Birth story (part three)
So...where was I? That's right, walking outside to the ambulance. I was completely naked except for my robe and my feet were bare. It was probably about 3:30 am on May 1st. The whole time I'm having contractions every two or three minutes. I looked inside the ambulance at the stretcher and thought, they've got to be kidding! There was no way I was going to be on my back the whole way. I say "the whole way" despite the fact that it would only be a two minute ride because my house is at a dead end and the driver didn't bother to turn the ambulance around before I got in! Turning around in any kind of vehicle is annoying, but being inside one and in pain was really awful. I got up on my hands and knees and prayed that the ride would be over soon. S encouraged me to try the gas and air, but I can't say I found it helpful and I gave up after a couple of puffs.
D was there with me, along with S. My doula followed us in her own car and the second midwife stayed in the house to collect all their stuff and then just pulled the door closed behind her (I later heard). When we finally arrived, I hopped off the stretcher and walked into the maternity unit. A contraction hit me just as I walked in and I toppled onto my hands and knees. I think someone realized that I just wasn't going to make it upstairs to the labor ward because a wheelchair materialized and I was asked to get in. I must have thrown someone a dirty look because S then said I could get on the wheelchair on my hands and knees (which I did). I remember getting on it, but I don't remember the ride upstairs. I don't even think I remember entering the room but I remember hearing the word "twelve" so maybe that was the room we were directed to.
My doula tells me that we were greeted by a midwife - and somehow the picture I get in my mind when I think of her is MIss Piggy - who immediately said, "She has GBS. She needs to have antibiotics" over and over while my doula kept telling her that I had tested negative just a few weeks before. I was on the bed (on my hands and knees) so I didn't hear any of this, but the midwife (whose name I dont' know because she never bothered to introduce herself) crouched down on the floor next to the bed and told me that I'm getting antibiotics. I don't actually remember giving consent, but I don't think I raised any objections either. The midwife stuck a cannula in my hand and injected the antibiotics.
I suppose I could be really upset, but the antibiotics were really the least of it. From the minute I knew I was transferring, all I really wanted was some pethidine. Not so much for pain relief, because it doesn't block out the pain like an epidural might (well, if it's done well), but to block out the feelings I had surrounding the transfer, the disappointment and (what I thought would be) the inevitability of yet another c-section. I know how long it takes to organize drugs so I asked for the shot pretty early on. My doula and I made it clear that I wanted this, but Miss Piggy decided to be difficult - what she wanted was to hook me up to a fetal monitor. I knew that since I had transferred because of scar pain I would be hooked up, but I wanted them to organize the drugs first. Determined to be annoying, Miss Piggy declared (and I distinctly remember this), "Please document that the patient has refused fetal monitoring". Hello? Did I say that I was refusing it? I just wanted the drugs first!
Eventually someone brought in the pethidine because I was turned onto my side and warned that it was coming. Then the belts were put on me. Within a few minutes I could feel it washing over me (even though it's been two years since the last time I had it) and was able to block out Miss Piggy.
I was examined, but I don't know when or by whom - though I suspect it was the registrar. I don't remember giving consent for this either, and my birth plan stated that there were to be no internals unless I asked for them. And here is where it all just gets blurry and confusing. I had written three birth plans in order to cover every eventuality - one for homebirth, one for a hospital vbac and one for a repeat c-section. Somehow the hospital birth plans never made it with us. Funnily enough, though my doula had read all of the birth plans, she didn't seem to be doing too much as an advocate - at least to my knowledge. I heard the words "eight centimeters" and "two hours" - I suppose I was going to be evaluated again in two hours. I lay on my side rising up on my hands and knees during contractions. Everything was very fuzzy, but that was good because...well, it was better that way.
At some point Miss Piggy crouched down near me and started talking to me during a contraction! I don't know what she was expecting me to say or how I was going to give her my full attention. All I remember is the word "forceps." I wasn't even fully dilated and she was already threatening me with forceps! My doula, who must have been near the bed at that time, and I both shouted "No forceps!" My doula went on to tell Miss Piggy that I would much prefer a c-section to forceps (which is what it said on my birth plan). Miss Piggy said that if I objected to forceps I could have ventouse (vacuum extraction for you Americans) instead. How ridiculous! My doula tells me that she took the registrar into the hallway to talk to her and the registrar told her that the goal was to get the baby out as quickly as possible because what I was doing was so dangerous. [I suppose, in hindsight, I could be really angry at the registrar and could make a complaint against her. But the complaint I've made is against Miss Piggy because she's the one who was saying all this stuff to me instead of being supportive.]
I must have been doing something Miss Piggy didn't like because she suddenly ran up to me and started yelling at me not to push. No one had ever explained to me about the whole "urge to push" thing, but it wasn't an urge per se - my body was just pushing by itself and I was letting it. I was still half on my side at that point and hadn't realized that I was doing anything. I certainly didn't appreciate being shouted at, but managed to tune her out. I vaguely remember her telling me that I had to wait another half hour till the registrar came back - and two things occurred to me, though I probably didn't have the wherewithal to verbalize them:
- Was she or was she not a midwife? If she was so concerned that I might be pushing against a closed cervix, couldn't she ask to check me herself, or couldn't she ask me what I was feeling, etc? Why the need to wait for the registrar?
- I wasn't doing anything - my body was doing it all by itself.