Once upon a time, there was a severely overdue pregnant woman and her birth story goes a little bit like this...

Have you ever planned something to within an inch of its life, where every final detail is covered and you think nothing could possibly go wrong because you’ve had it all organised for months? Let’s use a birthday party as an example. You’ve booked the most perfect venue, the date is set, invites have gone out, you have custom designed your birthday cake, sorted out the catering and organised decorations to fit with the colour scheme and theme of the evening. The day comes, you’re all excited and then *BAM* the heavens open so your freshly set blow dry goes flat, the venue has a leak in the roof, your helium filled balloons have started to deflate and the cake has found its way onto the floor during transportation from the delivery vehicle to the venue. All those months of planning for the perfect evening are completely wasted, you have a mini mental breakdown, throw a diva fit, threaten to cancel the party all together and then get talked round by your nearest and dearest that everything will be ok, the show must go on and after a few adjustments you end up having the time of your life and the fact the top tier of your birthday cake is still squished into the gravel of the car park you don’t actually give a shit because you’ve drank your body weight in prosecco and partied the night away with the people that you love.

I can hear you all thinking…’what the actual hell is she going on about?!’ but this is exactly how I felt when I hit the ‘overdue’ stage of my pregnancy and although I knew my dreams of a home water birth hadn’t been completely shit all over by the fact I had hit 40 weeks with zero signs of anything happening, this slowly became more and more of a reality as the days went by. 41 weeks came and I was still positive that all our plans could still go ahead – anything between 40 and 42 weeks is still a normal time to go into natural labour so I knew I had at least a week to make this a reality. We tried all the ‘tricks’ to get things going: 2 mile dog walks, raspberry leaf tea, acupressure and reflexology, bouncing on a yoga ball, hot baths, sex, spicy food, clary sage oil (in the bath, in massage oil, inhaled on a tissue and in an oil burner) relaxation, dancing round the house, exercise and castor oil – I even had 4 sweeps but still nothing was happening. FML.  42 weeks came and went, I had a bit of a ‘show’ (lost some mucus plug) which was a positive thing as it showed me something must be happening down there, however as this was my first baby I’d never experienced that before so I wasn’t entirely sure if what had come out was a little or a lot – I thought it was quite a big deal, but then the midwife said it can still take 2 weeks from losing that for anything to happen and it can replenish itself so not to use it as a sign anything was imminent. GREAT. The hormones had set in by this stage and S often found himself coming home from work to me in an emotional mess on the sofa not knowing what to do for the best. I was getting fed up of waiting, fed up of people saying ‘have you still not had that baby yet?’, fed up of copying and pasting the same response to peoples messages hoping they would get the hint and leave me alone and fed up of the unknown. The thought of induction had always been a complete ‘NO FUCKING WAY’. I had planned for this birth to happen naturally at home and the stubborn side of me was going to make sure that happened (at least I know the baby and I already share the character trait of stubbornness  - sorry S!!). The midwife came round for a check up – these were more frequent now I had gone over the recommended 42 weeks – and asked how I was feeling. I just burst into tears and said ‘I just don’t know what to do anymore!’ I was scared and worried about a hospital birth – mainly because I had spent the past 6 months planning the most perfect home birth and I didn’t want to be induced because of all the horror stories you hear about how it makes labour longer, more painful and there is a higher risk of assisted birth and C-Section if you go down this route. This couldn’t have been further away from what I had planned if I tried. I had been stuck at home for the past 2 weeks over thinking everything, dealing with questions from people eager to know if there was any news and trying everything to get labour started and I think everything just piled up on top of me and exploded right in front of S and my midwife. I cried, she cried, S sat there probably thinking ‘what the hell do I do? Shall I put the kettle on? Is this a good time to ask if I can watch the football?’ and after a long talk she managed to calm me down and reassure me that there were still lots of positive birth stories from people who had been induced and that we still had time to let things happen naturally if we wanted to. The final decision was down to us and although medical professionals can recommend stuff, unless there is something wrong that could affect me or the baby, we could refuse their advice and carry on waiting. We were booked in for a growth scan later the following week and she would come and see me twice before that to do my observations etc. She left, I cried again, S gave me a cuddle and I tried to process the thought of scrapping my home birth and got my head around the fact that I might just have to go into hospital. It took me a while to accept this, and there was still a glimmer of hope that a home birth could happen if things kicked off before the scan, but I wasn’t holding up much hope. After crying out all the hormones that had been building up inside me for god knows how long, I felt a lot more positive the next day and thought ‘if I need to be induced then so be it.’

 I will just warn you now that this next bit is maybe a little graphic so if you get easily offended or get grossed out by *TMI (*too much information for my older readers) then I would probably skip to the next paragraph. 

The next day, after a having a positive day at home, I woke up and decided to have a bath. I ran the water, made it nice and hot, chucked some clary sage oil in (even though I know its all a load of bollocks and doesn’t actually work) and just chilled out for half an hour or so. When I decided to get out, I stood up and felt something hit my leg. Now, my first initial thought was that it was an arm and the baby had decided to reach out, have a feel around and see whether or not it was happy with the surroundings it would be living in, and if so, it would continue to climb out and chill out with me in the bath, but no. I reached down and felt something slimey. It was like my lady garden had got a cold and sneezed everywhere. *I did tell you it was graphic so if your squirming then either man up or jog on to the next paragraph* I grabbed hold of it and pulled what can only be described as about 15cms of fanny snot out of my vag. I was absolutely mesmerised, just staring at this ‘stuff’ in my hand for about 30 seconds before thinking ‘ok, this is gross’ and chucking it in the sink. It stuck to the side like one of those jelly alien things that you could buy back in the early 2000’s – you know the ones where everyone at school was adamant if you put two back to back they would have an alien baby – when really that was complete and utter shite. There would also always be one stuck to the ceiling of the hall you had assembly in and people would put bets on which teachers head it would fall on when they were talking to us about serious stuff like year 10 options or who would be representing the school at district sports. Surely this was my ‘show’, it had to be! The amount of stuff in the sink was ridiculous, and although it was slightly (extremely) disgusting, I was thrilled because this meant my cervix was opening. Yippee!!! I dried myself off and did what any respectable wife would do…took a picture of it and sent it to S (who was at work) before washing it away down the plughole and bleaching the sink. I wasn’t expecting anything to start that day because it can take anything from a few hours to 2 weeks to go into labour once you lose your plug, so I just waited it out and hoped for the best. The next day I woke up, went to the toilet and to my horror I had another episode of ‘the amazing mucus plug escape’. There was the same, if not more, than the day before and I was beginning to understand why this baby had not made an appearance yet, it had been barricaded in like the characters from Les Mis with a wall full of jelly snot. You could seriously wallpaper a small room with what had come out, and I’m not even over exaggerating. Honest. Surely this must mean something is going on down there? I mean Jesus Christ, if you pull a cork out of a bottle the wine will flow right…? Wrong! Still nothing. After 2 days of being ‘barricade free’ baby Scott still wasn’t feeling it. I seriously blame every single person who said I was going to be early for jinxing the absolute crap out of me. You all owe me an apology, a bottle of prosecco and an all-expenses paid trip to Bali!

We decided to wait until the growth scan, just to see if anything had happened by then, and if not we would bite the bullet and go in to be induced. I would be 43 weeks exactly by then, and realistically, how long do you wait?! The scan day arrived and part of me wanted to wait it out a bit longer just to see when the baby would actually decide to make an appearance, however, although all my observations were clear, the scan was completely normal and there were no issues, the risks do get higher and higher each day after 42 weeks and I began to think, ‘is it actually worth it? 3 weeks overdue  is more than enough time to wait for this baby to get a move on and I don’t want to encounter any potential risks by longing it out any more than I need to’.  So that was it, my midwife phoned the hospital and we were booked in for 5pm!

Well, 5pm came and went and after a few questions from the midwife at the general hospital they said they couldn’t induce me until 7.30ish due to them being too busy which was fair enough. 7.30pm came…nothing. 8pm…nothing. At 9pm they came round and said we need the anaesthetist to speak to you because of the metal rods in your spine (I had an operation when I was 14 for a curvature and they were worried about the position of them in case I needed an epidural or spinal for whatever reason) fan.fucking.tastic! They hooked me up to an ECG to check the baby and measured it etc. The scan we had earlier in the day estimated a whopping 9lb 10oz, so the thought of pushing that out of the tunnel of love made me want to find the receipt from 43 weeks ago and get a refund. You can imagine what was going through my head. How the hell would it come out? What if it gets stuck? What if I completely rip in two and have to spend the rest of my life wearing Tena lady? (other piss absorbing brands are available). I then asked about a c section and the possibility of this (because let’s face it, it could end with that anyway) and was told, ‘it really does depend how low down the baby is and also what the doctor says’. Now I’m not being funny but why the HELL do the male species get to make these decisions? The doctor doesn’t have a vagina...he’s never given birth before, what the shitting hell does he know?! The midwife left and I had yet another breakdown! Not going to lie, I was absolutely SHITTING myself by this point. The calm, take everything in her stride, ‘what will be will be’ Leah, had left the building and had been replaced with negative Nelly who was imagining the worst case scenario for every option possible. The anaesthetist came round and explained that he was about 80% happy with what he saw although he would need my medical records from 15years ago plus a copy of the X-rays so he could be 100% sure the epidural or spinal would not hit the metal rods in my back if I needed to have one. We hadn’t told anyone we were going in to be induced, mainly because we didn’t want people to worry but also because it can take bloody ages for anything to start happening anyway. However, as we needed a copy of the X-rays and my parents were the only ones who had them, S found himself ringing them at 1.15am asking to come and get them. We would have waited until the morning but the midwife had already shoved the pessary, aka little piece of cardboard, up my fanny at 1am and although it can take 24 hours to take effect, they didn’t want to risk not having them in case the baby suddenly decided to shoot out at rocket speed. S drove to the parents pad to pick them up and I stayed at the hospital (obviously) hooked up to the monitor. The X-rays were received and given to the anaesthetist and we were left alone for the night. Well, when I say left alone, what I really mean is woken up every 2 hours for observations and having to listen to the other moany fuckers on the ward whilst trying to get back to sleep again. Morning came, nothing had happened during the night so we faced another mind numbingly boring day in hospital. After running out of things to keep us occupied I decided to brave the ‘shared shower’ and freshen up a bit. S came in with me (the room, not the actual shower) just in case anything happened. You see these horror stories of women going to the toilet and a baby falling out, which brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘dropping the kids off at the pool’ so I didn’t want my now 22 day overdue baby to dive head first into the plug hole of the shower like it was doing a bungee jump off a cliff on its gap year in Thailand. The shower was average, it served its purpose, however when getting out I felt something on my leg (yep we’ve been here before). You’ve guessed it, it was mucus plug o’clock, AGAIN, and the sheer weight of it actually pulled the pessary out so I was now left with flubbers long lost cousin in my hand alongside the most fucked up tampon you have ever seen! The panic set in when I realised that this little eviction notice needed to be posted in cervix city for another 8 hours for it to work to its full potential and that having it in my hand probably wasn’t going to have the same effect. S called the midwife and she put it back in for me so the waiting game had resumed. S was starting to resemble a cast member from’ Bear Grylls: The Island’ by this point - sleeping in a chair, not being able to use the shower facilities and eating nothing but Pringles and strawberry laces had stared to take its toll. As nothing was happening I sent him home to shower, change his clothes and eat something substantial before coming back. He reluctantly left and I perched myself on a yoga ball and started bouncing for England!! About half an hour past, my thighs were burning from all the bouncing, I had worked up a thirst and all of a sudden I got this dull period pain in my lower abdomen which lasted a couple of minutes. I thought to myself ‘could it be?’ then for some unknown reason I got the song ‘something’s coming’ from West Side Story stuck in my head (if you’re into musical theatre, you’ll know) and started choreographing a whole chorus number involving numerous pregnant women on yoga balls and others step ball changing through the ward dragging their IV lines along with them. About 5 minutes passed and it happened again and then another 5 minutes passed and it happened again. I was recording them on my contraction timer app (god bless the App Store – how did women cope before?!) and they were definitely getting stronger and closer together. S came back and I told him what was happening (I spared him the choreography details, that was a bit irrelevant at this point, even though it was a pretty sick routine!) We told the midwife and she hooked me back up to the machine to check the baby’s heartbeat and movements etc and everything was fine. She told us to keep track of the contractions and let her know when they were about a minute long and I was having 3 in the space of 10 mins. 3 hours passed and we hit the ‘3 in 10’ quota so we called her over to let her know. She said I needed to go back on the machine for observations so toddled off to go and get it. When she returned there was no machine in sight. ‘Sorry’ she said. ‘We’re really busy and we only have 2 machines for the whole ward, there’s a few women in front of you but once they are finished you’re next to be monitored.’ Oh wonderful, there’s approx 30 patients across this ward and you have 2 machines...seems like a reasonable ratio when there are women in agony getting ready to shoot a baby out of their love canon in every direction we look! About 90 mins passed and finally there was a machine free. The baby’s heartbeat was a bit on the high side and was in the 180’s so we were told to keep an eye on it and to call the midwife if there were any changes. To cut a long story short, the baby’s heat rate was peaking and dropping dramatically between 211 and 68, I was oblivious to all of this as I was having contractions every minute and a half and was dealing with everything with no pain relief. S was constantly calling the midwife until they decided to bring a doctor up. They thought I may be dehydrated which could be the cause of the inconsistent heart rate so they shoved an IV line in me and monitored me for a further 20 mins to see if it would regulate, however unfortunately it made no difference and the baby appeared to be getting more distressed as time went by. They gave me an internal examination and although my cervix was up for the party and in position ready to go, I was only 2cm dilated which meant I was actually in false labour and my body had no plans to push this baby out any time soon without a bit more help. They decided to break my waters as this has also been known to help regulate inconsistent heart rates and would help my body get into active labour. The doctor turned to me and said ‘so do you think you can walk down to the delivery suite?’ Hmmmmm, now let me think about that for 0.742 of a second... ‘no, I cannot fucking walk down there like I’m having a leisurely stroll in the pissing park! I’m having agonising contractions every 90 seconds which completely stop me in my tracks, my baby is clearly distressed, I’m hooked up to an ECG machine and an IV drip and you want me to walk down there dragging all this shit along with me like a fucking bag lady like nothing is wrong?!’ <- that was what was going through my head, as well as wanting to throw the nearest bed pan at her face, but what I really said was ‘erm...NO! You’re pushing me down there on this bed!’ accompanied by the most disgusted ‘Barnham stare’ imaginable (I know I’m a Scott now, but that look will always be known as the Barnham stare). Her face dropped as my eyes started burning a hole in her forehead so she found some people to wheel me down. It took at least 3 mins for them to wheel me there so you can imagine how long it would have taken to walk! Anyway, they broke my waters (I thought I pissed myself) and they waited a further 2 mins to see if there were any changes, which there wasn’t. It was then that they said: ‘Leah we need to do an emergency c-section, say bye to your husband, he’s going to get dressed in the scrubs ready to come in’. A bit of me was secretly relieved that I was having a c-section...the predicted 9lb 10oz weight was still playing on my mind so I was so glad I wasn’t going to potentially rip in half pushing the baby out. I said bye to S and they wheeled me off down a corridor to the theatre room. En route the anaesthetist and surgeon were having a chat and all of a sudden they looked down at me and said ‘Leah, we’re actually going to put you under general anaesthetic, the spinal injection could potentially take 40 mins to spread and we need to get the baby out now!’ I just looked up and them and was like ‘fine, whatever, do what you need to do’. The ‘laid back, what will be will be’ Leah had re-entered the building and I was surprisingly calm about the whole thing knowing fore well I was about to be knocked out and sliced open without S there and I would miss the whole ‘giving birth/seeing the baby’s first moments/hearing the first cry and having the ‘lion king moment’ when they lift baby up over the curtain that’s hiding what looks like a murder scene below.’ Whilst all this was happening S was completely oblivious to the fact that I was now in a different room, about to be injected and drift off to the dark side and that he would actually miss the whole thing too. He told me that a woman entered the room and said ‘you’re going to have to stay here, they need to put Leah under general anaesthetic so you can’t go in...I’ll be back in about an hour’ and just left him, all on his own without any further information. I can’t even imagine what must have been going through his head. We had gone from planning a home water birth, to accepting the fact it was going to be a normal hospital birth, to then prepping for an emergency c-section with him being there, to finally it ending up being a high risk operation with no contact with each other until the baby was out and I was in recovery. He sat and waited for someone to come back and see him which must have seemed a lifetime! While S was waiting in the recovery room, I was in theatre. They wheeled me in and asked me to lift myself off the bed and onto the operating table. Now, I’m not joking, it was probably the width of a paving slab and I actually nearly fell off the other side because I was still having contractions whilst trying to manoeuvre myself across. They wedged my shoulders in, strapped my legs to the bed and placed a mask over my nose and mouth. ‘Ahhh this must be the gas that knocks me out’ I thought as I started deeply breathing it in. A few seconds passed and I was still awake so I thought it must just take a bit longer, so I carried on breathing it in. All of a sudden I head the surgeon enter, she stood behind my head and said ‘right, I need absolute silence, we need to make sure everything is in place so let’s just go through the checks’. I looked down over the gas mask and saw people walking around with trays of surgical instruments getting the operating space ready. I thought to myself ‘surely I shouldn’t be listening to all this or seeing people prep the space? SHIT, they are actually going to start cutting me open in a second and I am going to be awake and feel the whole thing!’ My entire body was paralysed and all I could move were my eyes. I looked up at the bloke who was holding the mask on my face as if to say ‘mate, what the fuck?! Have you forgotten to turn the gas on?! Why am I still awake? Sort this shit out, NOW!’ He looked back and me and said, ‘don’t worry, you’ll be going off in a moment, I just need to apply some pressure to your throat.’ Great, so not only am I going to be sliced open like a butterflied chicken breast, I’m gona be choked to death before being knocked out too! Maybe break a few bones while you’re at it to give me the full experience! Well that was the last thing I can remember and looking back at it now, the gas mask was actually only oxygen and they were trying to find a vein to inject me while all that other shit was going on. An hour or so passed (so I’m told) and I suddenly woke up. It was like that shit hypnotist off of little Britain had clicked his fingers and said ‘aaaaaaand you’re back in the room’. My eyes opened quicker than Usain Bolt crossing the finish line and I had no idea where I was or what had just happened. I had completely forgotten that I was even pregnant and it didn’t even click that they had just removed a baby from me until I saw S walking towards me with a midwife and our baby!! He placed the baby on the bed between my legs and opened the nappy so we could find out the gender together. It was at that moment that we both found out we had been blessed with the most perfect little girl, Indi Flo Scott.

We were taken to a recovery room and S started telling me the story of his experience since we parted. After he was given the news of me having to be knocked out and left in the recovery room someone re-entered after 20 mins and said to him ‘do you want to meet your baby?’ He was so shocked it happened so quick after being told it would be at least an hour and obviously said ‘yes!’ as quick as he could. The midwife said that she was aware we had been keeping the gender a surprise and asked him if he wanted to find out so he could tell me when I came round, but he declined and said ‘no I want to wait and find out with Leah’. The midwife brought the baby in with a yellow hat and nappy on and told S to take his top off so he could do skin to skin while I was being stitched up. He spent a good 40 mins with Indi before I met her for the first time and was completely lovestruck from the first second.

This whole experience has taught me that you can plan and plan and plan but ultimately, your baby will make the final decision on how and when it will enter the world. Although the whole experience was pretty traumatic and couldn’t have been further away from our initial plan, I wouldn’t change any of it for the world. The 26th January at 11.18pm is a date and time that will be etched in my mind forever...it’s when 2 became 3 and when a love you can’t even imagine sweeps over you like a wave on the beach.  The Scott family is now established...so let the journey commence.

L xx