Long story- but I need to get it out.

At 38 weeks I was told that for the best possible chance of me giving birth vaginally I would need to be induced. I was scared and excited- I knew when my baby was going to be here and I could prepare my life accordingly and make sure my partner (who works away) would be home.

The day of my induction came and at 8am a  balloon catheter was placed inside me. It was this awkward horrible pain/cramping feeling that for twelve hours made me feel highly constipated. The only relief I got from the pain was to assume the "taking a dump" position on the toilet. A great ten hours was spent on the toilet reading and re-reading a poster that told me of the importance of urinating after giving birth..

 

By 8pm I had dilated to 4cm and I was moved to my delivery suite. The next four hours were a blur of epidurals, doctors,  catheters, canulas, midwives, waters breaking, blood pressure tests and more "ice feeling" tests. The ice feeling test is the test they give you to see if your epidural is working. They shove some ice on your face and then run it down your side to see where and where not you have feeling. I was one of the unlucky people whose epidural failed. I could feel the ice as it slid down my entire left side. The next  ten hours were full of screams, tears, intensely heavy breathing and partner reassurances as I contracted and got myself to the full 10cm.

11am is when shit started to go down. And I mean that literally. I shit myself. For an hour and a half I pushed, pushed and pushed some more. I could feel where he was in my pelvis. I could feel that he wasn't moving anywhere. Despite being told "he's almost here, we can see his head" I knew something wasn't right. The more I cried and plead with my midwife, the less she took my concerns seriously. I started yelling at the top of my lungs for a doctor. I begged my partner to take me seriously. He did, and within five minutes a doctor was there investigating me. 

It was decided that the forceps would be needed to help my son get out. I agreed, desperate to get him out. It hurt. So so much. And when he pulled it out, I was sure my son would be there in his hands. Instead I was greeted by a look of horror and a doctor telling me that the forceps were stuck. More pain later, the forcep was ripped out and I was signing away for an emergency cesarean.

The next hour was full of spinal taps, partner reassurances and doctors explanations that I cared nothing about- I wanted my son. I didn't even realise he was born until a nurse told me how beautiful he was. He was taken straight to a seperate room and my partner whisked away to cut the chord. I lay there as they stitched me up, alone and scared.

I wasn't taken to see my son. I was taken to recovery where for an hour different people spoke to me about things I didn't care about at that point- I mean, I hadn't slept for three days. I had two failed epidurals and a spinal tap. I was so drugged I could not even open my eyes.