A few surges later, Dustin was back, sitting on the end of the bed and talking to me. I could feel another contraction building. It’s weird you know. You can see them coming as clearly as a wave rolling into the shore. But this one was different. When it hit my body started pushing. I didn’t have that urge to push like some women get. I never yelled “I need to push!” like you read in other women’s birth stories. I think Sonja called it the “foetus expulsion reflex” or something. Apparently not all women get it. I can’t imagine doing that kind of work without it!
So, my body pushed. I quickly learnt that I should push too, or the pain would become too much. Always have something to focus on other than the pain. Helping to push hurt too, but it was that time-at-the-gym kind of pain rather than I’m-being-killed-from-the-inside pain. Pushes came in lots of four, each surge –it really was a surge, rather than a contraction or tightening – was progressively stronger, with about five seconds in between. My body and I would push, and then I’d hold the progress we’d made while my body readied to go again. Then a stronger push would come, and again. And then the last level would be upon us, and that’s when I discovered my woman roar. I wasn’t screaming, I wasn’t crying out with pain. I was roaring with all my power, focusing everything I had inside me on this surge. I don’t know how the ladies in Africa do it silently, but I have a new respect for that.
I would try to relax in-between, letting the head slip back a little. This part can be really frustrating for women, because they lose some of their hard earned progress. They think something is wrong because the baby is going backwards. But I remembered that this is her way of helping me. Slowly stretching me so that I don’t tear or take any damage as she comes down. My baby is smart. I trusted my baby.
At some point, I became certain it wouldn’t be long. It was growing dark outside. I told Dustin I reckoned I’d have her out in six good pushes. He had two main concerns 1) I was still on the toilet and 2) we were alone. He asked to go get Jackie from outside, but I simply couldn’t bear him leaving me, I refused to let him go. I’d have let him text or call, but we didn’t have her number. Besides, at this point I had a sense of wellbeing. We would be ok. I had faith. But he needed to be with me – nothing else mattered.
I tried to address his other concern though, and attempted to kneel on the floor or sit on the edge of the bath to push, so he could see and get his hands in there to catch. But I just couldn’t do it. The pain was worse that way, I felt like I had no control or support. So I went back to the pot. Not only did it feel safer and more natural (birth is very much an anal sensation!) but I had a greater range of movement. I found I could hold on to the seat behind me and lean back during the biggest pushes, or grip the hand basin, toilet roll holder, or the lip where the tiled part of the wall stops. There were options. And when you come face to face with your own panic in the darkness, you need those options so that you can pull yourself away and not give in. With the fear comes pain. If you can distract yourself from the fear, there is hard work, but no true pain.
It must have been hard for Dustin, to see me go through that, and to feel helpless. I don’t think he understand how much he was already helping. He’d try to touch me, to comfort me during the surges and even in the resting periods, but I just couldn’t handle that. There was so much going on already, my senses overloaded a bit if anyone else tried to touch me. I became slightly aggressive about my personal space at that point.
And then, Sonja was there, and I could hear Jackie too. I bet Dustin was relieved! Sonja told me I was doing well and touched my face. I nearly bit her hand. I absolutely can’t stand having my cheeks touched even on a normal day, so I wasn’t having a bar of it then. I remember her asking me questions. And I remember telling her to stop talking to me haha.
Sonja walked in just in time for the first “I see a head!” contraction. Except it was dark and no bastard was actually seeing anything. I remember telling someone that we needed more lube. I remember trying to sit at the edge of the seat for Dustin’s convenience but I couldn’t because there was a head there. I remember asking “If I stand up will the baby come out easier?” and being determined to get to my feet somehow. I remember Dustin saying to Sonja “She’s just about to crown” and thinking to myself “Oh dear Gods, we’re not past crowning yet?!” I readied myself for the ring of fire. And there it was. It didn’t burn as much as it could have. But “ring of fire” is still a very good description. I see why women call it that. I kept reminding myself not to push through the ring of fire, to just let my body and gravity do the work. I heard myself whispering “don’t push when it burns, don’t push when it burns” like a mantra. By this stage, I’m half leaning on the wall, clawing at the tile ledge, one foot on the toilet seat. Dustin’s got his hand on the baby’s head, and I hear Sonja warn “With the next contraction the baby will turn” I remembered reading about that. Something about making it easier to get the shoulders out. Man was I grateful I’d spent so much time reading up on the mechanics of this. ~ Jera. Hard work and preparation are rewarded. The promise of success in earned. ~
“I feel a cheek!” He exclaimed.
The shoulders HURT. But it was over fast, and that was the last frontier. Isis came into the world in a rush, and started screaming immediately. She was big and healthy and breathing and covered with goo. I remember Dustin saying she was slippery, and I remember giving Sonja permission to take a photo. Dustin tried to hand me our baby right away, but I needed a moment. I wasn’t strong enough, I knew I’d drop her. “I don’t want her” I said, and immediately felt bad. She could hear me, after all. I touched her. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. I do want you. I’ve always wanted you. I just need a minute.” I took off my shirt, because I knew the best thing for a newborn is skin-to-skin contact. And I looked at my husband. There was a lamp on in our bedroom that Sonja had turned on so she could take the photos. He was covered in muck. There was a 40-odd-centimeter streak of thick black meconium all down his arm, there were chunks of blood and mucous stuck all over his shirt. He was smiling.
“We did it” I said in awe. “Hi five?” He humoured me
I waddled my very sore and tired body over to the bed which some thoughtful midwife had covered with the plastic table cloth, blueys and towels. And managed to get on there without yanking on the cord that still attached Isis and I. Then she was there, stretched over my chest and belly and I saw her little perfect face for the first time.
In the moments after birth, your body releases a burst of Oxytocin that helps you bond with the baby, aids breastfeeding and attachment, gets the placenta out. All that good stuff. In this moment, most women report a “love at first sight” feeling for their newborn. I didn’t get this. Perhaps I’m wired wrong, or maybe I just looked up at the wrong time. But the rush of love I felt, painful in its intensity, I felt for my husband. There is no one I’ve loved more in my entire life. No one who could possibly have received as much love as I hard for him in that moment. Every decision I’d made that bought us to this moment felt destined. Every choice, genius. There was nothing more pure in the world than our love, the type of love that makes perfect red-faced little girls.
I was in awe of my little girl but I felt overwhelming guilt for holding her – hogging her – I’d carried her and had her all to myself for nine months. I truly felt it was Dustin’s turn. And our families’ turn. I wanted to show her to the world, let her share her gifts with all the people who had eagerly awaited her arrival and sent their blessings.
She smelt so good, despite all the blood. And she was smart. She found my nipple without help, and although she didn’t know how to latch on yet, it was beautiful to watch her kiss, lick and nuzzle there. She made the most adorable sounds. And she was so soft. I was fascinated. I didn’t think to count her fingers and toes or any of that. I just stared at her tiny face, and she stared at me. And now I’m staring at her face again, as she has tummy time. She breaks my heart in the best way.
