Not off the hook after all for the home water birth. Not just yet,
anyway. Structural engineer got back in touch to veto bedroom for the
birth pool. But said our smallest room - the hall - looks like it will
take the weight. Husband due to pick up pool, pipes, bleach, colander,
heating pad tomorrow evening. Will buy waterproof torch, anglepoise
lamp, waterproof sheeting at weekend. Scared? Me?
Unsure about giving birth in hallway. Doesn't feel quite right
somehow. Will it be sufficiently private? Can't even remember how much
privacy matters in childbirth. Is it a big issue? When was having
Beanie, midwife got concerned about daughter's heart rate. Army of
green-suited doctors, anaethetists and paediatricians entered through flowery curtain.
"Hello. Where have you all come from?" I asked.
"Did you not see your midwife press the emergency button?" one of them replied.
"Errr... no," I mumbled.
"Don't push," said the midwife, looking up from her notes. "Whatever you do, don't push."
"I'm not pushing!" I said, feeling like small child.
Funny the things you do remember; many of them were wearing clogs. But
seemed fine with that. Not embarrassed, the way I would have been. There were phone calls, booking a place in the resuscitation unit, asking if
theatre was free. No, we'd have to stay put. They brought out the
forceps (I didn't look at that bit). Hauled daughter out of me as fast
as they could. Beanie shrieked with displeasure as she emerged. I was a
bit sore afterwards. Relief on face of clog-clad paediatrician posted
down bottom end to greet Beanie. "Baby can go straight to mum," she
said.
After that drama, I liked idea of giving birth in tranquillity of
own bedroom, where, ahem, this whole project started back in October.
But do not want to become stupid and obstinate about home birth.
Read cautionary tale about woman who broke down in jealous hysteria
when she got text message saying sister-in-law had 'achieved' a home
birth. This woman described herself - no, defined herself - as
HWBA3C. Yes, my thoughts exactly. Stands for 'home water birth after
three Caesareans'. She claimed the Caesareans were violations
'inflicted on her in the name of medical science'.
Spoke to my midwife, whom I trust. Asked if true NHS does unnecessary interventions.
"Look at it from a practical point of view," she said. "The NHS is
careful with its resources. It has to be. There's not a lot of money
available and funding is always being squeezed. Nobody likes to make
things more complicated than they need to be. It's expensive to do a section. It's a question of beds and staff time. We only intervene when
necessary."
Friend whose wife had their second child last
year said: "It's the head count at the end that matters."
Childbirth Daughters Health Health workers Home birth Husband Water birth
Bad news, I'm afraid. Looks like home birth could be in
jeopardy. Husband has decided we can't risk having birth pool in flat
without first getting engineer to check on wisdom of placing seventy
seven gallons of water and pregnant wife on 200-year-old Georgian
floorboards in second-floor flat. Such a spoilsport. Husband spent couple of hours
yesterday afternoon taking up fitted bedroom carpet, prising off
floorboard in the corner where I was hoping to site pool and discussing
- in agitated manner - benefits of hand versus electric saws. I
watched, worried, offered tea, felt guilty about causing him worry,
tried (and failed) to think of something useful to say about the saws
(knowing little of such matters) and did my best not to wince at the
mess.
When
the structural engineer arrived, we tried to have laugh with her about
the birth pool; but she just rolled her eyes and said she does this
type of work a lot. They've seen it all, these people. Walk-in safes -
for people who don't like banks. Hot tubs. What's a birth pool to her?
She knelt down, donned big gloves and, after borrowing one of Beanie's
plastic spoons, used it to scrape away at the layer of ashes under the
floorboards placed there 200 years ago to 'deaden' noise between flats.
They do a good job. We never hear a thing from downstairs. Fear,
though, even ashes might not stop neighbours hearing me crashing
through floor, chanting mantras learnt at pre-natal yoga, breathing imaginary gold ribbon in through the nose, out through the mouth, as taught in classes, and
meditating. Husband, midwife and doula peering down from hole in
ceiling. Would not be neighbourly thing to do.
This
'investigation' was meant to be a formality. To satisfy the insurance
people. But it seems we may have miscalculated. The engineer put down
Beanie's spoon. Looked serious. Said something that sounded like it
should have been said by Scottie the Engineer on Startrek: "The floor
joists can't take it." She would send us a full report today, but
wasn't optimistic. Mostly, I was disappointed. But part of me felt
something else - relief. Now I have to work out if I can handle a home
birth without the pool....
Shedworking, one of my favourite sites, is running a theatre review I wrote for them about a production of Walden, a one-man show from Magnetic North about a man who flees civilisation to live in isolation in a hut in the woods. It was great fun going to the theatre (they even gave me a complimentary press ticket, something I haven't enjoyed in years) and because I went on my own I chatted to other people in the audience afterwards. Nothing to do with late parenting, but a mini-highlight of the weekend.
Somewhat closer to home, Va-vay, Beanie and I went to our local Home Birth Support Group at the
weekend. Beanie was entranced when a pregnant lady stuck her tongue out
at her (in a friendly way) - and revealed a rather splendid tongue
piercing. I knew I needed the Support Group after I told a friend last
week I was planning a home birth and he said: "What if you die?" Huh. It's one thing for me to criticise the NHS, but I don't like it when other people do. The Support
Group nodded and smiled when I recounted all this, before bursting into tears, and said they hear this kind of thing a lot. They said that
statistically home births are safer than hospitals. That people who are
negative about you having a home birth are often just worried for you.
Beanie beamed as I sat cross-legged on the floor, weeping, then made
friends with a small boy wearing a T-Shirt saying "Born at Home". Although not yet two years old herself, Beanie loves pointing out "babies" she sees out and about, saying the word "baby" in great excitement, as if the child in question belongs to a different generation from herself. When in fact there's an age gap of twelve months between them. She
spent the rest of the event cuddling the "baby". His mum was there too. Alive and
well.
Other News
A friend is organising a fertility afternoon at the Aditi Yoga Centre
in Edinburgh on Sunday 2 March from two till five. This is a chance to
hear expert speakers on how to improve the chances of becoming
pregnant, maintaining a healthy pregnancy and much more. Topics
covered include acupuncture, chinese herbal medicine, homeopathy, mind
and the body, natural ovulatory cycle, nutrition and yoga. Open to
all. Donation £5 per person.
Activities Angst Childbirth Daughters Dilemmas Friends Fun Health Home birth Out and about Pregnancy
My copy of Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin arrived yesterday from the Book Depository
after the pregnant wife of one of Va-vay's colleagues recommended it to
me last week. Many readers of this blog may already know of Ina May Gaskin,
(I have to confess I didn't) but for those who don't, she is a
'self-taught' lay midwife who has helped pioneer ideas we nowadays take
for granted in modern obstetrics, like fathers being present at births,
the usefulness of breathing techniques, and an end to routine
episiotomies. She was one of the first people to present pregnancy,
childbirth and breastfeeding from a spiritual perspective and is known as "the mother of authentic midwifery". I stayed up
till 2.30am last night reading Spritual Midwifery,
literally unable to put it down, fascinated by stories of women giving
birth at home in a hippy commune in 1970s Tennessee known as The Farm. Although the photos of beautiful, long-haired Madonnas and bearded husbands date the book to a vanished era, the book has a universality and timelessness that makes it as relevant today as ever. Inspirational and
uplifting.
I have made up my mind about one thing. My baby will not be having a supernatural birth. Trawling through Amazon, I came across Supernatural Childbirth. It promises 'a practical and realistic look at God's promises for conception, pregnancy and delivery'. Supernatural Childbirth even includes a 'powerful teaching section on ex-planning [sic] the curse on Eve in the Garden of Eden.' As if labour isn't bad enough, who wants an exorcism to boot?
Call me a sissy, but Unassisted Childbirth isn't high on my list of preferences either. The blurb promises advice on giving birth without medical 'intervention', pointing out that women did exactly this for thousands of years. Curiously enough, the blurb doesn't mention that millions of women died in the process. You know, all that curse on Eve stuff that the supernatural crowd were going to remove. Am still aiming for a water birth at home - but if it doesn't work out that way, I'm not going to beat myself up with rolled-up copies of Unassisted Childbirth. As long as the baby is safe - surely that's all that matters?
And I'm certainly not planning on doing it alone. Please, no.
Afterthought
Friend at dinner on Friday: "Did you know that flats strong enough to take birthing pools command a premium in the Edinburgh property market? Estate agent particulars list them nowadays."
Should most births be viewed as a natural life process, or should every
delivery be treated as a potentially catastrophic medical emergency? The Business of Being Born is a movie documentary just out that tackles the controversial debate between
at-home and hospital births in the US. I don't think it's yet reached the UK (but if anyone's seen it in this country, please let me know). The chronicle follows the stories of married couples opting for home childbirth.
You can see a trailer here. Executive producer is Ricki Lake who was inspired to make the film following the unsatisfying birth of her first child. Here is an interview with director Abby Epstein, who became pregnant herself while making the movie. Going by the trailer (I haven't seen the full movie) the film argues that hospital births are managed to suit doctors - and not mothers, who are losing out to the business side of medicine. It shows women in hospital hooked up to enough kit to power the Star Ship Enterprise, being bullied by scalpel-happy doctors. And yes, the mums having home births look fecund and womanly. I cried when some of them delivered their babies. Home birth is growing in popularity in the US - not surprising going by The Business of Being Born. Once I've seen the film, I'll report back in more detail.
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Met Lorna, the midwife, yesterday for my pregnancy booking visit at our local health centre. I'm fourteen weeks pregnant. Va-vay and I are quietly ecstatic. Sorry to have been so coy about it - but after the miscarriage I didn't dare say too much and we had some wider family issues as well.
Huge relief to see it was Lorna doing the booking, as we know her from having Beanie. She took so much time to listen to us and treated me like a human being. I felt so grateful I hugged her at the end.
Lorna held the Sonicaid to my stomach to listen for the baby’s
heartbeat. "Don't freak if I can't find it," she warned me. "It’s still really early days to pick up a heartbeat." "Don't worry, I won't freak," I fibbed, then clambered up onto the narrow bed. But she found the little
tiddler and we heard the heartbeat thudding away. Tears splashed down
my face. Va-vay red-eyed too. Lorna looked pleased.
We are considering a home birth. The hysterical part is that Va-vay is going to get a structural engineer to come and see whether the floor joists in the flat are strong enough to take the birthing pool. It would make a great scene in a movie, but I don’t want to plunge through to the flat underneath us while giving birth. Can't imagine the neighbours would be too thrilled either. But I’m so pleased – a water birth.
Lorna asked if I wanted blood tests for abnormalities – and when I said no, she just accepted that, saying of course she understood. Last time, the midwife frowned when I declined the same tests, and insisted on reading out statistics for the likelihood of Down’s, then pausing and looking meaningfully at me and Va-vay.
At last I feel excited about this baby – all the happiness I haven’t
dared trust is bubbling up to the surface. The first three months of pregnancy I couldn’t allow myself to
believe it would happen. Now I’m looking forwards to
July.