In God’s Hands – by Wilma Whittaker

I really wanted to give birth naturally and was planning to do so with the help of my GP. I didn’t think it was necessary to use a gynaecologist. We only have a hospital plan and cost was something we had to consider also. We could save quite a lot by getting the sonar scans directly at the radiologists, etc.

At the same time I placed my pregnancy and the birth of our first child in the hands of God since it was He who bestowed this gift on us in the first place.

At about 15 weeks of my pregnancy, our GP informed us that he will no longer be performing births. So few people do so with their GPs these days, that the high insurance premiums mean it is becoming too expensive (to uphold the insurance) for him.

I saw this change in plan as a possible intervention by God and decided to “go with the flow” and with the GP’s recommendation of a certain gynaecologist, about whom I also enquired with some of my friends who had their babies with his help. They were all happy with him and so that is what I did.

I did look into the possibility of a doula but felt it wasn’t for me as I knew my husband would be with me through the whole process and although we’re both new at this whole process, we’d face it together and be in good hands at the hospital.

I didn’t want a home birth. It sounded like extra preparation we could do without and secondly, what if something went wrong during labour?  We would have to somehow get to the hospital 40km away, as there are no specialists (paediatrician, gynaecologist etc) at our small town private hospital and I don’t trust the state hospital following some horror stories I have heard (from past patients, and from one of the doctors here).  At my age (35) I wasn’t sure what kind of complications could arise, even though I was in good health.

I started getting contractions at 4am on the Sunday morning (40 weeks and 4 days).  Well I didn’t know if they were contractions or false labour as they were irregular, but also less than 10 minutes apart.  Around 7am when my husband woke up I told him, “I think today’s the day!”  After I got up and had a shower the pains became less regular and further apart (about 2 an hour) so I thought that was obviously false labour.

I didn’t know how long it might take until real labour ensued, even though I have read up quite a lot about the birth process. I guess there’s nothing like first hand experience to educate.

My water didn’t break. The contractions didn’t become more regular/stronger… so we just hung around at home and relaxed.

Around lunchtime I had a bit of bleeding which I thought had to be the show. I called the maternity ward at the hospital and they said I should come in so that they can check things out. So… I had lots of time to pack my (already packed) hospital bags and sms my folks and those kind of things, just like people had told me (first babies don’t just “pop out”).

When I got to the hospital I got checked into a private room (lucky!) and was examined. My cervix was still closed, but I was right about the show. They confirmed that indeed I was in labour.

About two hours later the contractions started picking up. After some walking around (my husband was with me all the time lending a hand to be squashed and a shoulder to literally lean on) and practising the natural pain relieve methods I had read about in Sister Lillian’s book (which my pro-natural birth sister lent me) like leaning forward against the wall and making circular moves with my hips, I got an injection for the pain. I later learned that this was Pethadine and was actually thankful for the kind of daze it seemed to put me in. It allowed me to drift off to sleep in between contractions which were about 15 minutes apart at that stage. 

I didn’t want an epidural if I could help it. I wanted to use mental strength to endure the temporary pain.

I found the best pain relief – as I still had pain even though I had the Pethadine – was breathing in through my nose and slowly but forcefully out through my mouth during contractions.

I completely lost track of time. By about 11pm I was 7cm dilated and moved to the labour ward.  Just before midnight I felt like I needed to go to the toilet to pass a stool – I didn’t realise that’s what women meant when they told me beforehand they got to a stage they felt they needed to “push”. I thought it would feel different and be more focussed around my abdomen.  Anyway, the labour ward sister knew and called the gynae (at that stage I was 9cm dilated) who had already checked in on me a few times, and she scrambled to get everything ready.

She was an angel by the way. While my husband held my one hand, she held the other, and continuously motivated and encouraged me and just being generally kind in all she said and did.

The doc arrived and the fun began. When the contractions came, I pushed all I could. In hindsight I am sorry I didn’t think of a different position to let gravity help – I was on my back on the hospital bed. In any case, I pushed and pushed. Eventually the doctor used the ventouse to try and assist baby but after two unsuccessful attempts decided to avoid the risk of baby going into stress and to opt for an emergency caesarean.

I was disappointed but as I had committed events into the hands of the Lord, I went with it and immediately “moved on”. Signed the forms, removed my jewellery and hair clips and off we went to theatre.

This was possibly the worst part as the contractions didn’t know they could stop and that I was going to have a caesarean. As they wheeled me to theatre and as I lay there on the cold operating table, midnight on a Sunday, waiting for the necessary doctors to arrive and get things ready, I thought it took a very long time.  That could just be my perception.

My husband and I were rejoined after he had gone to put on the theatre attire. All the while I just looked up to his calm and supporting face and squashed his hand. Finally they thankfully administered a spinal injection which I had dreaded the idea of beforehand (squeamish!) and started losing feeling in my lower body.

After a while, Emile was “born”! I put that in inverted commas because to me, for a natural birth you can say that. For a caesarean, I would say, “when my baby was taken out”. Anyway, it honestly doesn’t bother me that he wasn’t born through a vaginal birth. I am just thankful that all went well in the end, and he is healthy.

He cried, actually it was more like a chuckle, and it was such a beautiful sound!

As it was after hours, it so happened that the gynae on call was not my gynae so this one (who was very nice) didn’t know that we didn’t know the sex of our baby! My husband and I both asked, “What is it?” upon which they told us that it was a boy!

I can’t help but wonder, had I opted to go with another GP, or a home birth, with this complication (failed ventouse/baby’s head at 37cm too large for my pelvis) – what would have happened? And I’m glad I opted for the hospital option.