This is another birth experience of a member of my Facebook group, in her own words.
Help, help me, oh God help me.
Why is no one helping me?
Desperate to ‘escape’ I threw myself around the birthing pool, banging every part of myself. I know this because in the aftermath, once I’d had some coma like sleep in my own bed that night, my wreck of a body felt bruised from head to toe. I’d bumped my head on the taps, my chin on the side of the pool, my arms, my legs and my feet in my attempt to survive the tortuous experience.
As well as feeling as though each contraction would rip my body open, I also felt my hips and pelvis pulling down as though my spine was being pulled and stretched. I knew what torture felt like now, and I knew in that moment why people being tortured begged for death. With each building contraction I anticipated the next, wondering how I would survive this. As each got worse than the one before, I accepted in my mind that I must be dying; no one could survive this, least of all me. No-one was telling me I would survive this – my obvious conclusion was that I wouldn’t.
I lost sight of the goal, well more than this really; I’d partially accepted that I wouldn’t be getting a baby at the end. Well, what would be the point, when all I wanted was to die?
People talk about the pushing, the crowning, as the ‘worst’ bit. I’d have done that 3 or 4 times over. I pushed as if my life depended on it- because it did, I would die if this pain didn’t stop. Some rational part of me knew that it would stop if I pushed, but no-one was telling me to push. I asked the midwife in desperation, “Why aren’t you telling me to push?” She said, “Push if you want to.” So I did, but only to make it end, only because I thought I would die if I couldn’t make it stop, not because I had the overwhelming urge to push- maybe I wouldn’t have needed so many stitches if I’d been able to wait (to add to the list of things I blame myself for).
And when this thing, this tree trunk sized thing, emerged and it was ‘a baby’ (I said), and was placed on my chest I cried. I cried, and I cried and I’d waited so long for my ‘tears of joy’, but that’s not what I got. Not my joy; my relief, my exhaustion, my fear, my pain, my pain, my body breaking physical and mental torture was over. So I cried and cried.
After the stitches they let me sleep, coma like but not for long enough. Where was my baby? In the room somewhere, but I didn’t care, I couldn’t care. I fed him at their request. I slept some more, but not for long enough. They wanted me to go home. I could barely speak or walk. We went home.
He’s a baby, just a baby, I know he’s mine, I think I wanted a baby. Now I don’t anymore, I wish we hadn’t decided to have a baby. Why had we thought it was a good idea? This baby next to me, sleeping (at first) while I lay awake unable to sleep because the memories are so vivid and they haunt my every moment. I’m exhausted and I try to sleep but I’m gripped by fear and the physical pain just keeps coming waves, I’m reliving the torture. I fall asleep, I wake up crying. I fall asleep I wake up pushing. I fall asleep I wake up panicking. I’ll never do that again that’s for sure.
At this point I think it’s the same for everyone, that everyone feels this gripped by sheer terror, and I feel cheated by the conspiracy that has kept this knowledge from me. I message people I know with children, I cry for them and their pain, I’m so happy they survived this too but why did they go on to have more children? I warn other childless friends and family off, I won’t let them be fooled like I was, “Don’t do it, just don’t ever do it,” and I mean it. I cry for the people whose babies have died; those I know, and those I have never met. How horrifying to go through this without a baby to take home?
I look at my baby. I wish I felt something other than pain when I look at him. I talk about it, over and over. When will the crying stop? The midwives come and go, “You had a normal birth?” They ask me/tell me? I cry. How can this be normal? How can I ever be normal again? How can I complain when I survived and so did my baby? How can I go back and do it again but this time not fail?
My failure; to cope with the pain, to get my baby into the right position during pregnancy (he was sideways), to dilate more before getting to hospital (so they didn’t think I was a wimp), to supress my anxiety (which undoubtedly made everything worse), to breathe the pain away, to provide an amazing experience to all those in attendance, to be flooded with love at the sight of my son (and get my tears joy), to pull myself together just hours after the birth (other people do), to forget the worst of it in days or weeks (like everyone tells me will happen).
“Why couldn’t I do it?” I ask myself and others regularly. They say the same, “But you did!”
I hope that one day that will be good enough.
Just a final note to say that I am six months on from the birth and, although I am only just able to write this up, (and it took many months to write it down in the first place), things have got better. I am undergoing CBT to help me deal with the negative thoughts I have attached to the experience, so hopefully one day I can do it (childbirth but hopefully not this actual experience) again. I am also booked into the antenatal Birth Matters clinic at my local hospital to discuss my birthing options next time round. Unfortunately, my experience of having a debrief with the supervisor of midwives was not helpful, and made me question my care, when originally I only blamed myself. I hope to pursue this with the Head of Midwifery. Finally, I’d like to say that I love my baby! And I always knew that I did, it just took a while to feel like it. Thank you for reading my story.
7 thoughts on “#MatExp – “Normal” Birth Is Not Always Normal”
Thank you for sharing the story of your experience. You raise so many important points here that we midwives need to really think about. I’m wondering why the discussion with the supervisor of midwives was not helpful – I’d love to sit down and have a yarn with you. I’m so sorry your experience was a harrowing one. I hope the CBT is helpful for you – it can take quite a while to get over the shock that comes with a disappointing birth experience – the fact you have fallen in love with your baby so soon is wonderful; it can take much longer than six months for some. I wish you all the very best with your next birth experience. Thanks again for being so courageous and generous in sharing your story – I’d really like the students I’m working with to read it – you’ve given us a real opportunity to explore an important aspect of women’s experiences through childbearing.
Thank you for your comments Carolyn, I will make sure they get back to the mum in question. H.x
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I remember saying (well screaming repeatedly for an hour) the exact words that you’ve got in italics at the top of this article, and begging someone to help, while also bruising myself stupid in a birthing pool that I wanted to get out of but wasn’t allowed to. My little one was 10lb and back to back, your story has hit home so much with me as I remember every single one of those feelings. Sending lots of love xx
I am so sorry this was also your experience Heather. I will let the mum in question know that you have commented. xx