As I write, it’s nine months to the day since I gave birth to my daughter Celandine at home with Jimena as my doula and the Homerton Home Birthing Team. It is proving to be a natural day of reflection on that experience and I at last have a moment to share our birth story:
They say you’ll forget.
They say you’ll forget.
Maybe the searing intensity of hurt; the feelings of hopelessness; the ‘I cannot do this’ of transition; the fist slamming against the wall and the swearing out loud in pain, perhaps all of that. But the beauty? The tenderness? The togetherness? I wonder how you could forget the completely unforgettable?
Though I’m not entirely sure why, having a home birth wasn’t something I had initially ever considered for a first labour, but my brother and sister in law had just had their third child at home in Hackney with Jimena’s (our doula) support and recommended we consider it. I feel very grateful to them for opening our eyes to the fact that home birth was an option we could aim for.
After our first session with Jimena I decided to transfer to Homerton Homebirthing team and was assigned into the care of Harriet, who was our midwife from the first hour long consult right through to the full twenty eight hours of labour.
My experience of the labour itself was completely different than I had expected. I was convinced I was going to be well overdue, that I’d be having to navigate inductions and interventions, that when it finally started it would be a slow and sporadic beginning, that I would be going for a walk to try and encourage it to progress, that I would be able to let people know that it was happening. Instead I woke up at 2.30am at 40+4 with contractions that started the same as they stayed throughout: 3 in 10, regular and intensely painful.
We were in touch with our doula and Homerton Homebirth the team throughout the day, Francine (another homebirth midwife) came to drop off some equipment around 12pm. At 4pm we invited our doula Jimena, who arrived as a very welcome additional support, bringing with her a different dimension of knowledge and a connection to more primordial energy.
The curtains were closed all day but I could still feel the sun coming through, bathing the bedroom in a honeyed glow. It didn’t take away from the glow of pain I was feeling though and fueled only by sips of water and teaspoons of honey, I was definitely finding it hard by now.
At 9pm one midwife came. We had agreed that she would just say whether she would be staying or going and she said she was going to leave. I knew that this meant I was still in early labour.
At this point Rob, having been with me since the beginning, went for a rest. I was feeling in need of some relief from the pain so trusting in being in the safe hands of my mum and Jimena I got into the birthing pool they had been filling. I found this to be incredibly mentally soothing but it was physically still very intense so I got out to try some different positions, beginning to question whether it would be possible for me to continue like this. I now know these thoughts to be an indicator of transition.
Together with my doula and my mum we discussed my options. I feel very lucky that whilst I had been definite about hoping to start and stay at home, I had always felt extremely open to other outcomes. It was only that knowing that just two hours ago I had not been very dilated and that if I journeyed into hospital I might be turned back, that I decided to try the pool again.
Very quickly I felt the overwhelming surges of my body beginning to push. I worried that I was going to do myself some harm, thinking it was unlikely I would have fully dilated in such a short time. At 1am, my fears were compounded when I felt a pop and heard a gushing sound. I really thought I had broken my cervix, though of course in reality it was my waters that had broken.
Sensing a shift, Jimena woke up Rob and called Harriet. Even though she must have thought it was unlikely that I would be any further established, and was no doubt exhausted from a full day on shift, she came and quickly confirmed that I could finally submit to this new sensation. This felt like a huge relief and I found this stage much more manageable. Gone was the acuteness of pain, replaced by the awe of a machine working exactly as it was meant to.
Well almost. There had been some meconium in the water, but feeling fully informed and enabled by paramedics being on standby, Rob and I made the decision to stay at home. Whilst we felt comfortable knowing that at any sign of the baby in distress we would make the move to hospital.
I had assumed that at this point it wouldn’t be long until our baby arrived. Six hours later and I was still pushing, Harriet still checking baby’s heartbeat.
Not long after both midwifes had arrived and from here on in, it feels only right to use ‘we’ as it felt like a truly team effort. At no point to diminish what was occurring inside my own body, I really don’t feel like I could take sole credit for our daughter’s arrival. Trying all sorts of techniques, from ancient indigenous methods with a Rebozo, to acrobatic squats and lunges, to medical interventions and guided pushing we all worked together to bring Celandine earthside.
At every single point Rob was with me, almost as though we had become merged into one single four legged creature. For me, that is one of the most magical things about our birth story, facilitated by our midwifes, Jimena and my mum, we were able to bring our daughter into the world together. She was conceived together and she was born together at 6.20am between both of our legs, as I stood up, leaning on him, held by him.
I have no doubt that having him able to be so actively involved was incredibly bonding for us as a family. My partner and I had gone to bed the night before having spent the entire evening laughing and after her arrival we laughed in disbelief, not quite comprehending that we had done it. We were so in shock, we didn’t even think to find out her if she was a boy or a girl until after she had had a good while of skin to skin.
The placenta was delivered physiologically and not needing any stitches by 8am we were left to bask in the light of an extended golden morning.
They say you’ll forget. Maybe the searing intensity of hurt; the feelings of hopelessness; the ‘I cannot do this’ of transition; the fist slamming against the wall and the swearing out loud in pain, perhaps all of that. But the beauty? The tenderness? The togetherness? I wonder how you could forget the completely unforgettable?
I feel incredibly lucky to have had such a positive and powerful birth experience. I will remain forever grateful to Jimena, our amazing doula and to the incredible Home Birthing team for their part in my daughter’s entry to the world.