night when he was only 4 hours old with him, while I had to leave. And somehow pushing a human out of her vagina was pretty impressive too. She is a machine, I’m sure of it.
And I’m proud of Rou too. He was a dream as soon as he came into the world, holding his head high and letting his curiosity run free, I can’t wait to watch him grow up. And now we have our little family.
For Dads Everywhere 