by Andrea C

In the words of Guy Sebastian,

“I’ve met the darkness
Been held by the night
Lonely was there in my arms
I’ve been with broken
I’ve stared in her eyes
Emptiness left me this scar”

My first baby was overdue. I walked into that office and I said those words I will always regret. “I want this baby out now – I’ve had enough”. How could I be so callous. That was that then. I was induced the next Friday. Black Friday for me. I was so excited to finally meet my lovechild. I was happy to put up with the pain of a stranger’s fingers entering me to break my baby’s waters. I let them. My baby wasn’t happy though. Fifteen minutes later she was born while I was hurriedly put under a general anaesthetic. My husband and my mother asked to leave the room. In my final moments before she was born I prayed as loud as I could “God save me, save the baby”. And then I woke up.

I heard the screaming of this baby in the distance. I thought I was dreaming it. My husband came over and said “we have a girl”. I went back to sleep.

Later he told me he was worried that maybe they gave us the wrong baby. We didn’t see this one come out of me. And this one cried all the time. All day. All night. We struggled. And I became someone else. Someone dark. Alone. Wishing that someone could just make it all okay again.

Yes, I had a healthy baby. So I got on with life. I lifted my head up and I thanked God for my precious gift of my daughter Jaden. My angel. She didn’t give up. And neither would I.

When Jaden was 18 months old, my husband and I were thinking about divorce. He called me “the dragon lady”. I was bitter. I was cold. I was so filled with hate but I didn’t know why. After one drunken evening I found out I was pregnant again. I was terrified. God please not again. My husband was over the moon though and we decided we could get through this. We could start fresh. It would all be okay.

I didn’t attend much antenatal care this time apart from the 18 week scans. I couldn’t bear to go. None of what they said helped me last time so I couldn’t see any benefit this time. At a visit with the obstetrician at the hospital I was asked whether I wanted a caesarean again. Absolutely. I didn’t want a ruptured uterus. And I wasn’t having that terrifying episode happen to me again. And that was that. I was booked in for surgery at 39 weeks.

At 38 weeks my baby decided that she was in charge. She would decide her birth date thank you very much. I was in labour. I was terrified. I demanded I be able to hear her heart beat at all times. I couldn’t move in case the heart beat became less audible. Please. I begged them. Please don’t let it happen again. I can’t lose this baby. Please just give me a caesarean. And they did.

I thought I’d saved myself from the terrifying ordeal of birth. I thought over time the scars would heal. And they did – but only the ones on my belly. In my heart I was still black. My shoulders still felt heavy. And I still felt hate.

My husband and I struggled through another “colic” baby. We got there in the end. But we came close to breaking up a few times. Especially over my OCD. “Why does the salt shaker have to be in that exact spot at all times?” he would ask me. I couldn’t hear him because I was running downstairs to check that the doors were locked…again. No one understood. I didn’t understand either. And I felt really alone in the world. Really alone. Had God forgotten about me?

But yes, I had a healthy baby. I now had two beautiful daughters. Both guiding me and teaching me how to be a better person. I knew my path in life was to help others through this nightmare. I would work in child health. You need to be a midwife. Okay. I’ll enrol. And the therapy began from the first day.

I cried buckets during that course. My kids were 1 ½ and 3 ½ years old at the time so I was always overtired. It was the lowest point in my life towards the end of the year and my husband and I were living separate lives and organising our final split. But somehow, in amongst all the pain, we toyed with the idea of finishing our family together. I knew I wanted another child to finish my family. He did too. We decided we’d rather have all three kids to the same parents, even if we weren’t together. And then slowly through those crazy plans…we made up. And I became a midwife.

I knew I wanted to have a vaginal birth but I wasn’t sure where. I knew about the benefits of homebirth. But I was still surrounded by negative people in the hospital where I worked. I thought I would have to have my baby in a hospital to feel safe. Even the thought of me having a “trial of labour” was met with comments from hospital-based midwife colleagues like “Are you crazy?” and “Do you really want a brain dead baby or yourself to be dead?”. But yes. I was crazy. I had been for a very long time. And I needed to do this. It was my only hope at a normal life.

I was accepted by one public hospital to have a “trial of scar”. At the onset of labour I was to come straight to hospital. I was to be continually monitored. I was to have an epidural “to keep me calm”. I was to be allowed 5 hours of active labour. If I had not “delivered” by then…caesarean. The first sign of fetal distress….caesarean. The cord was to be clamped immediately. Medicalised third stage. The list grew and grew. I went in there all staunch thinking I would give him hell if he tried anything on me. But when I got there I felt like a timid patient again. I signed his agreement and watched him stick my birth plan in the back of the folder. “Why do you want to do it natural?” he asked. “Because it’s natural” I said. What on earth did I mean by that?

I walked out and felt sad about it all until I attended a talk on homebirth at work. And then there was light. “Wow. That is what I want. I want to be happy. I want my family to be happy. I need a homebirth”. I was lucky. Before long I had found my homebirth midwife.

She was my angel from heaven. She believed in me. She was so relaxed with birth that I relaxed too. Together we went on a journey of me preparing my head for birth.

The night my third baby was born, was magic. I gave it everything I had. I screamed. I yelled. I cried. I was determined I could make it all better. I had made a big mistake having those caesareans. Agreeing to that torture. Being a wimp. I was weak. I should have stuck up for us. For me. For my babies. This time…get out of my way. I would rather die trying than have not tried at all.

We were in the dark. In my family’s spa. At home. Just the place you want to be when you are in such pain – emotionally and physically. We had beautiful music playing. A beautiful scent from the burner. A beautiful flame in the corner. I found my rhythm. I found my dance. And I just let go. I went to a place a long way from here. A place deep inside myself. I went to a time thousands of years ago. Millions of years ago. I found the primal me. And I roared.

I roared to the world I would not take this anymore. I would not carry this hate anymore. I will birth this baby. And then out she came. And my lungs filled with air again. But this air was different.

I was made whole. The world had a meaning now. My life had a meaning now. Thankyou God – how can I ever repay you? Thankyou to my precious (water)Lily. Born on the 4th July 2006 – (US) Independence Day. Thankyou to my other children, Jaden and Rosie, who guided me in this direction. And thanks to those who believed in me. The gift of my homebirth midwife. The gift of my birth support person. The gift of my husband’s undying love and trust in what I had chosen.

 

“And now I can live again
I have been chosen to run with the wind
I can go higher I know I will soar
I’m taller, I’m stronger, I’m better than before”
– Guy Sebastian.