In HuffPost Birth Diaries we hear the extraordinary stories of the everyday miracle of birth. This week, Bronwen Edwards shares her story. If you’d like to share yours, email amy.packham@huffpost.com.
My pregnancy was horrific. I had hyperemesis gravidarium – I’m talking extreme sickness. I was basically vomiting from the moment I found out I was pregnant until I was in labour. It was hell.
None of this was planned – our baby had been a bit of a surprise. We’d booked to go on holiday not knowing I’d be expecting, and went away on baby-free trip. But I was so poorly on that holiday we had to cut it short and go to hospital. I was put on two types of medication to stop me puking and stayed on them for the whole nine months.
The first signs of labour came at 38 weeks while I was in hospital visiting my sister. She’d just given birth herself and had a horrifically traumatic time, so I was visiting her and meeting my new baby nephew. While I held him, I felt a twinge in my own belly. I assumed it was Braxton Hicks.
My partner picked me up around 6pm and I told him about the feelings I’d had holding my nephew. “Hopefully we won’t have to come up here again tonight,” he joked. Famous last words.
The twinge went away quickly, then came back with a vengeance just after midnight. I woke up, had to be sick straight away, and couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to pee – but I couldn’t go. Surges of pain in my stomach made me realise this was the real deal.
I woke my partner up to tell him, but we’d both been told at birthing classes it’d be hours before we’d be ready to go to hospital – especially given it was our first baby – so we decided to ride it out. He went back to bed, and I did my hypnobirthing breathing exercises, moving, walking, trying to stay calm.
That was until I started bleeding, quite a lot. I woke my partner up for the second time and we called the hospital, who told us to go in immediately.
Dressed and ready to leave, I felt the pain again. I cowered, and my partner saw something coming out of me, but he didn’t know what it was. It didn’t look like a baby’s head. We paused in the hallway and called the hospital – who explained that it was likely my daughter was coming out while still in the amniotic sac. But of course, they couldn’t be sure.
There was no way we could leave, so we stayed put while the ambulance was on its way. They were on the phone to us, talking my partner through what he needed to do. I really felt for him. He’d always said, “I’m going to be head-end when you give birth”, yet here he was, being asked by paramedics to tell them “everything he could see”.
I was in the downstairs bathroom when the paramedics arrived. The man who walked in had never seen a baby in an amniotic sac before. Even though we wanted to deliver at home, he was worried about complications and wanted to get us to hospital ASAP. Don’t push, he instructed me, as he put me on a stretcher and carried me into the ambulance. The journey was about half an hour to the hospital – but six minutes in, I knew she was coming.
I listened to my body and pushed – I had no control over it. I don’t remember it being painful, because it all happened so fast. Three pushes (max), the amniotic sac broke, and my daughter was born – alongside a flood of water that gushed out. My other half still says now: “You sneezed and she came out”.
The paramedic shouted to the driver to pull over. He hadn’t even seen the baby come out – she was just suddenly there.
As they checked my daughter over, I went into shock. They lay her on me but we had to get driving again quickly because they were worried about the amount of blood I had lost. Blankets were chucked over us and the heating whacked up full blast. My partner cut the cord between me and the baby while we were on the way. When we got to the hospital, the midwives were expecting us to arrive with a baby to deliver, but I already had her in my arms.
It was snowing the day she was born, so we named her Eira – which means “snow” in Welsh. My daughter had come out so fast, my cervix had opened quickly and I was quite injured. I was taken to theatre to be stitched up, and while there, my blood pressure dropped, meaning I needed a transfusion.
Eira was born at 4.44am, but I probably didn’t come to terms with the intensity – and the joy – of what had happened until a while after, around 9am. I held her and it was surreal. Amazing, but surreal. It was only hours after that it hit me how touch-and-go it had been for me. I was just so grateful she was okay.
My birth advice?
Listen to your body. And keep your birth plan notes with you!