Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Water birth

Home truths

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."

Posted 19 June 2008 10:20 | Number of comments: 15 | Comments

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Hot water

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....

Posted 17 June 2008 15:53 | Number of comments: 11 | Comments

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Spooky

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."

Posted 28 January 2008 17:12 | Number of comments: 16 | Comments

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The Business of Being Born

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.

Posted 18 January 2008 11:56 | Number of comments: 9 | Comments

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You're not serious

Giving birth at home takes nerves - as well as floor joists - of steel.

I ring the structural engineer as instructed to find out if our floor joists can take the birthing pool in which I am planning on having a water birth. He says he will charge me £120 just to look at the pool dimensions. It sounds like two minutes' work. The words 'money' and 'old rope' spring to mind. If he has to rip open the floor it'll be more - a lot more - cost unspecified. I cannot stand the thought of anyone ripping up my fitted carpets and making a mess everywhere with their boots and mud - then taking a load of money off us for the privilege.

It is going to cost £200 to hire the pool. There are lots of complicated instructions about liners, input tubes and disinfectant. I start to think about all the other women who must have given birth in it. This feels both inspirational - and a bit yucky.

We need to have a word with our insurance people to make sure we're covered for every eventuality. And then there's the pre-natal yoga to make sure I can climb in the wretched thing. If I ever manage to get enrolled on a course - they're all full up. It wasn't just my imagination last summer when I was desperate to get pregnant - everyone else really is having a baby.

When I told Beanie's granny about the water birth she spluttered: "Oh my God. You're not serious." Then she offered to dig out my old paddling pool from her shed. She thinks I am mad. I am beginning to fear she might be right. I tell her to stop taking the mick. She sniggers.

I ring the pool hire people in London. The woman said, "No, no, don't worry about getting a structural engineer round. It's just like having twelve people at a dinner party." A dinner party where one of the guests gives birth.

She questions me closely about Beanie's birth - and concludes it was the overly-medicalised side of things that led to forceps and epidural. This is not helpful, and just makes me feel bad about something I'm now powerless to change. And I cannot believe that the NHS deliberately sets out to give women difficult births - which seems to be the implication.

I speak to Va-vay, who says: "Look, if it's going to put your mind at rest, spend the £120 and get this checked out properly. The last thing you want is to be getting into that pool and worrying you'll be giving birth downstairs. It's money well spent."

It's not just the money that's worrying me. I phone back the pool hire woman in London. I tell her I'm worried the birth pool won't be enough to help with the pain. "Are you someone who's frightened of pain?" she asks earnestly, as if she's hoping I'll say 'yes'. Aren't all of us frightened of pain, I think. But I say, "Well, yes, a bit."

She says: "My philosophy is that if you welcome the pain then it isn't so bad." Oh God. I do not even dare ask her if she has any children of her own. Do normal people give birth in water? Or is it just masochists? And people with 'philosophies' about how other women should give birth? I'm not giving up yet - I'll carry on with my research into water birth, and report back.

Posted 16 January 2008 17:53 | Number of comments: 22 | Comments

Water birth

That's my baby

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.

Posted 10 January 2008 17:17 | Number of comments: 30 | Comments

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