The birth of Leo, as told by Ben Board
Ben and Emily's adventure began with regular contractions about 8 minutes apart. They called the hospital and were told to come in for some checks. They arrived to discover that the labour ward was full and were put in a waiting room for the next few hours while a midwife questioned whether they were in labour at all. By the time they were given a delivery room, Emily's labour was well under way. Here is their story in Ben's words...
Em had made such rapid progress that the midwife (Kerry, a wonderful woman, someone who reminds you that behind all the nonsense of daily life there are fantastic people doing amazing work every day) was very breezy about how quick she expected him to be born. I thought he'd be out by 7 or 8. As it happened, though, although her cervix was fully dilated quite early-on, and the contractions were fairly major, he wasn't actually coming out.
(At this point I have to describe how time passed in there. There was a clock, but it didn't mean anything. Most of the time was spent with me and Lucy (our doula, a goddess, without whom...) helping Emily through successive contractions using hot water in the shower, an egg shaker, heat packs, towels, counting, or whatever else worked; while sitting silently in the muted light inbetween, Emily drawing increasingly inward as the evening went on. Occasionally the midwife or a passing doctor would say that such-and-such would happen in one hour, or in fifteen minutes; but it was like a long-haul flight in that time really doesn't mean anything, and fifteen minutes would feel like a lifetime while the hours pass in the blink of an eye. All the events described here happened over the course of the evening but I really couldn't tell you precisely when.)
A test much later on revealed that a tiny cervical lip was impeding baby's progress - a common circumstance - and more time was suggested for it to solve itself before intervention was necessary. More time later, and some progress had been made but not enough; and the decision was taken to administer a small amount of Syntocin, the drug used to induce birth by speeding up contractions. Although not a full induction, even a small dose causes a sudden jump in contraction intensity and this was pretty clear from Em's reaction. By this time Em had been in second-stage (pushing) labour for a good couple of hours, after a long day without adequate preparation for birth, and she was clearly absolutely knackered - barely conscious between contractions, close to fainting during them, and a rare couple of fleeting moments when she looked desperate, like she really couldn't do it. They quickly passed, and Lucy and I did what we could to help her through.
The strength she summoned for pushing after that point was awe-inspiring, humbling, incredible, the most amazing demonstration of human endurance and capability I've ever seen. Climbing Everest cannot be any harder than that. I can only imagine what it was like to experience first-hand, but it's given me a respect for her body that I could never have appreciated any other way. I was getting very tired; she pushed harder. We suggested she pushes while we count to fifteen - she pushes to thirty. We ask twenty - she does forty. While I was getting pretty exhausted by this time (11pm+) her monitor, which had been registering 40 back in day stay when she was beginning to feel the discomfort very seriously, was reading 200, seeming to double her efforts each time. It was all I could do to tell her how proud I was of her, and I always will be, I'll never forget that.
In the end all the pushing was good, but not quite enough: his head just wasn't coming quickly enough and we all agreed, on doctor's advice, that some help would be in everyone's best interest. We agreed to the use of Vonteuse, a suction cup that attaches to baby's head so the doctor can pull while mother pushes, on the basis that energy levels were nearly zero and it was likely to bring it to an end quickly. That required the use of stirrups, a small local anaesthetic (nothing like an epidural) and a couple of small cuts to prevent tearing, but by that stage we were prepared to allow those minor discomforts for the sake of a conclusion, and conclude it did: Leo was finally born, with a large, livid inch-high Vonteuse bruise on his head like a mini Uluru, at 0045 on the Friday morning, and everyone was very happy, not least of whom Mum.
Ben Board