Labour in the Rosie Birth Centre at Addenbrookes: My Story

This is my birth story for my eldest son. We all read the statistics and ideals, but sometimes there’s nothing better than a real-life true story to help prepare you. Whether you’re looking at a birth centre or a delivery ward labour, I hope you find it interesting, informative and useful. And hopefully not too gory!

The best laid birth plans…

I don’t know about you, but I like to feel prepared. Luckily, mother nature usually gives us the best part of nine months to prepare for the arrival of our children. That’s a long time to plan!

I think my birth plan for my eldest son was about 6 pages long, including music choices, affirmations, and strict instructions that I didn’t want interventions, pain meds, or (gasp!) an epidural. I was determined that I would have an water birth in the relaxing surround of the Rosie Birth Centre. In fact, I think by this point I’d pretty much convinced myself it would be an almost supernatural experience!

Now I’m not stupid – while I had a very idealistic birth plan, I knew that things might not go to the letter. And they didn’t get off to a great start!

It started with the delay in going into labour in the first place.

First, it snowed a blizzard the week I was due, to the point where I was asking the midwives what would happen if we couldn’t get out of our single track road in the middle of the countryside to even get to the birth centre. (Below is our garden on the day I went into labour!)

Then our puppy, Peach, was admitted to doggy hospital with suspected meningitis. Stressed doesn’t even cover it! Here I was, more than 9 months pregnant dealing with all the emotions of x-rays, MRIs, spinal taps, all the while knowing my waters could go at any moment!

Finally, on the Tuesday we received the good news that she could come home. At this point, I am 9 days overdue – maybe it was the stress, maybe hormones, but I firmly believe that my body knew we needed to wait until all the chaos had finished before

And then the real chaos started.

The early hours

I was lucky to skip morning sickness with both my pregnancies, but I suffered terribly with heartburn in my final trimester – probably something to do with Lewis having his feet wedged rather uncomfortably high up into my stomach and ribs! (Three words: Gaviscon. Gaviscon. Gaviscon!) I bet not many women can say they were sick more times in those last three months than the first three!

So when I woke around 4am on Wednesday morning, nauseous yet again, I didn’t think anything of it. I had no idea what I was feeling was in fast contractions – I hadn’t had any Braxton hicks warm ups, I’m a bit of a British stiff-upper-lipper anyway…and they were in my back!

An hour or so later, it became apparent that this was in fact the real deal – contractions were already coming thick and fast and the pain was unlike anything else I had felt.

I let Phil sleep on, oblivious. As I say, I’ve never been one to make a fuss! I knew that I wanted to labour at home as long as possible before heading in to the birth centre, even though the Rosie Maternity Hospital is a good 40 minutes from our home, so there was no rush!

The NCT antenatal knowledge kicked in and I ran a warm bath, trying to resist the urge to throw up the remaining contents of my stomach, and timing my contractions. (I used the rather originally named “Contractions Timer” app from the app store…)

Eventually it occurred to me that I wasn’t sure if you were supposed to measure the gap between the end of one contraction and the start of the next the time between the start of two different contractions (which I had been doing – around 3 minutes) or the gap between the end of one contraction and the start of another (more like 2 minutes, and definitely “head to the hospital” time). A quick google confirmed it was in fact the latter – cue a sudden urgency to get out of the bath and head in!

I called the birth centre and explained the situation. A well-meaning midwife told me it sounded like I was “doing well” at home, so it was up to me if I wanted to come in yet. I definitely remember thinking, is she insane? I certainly didn’t feel like I was “doing well!”

Active labour in the birth centre

A quick whizz up the M11 to the Rosie Maternity Hospital at Addenbrookes, and we pull up to the birth centre.

It strikes me that it’s very quiet, despite the fact the midwife had said on the phone that they were especially busy at that moment. It’s not like the movies, with women screaming, swearing and solemnly declaring they will never have sex again!

Mood lights set the scene, and everyone seems to be speaking softly. There’s a birthing pool that looks more like an elaborate spa bath you’d find in an upmarket hotel, and a double bed that would be similarly at home. In essence, it’s the same sort of ambience as the pregnancy yoga classes I took up. Just as I’m fondly recalling the 10 minutes at the end of each class where we got to lay down and sleep with a warm blanket tucked over the top, a sharp contraction brings me back to the birth centre and rather rudely reminds me why we’re there!

Once we’re settled into our birth suite, the first thing the midwife says is: “I’ll just check you’re actually in labour.”

Let me tell you: there is nothing you want to hear less, when wracked by painful contractions, than that someone needs to “just check” if you are even in labour.

…except when they finish checking, and say you’re only 3cm dilated! It’s not even considered active labour until 4cm!

Meanwhile, I’m wondering how I am ever going to make it through labour if this isn’t even the real deal yet. Suddenly I’m feeling a lot less idealistic and zen about the whole experience! The midwife did say, though, that I was having oddly intense contractions for someone only 3cm dilated (more on that later!)

I spend the rest of the afternoon bouncing on my swiss ball, attempting to keep down the orange juice and toast that the midwife keeps threatening me with. At this point, I feel like Dumbledore when Harry Potter is trying to force him to drink the cursed water in the cave to earn a Horcrux. I thought the point of choosing the birth centre was that it was supposed to be a relaxing environment?!

As the afternoon gives way to evening, a new midwife arrives to take over my care, and it turns out it wasn’t just the first midwife who was obsessed with forcing sustenance down my throat! Something to do with the constant vomiting making me dehydrated. They even give me an anti-sickness injection, but it doesn’t even touch the sides.

The midwife asks me if I’d like to try the birthing pool, and I snap her hand off. Unfortunately, it turns out that it takes quite a while to fill a pool that big! And so we wait.

A TENS machine saved my life

At this point I’m feeling incredibly uncomfortable, and I’m desperate to try something, anything, to deal with the pain. So while we wait for the birthing pool, the midwife offers me a TENS machine. It’s not something I’ve thought about previously, and it’s not even in the epically detailed birth plan as either a yay or a nay.

But from the moment it is affixed to my back, it genuinely feels like the midwife has gone from being my tormentor-in-chief, to the love-of-my-life. I know my husband is sitting right there, but with all the emotions and hormones running coursing through my veins at that moment, that’s how transformative that tiny box of wires was for me.

I cling tightly to that small centre of power, twisting the dials, and it allows me to focus on and control how I experience labour from that moment on. Genuinely, I cannot say strongly enough how much of a difference it made, to the point that when I was expecting my second son I wanted reassurance there would be a TENS available at the birth centre, and indeed the first thing I did on arriving at the hospital second time around was ask for TENS.

What is a TENS machine?TENS (or Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation) is a treatment that uses a mild electric current to alleviate pain. Don’t worry, it sounds a lot scarier than it is! Small sticky pads are applied to your back, which are connected to a battery-operated handheld device via small wires. This combination then delivers small, safe electrical impulses to your back, which results in a sensation ranging from tingling to buzzing depending on the setting. You turn the power up during a contraction, and then reduce it back down while waiting for the next one. You can also gradually increase the strength of the pulses during your labour as contractions intensify. TENS also allows you to stay mobile during labour, which is helpful for getting your baby into the best position and allows gravity and movement to help them descend. TENS works as pain relief by allowing the tingling sensation to flood your nervous system, blocking or reducing its ability to transmit the pain to your brain. It’s also possible, although not scientifically proven, that it causes your body to produce natural endorphins. And for many women in labour, it also gives them back a feeling of control that allows them to remain calm and relax a little. It’s worth noting, if your baby’s heart rate needs monitoring, you may need to switch to a scalp electrode rather than a heartrate monitor strapped to your bump, but this does actually increase your ability to move.

It gave me such a sense of control over my situation that I even told my husband he could watch his beloved Spurs in the corner as long as he didn’t get too rowdy!

Once the birthing pool is full, I detach the TENS wires and the midwife helps me into the water. I had read so much during my pregnancy about warm water being helpful for dealing with labour pain, and the availability of a birthing pool was one of the main reasons I was desperate to labour in the birth centre rather than the delivery unit. But I’ve got to say that for me personally, it was a real anticlimax. If anything, it made me feel worse.

I don’t know if it was because my labour was back-to-back and therefore the pain I experienced was especially intense and located in my back rather than my stomach area. Certainly, I found the bath I had had at home wasn’t particularly useful either. In both cases, the warm water didn’t distract me from the feelings of queasiness, and seemed to draw more attention to the discomfort I was in.

In all honesty, I can’t wait to get out of the pool, and strap the beloved TENS machine back on. I stick it out just long enough to feel like I’ve given the pool a chance, and then I’m back holding onto that little device for dear life, allowing it to tether me to my sanity.

The controls allow me to ramp up the intensity of the TENS on a scale of 1-8. Maybe she is egging me on, but the midwife says she’s never seen anyone get past a 5. By the time it is forcibly taken from me the next day, I am merrily enjoying level 7, and “saving” 8 for a rainy day!

The next few hours pass in a blur – the midwife leaves us to it, Phil absorbed watching the football on a tiny phone screen (my phone!) and me focussed on that tiny box of wires. With each turn of the dial, I tell myself, I am bringing my baby one contraction closer to me. Surely this can’t go on for much longer!

Waters breaking

The clock ticks to midnight, and the midwife offers to check my progress. Generally, they’re looking for a minimum of half a centimetre progress per hour, but I was still only 5cm – not even close to the required progression. And so, despite my best laid birth plans, the “intervention” I had been keen to avoid becomes necessary, and my dream of a smooth and uncomplicated birth centre delivery is starting to fade.

At this point, I’d like to say how grateful I am to the midwives at the Rosie – at every stage of my labour the situation was discussed and explained, and I was able to input and advocate for my own position, while being gently advised of the risks and benefits of each situation in a really balanced way. My birth story could have been a traumatic one that happened “to me”, but I was able to be an active part of each and every decision.

So I agree to an ARM (artificial rupture of membranes) or amniotomy – having my waters broken for me – which is designed to speed up labour (and worked to great effect during my labour with my second son two years later!) but straightaway the midwife spots meconium in the waters. Thanks to NCT, I know what that means. It’s a possible sign that the baby may be in distress, so I am whisked out of the birth centre with all its pools, relaxing music and mood lighting, upstairs to the bright lights of the delivery suite.

We’ve now veered significantly off course from the extensive birth plan – join me next time to where the new road takes us!