28
Induction is not to be feared . . . right?
To my surprise, I slept deeply – maybe my body was preparing me for the day ahead or it was exhausted by the lead-up to birth. I registered a glimmer of disappointment when I woke to find my waters unbroken, no twinges to speak of. I resigned myself to the fact I would be induced.
I quickly showered, dressed, and ate breakfast, biting into a banana while I dished up scrambled eggs. Then I checked the freezer for my syringes of colostrum, which I thought of as liquid gold. Very proud, I’d accumulated quite the collection. It would be Elsie’s first milk and offer her a defence against bacteria and viruses. I glanced up at the clock, urgency flashing through me as I realised the time – the boys would arrive any minute. I took the syringes out of the freezer and packed them into a cooler bag along with some ice bricks ready to take to hospital.
‘So you’ll call me when you know what’s going on?’ Andrew said, sipping his coffee as he leaned against the kitchen bench.
‘Of course, babe, it’s just hard for me to know how quick things will happen. I guess they can only go by how my body reacts to the gel, but I’ll let you know.’ Normally I was that person who had the answers, always organised and on time, but today my body and my experience would be in the hands of others. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll wait out the front for the boys.’
I hugged my husband, breathing in his familiar scent. I was scared to go without him, but he had to stay home and mind our children. I bent down, eye level with Jaxon and Keira. As I met those big brown eyes, I forced back my tears. ‘Mummy’s going to the hospital now, Baby JJ’s coming out very soon.’
Each of them nodded, hugging me and squeezing my neck as I kissed their soft, full cheeks.
‘I’ll see you both soon. Daddy will bring you to the hospital to visit.’
I felt pulled in two directions; drawn to the comfort of my own family, I had to focus on my excitement that Elsie was coming and Jon and Justin would soon have their little girl. A small, irrational part of me was still scared that something could go wrong and I’d never see my husband and children again. It did happen: every day, all around the world, women died giving birth.
That’s NOT going to happen to me, I thought, wheeling my bag behind me towards the front door. I said a final goodbye, blew a kiss to my family and closed the door behind me, walking along the verandah. Courage, courage, courage, my heartbeat reiterated, reminding me of the gift I’d promised the boys and myself.
It was up to me – just like with the births of my own children, no one else could take over, offer to share the load. But this time it wouldn’t just be Andrew by my side, waiting patiently for my body to bear down, bringing our child into the world, it would be Jon and Justin, and waiting elsewhere for the news would be their families, Sereena and Tymon and all their other friends and work colleagues coupled with my extended family and friends.
I stood on the pavement outside, the early morning sun warming my shoulders. Scattered across the pale blue sky, wisps of cloud to the west dissolved before I could make out the shapes – a game I played with my kids. Cars drove past, people going about their routines, another normal day in their lives. By contrast, what would happen in the hours before me was unknown. Whatever happened, I knew I could do it. I just had to trust – trust myself and my body and believe in the process. It was easy to get caught up in the chaos of thoughts about the induction – needles, examinations and monitoring, the midwives and doctors fussing – but I had to remember why I was going through it all.
It was comforting to be outside in the elements on such a beautiful spring day; birds chirped from the tree in my front yard, a soft breeze sweeping through the waxy, new leaves. It was a perfect day, brimming with light, growth and expectation. A great day to be born.
A car horn jolted me from my thoughts. A smile spread across my face as I saw the boys’ car pulling up outside my house. Seeing their smiles made me dizzy with elation.
Justin jumped out and lifted my bag into the boot. ‘Morning. How’d you sleep last night?’ he asked, eagerly.
‘Actually, I slept very well. How about you guys?’
‘Really well,’ he said, getting back into the car.
‘Are you excited?’ I asked, lowering myself into the seat, embarrassed by my involuntary groan, the immovable lump restricting my movement. I placed the cooler bag of colostrum at my feet.
‘We’re very excited but also a bit nervous. We don’t want them to interfere with you when we know you don’t want that,’ Jon said, glancing over his shoulder to merge with the traffic.
I gazed out the window, watching my house disappear. ‘Let’s just take it as it comes. After talking to Lyss last night, I’m not going to be pushed into anything I’m not comfortable with.’ Two sets of sunglasses glanced up at the rear-view mirror and I wondered what expressions they hid.
I shuffled into the maternity ward, wheeling my suitcase behind me; the boys carried their bags, filled with mostly baby clothes, nappies and wipes. At the reception desk for the birthing unit, I was relieved to see Ashleigh, wearing her purple student midwife uniform. She exuded excitement, stepping forward to meet Jon and Justin.
As the boys and Ashleigh chatted, Colleen, the midwife from Dr Wright’s rooms, stepped around the counter towards us. ‘Hello, love,’ she said, clicking the pen in her hand. ‘You’re here for an induction, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Dr Wright’s inducing me this morning. I’m almost thirty-nine weeks.’
‘That’s right, this is the SGA baby.’ Colleen motioned for us to follow her into a birthing suite.
I faced Ashleigh. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders, unsure of when that would be.
‘Yep, I’ll come back later and find you before I go home. I can only spend a certain amount of time with you, and I want that to be when you’re in established labour,’ Ashleigh said, checking her phone for the time.
‘Me too.’ I glanced back as I trailed Colleen down the corridor. ‘I’ll text you once I know what’s happening.’
I waved goodbye to Ashleigh and followed Colleen into the birthing suite, resting my bag against the wall. I swept a protective hand over my belly, ripe and firm as the boys stepped inside. The room was clean, stark and clinical, one bed in the centre, equipment on either side: a monitor, a drip stand. It felt cold, uninviting, a place prepared for things to go right and wrong.
‘Hop up on the bed here, Shannon, and I’ll get your paperwork and call Dr Wright,’ Colleen said, patting the bed before making her way to the door.
‘Oh, here’s the colostrum for the freezer.’ I pulled the bag up onto the bed.
Colleen winked. ‘You’re a good girl. That’s great. I’ll take that now and store it for later.’
She left and the room fell quiet. Jon and Justin sat down and I propped myself up on the bed, nervous and unsure what would happen next, my hips heavy with the weight of Elsie. I picked at a loose thread on my dress, then inspected my ankles as they lay before me, an entity of their own, swollen. Everything was swollen.
‘I was hoping you’d go into labour last night . . . praying, actually,’ said Jon, placing his phone down on the table.
‘Oh, don’t you worry, I was doing some praying of my own, but there’s no escaping the fact that this little girl’s not ready to come out yet.’
Muffled voices approached and I flinched, straightening up on the bed, pressing my ankles together – a subconscious protest.
Dr Wright entered, Colleen following. He rubbed his hands together briskly, nodding at me and smiling. ‘Well, Shannon, we’ve got to get this little girl out. Today,’ he proclaimed in a loud voice before stopping in front of the boys. ‘Hello, you must be Jon and Justin.’
As he shook their hands I pressed my ankles together more firmly, rigid. Dr Wright went on to explain to the boys that there was a suspicion of foetal growth restriction, which was why he wanted to perform the induction.
; ‘Now, I’m going to examine you, Shannon, and see if your cervix is ripe,’ he said, moving to the end of the bed.
I stiffened and glanced at the boys, my cheeks burning.
‘Ah, we’ll wait outside,’ Jon said in haste, and the boys left the room.
‘I’ll come and get you once we’re done,’ Colleen yelled after them, and patted my arm with her glove-clad hand.
Reluctantly, I removed my underwear, trying to bend my body in a ladylike fashion, the belly in the way. I scrunched my underpants into a ball, held them in my hand and begrudgingly separated my legs, allowing Dr Wright to examine the birth canal and cervix. He glanced up at the ceiling, feeling, prodding, then quickly removed his hand.
‘Well, your cervix is all the way up in Darwin,’ he joked, Colleen cackling. ‘We’ll have to use the prostaglandin gel and see how that goes.’ He glanced at the midwife and she nodded.
I lay still, every muscle tensed as Dr Wright inserted the cold gel with two fingers. ‘Now, Shannon, prostaglandin gel is a synthetic hormone that is used to ripen and soften the cervix and make conditions more favourable to establish labour. At the moment, you’re nowhere near being ready, so hopefully this’ll get things moving.’
I couldn’t help but think, Of course I’m not ready. I’m not in labour.
Next Dr Wright inserted a cannula into the back of my hand, my skin throbbing as both of them fiddled with the tape, securing it awkwardly. Moments later, Colleen left the room and Jon and Justin re-entered, peering from behind the curtain across the doorway.
‘You can come in.’ I chuckled, more relaxed, fully dressed again.
Dr Wright explained that they had to wait six hours before any more gel could be administered, so my next examination would be around 2 pm. He advised that I should rest for the time being.
They moved me from the birthing suite and into my own room on the maternity ward. I made myself at home, pulling out some of my snacks and placing them on the table as the boys sat down next to the bed. It was only 9.30 am but it felt like the day had already come and gone, the tension and waiting stretching the hours out.
I texted Andrew and Tenille while the boys informed their parents of the wait and then we chatted for a while. Sitting propped up on pillows, my body started to experience strong period-type pain, sometimes sharp, and I stopped talking to breathe.
Ashleigh popped in for a while to check on us and told me to let her know how I went after the 2 pm examination. ‘I’m ready and willing whenever you think things are getting serious. Just call me and I’ll come in,’ she said.
After dealing with the gnawing pain for a couple of hours, I grew tired. As the visiting period on the maternity ward was ending, I told the boys to go home and have lunch, have a rest themselves. I’d let them know what was happening after my second examination that afternoon. I didn’t want them to leave but I needed the sleep. I had no idea what the afternoon would bring; I could go into labour at any stage, and the early start and busy morning hadn’t helped my weary, heavily pregnant body.
‘Maybe my waters will break while I’m having a rest and I’ll call you,’ I said lightly.
‘Oh wouldn’t that be perfect. Fingers crossed.’ Justin stood, his eyebrows raised.
‘I feel bad leaving you here like this, by yourself,’ Jon said as they inched towards the door.
‘No, don’t feel bad, I’m in the best place I could be and I don’t have any kids to look after. I can sleep.’
And sleep I did. I woke an hour and a half later, hungry and well rested. Leaving my room, I told the midwives at reception I was going for a walk to get some lunch; visions of Lyss stalking the corridors of the hospital for hours came to mind, and I smiled.
‘Okay, but don’t take too long, thirty minutes tops.’
I nodded, resting the hand with the cannula on my belly. I’ll take as long as I like, thank you.
The pain from the gel was mild, but at times on my walk through the hospital I stopped, hunching over to breathe through it. I shuffled outside, carrying my wallet, and noticed the change in the weather. It had started to spit, tiny cold droplets of water falling on my skin. I didn’t care, I wasn’t going back; hunger pushed me, and I hoped the walk would spur on labour. I crossed the highway and entered Red Rooster to buy a quarter chicken and chips, the healthiest fast food I could find. I had constant pain deep in my belly, but I sat down, read the paper and ate my lunch. A couple of days earlier a baby had been found alive, abandoned in a drain in western Sydney. I read the heartbreaking story, pondering the desperate situation the mother was in. The pain became more intense, so I decided it was time to head back. It was raining more heavily now, and I walked as fast as I could, stepping over puddles and gutters, restricted in movement but satisfied with my lunch and the fresh air in my lungs, grateful for the rain on my skin. The hospital came into view, my freedom coming to an end.
‘Nothing’s happening,’ Colleen said as she performed the examination. Dr Wright was busy with a birth and had sent the midwife.
I glanced up at the clock: 2.10 pm. ‘Nothing? But I’ve had quite a lot of cramping and it’s been painful,’ I urged, as if to get Colleen onside.
‘You’ve dilated about one centimetre, love. I’ll have to give you some more gel and see how that goes. We’ll check you at eight o’clock tonight, okay?’
‘All right. Thanks, Colleen,’ I said, shoulders slumping, acting defeated. Secretly I was thrilled, smiling on the inside. I had more time – time for my body to prepare, more time to be pregnant, more time with Elsie. I had more time!
Colleen left after applying more gel, and I rang the boys, informed them of my lack of progress. Jon said they’d come in at 3 pm when visiting hours resumed.
I texted Andrew, Ashleigh and Tenille, let them know that nothing was happening any time soon. I spent the afternoon chatting with Jon and Justin in my room. Later, Andrew arrived with the kids. They stayed until visiting hours were over, Jaxon and Keira climbing up and down from the bed, pressing buttons, sitting on the boys’ laps, inspecting every inch of the room and bathroom. The midwives came and went, checking my blood pressure, asking if I was comfortable.
After 8 pm the ward fell quiet, apart from the odd squeal of a newborn, and I sat alone in my room waiting for Dr Wright to visit.
On my third examination I was only three centimetres dilated.
‘I’m not going to administer any more gel, Shannon. I think our only option now is to use oxytocin via the cannula in your hand. So you get some rest tonight, and I’ll make sure that happens in the morning. I’m not on tomorrow so it’ll be another doctor overseeing your induction.’ Dr Wright stifled a yawn as he spoke. He’d been working for over twelve hours.
‘Thank you, Dr Wright. Fingers crossed all goes well tomorrow then,’ I said, waving as he smiled and left the room.
Again I was gifted with time, one more night as a pregnant woman, one more night to leave Elsie in peace, carried within me. My pregnant body had worked hard to progress to three centimetres dilated, contracting, throbbing with pain, all day since 8 am, and it still wasn’t ready. Elsie wasn’t ready to be born.
I desperately wanted to go home, be left alone. I wanted the best for Elsie, but I wasn’t sure what that was. Was it what my instincts told me or what the medical professionals thought? My waters were still intact, so I could demand to go home, let the birth happen naturally. But what if there was something wrong with her growth? Maybe it was best for her if she was out.
I moved around, uncomfortable that night on my plastic hospital mattress, rubbing my belly in gentle, loving circular motions, the last night I would do so. Tomorrow, my friend, my passenger, would be gone.
29
Can I find my happy place?
As the morning light slipped in through the blind, coaxing my eyes open, for a moment I forgot where I was. Mouth dry, I propped myself up on my elbows, glancing around the room, blinking, still pregnant. Then it sank in. I was in hospital.
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nbsp; I lay back against my pillow, hands navigating the sphere that was my belly. Still sleepy, I smiled, acknowledging the fact that today was my last day. Today was the day I’d meet my passenger, Jon and Justin’s Elsie.
I got out of bed, showered and dressed, then ate the breakfast they served on a beige tray, likening the meal to carb-loading for the day ahead. Back in bed, legs elevated, I responded to a flow of text messages, from Andrew, the boys, Ashleigh, Mum and Tenille, Rach and Racho, among others, and then laid my phone on the table beside the bed.
At a knock on the door, my heart walloped in my chest. ‘Come in,’ I said, smoothing out the sheet over my knees.
The curtain pulled back and confusion struck me, the face so familiar but unexpected.
‘Marg.’ The name left my mouth on the faintest breath.
‘Shannon, hello.’ Marg smiled brightly. ‘I’m your midwife today. I’m here to take care of you.’
My jaw quivered, the onset of tears imminent. It was an angel before me, my birthing instructor, the same Marg who had invited me into her home for a weekend before I had any children and taught me to birth calmly, with confidence and love in my heart. She taught me that my body was an amazing apparatus designed to give birth. She taught me that the moment I thought I couldn’t do any more was the moment my baby was coming into the world.
‘Marg, I can’t believe you’re here. I didn’t think I’d see you.’
‘Well, I’m here and I’ve read your file. They think she’s an SGA baby and you’re going to be induced with oxytocin this morning. I know you well, Shannon, I know you don’t want this, and I’m going to try and make you as comfortable as I possibly can.’
‘Thank you. Thank you so much,’ I whispered, holding back the urge to cry as it contended with the joy inside me.
Labour of Love Page 26