Let’s be honest, birth is far from blissful. But let me explain.
My midwife was a total badass, cool as a cucumber under pressure – a great match for my bossy personality. I trusted that if I pushed her she would push back just as hard. After a full day of labour, I rocked up to the hospital, the TENS machine I had was working a treat to manage the pain and I was cruising.
But then she broke my waters.
And the contractions became like great waves of pain crashing and shuddering throughout every part of my splintering body.
I was rocking and just trying to breathe because if I stopped breathing, I was screaming and I was out of control, drowning.
I was on my feet, with my hands on my husbands shoulders. I wanted to strip the flesh off them with my bare hands, I needed him to feel pain. I wanted him to feel it for me. I was losing it. I arched, desperately trying to resist the pain.
The contraction passed and I whimpered at my middy “I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. I need help. HELP ME.“ I didn’t even say drugs. Because even in my desperation, I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
She calmly turned towards me, “If I give you something, you will never forgive me.”
“Because… then I won’t be able to hold her?” I broke into a desperate sob like a little girl. We hadn’t even talked about my birth plan but we were on the same page, no interventions if the baby and I are safe. That had always been the agreement.
“Yes, let’s stick to the birth plan?” She asked me gently.
I didn’t reply. I felt vulnerable, and angry. I wanted to swear at her. I turned towards her to cry out again.
And then my midwife did the coldest thing anyone has ever done to me. At the exact moment I needed her, she left the room.
I turned back towards my husband. But I didn’t see him. I whispered “I want my baby. I want my baby.”