Dear lord, that was a bad night. Full of fear and loneliness. I felt like they’d abandoned me to the pain. But rational Miriam told me not to wake anyone, because this was hard on them too, they needed sleep and really no one could help me. They could support me, but I had to go through this transformation alone. I should let them rest. I tried to rest too. I did snatch some sleep. You know, in five minute blocks. Mmm restful -.-
The pressure was now in my front as well as my arse and I was absolutely convinced I needed to pee. I’d been drinking water fairly consistently, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d squeezed out more than a dribble. My body was shouting at me WE NEED TO PEE! But I just couldn’t. I found myself pushing with the pressure during contractions because that somehow made it easier to cope mentally. Every time I did manage to squeeze out a trickle, owlet’s head seemed to drop lower and a contraction would follow. From now until the birth this kept happening, it became useful later, but at that time, alone in the dark it was just making me panic.
~ Perthro. There is nothing to fear in the darkness, nothing to fear in the surge of your womb. ~

One of my greatest fears going into labour was that the baby’s head would block my tubes, I’d be unable to pee, it would stall labour, and if left unchecked could cause real damage. I knew I wasn’t receiving much monitoring, and I knew that one of Sonja’s past patients had had exactly that issue and she’d missed it by not checking often enough. I let the fears get the better of me, and then the pain started to get the better of me. Rational Miriam would have recalled reading up on fear-tension-pain syndrome, but she wasn’t in control at that stage. I remember at one point, I was kneeling on the bed with a contraction, fighting the urge to get up and go attempt to pee again, fear was thick in my throat – like an air marshmallow – and I’d started to cry.
I’d tried to be quiet. I’d taken two showers. I tried to lay in bed and breathe through the contractions. But nothing was working. I knew I needed help.

Eventually fear got the better of me sometime past 5am and I woke Sonja and asked her for a catheter. I may have begged for help. I confessed I was terrified. She went to the car and luckily, was carrying everything a man needs for a catheter. Except a bag. >.> I didn’t see one of those.
Anyway, so I laid down on my back (with some difficulty) and she stuck me with the catheter. At this point I realised that I possibly chose the roughest midwife on the block. Yes, she was experienced; she knew what to do, when and how to do it. I did not at all doubt her competence. But fuck me, for a woman who provides no pain medication, she could have been a bit gentler. Anyway, having the catheter inserted was nowhere near as bad as mum had made out when she’d regaled me with her hospital stories. And all of a sudden, I was covered with my own pee. Like, a whole 20mils of it. My bladder was practically empty. It was just the baby’s head pressure and the panic that told me otherwise. Embarrassing; but relieving at the same time. It was good to know for sure. (I dread to think of the mess if I hadn’t been empty though. Annnyway…)
While she was down there, Sonja checked my cervix again. This time I did tell her “Enough! Get out!”

I was only at four centimetres. Barely. All that fear and pain and sleeplessness for one centimeter. Dustin emerged from our room just as I struggled into a graceless upright position. I guess I was a bit loud during the examination or something? I vaguely recall crying out.
But we were all awake, so we decided to go for a walk to try and get some real contractions happening. And so Sonja could call the backup midwife and discuss me. I listened intently. There was a lot of talk of transfer, of the mec and the water, of my inability to hold onto my contractions. It was very demoralising. I was equal parts resigned that I’d wind up in hospital and stubbornly determined that I would not. I said to Sonja “If I transfer, I’m going to end up with the Synto (Syntocin, a fake version of the hormone oxytocin, known at Pitocin in the USA) which will increase the pain I’ll have to go through. I know I can’t handle a greater level of pain that what my body is throwing at me. So I’ll end up with the drugs too…”
And she’s like “Miriam, if we transfer it’s so you can have those things.”
Oh, yeah. I suppose it would be, hey? Not interested.

So I set about convincing her to let me keep labouring at home. I could feel my baby moving inside me. I could sense she was ok. My temperature, blood pressure, and her heart rate were all perfect still. I would not risk being in hospital and getting a “failure to progress” label. In my mind, that was really just “failure to wait.” I would endure.
~Ken. You have the knowledge and the technical ability. You already know you can do this. Open to new strength, energy and power now. ~

I asked for more homeopathy, just in case it would do something. I was grasping at straws a bit.
Jackie said she was comfortable with me labouring on at home too, so we went with that. Sonja went to run errands and said to call when she was needed. She advised us to keep taking the homeopathy and this weird flower essence stuff that tasted… well, like bottled flowers and grass which is likely exactly what it was… and told us to rest if we could.
The weather seemed to match my mood. That first day was bright and warm, and I was happy, empowered even, during my labour. The second day was colder, overcast and gloomy, and my morale was very low.
I managed to find a spot on the lounge that if I laid just so, I could sleep. Dustin hit the sack too.
The contractions came back slowly, but they came back. After some time, I even managed to climb into bed with Dustin and just relax in his arms. I slept in patches between the contractions and started to feel calm and safe again.
~ Sowilo. Embrace your good health. I will guard you against the harmful opinions of others. Your confidence is not unfounded. Allow success to be yours. ~

Just when the waves were coming too often for me to sleep anymore, and I was barging Dustin out of bed, Sonja rang. She told me that Jackie was in the area, so she was going to pop over for ten minutes to check up on us.
When she showed up, I was topless, kneeling on the lounge legs spread, facing the wall and swaying my arse. Wonderful. When that contraction ended, we introduced ourselves. I’m like “Hey, I’m Miriam. I don’t usually greet people with my boobs out” and I told her to make herself at home. So she went and made herself a sandwich, full serious. That’s my kind of person. Meanwhile I showered. She wanted to check me, and I wasn’t having a bar of that unless I was sure I was clean. It had been at least an hour since my last shower and all manner of gross stuff comes out of your body during labour.
Seriously half the time I was thinking “gods I hope that was just more water…” because I couldn’t really be sure if I’d just peed on the floor or not. Glamorous.
(Praise the Gods for plastic table cloths and towels.)

Anyway, Jackie checked the usual stuff, BP, temp, baby heartrate and then I laid down for palpitation (where they poke you really hard in the stomach to check the baby’s position) and the dreaded internal. She was nice about it. By this point every time I even thought of lying down I’d have a contraction. I don’t know how countless women have birthed on their backs because that’s possibly the most painful thing in the world. There’s no way to cope with the waves when you’re lying on your back stranded like an upside down turtle. So I’d lay, trigger the contraction, get up, deal with it and then quickly lay down and relax again for the examination. Years of practicing meditation were super helpful with this. Hell, it was helpful during the whole labour

The palp hurt a bit, but owlet was (as always) in a great position. Then came the internal. I was geared for the worst, but Jackie was so gentle. It still wasn’t pleasant don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing nice about someone sticking their hand in your vag and coping a feel, but compared to Sonja this was a delicate massage at a five star establishment. My only complaint was how long it took. Woman was nothing if not thorough.

I was relived to scramble up off the floor in time for another contraction to smash into me. Dustin was there, kneeling with me and after he helped me through, I got the best news I’ve ever heard.
I was 9cm. I confessed my undying love to Jackie and would have hugged her if I hadn’t been butt naked. So I hugged Dustin instead, confessed my undying love for him too; before declaring how much I loved everyone and my life and that I could defiantly do this. I felt like even if it took another six hours, I had it in the bag. I hoped I was overshooting on that time guestimate, but as it turned out, I was pretty close.