Birth Stories

The Birth of Edward James - 21 July 2006

In October 2005, Jamie and I were overjoyed to find that I was pregnant. The whole thing seemed quite a daunting prospect, however, and we couldn't have been more relieved and happy to find Anja - ten minutes away, always on the end of the phone and a bottomless source of information and reassurance.

Anja made us feel relaxed and confident. No question was too foolish - or asked too many times. My pregnancy progressed happily, the treasured "tadpole" grew well and, surprisingly for me, I genuinely bloomed. At first, Jamie and I were a little nervous about the prospect of home birth, but as the weeks progressed and we got to know Anja better and learned more about it, we decided that this would be right for us. As the days grew hotter, arrangements fell into place. We created a beautiful "birthing space" and waited with growing excitement.

Then, two days before the due date, on the hottest day on record, the baby decided that the time was come. I had been having contractions at irregular intervals since the previous evening and woke early, feeling restless. Walking around the garden in the very early morning, my waters broke. I felt very calm and happily set about checking that everything was ready. I had just turned on the tap to top up the birthing pool, when a contraction sent me scuttling to the bathroom. By the time I returned, the birthing pool had overflowed and my immaculate birthing space was under a couple of inches of water. Jamie, having woken to find me gone, came running and I could only laugh as, on being told that my waters had broken, Jamie looked, flabbergasted, from the floor to me and back again.For the first day, things moved slowly. Anja popped in a couple of times, to see how we were getting on, but nothing much seemed to be happpening. The baby's head was not engaged.

On Anja's advice, Jamie and I walked for miles, danced wildly to every tune on Jamie's Ipod and tried not to be too impatient. By mid-morning on the second day, things were starting to heat up (in every sense). My contractions were longer, harder and more regular, the temperature was in the mid-thirties and the floor of my birthing space was beginning to smell like old socks. Anja, who had been a beacon of calm, encouragement and positive energy, over the phone and in person, came over to see us - again - to see how things were progressing. This time, I was convinced that we would have some positive news. I felt like we'd worked hard for some! Not so.I was 'effaced' but not dilated. The baby's head was still not engaged. Jamie to the rescue with cheer and encouragement, despite his own disappointment, supporting me through every contraction and telling me how wonderfully I was doing (liar!). More walking, more cheesy dancing (though now not so much the samba king and queen; more the last, sozzled pair on the dancefloor), but no change. By 6pm, I was tired and in pain. The contractions were coming long and hard, every three minutes and the baby appeared to be making no progress at all. At this point, gently and without any sense of drama, Anja suggested that we might do well to decamp to hospital. I was desperately disappointed, but understood that we needed some help.

Now things start to blurr for me, so over to Jamie, who I think remembers the rest all too clearly...

Harriet's parents took us to hospital and, whilst disappointed for Harriet that she couldn't birth at home, I felt relieved at Anja's gentle but firm recommendation to go. I had been secretly a bit worried that a midwife who is pro-homebirth may wait a bit too long in making that decision to move tohospital. However, I underestimated Anja and her professional integrity - she clearly was making the decision purely based on Harriet's and the baby's comfort and safety and I applaud her for that. I should also say that at this point the baby was showing no signs of distress - the problem was that Harriet was getting very tired and no progress was being made.

We arrived at the hospital about 8.30 pm and it was distressing for me see Harriet having such painful contractions. I had been successfully administering jolts from the tens machine throughout the day but as the pain grew, the tens machine was no longer enough and gas and air followed. She had a very hard and intense labour. By 10pm things had become really quite desperate and poor Harriet was in real pain and groggy from all the gas, on which she sucked like her life depended on it. Despite an almost superhuman effort and after hours of excruciating pain, we were shocked to hear that she was only 1 centimetre dilated.

We eventually got her an epidural - a decision which Anja wholeheartedly supported. By about 12.30 Harriet was much more peaceful - an enormous relief for me as I wasn't handling her situation too well. The small hours of the night in a delivery room were almost surreal but strangely intimate too - trying to doze but never really sleeping and Harriet half sleeping, half awake on the bed, with a very kind and capable hospital midwife called Mia looking after us all. All of us talking from time to time, encouraging each other and feeling a great sense of anticipation. When in the early hours of the morning Harriet felt her waters go again, Anja was on hand to explain what was happening and we began to hope that things were at last moving in the right direction. About 4.30am we were delighted to find that Harriet was fully dilated and still pain free - but she was desperately tired.The decision to start pushing was delayed until about 5.30am. The pushing stage was agonising. Whilst the epidural had been very necessary in Harriet's case, it impeded her ability to focus her pushing. After an hour of supreme effort she had almost nothing left, but the baby still didn't come. On advice from the hospital doctor, we decided on one final effort with the aid of Ventouse. We were desperate to avoid the big "C" if we possibly could. We were told that they could try only three times and if unsuccessful, there would be no choice but to go to theatre. By now Harriet was pretty much a spent force. But I have learned over the years never to underestimate her, for she is nothing if not determined! Twice the cap was applied, Harriet pushed desperately, but the baby did not come. Knowing that she had one final chance before a trip to theatre, on the third try, she strained every sinew - but to our despair the Ventouse cap came off. At that point, some greater power took pity on us - Harriet was violently sick and the pressure forced the baby out.

The sun had risen on another beautiful warm summer's day and at 7am, bang on his due date, Teddy came into our world amidst huge relief and joy for us both.

Back to Birth Stories

Back to top