Orla's birth story

By request.

It started in a dream.

In my dream I was – er – leaking. People were noticing. Strangely, I was unconcerned. I woke up and found that I was indeed leaking. Luckily I had some cotton flat nappies to hand and was able to put them to use. It was 4.00 am on Wednesday 10 January.

Between then and official wake up time, it was soon clear that I would be ringing the midwife in the morning. I had a few more gushes – not massive amounts, but enough to know that this was not usual.

After 8.00 I rang the midwife. A short time later, she rang back and arranged to meet me in delivery suite at 10.30. I was not to eat anything more, or have anything to drink except for water. We arranged care for our older two and I packed a bag, not knowing if I would be leaving the house for an hour, a day, or a week.

It was difficult saying goodbye to the children as I knew it might be some time before I saw them again.

We drove to the hospital in the rain, but at a quiet pace. This was in marked contrast to our dash to delivery suite with my son, in driving rain and in the throes of strong, painful labour. Brendon dropped me off at the door and parked, while I rang the bell.

My midwife met me inside and examined me. I was 3 cm dilated. She could feel intact membranes, but confirmed that my hind waters had broken. I was informed that the medical team were keen to proceed with a caesarean due to the risk of infection. The only thing we had to wait for was for my breakfast to digest.

I was monitored, prepped, and changed into hospital clothes. Bloods taken, swabs taken. I was visited by various members of the hospital team that I was now transferred to. Brendon left to get baby clothes (which I had left behind) and to collect the car seat (which seemed important at the time). My new hospital midwife mentioned that the baby may have to go to the neonatal unit for a bit given that he or she was early. I didn’t think about this too much at the time.

I was incredibly thirsty, but it was now nil by mouth. I requested that my drip be put in early (I needed to have one at any rate, and given that I suspected I was already dehydrated, I thought I may as well start getting fluids). I sat in my room, trying not to think too much, trying not to cry, trying to read my magazine.

I could feel the familiar start to labour – a slight tension in my lower back and lower abdomen, though I was not in pain.

Brendon came back around 1.30. At 1.45 I was put in a wheelchair and taken to theatre. The tears really started just before we went in – it was overwhelming, knowing that this really was it, the baby would be here soon. There was fear too – fear of the pain of surgery, and uncertainty as to whether the baby would be all right. It was just too soon.

Inserting the spinal/epidural was long and painful. I was greatly relieved when it was finally in and I could lie back on the table. Slowly the numbness kicked in – very slowly. The anaesthetist started the familiar routine with his piece of ice:

“Feel this – icy cold?” “Yes”

“How about this?” “Cold”

“Icy cold or cold? The same as this (ice to the collar bone)?” “Well, marginally less cold”.

A bit more tension – I really wanted the drugs to take fast – the last thing I wanted was a general.

Finally I could feel the numbness flowing up both legs and into my torso. There was one remaining place on my stomach where I could feel the surgeon’s pinch, but a top-up took care of that too.

The surgeon started. She had told me that the initial cutting would take a while due to existing scar tissue, and that she would be taking her time to get things right (as there was no urgency to get the baby out). Finally I sensed an increase in energy in the room, as the assistant pressed down firmly on my stomach and the surgeon reached in for the baby.

You remember small things at times like this. I was so glad that the anaesthetist let me keep in my contact lenses. This meant I saw Orla Rose clearly as she was lifted from my body at 2.42 pm. She left me with a lusty yell – Brendon confirming for me that she was indeed a little girl.

I saw her being carried to the paediatrician and I could see clearly as she was checked over. I desired so much to hold her and feed her. Brendon left my side to go and see her. Then I heard the paediatrician tell him the news that she wanted her to go to neonates. For what seemed the briefest of times she was placed by my head, on the right hand side, wrapped in a towel. So small and precious. My need to hold her was intense.

And then she was taken away.

Being stitched up and waiting in recovery always seems like an eternity, but it is far worse when your baby is not beside you. I was lucky in that my recovery nurse was a very kind woman who had looked after me on the wards with Isabelle, and had been my locum midwife with both my second and third pregnancies – in fact I had seen her just over a week ago for a check. She hand expressed some milk for Orla. Brendon returned to recovery to collect the milk (as we had arranged, he had gone with Orla to neonates). Finally I was allowed out of recovery, and was rolled up to the neonatal unit to see my baby. They brought her out to me. She had blonde eyebrows and dark hair - more hair than my last two. Her little face was red - she was bundled up in unfamiliar clothes with a little pink hat on her head. Her fingers were tiny, with sharp little fingernails! It was heartbreaking to see her other little hand bound up with a lure coming out, attached to a drip. A naso-gastric feeding tube was taped across her cheek. She was asleep and I couldn’t feed her.

After that it was back up to the ward. I returned on my bed (couldn’t be in a wheelchair yet due to general immobility and my catheter) not too long afterwards to try and feed her. This was around 8.30 pm according to my notes – I have no memory of this visit at all. She was not interested in feeding.

At 4.00 am she was brought up to me in the ward for feeding. She latched on happily to the left hand side and had her first proper drink of mother’s milk, more than 13 hours after her birth.

She was to spend a week in the neonatal unit.

Now as I write this, we are home and she is gaining weight. We are so lucky to have our little Orla Rose.