My first clue that something was up were contractions at 5 am, I’ve been having the Braxton Hicks fako contractions for a while, but decide as these were getting more frequent that they might be the real deal.
I let Mr C lie for a while and told him at 8 am when I was sure that this could be B day.
Mr. C, of course, panicked and had all the bags by the door about ten minutes after he had got up and had a coffee. Meanwhile I sat there and contemplated sweeping and mopping the floor. Well it was dirty and I knew that Mr. C’s mum would be coming over later and didn’t want to think her granddaughter had a slattern as a mother.
In the end Mr. C swept the floor and I agreed to leave for the hospital at 10 am, given that I was having contractions every five minutes and the materno had told us that was when we should to go to the hospital.
We arrived at the hospital half an hour later and made our first mistake. We thought that we would have to go to the place where I had my scan previously, the new building of the maternity ward. But no, that was only for diagnostics so we had to find the old maternity ward.
We arrived, filled out admission papers and waited around. I was then taken through to the maternity waiting room, we managed to get Mr. C through by claiming I spoke no Spanish, rather than the little I do have but this was unusual as usually the fathers have to wait in the main waiting room.
So we waited and I was seen by a doctor who poked around, told me off for not speaking Spanish and then told me that I shouldn’t be there as he hadn’t seen me have any strong contractions and I was only 1 cm dilated. Which made me feel as if I wasn’t doing it right, they certainly felt strong enough to me. I was then hooked up to monitor the baby for twenty minutes, I was told everything was fine and I could go home, wait there or take a walk around Las Palmas and come back later.
We went for lunch and went home. Not best pleased.
After about an hour at home I decided I really wanted to go to the hospital, so off we went again and arrived there about 4 pm. So by this time I’d been having contractions for nearly 12 hours, I was not a happy camper.
This time we didn’t manage to sneak Mr. C through to the maternity area and he had to wait in the main area. So I waited and waited. The morning doctor walked past and asked me why I had come back, I ignored him. Finally the nurse took me to the exam room and left me there just telling me to go to the loo. So I did and then I waited some more and some more, the nurse came back and seemed bemused that there was no-one with me and went off again. Just as she did my waters broke all over the bathroom floor – great just how I imagined it happening – alone, with soaking wet clothes and beginning to panic. I tried to call Mr. C to send me a nurse but he had actually remembered to turn off his mobile phone. After a little while the doctor came and I tried to explain my waters had broken, but couldn’t get much past “mis aqua aqui” and for some reason I was worried I might have made a mess of their floor. So the doctor poked around and asked me when my waters had broken, “five minutes ago” being the answer, she then told me I was five centimetres dilated and they were going to monitor the baby.
Being monitored entailed being hooked up to a monitor and a drip and all the nurses buggering off to do something different or to plan their Saturday night off and me being left alone with some fella nurse at the end of my bed doing his paperwork on the computer. By this point I am swearing like a trooper and not at all happy. Then a lovely auxiliary turns up and explains he is there as my interpreter – yay – what a smashing chap. He asks me how I am feeling – tired being the answer and says he can explain about an epidural if I want one.
By this point as it was getting on for six pm I had decided that I would have the epidural as it was the only pain relief on offer and I didn’t fancy another few hours of evil contractions. They really aren’t very nice you know.
After half an hour of monitoring and I was taken to the labour room, still no sign of Mr. C and I am really beginning to try not to panic as much as I want to. The midwife examines me and tells me I am now fully dilated and will be ready to push. The auxiliary explains it is too late for the epidural now – yahuh!
Mr. C finally turns up, modelling a very fetching green paper pinny, mop cap and shoe socks – dashing!
Cut to an hour later after lots of huffing, puffing, pushing and swearing and Baby C is born. Mr. C was very brave, though he did turn a bit queasy when they changed the drip in my arm. He even popped down the business end of things to look at the baby crowning, though resisted their offer to touch her head.
So while the run up to the last hour, the actual hour of the baby being born, wasn’t great that final hour wasn’t nearly as bad as I had worried about. My main worries had been that I would have to have interventions or even a caesarean, but I was lucky, my body did what it was designed to do and the team I had looking after me were all great.
After that they poke you around a bit more and keep an eye on you for an hour or two and then take you up to the ward.
Overall, from first twinge to the baby being born it had taken 14 and a half hours.
Baby C weighed in at 3.3 kilos and 53 cm which is around 7 lb 4oz and 21 inches in old money.
And yes of course she is adorable, well she is now, when she was born she was covered in gunk and red and blotchy.
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