Investigating a Birth Goddess

Tomorrow is a big milestone in the history of the family - Alfie is 37 weeks, or more importantly, full term. It feels so strange to know that he is now cooked and that we have nothing more to do than just wait until he is ready to come and meet us. He clearly feels the excitement building because he's giving my ribs a daily workover, which in a funny sort of way is quite comforting.

We’re getting slowly more excited at FTC, Keith especially, knowing that any day could be birth day, while my own excitement is tempered slightly by the boom and bust of my energy levels (and blatant need to nest) and also the very disconcerting feeling of my cervix groaning under the weight of baby plus accoutrements.

One of my daily sanity checks is to go onto a forum and root around various groups to convince myself that I’m not going insane with my various aches and pains. Someone posted a thread yesterday about a lady I had heard of, but more in passing, because she is infinitely more famous across the pond.


This article was published in The Guardian about Ina May Gaskin who frankly is up there with such home grown birth goddesses as Mary Cronk and Shiela Kitzinger as people I would like to sit down and just listen to. Women of compassion and wisdom and calmness who have been so involved in the birth of new life, not in some horrible Disney, saccharine filled way, but accepting it for what it is in all it’s terrible glory.

My NCT teacher very kindly leant me some of Ina May’s books after class last night, namely this one and this one , the second of which I am already poring over like a starving man at a feast.


Actually, on the subject of the NCT and listening, I’ve just remembered something that happened last night at our class. I have to warn you, you’re going to be shocked at this .... Keith, as in my husband, I’m too cool for school, Batsford actually earned himself BIG brownie points with his detailed knowledge of breast milk.

I was shocked, teach was shocked, in fact I think there was a jaw left off the floor by the time he had finished proudly reeling off the facts and figures of colostrum, fore and hind milk. Please don’t be scared that he’s developed some kind of pervy obsession though, it just appears that the key to sledghammering information into Mr B’s brain is to stick it on a DVD.


In this case the DVD the midwife left when she made her home visit entitled “Bump to Breast” which I found a really helpful look at how different birth experiences can impact breast feeding and also the practicalities of feeding while still having a life, which isn't something you always see given a high priority in these matters.

Ramblings of a Geriatric Telly Tubby

There is good midwife news to tell this week, so excuse me while I heft myself to the nearest rooftop, loud hailer in hand (never let it be said I don’t try to be balanced in these things).

On Sunday we had our homebirth “chat” which roughly equated to one of the community midwives (who I hadn’t met before) coming over and us going through a checklist of discussion points while she made sure I wasn’t completely barking tonto. I really enjoyed having her over, she listened intently to my views on what to do should Alfie be breech, where, when and how I want things to work and she didn’t even require a cuppa for her troubles. She left me with a nicely wrapped birthing pack too, which made it all seem very real and very close – in a totally positive way though!

Keith had chosen that half hour to be out, and when he returned and I broke the news to him, he got himself all concerned that the birth pool might not fit in the lounge and that therefore, we should put it up there and then. This is despite the fact that half the bathroom was still lying around at this point.

I’ll spare you a blow by blow account of what happened next. Suffice to say the following lessons were learned

1. Keith is not as fit as he would like to believe.
2. Operating a foot pump when 35 weeks pregnant involves standing on one leg, which is never a good idea when your centre of gravity is up there with a full laden skip lorry.
3. Birth pools aren’t round, they are oval – who knew?!

I had to try it out for size once it was inflated of course, and I must admit, I am now looking forward to diving into it for real in a few weeks - sorry La Bassine lawyers, if you are reading this, I don’t actually mean dive. I know you felt the need to stamp a big message about diving on the bottom of your pool but don’t worry, I shall be avoiding the 3m springboard as a means of entry when I’m 5cm dilated.

In fact, add that as a point 4 to the list above, birth pool manufacturers stamp stupid ass messages on the bottom of birth pools. Like “Children under 7 to be supervised”. I jest not.
Anyway, Monday was the far more serious midwife appointment where I get prodded and poked and Discussions are had. Once again though, I was really pleasantly surprised.
We had a chat about what position I thought Alfie was in, and I went through all the things I’ve been throwing at the situation to get him to turn and also a bit more about how I’m feeling generally. Then she had a good palpate – and I do mean a GOOD palpate and proclaimed that she was about 90% certain that Alfie is now HEAD DOWN!!!!

That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop my Optimal Foetal Positioning exercises, but it is a big relief to know that it is having some impact. According to mum, if he takes after me he’ll be flipping back and forward until the last minute, so it pays to keep trucking I reckon.

Like we needed more baby stuff to do, we had our NCT class on Monday evening. As a quick aside, I have now decided that it isn’t that women get obsessed with impending birth, it’s that they are never allowed to stop thinking about it because there is so blooming much to sort out.

One of the things we discussed as prep for next week was a checklist of what our perfect painkiller would look like, not the perfect birth painkiller, just the perfect painkiller. We came up with a pretty interesting list, but what surprised me the most was that thinking about my perfect painkiller Vs my perfect birth painkiller I realised how different the two were.

About 7 years ago, I managed to come off a motorbike doing 0.01mph and destroy my left shoulder. When I was sitting in A&E shaking convulsively, I was offered, and of course jumped at, some serious pain relief in the form of liquid morphine. I remember quite vividly the effect it had on me and frankly, it ticked every one of my boxes as far as perfect pain relief is concerned:

I was still aware of the injury, and yet didn’t care. I felt mellow, happy. It was given without injection. I was still mobile (if a little malcoordinated) and I got to take some home for a later date.

So why then is my perfect painkiller so far away from what I want for the birth? Well all the reasons stated above basically. As we discussed in the class, the pain of birth is a different sort of pain to the sort a person normally experiences in that it isn’t telling you something is wrong (like it was when I rearranged my shoulder) but that an intense physical process is taking place. I don’t want to ‘not care’ about that. I don’t want to be malcoordinated, or so mellow I can’t think about what I need to do next. I’m not saying I want pain either, but coping with pain is something I find easier than coping with being totally vegged.

And finally, I’ve tried not to post endless bump photos on the blog, but I took this one and on the basis that it made me laugh, I thought I would post it. Do you think my bump might have dropped????

The Inner Monica

We were booked in to have our “Homecheck” with our midwife at the weekend which, from what I can gather, varies from a straight up risk assessment to a general discussion on the perils of homebirth, depending on the individual bent of the midwives involved. Curious that something so universally required seems to be subject to so much variation.

Anyway, I digress, we were supposed to have our meeting, despite having warned them that we are in the middle of building works. As luck would have it though, the midwives were otherwise detained, first because Saturday seemed to generate a flurry of labouring women and Sunday because the delivery suite at the local hospital decided to come down short staffed and pulled the available midwives in to help.

Curious too that “staff shortages” can mean pressure to give up your homebirth, but not the other way round.

I’m still waiting for a call to reschedule the visit, which frankly I’m not eager to chase right now seeing as we might even make it as far as a complete bathroom if I play my cards right!!

Last night was our second NCT session, and it was no less enjoyable than the first. If any of you are familiar with Friends and remember the episode when Monica takes a cookery class you might get some idea of what I’m like for those two hours a week. I am constantly fighting my inner Monica.

I love it though: I love finally being given license to be a baby bore. I love that there is someone out there who has read more than me and is eager to talk about it, who challenges my assumptions and decisions in a way that makes me really think about what I want. I think we’ve really lucked out with our tutor, because she is so quiet and gentle with what she says the information almost seems to insinuate itself into your mind, rather than feeling you’re being beaten roundly about the head with it, as is so often the case with these things.

We have some homework this week, Keith and I have to write about the pros and cons of Pethedine/ Morphine as pain relief in birth and we were even specifically told that we are only to produce a scrappy list, and not some epic Powerpoint presentation.

Perhaps my inner Monica is not as hidden as I would like to believe.

Iron in the soul

Today is a good day because today I am 34 weeks. That means in just 3 short weeks Alfie will be fully cooked. Do I feel ready to become a mum yet? Well after this week I mostly just feel ready for a holiday.

There's so much to tell, so we'll start with the thing most likely to get commented on, the state of my health. We went to see the Midwife on Monday and in all honesty I was prepped for a fight. I was so sure I was going to get chin stroking and teeth sucking I have to admit I did go in there with a bit of a teenage tilt to my chin. I was pleasantly surprised though, truly. We had a discussion about my bloods, I mean an actual discussion, and I saw the sense of taking those stupid iron tablets for a bit longer, mainly because there was never a hint that my not taking them was going to be an issue. I was asked what I wanted to do about birthing if Alfie resists all attempts to move him round, and there was no shrieking, no calling of men in white coats when I made it clear that I wouldn't be opting for a C section. I left feeling really positive, which was such a lovely feeling after the seemingly never-ending doom and gloom of my consultants.

For all my complaining, those hospital visits do give me a sense of continuity with the past. One of the blogs I follow posted the following account by a lady I've mentioned on here before, Mary Cronk, about something she describes as getting iron in her soul. It's something I've often read about before, about finding your voice when faced with impending parenthood. These two links speak so eloquently about how it feels to have that moment, I just wanted to share them here

Mary Cronk

Emmett Miller

Someone a little closer to home is fighting her own battle right now. Sal is back in hospital with an infection in her stitches, just as she was after Dan was born, and she has been diagnosed with Group B Strep. Both Dan and Joe are being well looked after by Dave and Sal's mum but I'm so disappointed for her that after such a wonderful, positive birth, she's had such a nasty setback.

One entirely positive piece of news is that we made it to our first NCT session – just. I managed to doze off on the sofa and Keith was busy polishing some bit of rusty metal or other so it was a bit of a rush to get there on time.

Intimidating too, the course is being held at a house nearby which frankly would put a lot of football stadia to shame. And most of the people there seemed unfeasibly polished, which was a bit of a contrast to my bed hair and Keith's hastily scrubbed greasiness.

The course itself was really excellent though, and in contrast to a lot of comments I've seen about how biased the NCT is, we really struggled to get our leader to express a preference for any one way of doing anything, she was so keen on giving us the pros and cons of every argument. It was really useful for me, and for Keith too, who asked more questions and expressed more opinions than I have managed to illicit to date.

It was a little odd hearing him speak so vehemently about different aspects of birth, odd because I didn't actually realise he has listened to any of my inane ranting, and also because he usually stays so quiet when I do, I had no clue he actually agreed with me, let alone that he agreed quite so vehemently. The image of him waving a chocolate biscuit expressively in the air while expounding the benefits of breast feeding is something I think everyone in that room will carry with them for a long time.

Oh, and we're the only home birthers too, just in case we needed any more help growing that extra head.

Once more unto the Breech

Well we had our bonus 32 week scan this morning and the good news is that Alfie is measuring perfectly for his dates, and is estimated at about 4 1/2lb, which is a lovely healthy weight. I wish I could show you a photo of him because she got a cracking profile shot, but she didn't tell us that we wouldn't be getting a copy and therefore we didn't bother to take a photo of the screen.

Not to worry thought because I have now been booked in for another scan in a few weeks time.

You may wonder who's palm I have greased to get such special treatment. The answer is nobody, I just happen to be under the care of the most neurotic group of medical professionals since Carry On Doctor, and the scan this morning revealed that Alfie is breech.

That's it. Seriously. That is the punch-line. 

Hi I'm Tash and I'm 33 weeks pregnant and my baby is breech. 

Not really the scare story of the century is it? There are no Hollywood directors beating down the door of Warner Bros to turn this into slasher flick. 

I will also just say at this point that I was myself breech until a few days before I was born 2 weeks late. By all tenets of modern obstetrics I should be dead, as should my mother and possibly a selection of my extended family from the fallout of such risky shenanigans.

After my appointment I was ushered in to see the consultant (or rather his team, the man himself being otherwise occupied) to speak in hushed, but still remarkably patronising, tones of C Sections and manipulation techniques.

I adopted my now very well practised half-smile-of-benevolence while secretly making dinner plans. I've had to develop this technique to stop me from vaulting over various desks and throttling people with their own intestines on such notable occasions as:

Mrs Batsford, you have the MTHFR677T mutation, your blood might clot too easily so you need to take aspirin to thin it out. 

half-smile-of-benevolence

Mrs Batsford, taking all this aspirin might make your baby too small. You will need to stop taking aspirin at 36 weeks just in time for your risk of pre-eclampsia to really kick in.

half-smile-of-benevolence

Mrs Batsford, or may I call you Natasha, your Hb levels are 10.5, you might run out of red blood cells.

half-smile-of-benevolence

Natasha, your platelets are only 128! That means any red blood cells you have left might leak out uncontrollably if you give birth naturally, we advise major abdominal surgery instead which carries a lower risk of bleeding

half-smile-of-benevolence

OH DEAR Natasha, your baby is the right size but the wrong way round!! You only have 7 weeks to turn him round and he might have flipped that way earlier this week, but we doubt there's room for him to turn back again. Therefore in view of that and your easily clotting, low Hb, easily leaking blood, we definitely think major abdominal surgery is the best idea for all concerned

half-smile-of-benevolence while wondering how blood can be both easily leaking and easily clotting. Presumably it comes out in like rapid fire ice cubes.

If my pregnancy is anything to go by, truly it is a wonder, nay miracle, that the human race has made it this far. Praise be for medical intervention, otherwise we might have had to manage the same way as we have for the last few thousand years.

 

Having done what I usually do and read up extensively since the appointment this morning, I have come to a conclusion not dissimilar to the conclusion of previous "revelations" - my "healthcare team" have clearly got their qualifications from a cereal packet.

Frankly, there are a LOT of things I can do to help turn this baby round, some of which I will be trying in the coming weeks (the spinning babies suggestions alone should make for amusing entertainment) but otherwise I will be birthing this baby at home, as planned, as a breech birth. 

As Mary Cronk says (if you don't know who this woman is, seriously, look her up) some babies are breech for a reason! What I may have to write and inform her of is a new caveat to that statement along the lines of "and some are just awkward bugger Batsford babies"

Anyway, NCT classes start tomorrow!! Anyone want to lay bets on how quickly Keith will turn a delightful shade of grey/green?