Bloody births & drug delusions

The first time I laid eyes on my son I was waking up groggily, high as a kite around an hour or so after he was born. He was wearing a huge pink knitted hat and one of the only things I remember clearly is that I didn’t believe he was mine, sons didn’t usually come attached to giant pink bows after all. Some of the only memories I have from Arthur’s first day of life is my mother’s giant African dress (that existed only in my drug fuelled mind) and a floating midwife.
This drug induced delusion couldn’t have been further from the all natural, drug free water birth detailed in my birth plan – the same birth plan that I had been stressing over for days in the lead up to induction. Everyone says that having a birth plan is pointless and you should rip it up at the door. Whilst I agree that it’s best not to be devastated when things inevitably deviate from the expected, the process of writing one helped me alleviate some of my concerns. It allowed me to feel in control of a body that was straying further away from the one I knew and (sometimes) loved.
My pregnancy had gone smoothly, apart from two instances of reduced foetal movement (that I had put down to first time mum anxiety) I got the ok at all of my usual checkups and was even cleared to move from consultant led to midwife led care. My plan had been that when labour started I would stay home for as long as possible, probably in the bath, and then would go into hospital, have Arth and stay a night at most. This was the first thing to go wrong. Despite being convinced that Arthur would come early I was inching closer to ten days overdue and the days of my planned induction. On the 20th of June at 8am I was placed on a maternity ward full of angry, overdue and induced mothers. The next few days were set to a soundtrack of bickering, monitors and doctors bleeping after several induction techniques failed and I continued to be huge, uncomfortable and babyless.
When my waters broke it was anticlimactic, it was 1am and I was in the ward bathroom alone. I tried and failed to get a midwifes attention so had to coax a husband away from his wife (who was in labour) so he could go and get one for me. I was expecting a flurry of activity and to be swept into a labour suite ready to meet my son, instead the contractions started and a midwife led me back to my ward bed and told me to try and sleep.
I was in early labour from 2am-8am alone, bouncing on a ball and waiting for my mum to be allowed onto the ward. At around 11 (I think, my memories are hazy) I was taken to a labour room and monitored. To be monitored I had to sit still but as it turns out my baby was back to back so rather than the pain I had been anticipating it felt like my hips were splintering into thousands of pieces. It was when I refused to sit for any longer that my midwife decided to monitor the baby using a clip at the top of his head in an attempt to allow me to move around more freely. This is where the chaos started. All I remember of this is the midwife telling me that she wanted a second opinion, when I looked up at the room seconds later it was filled with midwives and doctors who had burst into action. One doctor began to stroke my face and ears in what I believed to be an attempt to comfort me but she was in fact attempting to remove my earrings and nose ring. I was then whisked away to a soundtrack of alarms and barking orders, someone began counting to ten and my memories end.
According to my mother everything happened quickly, I was taken to theatre and knocked out and Arthur was born in minutes.
Apparently, when the midwife had attached the clip to the baby’s head she had struggled to find a heartbeat, he was in distress. The cord was wrapped around his body multiple times and with every contraction he was being choked harder by the cord around his neck.
He was born happy and healthy with nothing but a small scratch on this forehead where the surgeons scalpel has nicked him. Because I had been put under general anaesthetic I was unable to have the skin on skin detailed in my birth plan. Everything had happened so quickly that I hadn’t had any time to sign a consent form allowing my mother to hold him after his birth. For about and hour and a half after his birth Arthur was in the care of midwives and unable to feed or feel me (I often wonder if this is why he’s so clingy now!). Although completely unplanned and unexpected I launched into motherhood and didn’t give the whole thing another thought, people asked if I was ok with it and I always said yes.
It was only recently when I watched another mother talk about her ‘wonderful’ birth experience I found myself crying with jealousy and realised maybe I wasn’t as ok with it as I had originally thought. Having been diagnosedwith post natal anxiety I wonder how much of that can be traced back to the confusion and uncertainty of his birth. My mind struggles to define fact and imagination when it comes to meeting him; what actually happened and what have I dreamed up?
I went to sleep and when I woke up he was born, there’s nothing to fill the inbetween, assumptions are all I have. There are very few certain facts 1. There was a problem 2. I lost a lot of blood 3. He was born. The fact there was no process that I remember makes everything feel like a dream: as if I could wake up tomorrow without him, back to what I used to consider normal.
I understand that the surgery was necessary and life saving but I can’t help but sometimes feel that I’ve missed out on crucial parts of our lives. I suppose it’s typical that I’d sleep through my most life changing event.