From Birth Plan to Beautiful Chaos: My Birth Story

Today, I want to share a piece of my heart with you – my birth story. No need to brace yourself for a trigger warning; my birth experience wasn't traumatic or an emergency, but it was undoubtedly a unique adventure. Overall, it was a lovely experience. But, you know how it goes – would I change a few things? Absolutely!

Now, I'll confess, I'm a bit of a control freak. Before the big day, I had my birth plan written down to the last detail, envisioning a picture-perfect experience. But guess what? It was a completely different story. Despite welcoming a happy and healthy little boy, the experience didn't quite align with my perfectly laid plans. Even though everything turned out just fine, there's a part of me that grieves for the birth I envisioned. And guess what? It's completely normal. That's exactly why I'm writing it all out here.

I remember those chats with friends who were already seasoned mamas. I was eagerly sharing my meticulously crafted birth plan with my mum-friends. Their response? A "You wish" or a casual "It won't be as you plan." I'll admit, it stung. I was tempted to punch their faces for not being as supportive as I needed. But guess what? Now I understand. They weren't being unsupportive; they were sharing a raw truth – birth rarely follows the script we write."

My due date was initially set at 27/10/2022, or at least that's what the hospital calculated based on an ultrasound during my 12th week. However, an early scan at a private clinic pointed to a slightly later date, 31/10/2022. Right from the start, my mom was thrilled about the idea of him sharing her November birthday, while secretly, I was hoping he'd make an October entrance, just like me.

As the due date approached, I found myself experimenting with all the old wives' tale methods to kickstart labour – details in my blog post "15 Effective Tips To Help Induce Labor Naturally." Despite trying everything, nothing seemed to be working for me, especially when I found myself five days past my due date. Almost giving up, half-jokingly thinking he might stay in my belly until he's ready to head off to university.

Then came the morning of 1/11/2022, and there I was, not really expecting much. We decided to try one of the highly recommended methods to kickstart labour, you know, the same way the little one got in there in the first place. Afterwards, I went to the bathroom, and when I wiped, there it was – the mucus plug. Let's be real here; I didn't expect it to be this big. I'd learned from prenatal classes that it's like a blob of mucus and there can be some blood, but in my case, there wasn't. Nevertheless, the thing was practically the size of my palm. I told my partner, "Let's not get too excited; they say it can be days or weeks after the mucus plug comes off to start labour." I assured him he could go to work, and I settled into my favourite spot on my gymnastic ball, losing myself in the world of The Sims.

Around 11 am, I started feeling these very mild contractions. Honestly, I wasn't even bothering to track them. I'd been having contractions on and off for the past two weeks, and some were much more intense. So, I figured these were just the usual Braxton Hicks. Fast forward to 1:30 pm, and I decided to shoot a message to my partner. The contractions were getting pretty regular and more intense, and I thought he should come home from work, and we'd figure it out from there.

By the time he arrived home, I was pretty sure it was time to head to the hospital. Contractions were happening every four minutes – still bearable but getting pretty intense. Now, here comes the first amusing tale from our birth story: I told him we needed to go to the hospital, so he rushed off to shower and change.

After that, he asked if it was okay for him to grab something to eat. I figured he hadn't had a chance to eat at work, so I said, "Sure, go ahead." thinking he would have a quick sandwich. Well, here's the beauty of being married to an Asian guy – he came back from the kitchen rather quickly. When I asked if he had eaten, he replied, "Not yet, I'm cooking rice." Now, I didn't know whether to burst into laughter or scold him for not realising we were a bit short on time!

And here enters the first hiccup in our grand plan. You see, at that time, we were living with my parents-in-law, and our dream was to go into labour when they were either asleep or at work. The grand plan was to sneak out quietly, enjoy the experience of bringing our little one into the world, and surprise everyone with a picture of Matteo already born. You know, avoid the stress of constant messages and calls asking if he's arrived yet. Not to mention, I sensed my mother-in-law might feel a bit left out for not being invited to the delivery room.

But, as fate would have it, everything played out in the opposite way. It happened to be my father-in-law's day off, so he was at home. And, as if on cue, my mother-in-law decided to wrap up her day early, coming home around midday. Of course, they started questioning my partner about why he was home so early, smelling a secret. Despite his efforts, he eventually spilled the beans – we were heading to the hospital. He insisted they not message anyone and that we'd update them once Matteo was born.

Well, life must have thought we needed more witnesses because, just as we were all set with our hospital bags by the door, my sister-in-law and our niece decided to pay us an unexpected visit. There I was, struggling with contractions, and our once top-secret mission had become an unexpectedly public event.

The ride to the hospital was relatively smooth, but here's the biggest downside of taking Uber – you have to bring all your things in with you, even if you haven't been admitted yet. (What I packed in my hospital bag here). Little did I know that in the UK, when you're in labour, having contractions, you go to the maternity ward first, where they conduct regular check-ups and ultrasounds. We arrived around 5:30 pm, and the nurse looked at us with a mix of amusement and scepticism, assuming I was just another "dramatic first-time mom." We were directed to the waiting room, where the contractions were coming every three minutes. I could still breathe through them, but talking was out of the question.

We caused a bit of a stir in there, thanks to the other moms (shoutout to all of them!) who went to the nurses and pointed out that I was obviously in pain, wondering why I was waiting in the queue. So, with another round of attitude, they decided to check me. They asked if I wanted pain relief, to which I replied no, expressing my wish for an unmedicated birth. They checked and said I was only dilated 1cm, suggesting it could take a few more days. Sending us home seemed to be their solution. I knew myself, I have a high pain tolerance, and I was sure it was happening, even if they didn't believe me. I didn't want to go back home, so I suggested going downstairs to the cafe and walking around while keeping our luggage there. They agreed, but said they couldn't check me again earlier than in 4 hours. I figured it was better to wait in a cafe for 4 hours than be watched at home by my in-laws, like an animal in the zoo. We left our luggage at the maternity ward reception and headed downstairs. It was now around 6:45 pm.

In the café, I didn't even order a drink; I just told my partner to get me tea while I went to the toilet. For some reason, I had this constant urge to pee, and sitting on the toilet was a relieving position. I messaged my partner on WhatsApp, explaining how comfy it was to sit there and how it helped with the contractions. I decided to stay for a while. I spent about 45 minutes labouring on a public toilet in the hospital, all because they didn't believe I was in labour.

And here comes the second funny story. I asked my partner to get the paracetamol they had offered, but he didn't realize I meant upstairs in the maternity ward. Instead, he went outside the hospital, looking for corner shops and sending me pictures of paracetamol, asking which one I wanted. I told him to come back and go upstairs to get it, as I had no idea which one was suitable. While he was on his way back from the corner shop, I told him he needed to go back upstairs to get someone because I felt like I was fainting. He went upstairs, asking for help, but they said they couldn't leave their workplace. Frustrated, he was slamming doors, so the receptionist took a wheelchair and came down to get me with him.

They checked me again in the maternity ward, an hour after the last check, and this time I was 5cm dilated. The approach in this room was a disaster. They placed us in a spare room that wasn't even a delivery room. So, all my plans for managing pain in the shower or relaxing with dimmed lights went out the window. This room had bright lights, no bed, just a hospital lounger and a ball. They offered me gas and air, and despite wanting an unmedicated birth, I accepted. Unfortunately, it didn't work at all. When the nurse finally arrived, I informed her it wasn't effective, and instead of offering assistance, she shouted that it was because I wasn't calm and accused me of being hysterical, saying I wasn't breathing properly.

She left, saying she'd be back in a few minutes, and I was left alone with my partner, who had no idea what to do or what was happening. A bit later, another nurse came to check on us. I explained that the gas and air weren't working, and she checked, only to find that the tube was empty – no gas. She went to get a replacement, and in the meantime, I tried to bounce on the ball. Suddenly, a gush of blood came out, and I urgently asked my partner to find someone. Unfortunately, everyone seemed busy. We had been in this room for almost 2 hours before they finally moved us to a delivery room where a midwife stayed with us throughout.

They couldn't find Matteo's heartbeat with the classic straps over the belly, so they suggested using an internal monitor. If I had known how it works and that it practically screws into the baby's head, I wouldn't have allowed it. They would have had to find another way to monitor the heartbeat. Normally, it's attached to the baby's hair area so the scar is hidden. However, in our case, our son has a scar in the middle of his forehead. Even though he's one year old now, it hasn't disappeared at all.

Before we left the provisional room, a nurse promised me a morphine injection to help with the pain. She assured me that I could get it as soon as we reached the delivery room. Throughout this time, I was simply surviving every contraction, desperately waiting for the promised relief. Unfortunately, it never came. No one informed me that I was too far along for the injection. No one attempted to guide me through breathing methods or help me cope with the pain.

I recall an anesthesiologist coming to offer me an epidural, and I must admit, I was rather harsh with her. I made it clear that I didn't want an epidural because I was afraid of ending up in a wheelchair. The excruciating pain of the contractions wasn't as daunting as my fear of a needle in my spine potentially leaving me disabled for the rest of my life.

When it came time to push, I can honestly say the pain wasn't as intense as during the dilating phase. I had allowed students to assist during my birth, but I'm contemplating whether to do it again. The truth is, the student midwife was fantastic; I even found myself squeezing her hand. However, both my partner and I can't shake the feeling that my episiotomy wasn't necessary. I was doing well, and my birth plan clearly stated my preference against it. We believe they may have wanted to demonstrate the procedure to the student and teach her how to do it. With my next baby, I'll insist on tearing rather than having a cut. I ended up with a second-degree tear of the perineal muscles, and surprisingly, it healed much better than the episiotomy cut.

Matteo was born at 11:48 pm and placed on my chest, they let the cord stop pulsating and then daddy cut it. They even took some pictures of us – a beautiful moment. Daddy had skin-to-skin time with our little boy while they stitched me up. Looking back, I do regret not insisting on holding the baby during that time; it could have been possible. Instead, they were on the other side of the room, waiting for me for almost an hour to be stitched up. Another regret is not taking a photo of that precious moment. We even wanted to make a birth vlog, having a tripod packed with us, but everything happened so quickly that we have no pictures from labour, just some from after he was out.

After I was stitched up, they gave us some time to rest until the morning before moving us to the postpartum room. We had to stay overnight after the birth because I hadn't gone to pee during labour, and my bladder was too full, so I had to get a catheter. It was amazing because we had a wonderful view of the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and the River Thames. The room was just for ourselves.

So, overall, I did achieve the practically unmedicated vaginal birth I had wished for. I don't really count the gas and air, as it didn't work for me. It turned out to be one of the fastest labours I could have wished for as a first-time mom – from the first stage to the end, just 2 hours and 38 minutes. However, I can't help but grieve that I didn't get to try those relaxing coping breathing methods, enjoy warm water, or experiment with different pushing positions. I also feel like I pushed my partner away during the painful moments instead of experiencing them together.

From this experience, I've learned that I need someone who knows my preferences, cares about my birth experience, and understands what to do. That's why I'm seriously considering hiring a doula as my guide through my next birth experience. Having a supportive and knowledgeable presence could make all the difference.

Reflecting on the twists and turns of my birth story, I'm curious about yours. What were your unique and funny moments during childbirth? Share the intimate chapters of your unique birthing stories in the comments below.