On the evening of 27th December 2017 at 6:13pm, we welcomed the greatest belated Christmas gift into our life- a baby... our daughter Freya Pamela McClelland-Worrall. As you read on, I will quite simply tell you my birthing story and how it’s been having a newborn 8 days in!
On Boxing Day, we planned to go to Jake’s mums and dads for a nice home buffet and catch up with the family, to follow... a loveeeeeely sleep in our bedroom to be. Did this happen? Absolutely not! After some great food, I felt fine, no niggles, no pains, no discomforts. We all laughed when Jakes sisters said,
“Nicole, have you not brought your green notes or hospital bags?!”
“No, no. This little one isn’t going to vacate just yet. I think she’ll go over her due date for sure. She’s way too comfy.”
However, something in my mind made Jake go home and get them. He was working 10am till finish (anywhere between 2 finish the next morning, he’d worked all Christmas). The plan was (I can tell you lot, because he’s officially left that job now and they treated him like shite, so I really don’t feel bad because the irony and tempting fate is what made our birthing story) to ring his workplace and say something wasn’t quite right and I needed him home to go to the hospital. Obviously at that moment in time. Nothing was out of the norm. I was fine. I just wanted my to spend some quality time with partner and his family. They let him go and he drove up to his moms.
After a lovely evening with the family and saying goodbye to everyone and eating all the salad bowl. I went to the loo. Only to wipe and find a mucus, blood stained bit of toilet paper... and the start of some dull period like pains. Which seemed to follow quite sporadically.
I literally opened the door with my knickers down and screamed “DIANNNNNNNNE!”
She came to the rescue and we both confirmed it was likely to be the bloody show. But I was reassured through reading online, that yes it meant labour was on its way, but it could still be days. With that, I went upstairs to let the reality settle in. Thinking ooo, I still have a couple of days... WRONG!
The pains intensified and became more frequent. My bowels emptied like I’d just had some major banging curry! I was in a state of panic. After all. I was in Tamworth, possibly in slow labour and to top it off, upon ringing my mum she confirmed the snow was back to Coventry. I just sat there contemplating my whole life. Then I decided to ring the Lucina Birthing Ward of which I planned to have my baby in and that took all of three phone calls back before I was told I had to get back to Coventry. If I could, get my hospital bags from my flat and head straight over.
Upon arrival I was allowed to be wheeled through, which nearly ended badly when Jake underestimated how hard it was to manovour and nearly squatted me like a fly against one of the double fire doors! I was placed into my room at around 10pm, not knowing what was about to come in the next 21 hours.
Shortly after my mum and Lizzy arrived. All of our main concerns were that I was going to be sent home. Just to have to get a taxi later on down the line in the pouring down snow. Which I most definitely did not want to do. Neither me and Jake drove. Ultimately, if it did happen I was going go leave my bags and just go to mums where I’d wait it out and kindly ask Lizzy to stay and be our taxi. Lone and behold, my internal revealed that I was 2cm dilated! My mum expressed that due to the weather, the health and safety of going home with the way the snow was falling could potentially put all of us and her to be granddaughters lives on the line. After all, Lizzy’s car is no 4x4 (sorry Wizzy. Your chevy to the levy is still ace tho!) and I didn’t want to put the pressure on her so late at night either.
As it stood, the midwife calmly explained she wasn’t going to send me home anyway. (But I think the weather was the main reason behind this!). After that, my mother in law left so she could have a better shot at getting home to Tamworth safely. Which she did. Not long after this, mum and Lizzy left too. Primarily just to give me and Jake some space and time to take in the environment and what was inevitably going to come out of my vagina. The midwifes said they’d call if anything went wrong and settled on a 6-7cm dilation call to get their arses back to the ward.
Before I knew it, I was 5cm dilated. I’d had no pain relief whatsoever until about what I can only guess was around 4cm. At 5, it was agreed that I could start chugging the gas and air (on tap! Whey!) when I felt a contraction. The pains were starting to get sharp, obviously closer and the ache in my lower back was making an incredible appearance. Jake was fantastic. But then took a funny turn himself. After all he’d worked all Christmas 14+ hours to survive on around 5 hours sleep he had to go back to work on Boxing Day for 10am. So technically he was more exhausted then me (even though not in labour). Granted he didn’t really have that much to eat. At one stage (me being slightly high on gas and air) and asking to have pethadine, I recall him not even being able to stand to go get himself to the toilet. He was that faint! The midwives were so good. They made him toast, got him another bean bag so he could lie next to me and even offered for him to pee in a bottle because they were that concerned he was going to pass out. I did not need that.
I assume at this point, the ward called my mum back because before I knew it, her and Lizzy came through the door. Mum demanded Lizzy take Jake to get a sandwich and some sort of sugary drink. It was here that a urine sample revealed that I had a certain amount of ketones in my body. Basically I hadn’t eaten adequately either. (It didn’t help, I suppose that I had actually sicked up all that lovely buffet food from just hours before... after getting in the en suite shower to stick it on my belly to ease the pain while the birthing pool was filling). Ketones in my urine basically relayed the biology that my body was now chomping away at my body fat to gain energy and not rightfully the energy gained from any food storage. Greatttttt. Yup. I was also quite dehydrated too. Which doubly didn’t help.
From this point, I was having bananas thrown at my (not literally), toast, jelly babies, celebration chocolates, orange juice and lucazade to restore my depleted energy and fluid levels. When you fighting through the pain of each indiviadual contraction... eating and drinking sugary stuff is the last thing on your mind. I tell you that now!!! I’d can quite simply compare it to that of a Marathon, when running Hull after 15 miles my body just couldn’t bare a sis energy gel or anymore sugar, even though i knew it was vital in keeping me going.
After a long stint and getting sick of people telling me, “just breathe. Deep in, deep out” I started to gain some kind of sober ness from the drugs. I’d been in and out the pool for about an hour. My midwife was changed from the lovely Wendy to the vibrant Zoe. I was checked internally to conclude I was 7cm dilated. I was this for what seemed an eternity, I can only guestimate. You get an internal ever 4 hours. I had two and I was still the same. So effectively I was the same in dialation for 4, maybe + hours. My waters still very much in tact. My cervix and membranes were described very thin. Freya just wouldn’t go down any further. The decision to rupture my waters artificially was then the answer, for hope it would speed things up. Then I was told I needed a catheter to drain my bladder. Again, being honest here. As I do. When you’ve got a baby traveling down the vaginal canal, as well as a catheter going into your pee hole it really is far from flattering. I was not on cloud 9 at all. But after being drained, I milked 800ml of fluid that was two wee/ sick hospital bowls. I honestly couldn’t believe it. Norbcould the nurses or my entourage.
After this, I went into full dilation within the hour. So it could be suggested that because my bladder was so full with crap. It was restricting Freya’s head from traveling down any further!
It was here that the fun and games started. I was fully dilated and that exhausted in between contractions I was beginning to fall asleep! To the extent that the midwife was like. I’ve never seen this before. Nope. Time to start moving positions. Off your back. Stand up or on all fours. That’s your only options. I was on all fours screaming in the constant pain. Ushers “Let It Burn” was indescribably relevant if you ask me. The pressure was so intense. My downstairs was actually on fire, everytime I had a contraction I was nearly crawling up the walls. But this was bad. I myself, was restricting our daughter from coming into this world. But it is a natural reaction, in my defence to tense up when you’re in pain. I just couldn’t. I was giving up. I just wanted it all to be over. But then I had to reason myself with reality. This baby had to come out one way, and one way only. It was a one way exit.
Through my burning ninny hole.
I don’t know what come over me. Maybe it was mum getting angry, calling me a pussy to try and stimulate the anger in me to start pushing more aggressively, maybe it was the fact I’d reasoned with the above, but most importantly- as soon as the midwife said I was now potentially putting my baby’s life at risk by not getting her out ASAP, I stood up. Held onto the birthing bath handles and bared down like tone of bricks. The stinging intensifying as my lemon was being forced open by a melon. Then I herd everyone say.
“She’s crowning, Coley come on she’s almost here with us”
That was it. 4 pushes and my little baby dropped out. Quite frankly like a sack of potatoes and resembling that of one too. Aha. No I joke. Zoe caught Freya and slid her through my legs, but she was so slippery to the point where Mum and Jake had to help too. She was passed through my legs into my hands strapped to her seat belt- I.e the umbilical cord. Which wasn’t that long. I took one look at her and instantly feel in love. Words cannot explain the feeling. It’s not like a love for a partner, it’s something far greater, something uniquely particular. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.
The instant relief of her crying was most satisfying. It most definitely still is not the case 8 days later. I kept looking down whilst waddling with my hands between my legs like a ape to the bean bag to get some skin to skin contact, my beautiful daughter was here in my arms. It still didn’t feel quite real. The room - a blood bath (again. I’m an honest person!) it was like horrific horror scene from Saw, I shit you not! Jake was crying, I was too (he’d been crying almost an hour before she was here! Bless him. He’s very sensitive). It was a feeling of pure euphoria.
The afterbirth... can I say...birthed?! With the help of the injection and a tug (I know more of the vile truth!) from Zoe. It was slightly revolting. But looking beyond that. That was where my tiny human lived for 9 months, grew and fed to from a spermy cell embryo seahorse to a 6lbs 15 ounces strong humanoid. So if you ask me. That is utterly amazing.
I tried to breast feed. She latched for all of 3 minutes. Ewwww. The suck of her tiny gums were so strong. But after this she just couldn’t get back on. You know they say in labour you lose all dignity. It is most true. I was naked with strangers putting fingers here there and everywhere. I was naked in front of my mum, partner and our best friend Lizzy with a lot of water,blood and all sorts constantly leaking from my foofe, but when your mum is standing over you with your partner opposit trying to ‘stimulate’ your nip nips. That’s when the awkwardness sets in and it got a bit too much. So we settled with bottle feeding. Haha. Oo and for the record. I didn’t shit myself. Result!! Well if I did. The midwives didn’t tell me.
I was stitched up, as she tore me when going through the exit. That again was fairly painful in parts. Even with the numbing injection. But it was fine. Honestly. This was my biggest fear, believe it or not, even boardered with the fear of contraction pain. Having a tear or an episiotomy. But no. It’s absolutely fine guys. I also had another catheter shoved up there , which they had to they had to monitor my wee wee until I was formally discharged.
Everyone laughed as a sucked on more gas and air and shouted out that my vagina was now a guitar with the stitches. The standard. “Can you put an extra couple in their love?” Was made. I was finally able to shower away the intensities of my labour. It was fab. I got into bed. Didn’t really sleep, for the anxiety was setting in. Little did I know the intense reality of parenthood was about to come.
We were discharged at around 10:30am the next day. She slept great. Exhausted from the birth. The intense anxiety was almost immediate as soon as we left the hospital doors. But again I was still on an intense high.
It has now been 8 days. Parenthood is most definitely harder than a marathon! No seriously, a marathon is a walk (all be it. A very bloody painful, hard walk) in the park. It’s blummin hard, and I really feel for the mums who give birth to their children and have no family support or no partner. Jake has been fantastic. My mum- incredible. Our family and friends have been a Godsend. Everyone who’s seen her has said how much of a beauty she is. I’m not going to lie, I’ve cried more than I have in the entirety of 2017. My hormones feel like they will be the death of me! I’ve got angry to the point where I want to post her back 1st class delivery. Not shouty or punch things angry. Like why did I kid myself into beliving I could do this? Kind of angry. Both me and Jake have exchanged words, nothing drastic like. Just when she’s been screaming all night and won’t settle and we’re both exceedingly sleep deprieved. But I still love him with all my heart. People say it gets easier... is this like when they’re 18-20 and go off to uni or move out?! But all the same. I do not regret my decision to keep this little lady all those months ago. Even when she’s up all night long screaming her tiny lungs to her hearts content.
For now, I look forward to getting fully healed and most of all starting to run again!!! My postpartum tummy, another worry of mine has coped very well, no stretch marks apart from my love handles. I can see that as soon as I start to exercise it should all go back into place and tighten up. The line is still there from my bump through my belly button. But that fades they say.
There you are. That is my birthing story. No beating around the bush. I hope I haven’t grossed you out too much or put some of you off becoming potential parents. It is hard. But an exhilarating experienced and very worth it. However, I will not be having another anytime soon.
