Sam's Birth Story - As Remembered by Dad!

It’s been four weeks since Samuel was born, and the focus has obviously shifted to our new life at home with a new member of the family, and all the changes that go with it.  It’s funny that, for so many months of the pregnancy, my thoughts were on the labour and how we would get through it, and now that it’s over it seems like such a small blip in the scheme of things. Every pregnancy and labour is different, and ours was probably on the tougher side of how it could have gone, and yet we got through it happy and healthy.  If my recollection of our labour can help another dad-to-be prepare or deal with labour, then I’m happy to share my experience.

The Kick Off

Labour started for me in the early hours of Saturday morning, when Phoebe woke me to say that she thought her waters had broken and she’d had a few contractions.  She’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions over the last week or two, and I’d asked her the night before whether she thought we’d make it through the weekend (she didn’t).  So when I was woken on Saturday morning, mentally I was now on leave from work, and it was ‘go time’.  I’m proud to say I didn’t panic, and when the hospital told us to come in, we got the labour bags together and knew there was a chance that the next time we came home it would be with our baby.

At this point, I don’t think I was fully convinced things were progressing.  It wasn’t like the midwives had told us things would go, as the contractions were still very irregular and not too close together.  But we made the trip in to the hospital, and after spending a few hours there, the short version of the story is that they sent us home.  Phoebe had lost some fluid, but her membrane hadn’t ruptured, so we were disappointed to know we had to head home and wait.  And to me it also meant that after I had mentally signed off from work, I might still have to go in on Monday!

Despite this not being the real deal, it was from this point that I actually realised how close I was to becoming a Dad.  Up until now I had tried not to think too much about it, knowing that all the emotions would rush in.  Well that’s exactly what happened, and I spent the rest of the weekend nervous (I think I asked Phoebe how the contractions were going about a hundred times), anxious, excited and restless. Unfortunately, by Monday morning things had slowed, and I was off to work for the day.  We had read that these irregular contractions could last up to a couple of weeks, so we really had no idea when it would be.

The Real Kick Off

Tuesday 2am-5pm

Tuesday morning at 2am Phoebe woke me again, and said something like ‘I don’t think you’re going to work today’.  In my sleepy state I didn’t realise what she meant straight away.  Apparently she had already called the hospital, and they told her to just relax and wait until contractions were 5 minutes apart, but that it sounded like she was in labour.  Despite this, I was still sceptical.  I figured if it had happened once and not been proper labour, it might be the same again.

We spent most of the day at home, resting and timing contractions.  I was surprisingly calm, and I think it was because I still assumed it might not be go time. As it approached 4pm in the afternoon, I started getting worried that it was getting close to peak hour, and the drive to the hospital could become an issue if we needed to go.  We’ve all heard the stories of babies being delivered by Dad on the side of a road!  Sure enough, things were starting to heat up, and it was about 5.00pm when I rang the hospital again to give them an update, and they said to bring Phoebe in.  Even at this point though, I was still not convinced that Phoebe was in labour!

Tuesday 5.00pm-11pm

I didn’t speed or run any red lights on the way to the hospital, and as it turned out, we were never in danger of running out of time.  The midwife did an examination upon arrival, and we were told that Phoebe was 4cm dilated and that we should go for a walk and just wait for things to progress. It was at this point that it really hit me that we wouldn’t be leaving the hospital again without our baby!  I’m hoping Phoebe will say that I was still calm at this point (because on the outside I was trying to be!), but inside I had a few moments where all the emotions rushed through me.  Phoebe was coping really well so far, and we were still in the early stages, but this was it! 

We spent the next few hours getting some food, walking (very slowly) around a small park outside the hospital, and letting parents know that they might want to organise their travel arrangements for the next day.  By the time we went back in I think both Phoebe and I expected to be only a few hours away from the birth of our son.  It would have been around 11pm by now. At this point I was starting to get sore feet from standing up, tired from the long day and a little annoyed at the lack of communication from the midwives (it turns out at our hospital that, unless you’re in the final stages of labour, they only check on you every four hours).  But obviously I kept most of this to myself, given what Phoebe was going through.  One thing I was prepared for was the fact that, physically, labour is exhausting for Dad as well, but compared to what the Mum goes through it’s nothing.  So I sucked it up and focussed on helping Phoebe deal with the contractions.

Tuesday 11pm – Wednesday 5am

When the next examination took place, Phoebe had dilated to 7cm.  I was relieved that we were making progress, despite it happening very slowly.  I was really proud of how Phoebe was coping, and if I’m honest, I started thinking that although it was obviously causing a lot of pain and discomfort, she was doing so well that she’d be able to get through the whole thing without thought of pain relief.  I was doing what I could to help – reminding her to relax between contractions, keeping her hydrated, rubbing her back and hips, and feeling like a personal trainer as I talked through each contraction and kept her focussed on her slow and steady breathing. 

So up until this stage, I was feeling fairly good (despite my sore feet).  Labour was progressing, Phoebe was doing a great job at dealing with the pain, and I was feeling confident. This was also the point that things started turning. I remember that not only did the contractions start ramping up in intensity at this point, but Phoebe’s back was starting to hurt so much that she was struggling to relax between contractions.  This was tough for me, because it felt like my usefulness was starting to wear off.  I think the back rubs helped a little, but I was starting to realise the mountain in front of us, given that we were not yet in the final stages. 

For me, there were two points during labour that I was truly blown away and humbled by Phoebe’s strength.  The first one was over the next five hours. I kept up my routine, helping where I could to make Phoebe relaxed and comfortable, as well as helping her push through the pain.  But I could tell that she was really starting to struggle.  I remember during one particularly strong contraction that Phoebe made a small noise, almost like a whimper.  It was only soft, but it told me so much about the self-control she was exerting to keep it all together, and I suspected that it was partly for my benefit that she was determined to stay strong on the outside.  

Still happy but a bit tired

The back pain seemed to be getting worse, and the midwife suggested sterile water injections into Phoebe’s lower back.  It seemed like a good idea, and we were told it would be very painful for about three seconds, but would give relief for a couple of hours. They waited until a contraction had started, and gave her the injections.  The language from Phoebe at that point was the worst it got during the whole labour.  We knew it would hurt.  What Phoebe didn’t expect was the intensity of the pain. I stood in front of her to help keep her still, and I remember the crazed look of pain and terror for about three seconds, as well as the guttural groan she made.  It was awful to witness, and be able to do nothing other than hold her hands.  Once again I was reminded of the physical ordeal she was going through, while I felt like a bystander. The shock of the injections had Phoebe crying, and then vomiting everything she’d eaten over the last few hours.  The only (slightly) funny part was that we had been eating lollies, and her being sick made the room smell very sweet (it’s gross when I think about it now, but at the time we took any opportunity for a laugh or smile).

After the injections Phoebe’s back pain subsided, but the contractions continued to intensify.  I asked the midwives if we could go into the birthing suite, and they obliged.  Phoebe got straight into the shower, and the hot water helped for a little while.  Then that also wore off, and she was truly struggling. I found the next hour the hardest of the entire ordeal.  Inside, I think we were both just thinking about the goal, knowing that the increasing intensity must mean we were getting close to pushing.  Phoebe decided shortly after the shower to try the gas, and although she says it didn’t work, I could tell there was some relief.  But it wasn’t much.  I started to feel more and more useless, as my words of encouragement and support seemed to make little difference, and each contraction had her in tears.  I kept increasing the proportion of gas to oxygen (and had a very quick hit myself – I figured quality control was important), but I didn’t think it was keeping up with how the pain was increasing for Phoebe.

It was at about 3am when another strong contraction ended, that Phoebe said to me very softly that she didn’t think she could do it.  I didn’t want to admit it, and I certainly didn’t say it at the time, but I was also having a hard time watching her in so much pain and not being able to help.  I did my best to reassure and calm her, and we asked the midwife to perform another examination.  I thought that if we knew we were close, it would give Phoebe the determination to push through. At this stage, Phoebe had been in labour for just over 24 hours, with the previous four hours being very intense and difficult.  Unfortunately, the midwife told us one of the last things we wanted to hear. ‘There’s been no change, you’re still 7cm dilated’.

I think a little part of Phoebe’s determination gave way right then.  She was trying to be strong and avoid the epidural for my benefit, but after barely holding it together for the last four hours, she was no closer to giving birth.  It broke my heart to see how apologetic she was as she told me she wanted an epidural. We had spoken in the lead-up about pain relief and decided that we’d just see how it went.  We weren’t against pain relief, but would only use what we thought was necessary at the time.  As a Dad in the birthing suite, you don’t physically feel the pain that Mum does, but I could see the exhaustion showing, I could see the desperation in her eyes for it to be over, and I was very quick in asking the midwife to get the anaesthetist.  Unfortunately, we had to wait another hour for him to arrive, while Phoebe cranked the gas, and somehow pushed through. When the anaesthetist arrived and gave Phoebe the epidural (which didn’t hurt her at all, at least in comparison to the sterile water injections), they also gave her a drug to try and quicken things up.  We were told that they’d do another exam in four hours, and if there was still no progress we’d have to consider the options (meaning caesarean).

With the epidural taking effect we finally got a bit of a respite.  Phoebe was completely exhausted, and now I had time to sit down, I realised I was also completely (emotionally and mentally) spent.  It was 5am; we had a few hours, so we both had a small sleep for an hour or two. We woke up knowing there was a chance a caesarean was on the cards, but either way, we would have our baby today.  That, as well as the little rest, gave us both spirit.  We knew things weren’t progressing quite normally, but the baby wasn’t distressed, and everything was still ok. When the examination was performed at 9am, I can’t describe how relieved I was to hear that Phoebe was fully dilated, and that she would start pushing in an hour.  It was time!  And things had progressed while we had rested.  I was so thankful for the epidural at that point.

After the epidural

10am – Time to push

I mentioned before that there were two points during labour that I was truly blown away and humbled by Phoebe’s strength.  The next two hours were the second of those times. By the time it got to 10am, we were both ready for it all to be over.  I’d been getting calls all through the night and morning from parents who had expected us to have news late the night before.  We were both tired and Phoebe was sore, and we were ready to meet our baby boy.

With Phoebe having had an epidural, she didn’t feel any pain.  Instead it was just a bit of pressure, so she could still push without hurting.  I won’t go into any details, mostly because I stayed away from the business end and encouraged Phoebe from up the top. The pushing seemed to go well, and the midwife was praising Phoebe’s efforts.  After about an hour she told us that he was at the last bend, and that once he was around that it would happen fairly quickly.  So Phoebe kept pushing.  And kept pushing.  After a while, I started to realise that it wasn’t happening as the midwives had hoped.  They didn’t tell us, but I could tell from their body language, and the fact that she kept going out of the room briefly (I guessed to keep someone updated). After about an hour and 45 minutes of pushing, Phoebe was exhausted (despite not being in a huge amount of pain).  I was a little worried that things weren’t happening, and that no one had told us what to expect.  The baby still wasn’t in distress, so I was reasonably calm, but I could feel my anxiousness building. 

The doctor came in to check, and asked Phoebe if she wanted help, to which a panting Phoebe looked up and said ‘yes please’ with clear exhaustion.  The doctor explained that she would use the suction cup just to help him along.  She also said that if his shoulders got stuck they would help him along by pushing on Phoebe’s tummy.  I don’t remember having any feelings or thoughts towards that at all, other than that I was grateful that it would be over soon, both so we would have our baby and Phoebe would be done. As they were getting ready over the next couple of minutes, I suddenly realised that there were about ten people in the room.  It seems obvious to me now that I should have realised that meant something, but at the time it barely even registered with me.  I was so focussed on keeping Phoebe calm and telling her excitedly that she was nearly there and we were about to meet our little man.

The next part is a little blurry for me, partly because of the huge surge of emotions (at both extremes) as well as how quickly it all happened. When the doctor was ready, and the next contraction came, Phoebe pushed and the suction helped get his head part of the way out.  At this point the doctor told Phoebe she was going to make a small cut to help (which I knew to be an episiotomy), which is when Phoebe started getting very worried.  We were assured it wouldn’t hurt because of the epidural, but I didn’t think Phoebe was fully convinced, and once again I felt a bit useless as I tried to calm her, without much success. I can’t really say what happened in the next minute or so.  All I remember is that with the next contraction Phoebe was almost hyperventilating and that my reassurances that we were about to meet our baby boy seemed not to make any difference.  I doubt she heard my words at all with how stressed she was.  The next thing I remember was the doctor pulling our baby free, and the tears streaming down my face.  I felt I had held it together fairly well for the past 34 hours, but at this point I had lost it.  Recalling that memory now brings tears to my eyes.

Phoebe told me later that they had to help with his shoulders, but I don’t remember any of it.  All I knew was that we were parents.  I was asked if I wanted to cut the cord.  I stammered out a ‘yes’ as I wiped tears away, and the next thing they had taken him away briefly to be checked. It seemed like they had him a long time, although it was probably only a minute.  During that time I got the first inkling that something wasn’t quite right with Phoebe.  I didn’t know what was happening, but heard someone say ‘will need surgery’.  I honestly can’t say what my emotions were at that point.  I was on a high, and yet all of a sudden there was a chance something terrible had happened with Phoebe.  I think I stood at the head of the bed with Phoebe like a stunned mullet.  Later on we were told that Phoebe had a third degree tear and had lost almost a litre of blood, so it was fairly serious.

Weighed and measured

It wasn’t long until our baby was brought back to us and put on Mum’s chest, where she got her first real glimpse of him.  If the tears had stopped at any point, both Phoebe and I now had tears of joy and huge smiles as we took him in. Unfortunately it didn’t last long.  Phoebe had five minutes with Samuel before she was taken away to theatre.  The midwife took Sam to wrap him up, and the next thing I knew the room was empty aside from me, the midwife and Sam.  I got my first cuddles at that point (and heard the strength of his lungs).  I couldn’t believe we had done it.  The last 34 hours were suddenly nothing – I was sitting there with my little boy, and he was perfect.  On the other hand, it wasn’t quite right because Phoebe wasn’t there to be a part of it. 

Dad's first cuddles

Waiting for mum to return!

I was told that they’d let me know when she was in recovery. So I spent the next 45 minutes sitting alone with Samuel, taking him in, and worrying about his Mum.  I didn’t call anyone – I wanted to have this moment to myself, and didn’t feel it was fair that Phoebe hadn’t had her chance with Sam before letting the world know.  And so we sat and I stared at him. Finally I was told that Phoebe was ok and in recovery, and that we could see her.  The midwives had assured me that Phoebe wouldn’t be in surgery for long, but hearing that everything had gone well and she was ready to see us was a huge relief. And that’s pretty much where our labour story ends.  We spent the next hour or so in recovery with doctors checking Phoebe, while she got cuddles from Sam and had her first attempt at breastfeeding. 

Home Day!

Thinking back on the experience now, the things I remember the most are the whirlwind of emotions, the feelings of complete uselessness, the surge of pride I had for Phoebe, the utter mental and emotional exhaustion, and finally, the overwhelming and unconditional love I felt the instant I saw Samuel. So to sum up my feeling now towards our labour in one sentence?  It was long, traumatic, and draining on many levels, but at the end of it all the birth of our perfect baby made it all worth it.