No Two Childbirths Are The Same
I stand by the fact that all mothers are superhuman.
“The second childbirth will be easier,” they said.
Funniest joke of my life.
My very first childbirth experience was more positive than anything despite the number of complications there.
Yes, my baby had meconium inside me (his first poo). Yes, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck twice. Yes, he was a smaller than average baby. Yes, he was in distress and he had to come out quickly.
But quickly did he come.
I remember I started contracting at around 11 o’clock in the evening on a Tuesday night. By 1 AM the next day, my husband called the hospital to let them know we’d be on our way. By 1:55, the first time they examined me, I was 7cm dilated, and by 2:15 my waters had broken and I was fully dilated. Andriel was born at 2:55 AM on Wednesday February 20th. Proud if I do say so myself.
Even prouder to say that the doctors were about to use some intimidating-looking forceps and my body must’ve shuddered at the idea because it shoved the baby out in 3 pushes with no such tool.
My second labour was bound to go even faster, they said.
I took that as a given and I was smug about it.
And boy did I learn.
Braxton Hicks Contractions Got Serious
I started contracting at around 7:30 AM on Monday October 4th, just in time to drop off my first son at daycare. When I returned home, I started to time the constancy and duration of the contractions, and found that they were every 3 minutes roughly. By 10 AM, my husband convinced me to phone the hospital and the midwife on the phone asked me to come in so I could be checked over.
At this point, the only thing I was worried about was getting home in time to pick up my son from day care. I didn’t think I was in labour because the contractions weren’t painful. I fully expected for them to stop on the way over the hospital and feel awkward about my false alarm.
When the midwife checking me over told me I wasn’t in labour but that the baby’s heartbeat dipped with every contraction, my own heart skipped a beat. She asked me what my birth plan was as if to say that I was going to have this baby soon.
I said I wanted a water birth and ideally no pain relief.
“Haha,” said the universe.
I Didn’t Make It To Daycare Pickup
The midwife told me I would not be sent home yet, and to make arrangements for my son to be picked up from daycare by someone else. The message to my parents went something like this:
“I won’t make it for pickup but should be back for lunch, can you please get Andriel?”
To which they of course, obliged.
But I didn’t make it home for lunch either.
I was transferred to the labour ward to be more closely monitored and assigned my own midwife.
At this point my fate was sealed, but I didn’t know it yet.
I was breathing through my contractions like a pro and I felt overall good about the situation, until it revealed itself for what it really was: a bit of a pickle.
The doctor, although abrupt and very direct, was kind and understanding. He laughed when I mentioned I needed to get back home ASAP. He said that because the baby’s heartbeat still dipped with every contraction, they needed to find out why. The only way to find out why, was for him to be born.
Since I technically wasn’t in labour, and I certainly was not dilated, he asked if he could break my waters.
Sh*t got real.
I said, “sure”.
That was the first sign that this labour was not going to go anywhere near how I had planned. I daren’t mention the romantic water-birth I had in my birth plan again.
And, of course, after the doctor’s successful attempt at breaking my waters less than gently, we had a little surprise from the baby.
Meconium 2.0. Cheers, mate.
This guy was trying to be like his big brother.
I tried to look at the silver lining and hoped that, since things went very quickly the first time round from this moment forth, that things would speed up from now for Baby №2.
“Haha,” said the universe once more.
Time Slowed Down
My contractions were coming in thick and thin every 2 minutes and they were intensifying. I was breathing through them like a yoga instructor according to the midwife. And my husband, the comedian that he is, took that comment as an opportunity to shine and respond with the hilarious joke that I “had been breathing since birth”. *Eye roll*
A few hours later, I oddly hadn’t dilated, so they asked if they could induce me. I was starting to feel tired and I told the midwife I was worried about a new intense pain down my back with every contraction I had. She asked if she could feel my bump.
The baby had moved and was now back to back.
“Haha-hahaha-hahahaha,” The universe fell off the chair laughing.
I asked if I could still give birth naturally with him in this position and they said yes, and that he may move back at any point anyway.
So I said yes to the hormone drip. They offered painkillers, and I once again declined.
An hour later I requested gas and air.
An hour after that, I asked to talk about pain relief options.
Two hours after that, I was in so much pain I asked for an epidural, and a nap.
But It Was Too Late For Any of That
Another internal check confirmed I had dilated just 1 single cm in the whole day.
But that wasn’t even the biggest issue.
My baby’s heartbeat was still dipping with each contraction, but not recovering half as fast.
He was tired.
My options were limited to one at this point. The dreaded C-word was mentioned. I cried. And then I contracted, so I cried some more.
I said yes please to the cesarian.
I felt guilty relief that I wasn’t going to be in pain anymore. But I also had an overwhelming sensation of dread of what was to come post labour.
The 6 weeks recovery. The no driving. The limited activities one can do — because they’re even more restricting than a vaginal delivery.
And my first son. Not being able to pick him up from his cot or put him in it. No more hugs on the sofa. No more tickle wars. No more bedtime chase.
My husband held my hand and said,
“You’ve got this, baby.”
So off we went to theatre. They gave me a spinal block.
There were a dozen people in scrubs around me talking amongst themselves in the medical language I couldn’t comprehend. Some things were explained to me and I signed the waiver. I asked the hubby to fill in the rest of it.
I remember contracting just before they injected me in my lower back, the universe’s last laugh before I could stop feeling any pain.
Within 5 minutes of being laid onto on the operating table, I met my beautiful baby boy. He was born at 00:15 on October 5th. Almost 14 hours after my arrival at the hospital.
Recovery
Having a c-section brought on challenges I never thought were possible to have.
With the spinal block, I couldn’t feel a thing below my waist for a good 6 hours. By 10:30 AM, I asked a nurse to help me up so I could attempt going to the bathroom. By 3 PM, I showered. By 9 PM, I was home. Less than 24 hours later.
Yes, I’ve been in a tremendous amount of pain. Yes, it’s hard to do anything at all, and exhausting. Yes, doing this with a newborn baby is damn challenging. Vaginal delivery was nothing compared. I won’t even mention the constipation — that was its own battle for the first 5 days after coming home.
On day 4, as I had my dad and husband help me up off the sofa, I felt a shock in one of my stomach muscles, and the pain was so intense my body started shaking with adrenaline. In the end, I had to have my husband help me up the stairs to our bedroom, where I stayed until the next day. Our toddler followed us upstairs and he actually tucked me into bed.
I cried tears of ridiculous joy and sadness at this.
Sitting up and lying down again is a big chore when your ab muscles are out of bounds. When your newborn baby finally falls asleep at 4 AM, the last thing you want is to wake up your partner so he can help you straighten your pillows so you can lie back and sleep again. Wake up the baby during this and you’re screwed.
But I did go for a 3 minute walk on day 5 around the block. It took me 15 minutes to walk it. But it’s better than nothing.
I’ve been crying a lot too. The baby blues are real. Everything makes me emotional in good and bad ways – the tears aren’t just sad. I cried tears of joy when my husband said he’d take our eldest to his swimming class. Because I don’t want him missing out just because I can’t take him.
Today my youngest is 12 days old. He’s amazing. My progress has been tremendous. It’s fascinating how much the body can do even after major surgery. I intend to walk the 8 minute walk to the park and sit on a bench while I watch my toddler run around with his dad later. We’ll see how that goes.
Takeaway
Everything in life is a lesson.
In my case, the biggest lesson of all here is that, with love, everything is easier, purer, and just better.
The love I felt during labour, from the genuinely caring staff. We complain about our broken health system in the UK but when it comes to it, the people really put their all into it. I felt completely safe and trusted every single one of their decisions.
The love for my body which was put to the test and is working hard at recovering every day – another bit of proof that humans are damn resilient.
The love for my parents who travelled across Europe to be here to help and who have been rocks to me and my family this whole time.
The love for my friends who have been so supportive the whole way.
The love felt with my husband throughout. I have no words.
The love for my first son, who has handled the changes like a friggin’ boss. He loves his little brother and has been the absolute best around him and me. I will forever remind him of how strong and brave he was throughout the entire process.
And last but not least, a new love, for our second son who, is just perfect.
Sylvia Emokpae is passionate about self-love, relationships, and motherhood. See more work like this.