10am on 14 October, 2015. I checked the bags one more time before we loaded them into the car. We stopped at the garage to fill up with diesel and as I sat in the front passenger seat I remember looking at the other people around us, going about their daily lives in the sunshine. Ours were about to change forever.
Why so calm? Our baby was transverse for most of my pregnancy, but they didn’t stay that way. At our 36 week scan to assess the situation the sonographer said “Well, baby’s moved, but is now breech.” I let out a nervous laugh; my husband James hugged her. The news that they won’t have the ‘preferred’ birth is not what most mums-to-be would want to hear, but not me. Without going into detail I was more than usually worried about labour, so a breech baby was a blessing, there’s no doubt at all in my mind. Was I disappointed? Well, maybe a little that I wasn’t going to experience the excitement and spontaneity of realising that I was in labour but that feeling was far outweighed by one of relief.
So, we were calm because of course a breech baby identified before labour begins will usually be delivered via a planned caesarean. I was offered ECV (external cephalic version) twice to try to turn the baby, but both times encountered no difficulty when I politely refused. There’s only a 50% success rate and even then the baby could decide to flip themselves round again – meaning the mum has to endure the discomfort for nothing. Funnily enough, both my brother and I were breech, although to my knowledge there’s no established genetic basis for breech presentation.
On arriving at the hospital I was given a bed, all ready with accompanying perspex cot. This felt very strange when baby hasn’t arrived yet. The doctor insisted on another scan, even though I could feel their head at the base of my right rib. And so to the operating theatre. Or rather the anaesthetist’s room as it would be another 45 mins until I got into surgery. The first epidural failed – giving only pins and needles when complete numbness was needed. Thankfully the second attempt worked, but at no time was I in any danger of being operated on without anaesthetic. Only when they’d rigorously sprayed cold water first on my arms, which could sense the low temperature, and then my legs, which eventually couldn’t, were we allowed into surgery.
But all the same it was a bit nerve-wracking: I looked across and saw my already anxious husband sitting looking fairly uncomfortable. And as I lay there longer and longer, I started to worry that I was going to have a general anaesthetic, and therefore wouldn’t meet my baby until hours after the birth.
Thankfully the second attempt worked. I have to praise all of the staff involved in our care that day, but particularly the brilliant anaesthetist whose sense of humour helped us get through both pre-surgery and the operation itself.
James really came into his own in theatre. After the frankly surreal moment of the eight medical professionals in the room introducing themselves while I was stark naked from the waist downwards (although strangely when you can’t feel a thing down there it doesn’t seem to matter) James just talked nonsense to take my mind off what was happening. It worked, otherwise he wouldn’t have had to ask the anaesthetist if it was OK for me to laugh so much…
So, after about 20 minutes of interesting sensations and sounds, a baby was lifted out. I will never forget the sight of a red, messy and quite unhappy little person appearing above the screen. James had the job of revealing the gender: “It’s a dude!”
“Hello Alex” I said.
Chasing away the cloud 