A labour of love

No one talks about those last few weeks of pregnancy; the agonising waiting and the worrying. The incessant 'is baby here yet? x' texts that, while well-meaning, only seem to make you feel that your body is failing when, really, your baby just isn't quite ready yet.

The Germans call this 'zwischen' - a state in which you are neither here nor there. 

And here I was, nearly 42 weeks pregnant, on my fit ball bouncing away the aches and anticipation while on the precipice of labour. 

After two unwanted caesareans I craved a healing birth experience for my third baby. A VBAC. But that meant waiting for things to start in their own sweet time and resisting the urge to get induced or be talked into an unnecessary caesarean. As much as I wanted to put myself out of this misery, I knew I had to trust the process - that baby will arrive when it’s ready and this time really is sacred and fleeting.

I tried to bring on labour at 39w like we all do. But that came and went. As did my ‘guess date’. After I put my two kids to bed each night, I was on the fit ball hypnobirthing and expressing tiny drops of colostrum. The next morning I’d kerb walk while manifesting my vbac. Every day, rinse and repeat. I'd wake up each morning hopeful. Every twinge in my back had me on tetherhooks. Maybe today’s the day! But by day's end, those twinges would fizzle. And I would still be very pregnant. And miserable.

The night before my 41w hospital appointment, I sat in my bedroom in complete darkness on the fit ball. It was the longest I had ever been pregnant. Unlike my first two (dream!) pregnancies, this one was awful - I was still throwing up at 36 weeks.)-

As I bounced on the ball, I started to cry big tears. My shoulders were heavy with guilt and fear and all the things one feels when they’re ’late’. I just wanted to know my baby was doing okay. My 9 year old walked in and asked me what was wrong. "I just want baby to be here", I quietly told him with blobs of tears streaming down my face. He didn't say much, but he's such an empath; he felt and understood my big emotions. He was impatiently waiting for baby too.

The next day, with all my messy feelings compartmentalised into a neatly organised list of pros and cons, I caved and asked for my first vaginal exam. I’d been texting my student midwife all night. I’d gotten this far to successfully fend off interventions and inductions. I was already stretching hospital policy - I had also declined the GTT, the GBS swab & growth scans. I just wanted to give myself the best chance at getting my VBAC. 

The OB checked my cervix and it was a relief to be told that I was already around 2-3cm dilated. My bishop score was also 8 so I asked for a stretch & sweep with specific instructions to not ‘accidentally’ break my waters. 

Two days later, I woke up with a bloody show and mild contractions which felt different to the twinges I had been getting for weeks. I also lost my mucous plug. 

After being pregnant for 42 years, I didn’t want to get my hopes up but I did more kerb walking that morning. The neighbours probably thought I was mad. We were renovating, so I suggested to my husband that a walk around Bunnings later might help check this baby out of Hotel Uterus. 

It was a Thursday. We got to Bunnings at 11am. I had to stop every few mins to lean on the paint shelf as a twinge came on. Funny how at that point I still refused to believe Today Was The Day. But after two caesareans, I had no bloody idea. I still imagined it would be just like in the movies: waters gushing in the middle of the supermarket in very dramatic fashion and a baby arriving an hour later by the side of the road. 

12:30pm: We finished up at Bunnings and had lunch. I started timing my contractions. They were still irregular and mild-ish, 10-15 mins apart. I texted my gf joking that this cheeseburger was probably going to be the last thing I'd eat before labour. 

When we got home the contractions were getting closer together. I texted my student midwife an update. I had heaps of lower back pain, pelvic pain and pressure through the thighs. The back pain especially was worse during a surge so I jumped into the shower to take the edge off. The warm water provided so much relief.

With my tens machine on, I did some forward leaning inversions on the bed to keep bub from going posterior (like my first) while hypnobirthing. I began to notice though that I couldn't feel baby wriggling. In hindsight the surges were masking the movements, but it made me feel really anxious. I wanted to labour for as long as possible at home and not call the hospital until the last possible minute. Little did I know this was going to be the first fork in the road.

After an internal battle I rang the hospital. As expected the midwives said to come in so they could get a trace. Feeling a bit disappointed with the idea of my birth plan already not going to plan, I told hubby we should probably call my in-laws to stay with the kids tonight….just in case. 

I continued to labour until the kids got home from school. My in-laws arrived at the same time. They all found me doubled over on the couch with my contractions getting closer, stronger and longer - around 7-8 mins apart now. We threw the hospital bags in the car and I kissed both my (excited) kids a really emotional goodbye!

The hospital is only a 12 min drive from our house but I was cursing every speed bump along the way, while reminding myself that I asked for this lol. The tens kept me together, albeit just. Gripping onto the sides of the car seat, sitting on half a butt cheek (who knew sitting on your ass during labour was actual torture.)

Hubby dropped me off at the entrance so I could start limping to the labour ward while he parked. We got to MFAU and they started the monitoring. Thankfully, baby was doing ok. I wanted to stay off my back so I got up on all fours and hubby helped get the tens back on while I breathed through each contraction that was now 5 mins apart. Doctors came in multiple times panicking that I kept refusing the cannula. The midwives would roll their eyes and promised to keep them away.

It was just before 6pm. We went for a walk and a change of scenery to get labour going. I was 3cm on admission and was told they usually send women home under 4cm as labour isn't really considered established before then. 

The walk ramped up the surges so I was glad I took my birth comb and tens with me. I  was now back at the hospital struggling to talk through them. All I could do was sway and dig the comb hard into my palms.

I got out my Chinese oils and massage balls to divert the pain. The midwives also put a heat pack on my lower back which felt amazing. I then hopped in the shower hunched over with the water on my back as each surge came over me.

It was now 8pm and I was 4cm. I wanted to keep VEs to a minimum but the type A in me also wanted to know what was happening.

The MFAU midwives are the most phenomenal people. Mine literally winked and said she’d keep me in MFAU for as long as they could before moving me to a birth suite. It’s an unspoken thing that once you’re officially in a room, you’re tethered: machines, interventions, and hospital policies that serve the system, not labouring women.

I stayed in MFAU til midnight. The pain was taking my breath away by now. It took ages for me to get to the birth suite as I had to shuffle wall to wall just to catch my breath during a surge.  

Despite the pain, a part of me was feeling so grateful I was getting to do something I had wished so hard for, for so many years - going through labour. 

For the next six hours until the sun came up, I laboured in the dark, moving between the shower and the bed with just gas & air, my birth comb and the tens. I agreed to wireless monitoring so I could still be in the water. I laboured standing, leaning on my hubby or the bed. My student midwife arrived and put my hypnobirthing sign up on the door. 

I was still cracking jokes between contractions to take the edge off lol. Back was absolutely killing me, like knives were going in. The midwife placed warm blankets over my back and it was HEAVEN. Pants were now redundant - I was naked from the waist down but I didn’t care. A doctor came in couple of times to have The Talk - the one where they ask what my “plan” is if there’s a failure to progress (more like, a failure to wait, if you ask me). I agreed to more VEs (I know I know I know!!) but the constant pain and pressure was unbearable and I wanted some sense of how much longer before I’d be out of my misery. But alas, I was still at 4cm. I’m so bummed out, even though deep down I knew it was just an arbitrary number. This is why a private midwife (and doula) is gold standard. I really needed someone to help me get out of my own head. 

The doctor suggested an epidural to help speed things up. I noticed the midwives were silent but would later tell me to stick to my birth plan and hold off on the epi for now. 

By sunrise, the back pain was bad, I was convinced this baby was posterior. I stop making jokes and stop talking altogether. It hurts too much to sit down. My wrists and knees were so sore from being on all fours. Hubby was beside me the whole time, never sure if he was doing enough or too much. I got SO MAD at anyone who asked me a question during a contraction lol. 

This is when I started to get really unhinged, punching pillows and my hubby; telling him I couldn’t do this anymore and that I don’t want to do this. Regrets about not booking in a CS start ruminating. But as I stared down at the affirmation poster I made, I remind myself that I wanted this. I asked for this. 

As sunlight poured through the room, the pressure from the doctors was mounting. I’d been labouring drug free for 15 hours give or take. I agreed to another VE (having one during a surge has got to be the seventh circle of hell fyi). I knew the number even before she finished. I was “still” 6cm. I was so close to Transition but I didn’t know how much more I could take.

It was around this time I was lying on my side in the bed, after getting through the millionth contraction when I literally felt myself and the room split into two, like I was levitating off the bed. Voices around me became muffled. I had no idea what was happening and it terrified me. That was when I knew I had to get off the gas. The tens came off too.

A new midwife, Kiara, clocked on. At first I barely spoke a word to her; sort of mad that someone new was all up in my space and resentful that this was the 3rd or 4th midwife change. 

I was exhausted, and I knew I had to do something different fast or else a CS would be called. Kiara suggested an epi and breaking my waters could help. Both weren't part of my plan but the difference this time was that I was informed & given the chance to say yes or no. 

My new plan was to get the epi, not top up, and take a nap, all the while hoping that by being relaxed I’d get to 10cm within the next few hours.

My contractions were now almost back to back. I must have traumatised the anaesthetist with my yelling and carrying on though because I had never seen anyone move so fast. Soon after the epi went in, the pain went from 100 to 0. It was unbelievable. I had never loved modern medicine more.

Here’s the catch though: The cascade of interventions; once you get the epi, you need the cannula, then the catheter, then the wired CTG. You’re now confined to the bed and put on the clock. An emergency CS is then called. That’s (usually) how it goes.

Kiara worked with me to get into optimal birthing positions on the bed before the next VE at 12pm. We first tried the side lying release with the peanut ball. I did that for about half hour each side. Then some Spinning Babies - lunging on the bed while hunched over the peanut ball for the next hour.

I was on the bed and saw my husband asleep in the chair with his phone still blaring in his hand. He was dribbling out the side of his mouth. Kiara and I had a laugh & decided not to wake him up because he was looking way too comfortable. 

By now it was 12pm, 24 hrs since those early contractions at Bunnings. I had a VE and I was 8-9cm dilated. I accepted another 2 hours to get to 10.

At this point, with things relatively calm and me no longer feeling nervous about the epi, hubby went home to shower. He’d be back when it was time to push. My student midwife also went home to tend to her kids.

Immediately after the VE, fresh red blood coming out of my cervix and dripping onto the bed. I tried not to panic. Kiara was trying not to make a big deal about it but the doctors had to be flagged just in case. Ah fuck. Rupture was always at the back of my mind and it began to rattle me a bit. Bub seemed to be doing fine on the CTG, though, and I wasn’t getting scar pain so we were hoping the bleeding was just from the VE.

I had to relax to progress so I finally took my nap. I slept on my side with the peanut ball between my legs. When I woke up I noticed I had the chills. Wtf. If this was the beginning of a fever I knew it was all over. 

Kiara took my temp and thankfully it was stable for now, thankfully. She also checked my bleeding and it wasn’t getting any worse which was a huge relief.

I finally got to 10cm just after 2pm. My plan B worked! Getting the epi was a huge leap of faith but it paid off. 

The doctors wanted me to start pushing in an hour. We turned the epi off so I could begin to feel myself bearing down.

3:30pm hubby was back and I began pushing on all fours. At this time I had to also say goodbye to Kiara as her shift was ending. I was gutted. She had been such a phenomenal midwife.

I kept pushing and pushing and pushing but nothing was happening. I also couldn’t feel any massive pressure to bear down, which wasn’t a good sign. Dignity went out the window when ~ trigger warning lol ~ I did a #2 on the bed from all the pushing. This birth really did have all the bells and whistles. 

At 4pm a flurry of doctors came in and asked if they could do a VE. I also accepted a bedside ultrasound to assess baby’s position so I could get into a better one myself. At the time I was annoyed they were “intervening” but looking back I’m thankful they offered to do this rather than call a knee-jerk caesarean. 

Baby was low but not low enough. I could sense here that things were escalating. Everyone got nervous and pushy. It had been 24 hours since I came into hospital. They couldn’t get a trace with the CTG and asked for my consent to fetal scalp monitoring. Hard no. I didn’t want a screw on my baby’s head, was that so unreasonable? I had already consented to so many things I didn’t plan on.  I felt like I was losing more and more control of my birth. Maybe my body was just not meant to birth naturally. 

I kept stalling and the decision was finally made to do a trial of labour in theatre with forceps. If that didn’t work, we’d go in for a cat 2 caesarean. Groundhog Day.

Things became a blur after this.

I remember signing a consent form for the CS. People I had never seen before rushed into my room, putting stockings on me, hitting buttons, making phone calls etc. Hubby started packing up our things. Someone put a blue gown on me. It didn’t feel real but it also felt devastatingly familiar: the haze and the chaos; that sinking feeling and the tears I tried so hard to hold back. While everyone else was in a hurry, time stood still for me. I lay there feeling like my vbac was slipping away from me. 

With the epi turned off, I was hysterical and screaming out in pain holding onto the side of the bed as men I’ve never met wheeled me down the corridor to theatre. That was the last I saw of hubby. I had never felt so vulnerable and lonely.

It wasn’t long before the Caesarean spinal went in. At the very least, it was sweet relief. That is, until the dreaded shakes started, reminding me why I didn’t want a CS in the first place. The amazing anaesthetist gave me a drug though to stop the shakes (wish I could have remembered the name of it!) and it was a miracle worker. Where was this drug during my first two c sections? 

With me feeling semi human again the OB came out to see me and we were both shocked to realise we had already met! “Ah, it’s the troublemaker,” he said. He remembered me from an antenatal appointment where I was hustling and challenging everything he was saying. He is actually one of the most vbac supportive OBs I’d ever met so I knew I’d be in good hands. It was a really lovely moment in an otherwise shit situation. 

With hubby still MIA I was wheeled into theatre and stared back at a sea of unfamiliar faces, people, instruments and beeping machines. I lay there feeling like a failure even though I’d thrown everything at this after 23 hours or so of labour, and half of it drug-free. 

They did the ice checks a few times and put the stirrups up. Someone asked where my husband was. Then I heard another voice saying someone forgot about him. Turned out he was told to stay back & wait in a room. 

Suddenly hubby appeared and I breathed a massive sigh of relief. The OB saw how low Bub was, looked at me and said he was more than hopeful we could get this vbac with forceps. 

His optimism was contagious. He wanted this vbac for me as much as I did.

And though I had felt defeated, there was somehow this fire inside me that wanted to give it one more go. 

Pushing with a spinal on an operating table with my back flat as a tack was not how I thought things would go. 

On the next contraction I pushed as hard as I could. And then I heard the words “shoulder dystocia”. Shit.

I then consented to an episiotomy - the last of the intervention that wasn’t on my birth plan. 

Two midwives were by my side - one had her eye on the monitor for the next contraction; the other was tasked with helping my OB get baby out with the salad tongs.

I geared up for the second push and felt someone’s hand pushing the back to my head to get my chin closer to my chest. As I pushed, the OB did the McRoberts manoeuvre to twist and dislodge bub’s shoulder from under my pubic bone. 

But baby was still stuck.

It was now an obstetric emergency and I was staring down the barrel of my third c section. 

The third push was my one last chance. 9 months of manifesting my vbac and 24 hours of labour and it all came down to this. 

I shut my eyes really, really tight, fought back the tears and imagined the caesarean I didn’t want to have. I thought about the OB for my second birth who told me I’d fail - that I was reckless and my body wasn’t made to do this. I thought about everyone who said I was too old to do this, and how foolish and selfish I was by putting myself before my baby. I didn’t want the hours upon hours I spent listening to podcasts and reading Cochrane reviews to be in vain. How many days and nights did I spend visualising giving birth vaginally in an intoxicating oxytocin bubble? 

I had been carrying birth trauma and grief for 9 years. 

But deep down, I knew could do this. I can do hard things. 

My final push took everything I had. The OB performed a hectic Woods screw manoeuvre to twist the rest of my baby out.

And then I heard a chorus of gasps and cheers among the midwives. 

At 5:50pm, baby Alfie came out with a modest head of hair, weighing 3.42kg.

I had done it. I got my vbac. 

It was the biggest relief and my greatest achievement. A labour of love, in every sense.

Miraculously, after 24 hours of labour, shoulder dystocia and forceps, Alfie’s APGAR scores were 9 and 9. I lost less than 500ml blood. 

All the unfamiliar faces and bodies that were on standby with their clamps and scalpels disappeared. It was just me, a very relieved husband and our third baby boy on my chest.

After my episiotomy was stitched up, I was wheeled into recovery with Alfie on my chest. I could hold him without shaking. I could talk without crying! I could sit up without my uterus having been sliced in two. My baby began breastfeeding right away! This vaginal birth love bubble - the calm after the chaos - was a beautiful whole new world for me.

I was so happy to get to the postnatal ward. Hubby was able to stay until 10pm and then it was just me and Alfie for the rest of the night. He was a fever dream, come to life. I remember staying up just watching him sleep, cocooned in the bassinet, on a vbac high.

You know those mums who fall in love with their baby as soon as they’re born? I was never one of them. I have never felt that. 

But from the moment Alfie was placed on my chest, the final layer of healing was stitched. The labour broke me open but his birth put me back together again. 

Perhaps zwischen is the ultimate lesson in surrender and a chance for reflection - a moment in time in which we should make space for everything we have gone through and prepare ourselves for what's to come.

While no two birth experiences are alike, every birth story is wrapped up in hope, trust and the art of letting go. Things don’t always turn out the way you planned, or the way you think they should. And whether it’s a vaginal or caesarean  —there is certainly no ‘easy’ way to have a baby.

Here is how we spend our days now: Coffee in the morning. Naps in bed, breastfeeds whenever he wants it. Long walks, collecting memories along the way. Our bed is full of love and an extra person to cuddle. 

When I wake up and look down at these tiny hands on my chest, I realise that this is the whole point.