The story of my birth, as told by my mother, Bonni:

It took me a long time to decide how to tell this story. I've been formulating what I want to say about the experience, and checking with Andrew to confirm that what I remember is valid, accurate, etc. Finally, I decided to just write it from the only perspective possible, and that's my own.

The pregnancy was healthy and everything was normal, although I was in a good deal of pain from various things. My pelvic joints were inflamed and I had physiotherapy for that, but it still made walking and sometimes sitting painful, sometimes extremely so. I also had some trouble regulating my blood sugar (not gestational diabetes, but just dips in my blood sugar if I didn't eat regularly, and if I ate the wrong thing at the wrong time, I got very nasty hypoglycemic symptoms such as severe dizziness, nausea, etc.). By the end of the pregnancy, I was almost incapacitated, and I had to borrow a wheelchair from the shopping center if we went out to do anything, because my back and pelvis ached so much and I was often very short of breath and easily exhausted.

Toward the end of December, I started having periods of strong, regular contractions. On more than one occasion, those contractions started to look and feel like real labor, and sometimes would last for hours and hours (up to fourteen hours on one occasion). I had several trips to the hospital with these contractions and to tell the truth, I was getting very tired of the whole thing. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, and I was starting to worry about my state of mental health (always an issue that I have to keep in mind, given my history of depression and other problems).

I tried several things to get the contractions going naturally. These included eating spicy food (curry, which did get a long episode of contractions going, but they fizzled out after twelve hours or so), nipple stimulation (which would get the contractions started, but they'd stop shortly after the stimulation did), going for rides in the car, the herb blue cohosh (which is supposed to aid in stopping spurious labor and/or starting true labor), red raspberry leaf tea (which isn't a labor inducer, but it is a "uterine tonic" and I thought it might help somewhat), evening primrose oil, and various other things. About the only thing I didn't try was extended walking (because I couldn't) and castor oil (because I didn't want to make myself sick).

When I went for my 38 week checkup, my doctor and I had a talk about the spurious labor situation and how I was doing. We discussed natural means of labor induction, and I'd tried pretty much all the ones she metioned (and a few she didn't, such as the blue cohosh and the spicy curry).

I should note here that I tend to be in favor of low-intervention childbirth whenever reasonably possible. I'm not anti-medicine by any means (hey, I've always had babies in hospitals, with doctors in attendence). I do think that in most cases, all things being equal, it's best not to interfere in the normal process of birth, and that includes drugs and other stuff. Sometimes, though, all things are not equal, something I also understand and recognize.

So my doctor and I talked about labor induction. I wasn't keen on the idea, to be honest. I'd had two inductions with pitocin (that's the American name; Aussies and Brits call it "syntocin" but it's the same stuff), and I wasn't really eager to repeat that. The contractions generated that way can be extremely intense with very long peaks, and they're pretty hard to cope with. I was already exhausted and I worried that I would be unable to cope with that sort of labor. Furthermore, with an induction of that sort you're required to have an IV and be in bed so that the baby can be monitored, and I hate being restricted in that way, especially in labor.

I asked about vaginal inserts with prostaglandins, to make the cervix "ripen" (i.e., make it soft so that the contractions would actually do some good). She told me the the pros and cons of that, and we discussed artificial rupture of membranes. The plan evolved that I'd go to the hospital and get the prostglandin gel, and we'd see how that went. If nothing happened, the next day my doctor would break my waters and we'd see how that went. If nothing happened after that, we'd have to go for the oxytocin drip, although of course both my doctor and I hoped it wouldn't go that far. Given my mental/emotional/physical state, I thought it was probably the most sensible way to proceed.

We made arrangements with the hospital to have me admitted for the prostaglandin procedure. The doctor wanted to do it the afternoon of Monday (the 7th), but the hospital thought they'd probably be booked up then, and so I was on a waiting list, with a probable date of the 8th to have the procedure done. As it happened, all day Sunday, 6 January, I had contractions. I went to the hospital when I'd been having them for fourteen hours. They were again spurious labor (argh!), but I was told to come back Monday evening at four p.m., because they'd be able to take me then for the induction.

The procedure was pretty straightforward. I was put on a fetal heart monitor for a while before the doctor arrived, and then I got an internal exam to check my dialation (practically none at all, despite all those hours of contractions the day before). Then the gel (dinoprostone) was inserted at about five o'clock, and then I went back on the monitor for a while to make sure baby was well. That's all there was to it, although I have to admit the stuff burned really noticibly. After a half hour of monitoring, they sent me home. Fortunately, our flat was about three blocks from the hospital (and Zoë was with her grandparents at their house).

Before I left, they told me the gel would cause a lot of cramping, like menstrual cramps, and may cause some lower back pain. It can also cause diarrhea and other uncomfortable side effects, so I was told what to watch for. They also suggested that if the pain became considerable, I could take some Panadeine Forte (pain reliever with codeine, equivalent to the American Tylenol 3). Other than that, I was to try to rest, since I was expected back at 7 a.m. to have a check and have my water broken if necessary.

We went home and sat down at the computer for a couple of hours and looked up the drug I'd been given and what its side effects were (I was a little discouraged to see that well over half of women still ended up needing further medical intervention to complete the induction). Around eight o'clock, I was very hungry and so was Andrew, so we decided we'd go out and get some fried noodles for dinner. I'd been having pretty uncomfortable but tolerable cramps the whole time, but when I stood up, I really hurt. The burning/stinging was very bad, and my back hurt a great deal, so I decided I didn't want to go out and sent Andrew without me.

As I managed to hobble up the stairs to the bedroom, I was thinking, "Oh, geeez, what have I gotten myself into? I might end up really regretting this...". I went to the bathroom and took two Panadeine Forte (unusual for me; I normally take one Pandeine Forte with plain old Panadol). Then I got into bed, wearing my underpants and a hip-length nightshirt that convieniently doubled as a maternity shirt in the last few weeks of the pregnancy, and got myself as comfortable as I could manage (lying on my side, pillow between my knees). I was still having cramps, somewhat irregularly, but I wasn't too concerned or distracted by them. I grabbed a book and settled in.

Andrew brought back dinner and I told him I couldn't possibly go downstairs or sit up. He brought my food up to me, and I lay on the bed on my side and slowly ate my noodles (eating noodles in bed proved to be very difficult). When I finished, I put the plate aside and called down to Andrew. He was watching a television show that he wanted to finish, and said he'd be up in about half an hour.

I took off my glasses and set them aside, because I was quite tired. I closed the book and dozed a little bit. It must have been around 10:00 p.m. at that time, because the show Andrew was watching is on at 9:30p.m., and it's an hour long. When Andrew came to bed we talked a little bit and then turned the lights off around 11 p.m.

An hour later or so, I started to recognize that the cramps had changed in character. They were feeling very like labor contractions. They were coming from very "deep" inside, which doesn't really describe them, but that's the only phrase I can think of. For an hour or so, I lay there in the cool darkness, cuddled up to Andrew, breathing very slowly through the contractions and counting (one-mississipi-two-mississipi-three-mississippi... it's supposed to give you an easy way to mark seconds, but I never get it quite right and my "seconds" are always off, but it was a good mental distraction). I realized that the peaks of the contractions were coming at a certain number and so I could "ride" through them to the peaks, knowing that the peaks would only last a couple of counts past that point. In between contractions, I tried to doze, because after all the false alarms, I wasn't going to get excited until I knew something was seriously happening.

Around 1 a.m., I told Andrew that I thought I might finally be in real labor, and he mumbled something non-comittal and then asked if he should plan on getting only an hour of sleep (this wasn't a rude comment; he just wanted to know what to prepare for). I told him I wasn't sure, and he suggested I call the hospital, which I did. I talked to the midwife and decided to stay at home for a while longer, and that I'd come in if and when the contractions got stronger or closer or something changed significantly. She said to call before I left so they could have the room prepared.

For about another hour or so, I tried to sleep and kept having contractions. For some reason, I kept thinking that the contractions were "just cramps" and that if I could just get to sleep, I wouldn't have to deal with them. In between them, I actually was dozing off, in fact, and I would get kind of annoyed when I'd get another "cramp" that woke me up. I remember at one point thinking, "I wish these stupid cramps would stop," because I wanted to sleep!

By 2:00 a.m. or so, the contractions were getting quite strong. I wasn't timing them (hey, I wanted to sleep, not watch the clock), and since I was dozing between them, I wasn't paying much attention to the passage of time at all. I did notice, though, that the peaks were suddenly a lot stronger. I was having to do more than just deep breathing to cope. At the peaks, I was having to change breathing (to a sort of quick, panting breath; it wasn't Lamaze or anything, just my way of coping based on several books I'd read on childbirth and my personal instinct). In some part of my mind, I thought, "Hey, maybe this really is getting serious..."

And then something in my pelvic area or lower belly went POP and the pain about quadrupled and my panting turned into a very loud and religious sort of chanting (it went like this: OHHHHHHHHGODohGODohGODohGODohGOD). Andrew was almost immediately out of bed and dressed. Another contraction came very quickly and I instinctively got on my hands and knees on the bed to ease through it, and as I was there I started to tremble all over and feel really panicky. I said, "Oh, God, I think I'm in transition!"

At some point after that announcement, Andrew called the hospital and said we were coming in, that I thought I was in transition. I got up and went down the hall to use the toilet, muttering all the time and sort of flinging my hands around the way I do when I'm feeling panicky and overwhelmed. I was saying something like, "Oh, no, oh, no, how am I going to get to the hospital?" because I was thinking it would be really hard to travel in the car when I was in transition and having such overwhelming contractions.

Andrew tried to help me calm down, and said, "It's transition. This is the worst it can get." I repeated that sentiment as I went to the toilet (I wanted to see if my water had broken, but if it had, it was only a trickle and the baby's head was blocking the bulk of the fluid), but then I had another contraction and started up the "ohGODohGODohGOD" again...

I managed, somehow, to get my pants on and I started down the stairs (Andrew had the pre-packed bags). I said, "I hope I don't have a contraction on the stairs," and, naturally, I did have a contraction on the stairs. Thankfully, I was on the landing, and I could hold the rail and sort of hop around from foot to foot, since I couldn't keep still at all by this point). I got out to the car and got in, but I didn't put on my seat belt because I didn't think I could stand to have the thing on or to be in the upright position to fasten it (this goes to show my state of mind and body; I always, always wear a seatbelt, even when I was being taken to the hospital with a painfully broken arm).

I should note that the hospital was a very short drive from the flat. Two traffic lights, no more. The drive, especially at 2:30 on a Tuesday morning, takes five minutes or less.

I had another contraction once we were moving, and I wriggled around in my seat while making a great deal of noise. I cursed the traffic light, which turned red as we got to it. Andrew called the hospital again on the mobile phone and asked them to please have the Entonox ready (Entonox is a nitrous oxide gas mixed with oxygen; more on that in a bit).

I had another contraction on the way to the hospital, and then one in the parking lot once we got there. Some women were outside having a smoke and they saw me double over and asked if we needed help. Andrew said we were fine, and they were a bit dubious, but when the contraction ended I went inside well enough, although I was clutching my pillow to my belly and walking slightly bent forward.

I had another contraction in the elevator. I said hello (or at least, I said something, probably a combination of grunt and moan) to the midwives at the desk of the delivery ward, and one of them, Sharyn, ushered me into the same delivery room I'd been in earlier for the prostaglandin treatment. Waiting on the bed was the mask for the Entonox, and I grabbed it as soon as I saw it, bent forward over the bed, and sucked on the gas for all I was worth, because by this time I was having another contraction.

I'm going to take this opportunity to talk about Entonox, for the sake of people who are unfamiliar with it. Entonox is 50% oxygen and 50% nitrous oxide gas, self-administered through an inhalation mask (or sometimes tube). This pain management option is used widely in Europe and Australia (and possibly elsewhere), but I've never seen or heard of it being used for labor in the United States. I only became familiar with it when I moved to Australia and started to do a little research on it.

Entonox is not a particularly effective pain reliever for most women. It can take the worst of the edge off, but less than 50% of women who use it for labor say it was satisfactory for pain relief. It has advantages, though. Since the gas is entirely self-administered, the laboring woman can stop and start it whenever she feels like it, and while it does have immediate effects, there are no other short term or long term side effects as far as anyone has yet documented (and it is quite well studied).

It does have potential side effects which include nausea, dizziness, and disorientation. Some women feel like they're suffocating when the mask is on. Other than that, Entonox is quite safe and any ill effects disappear within seconds or minutes of discontinuing its use.

Before I went into labor, I did the research on Entonox and I figured I may as well try the stuff if I felt like I really needed something. I was anticipating only needing it during transition, based on my previous experiences with labor. As it happened, the gas worked somewhat, but I'd be in that 50% who say it wasn't that satisfactory. It took the edge off the contractions some of the time, but by the time I got to the hospital I was already at the most difficult and painful part of labor, and the gas didn't do diddly-squat for the peaks of those contractions. Anyway, back to the story at hand...

In the delivery suite, the midwife asked me if I could get on the bed once the contraction passed, saying that they really wanted to get a trace of the baby's heartbeat. I whimpered and said I didn't think I could climb up, and I apologized for being unreasonable and said I didn't mean to be uncooperative. I was feeling very emotional and pathetic at that particular time, another sign of transition.

Eventually, after another contraction, for which I stood up by the side of the bed, swaying my hips and leaning on the bed with the gas mask on my face, I did manage to get on the bed. I probably took off my pants and underwear before I got on the bed, but I don't remember doing it. I only noticed later that I was bare from the waist down.

So I got up on the bed and got the monitor around my belly, and I was really, really uncomfortable in that semi-sitting position. I tried to get on one or the other hip to relieve the pain, but that didn't help at all. I was just extremely uncomfortable there, and I was very vocal about it. I insisted that I wanted an epidural (I didn't, to be honest, and the calm, rational part of my brain knew that and would have refused if it had been genuinely offered). I said I wanted a nice, boring labor like I had with Zoë (i.e., referring to the medically-indicated epidural I had with her). I then said I'd take demerol (pethadine), because I insisted that, "I can't do this!" I did keep working with the Entonox, and while it helped somewhat, it really didn't do much, especially when the contractions hit their peaks, and when the contractions did peak, I felt very suffocated with the mask on and I had to take it off in order to feel like I was getting enough air. I don't remember everything I said, but I know it was all pretty much ranty, panicky, and nonsense (although I wasn't kidding about being in considerable pain).

Looking back, I know now that I was actually rather afraid that I wasn't far enough along in the labor, and that I'd have to cope with contractions of that strength for possibly hours more. If I'd known that when I arrived at the hospital I was probably already 8 or 9 cm dialated, I would have probably handled it a lot better, but things moved very quickly and by the time I got an internal exam I was pushing already...

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I stayed on the bed for three contractions or so, ranting and complaining pretty much the whole time that I wasn't inhaling the gas. When the monitor came off, I got out of the bed right away. Sharyn suggested that I get in the shower, that it would help with the contractions. I grunted something that meant "No, thank you, I instintively feel I should remain here," but it probably came out more like "Nup." She told me we could get a portable gas tank there so I could use the nitrous oxide in the shower, but I didn't care. I didn't want to get in the shower and instead I stood by the side of the bed, leaning forward, swaying my hips from side to side. This was when I first realized I was actually naked from the waist down, because my bottom was cold, but I didn't care very much.

As I stood there, swaying, having a contraction (made much more tolerable by the fact that I was standing up and moving around), I felt the urge to push and I said so. I was using the Entonox sort of half and half now, hit or miss. I had the mask in my hand, but I wasn't relying on it very much. When the next contraction came, I took a deep breath and gave a little experimental push to see how it felt and WHOOSH, fluid came gushing down my legs. I didn't care at the time, just kept pushing, but when the contraction ended I said, "I didn't just pee on the floor, did I?"

Andrew chuckled and said, "No, it's got blood mixed in," and I looked down at the puddle to see for myself. Sharyn was quick to point out that this was normal (I knew that, wasn't a bit worried). She came over to wipe up the puddle and the rational part of my brain realized that if I was pushing, the baby would be coming pretty soon and I'd better get off my feet, so I climbed back up on the bed, kneeling, leaning over the raised back of the bed.

I think my doctor arrived around that time or a bit earlier, but I honestly don't remember when, and I wasn't paying much attention to anything outside of myself, really. I recall hearing her say, "When I heard you were asking for an epidural, I knew you must be in transition, so I came right away." Prior to the birth, I had commented to her that the only time I ever ask for drugs in labor is when I'm in transition.

Next contraction, I took a big breath of Entonox and then just pushed. At some point, I lowered the mask and took another deep breath without it, and pushed some more. When the contraction ended, I managed to say that I felt the baby's head coming. It was actually quite a remarkable feeling, because I could literally feel her head as it moved downward. I also felt a sort of burning, stretching sensation, but it wasn't terribly painful, and the pushing felt very good and took away all of the pain other than the stretch-burn.

With the next contraction, I pushed again and Sharyn told me I had a lot of lichor coming down. Mind you, I'd never heard this word (despite all my reading on childbirth and previous experiences) until Andrew and I went to our prenatal birth "refresher" course. It may be a word used in some parts of the world and not others, and I may be spelling it wrong (I did try to look it up but had no luck at all, no matter what spelling I used). What it is, though, is the pre-birth lubricant that makes the birth canal slippery and allows the baby to slide out easily. So when Sharyn said there was a lot of that, the rational part of my brain said, "Oh, good, the baby really is coming right now, then." The non-rational part didn't say anything because I had another contraction and just took a deep breath and pushed.

I think it's at this point that my doctor told me that the baby's head was "right there". Someone (probably the doctor, but it might have been Sharyn) asked if I could turn around, presumably to give birth sitting or squatting at the end of the bed. I said, "Nup." I meant it in the sense that I probably really couldn't turn around. I was very intent on what I was doing, and my focus was almost entirely internal.

Prior to this labor, I had thought about what birth position I'd like to use. The hospital and the doctor were both entirely flexible on the matter (within medical reason, of course), and it was pretty much up to me. I had thought that when it came down to it, I'd probably use a semi-squat at the end of the bed, as I had in previous births, but that's not how it worked out. I ended up kneeling on the bed and I wouldn't be persuaded (nor was I really able) to move. Beside, the few minutes I had to sit on the bed for the monitoring had been painful enough to convince me that I didn't want to sit any more!

With the next contraction, someone asked me if I could stop pushing for a minute. I said, "Nup," and kept going. When I had a breath I said, "Pushing is the only thing that's helping the pain, and I'm going to keep doing it." One of the two women, probably my doctor, chuckled and said, "Okay."

Looking back, it seems that the baby was ready to crown at that point, and they were trying to follow by birth plan and let me know so I could stop pushing to decrease the chance of tearing, but by that time I was way past being able to cooperate with anything other than my body's desperate and demanding urges. My urge was to push, and that's what I pretty much had to do.

Pushing through the next contraction, I just instinctively lowered my body, leaning back on my haunches, arching my back and lowering my head. I was thinking, in that rational part of my brain, that I should lower myself so that the baby wouldn't have as far to drop. As I moved, I felt the burning that accompanies crowning, and felt the baby's head pushing out of me. The pain was definitely noticible, but compared to the earlier contractions of transition, it was quite tolerable (and by this time I was full of endorphins and adrenaline, anyway).

When the contraction ended, I said, "The baby's head is out, isn't it?" and someone said, "Yes." Andrew had the presence of mind to take a picture of this amazing-looking situation (the picture is not online and will not be, but we have it for our own private collection), so I got to see it afterward. At the time, of course, I just felt this bizarre pressure and stretching that grew and then eased off, so I knew we had to have gotten past the crowning and delivery of the head.

My doctor said, "Push for the shoulders," and I did, and the rest of the baby tumbled out of me. The sensation of that is one that is impossible to describe but which I will always remember. I said, "Boy or girl?" and my doctor said, "Girl." I said, "I want to see her. I want to see my little girl."

Sharyn helped me to turn around, which was interesting because the umbilical cord was still attached to both the baby and me, and I had to be careful in lifting my leg as I turned over (talk about a weird feeling!). I sat down and they put the baby in my arms. She was still fairly blue, and that worried me a little (Zoë had significant respiratory distress at birth, and I was a little jumpy about that sort of thing), but Sharyn got some oxygen and held the tube beneath the baby's nose and the baby started to "pink up" right away, much to my relief.

They asked if we had a name chosen and I looked at the gorgeous, chubby baby girl with dark, curly hair (I had so wanted a dark-haired baby!) and said, "Miranda Joy." This was the name we'd already chosen, but we had a few others handy, just in case the name didn't suit the baby. But I looked at her and her miraculous head of hair and her darling little face and just knew the name suited her.

The placenta was delivered without any particular drama or excitement (I did agree prior to the birth that I was okay with a single shot of oxytocin in the hip to aid with that; I don't remember getting the shot, but Andrew assures me that I did get it). Then, when they weighed the baby and called out to me her weight in kilograms, I thought it sounded like a big baby, but I'm not good at converting metric to imperial measurement, so I asked what that was in the "old measurement". They did a conversion for me and told me nine pounds, one ounce. Pretty big baby, and I didn't have any tears at all, although I had a few "skid marks" (no surprise there!).

Miranda had her first breastfeed pretty shortly after her birth, and then I was up and walking around and having a shower. Andrew and I had something to eat and as we were admiring our beautiful baby, the sun was coming up over the city of Melbourne, and the view was just spectacular, since the birthing suite is on the eleventh floor and faces the heart of the city. I sat in a big recliner and held my baby and looked out at the city as the dawn unfolded.

For several hours after the birth, I was really high. I couldn't stop looking at Miranda, and I couldn't keep my hands off of her. I felt like I was some sort of goddess-woman! It was unbelievably cool to have given birth to such a perfect little cherub, and to have done it with only the assistance of a little bit of nitrous oxide (which I didn't use for more than about half an hour, anyway). Endorphins are an amazing rush!

Looking back, I have to say I'm pretty pleased with the way things went. I had joked that I wasn't going to go to the hospital until I was in transition, and that's the way it ended up happening. I think if I'd have realized sooner that I was in actual labor (and not just having cramps from the prostaglandin gel), I might have gone to the hospital sooner and thus avoided having to go down the stairs and ride in the car when in transition, but then I'd have missed the almost peaceful state of half-dozing I was in for the earlier part of the labor. Lying in the bed with Andrew was very soothing, and if I'd been in the hospital, I wouldn't have been able to do that.

I also wish I had realized how far along the labor was when I arrived, and thus saved myself the embarassment of demanding drugs the way I did. I didn't really want drugs, and I certainly didn't want an epidural. I was just ranting, mostly out of fear that I was going to be laboring like that for hours longer (and I should also note that I only did that during transition; for early and established labor and for the pushing stage I was fine). As it turned out, the baby was born a little less than an hour after we arrived at the hospital, which ended up being just about ideal.

All in all, a good experience. I definitely recommend it. And just look at the lovely little cherubic baby we got out of it!

There are some Aa href="http://bromage.org/kids/gallery/miranda_birth">pictures of Miranda' birth online if you'd like to have a look.