Maggie's NICU birth

I threw myself into learning about positive, mindful pregnancy and physiological birth. We had one-on-one hypnobirthing sessions, I read stacks of books, joined groups online, created a vision board, painted affirmation posters, wrote and practiced our own hypnobirthing script, practiced prenatal yoga at classes and at home, stuck affirmation cards all round my desk at work, we engaged enthusiastically in our antenatal classes and doula sessions, went to breathing and visualisation classes, I did pregnancy meditations, had acupuncture, listened to pregnancy and birth podcasts every day. Until I became pregnant, I had the same conditioned view of birth as most women in the developed world - and everything I learnt to the contrary was wonderful and enlightening and amazing to me. I felt so excited and blessed to be so fortunate as to be the kind of person who seeks to educate myself - so that my baby could have the kind of beginning every baby deserves.

My surges started naturally during my 41st week during the day after having a huge burst of energy and doing an unusually vigorous cardio home workout. The surges were intermittent and continued that way into the evening. I had this idea that it would be lovely for Maggie to be born at dawn, and we’d hear the birds and see the sun rise as we had our ‘golden hour’ in our own bed at home, and I felt sure that I’d meet her that night. I told Shaun to go to sleep as he’d need rest for what lay ahead, and felt proud of myself for choosing to stay up on my own to wait for my surges to progress. It felt nice to sit on the sofa in our peaceful little home, talking to my body and my baby, feeling self-sufficient and full of anticipation.

I leaned against Shaun and we swayed together through the surges. I marched around with a scarf tied up and around my bump so I could pull it to support my belly during surges. Our doula noted that I was anxious that the long, strong surges I’d been having seemed to be dying away again. Around midnight I started feeling nauseous and retching a lot during surges, which made me feel out of control, anxious and unsettled. My surges became more consistent, and I continued to retch during surges which made me feel afraid and doubt that my body was ok. I couldn’t rest at all between surges as they were coming so fast and being in any other position apart from standing was too painful, so my legs were exhausted from standing through the surges for hours, with no food and barely any drink because I felt so sick and kept retching. I persisted in trying to lay down but it made me actually sick. The midwife said later that she thought active labour started after i’d been sick.

It went on for hours, and I doubted that I would have the strength to carry on. I started to feel desperate and afraid. How would I have the strength to do this for Maggie? Where was the calm and relaxed birth I had planned for her? I started to pass out between surges as I was so exhausted, but I was afraid to sleep because it meant waking up to the body slam of a surge - and it was terrifying. It was like torture, being so desperately tired but not being able to rest even between surges. At 10.20am the midwives asked to examine me, as Maggie’s heartrate was rising. Laying down during the surges was agony, and I asked not to be told my progress. After 24 hours of irregular surges, then 6 hours of stronger early labour, then 6 hours of what had appeared to be strong active labour - we hadn’t progressed as one would have hoped. Maggie’s heartrate continued to be concerning, and I was told it was recommended to transfer.

At 3.45pm I was examined and found to be fully dilated. Our doula was really happy, we woke Shaun up and told him the good news. I text my family and we all thought everything was going to be alright. That I’d meet Maggie soon. They told me I’d be given two hours to sleep, and then we’d push. I felt so relieved. It felt like everything I’d been through would be ok now, everything would be alright because we were safe, the pain had gone, and Maggie would be born soon. It was only a few minutes later, just as I had just settled into sleep, when a doctor came into the room as Maggie's heartrate was concerning again, and did a scan that showed she was back-to-back. At 4.30pm they told me Maggie needed to be born right away. They told me they would try to turn and deliver her with forceps, and if they couldn’t it would be an emergency c-section. I remember being warned that I could end up losing my womb. By this point I was beginning to shut down, I couldn’t think or function. I couldn’t believe that this was happening. That all our preparation and passion and ‘getting it’ and believing it all so thoroughly could have led us to this nightmare.

I was taken to recovery, and I sent Shaun down to NICU to be with Maggie. They said I couldn’t go to her until I could move my legs. It was a torturous wait. Then when I could move my body enough to be wheeled down, seeing my child in the incubator was more than i could bear, and I just wanted to be away again. I was desperate to go to sleep and not feel anymore. It was three days until a doctor told us she would definitely come home. Three days where we didn’t know if she’d live. It was 3 days until I could hold her, still attached to loads of wires. 5 days until I could try to breastfeed her. The hospital let us stay for 5 days on the maternity ward, and Shaun wheeled me around. My tear was painfully infected, searing hot pain almost constantly, but when I was examined they said they couldn’t see any signs of infection. I persisted and it took 3 different courses of antibiotics before the infection eased and I could be comfortable.

But I worry I’ll never lose the fear, the terrifying reality of what Maggie experienced. What she lost. The trauma she experienced. The nights alone. The strangers. The loss of me - all she knew. The antibiotics. The loss of delayed cord clamping, the loss of vital colostrum. The loss of the calm, relaxed, connected and safe arrival into the world that she so deserved. I can’t quite cope with it. I can heal myself - but how do I help her heal? I can grieve for what I lost and try to move on. But I don’t know how to move on for what Maggie has lost, and how it will affect the rest of her life. While she breastfeeds and as she falls asleep, I often affirm to her 'you are safe. You are loved. You are wanted'. I tell her that we are safe now. We are safe now.