I still can't look at this photo of Harry - at two days old - without feeling a surge of emotion, without blinking away tears.There is a copy of it, on copier paper, on the side of the wardrobe in the boys' room, where it has been since the day it was taken. I used to gaze at it while sitting in the nursing chair, trying to express milk for Harry while he was still in hospital.
I haven't been able to commit the story of his birth to a scrapbook page yet, despite the fact he is now two years old. Perhaps now is the time... at least I should try.
Harry's brother, Charlie, was born by emergency C-section after a traumatic induced labour, fifteen days after his due date. Terrified of going through the same distressing experience again, I was determined to try for a home birth the second time around. I have to say my doctor, consultant and midwives were less than enthusiastic about this - there seems to be a general wariness of natural births after a caesarean in this country, let alone home births.
My contractions started two days after Harry's due date - on a Thursday evening, continuing all through Friday and into Saturday. Midwives came and went, examined me periodically and declared I was not in proper labour yet. It certainly felt like proper labour to me!!! By Saturday morning, however, I was making some progress and I was hopeful that my dream of a natural home birth would soon be realised. By mid-afternoon the situation had deteriorated - my contractions had become sporadic and I was no further dilated than I had been that morning. The midwife decided there was no choice - I had to transfer to hospital.
I was devastated. Gareth made frantic calls to friends and parents to arrange a babysitter for Charlie while I faced a lonely trip to the dreaded Labour Ward in the back of a bumpy ambulance in pain and fear. Memories of Charlie's disastrous birth came flooding back and I knew I couldn't cope with all that again.
Mercifully, Gareth had the presence of mind to request a move to the birth centre - once there, thanks to my wonderful midwife and a birthing pool, I regained my strength and belief that I could get through this. All was going well until my midwife detected fetal heart decelerations on the monitor. There was no option but to get me back to the labour ward as soon as possible. After another hour and a half of pushing (and the most incredible pain), Harry was born.
He was grey and motionless, the cord wrapped tightly round his neck. Doctors appeared from nowhere, Harry was put on the trolley, ventilated and his Apgar scores monitored. He was then taken away to the Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU), Gareth in hot pursuit, and I was left alone. It's hard to describe how I was feeling at this point - numb, deflated, confused, exhausted beyond belief. There was no 'It's a boy!', no crying baby, no skin-to-skin cuddles - I hadn't even touched him! I didn't even know if he was alive.
Of course Harry was alive, though he had seizures the night he was born and had to spend six days in SCBU. His brain had been starved of oxygen during the birth and we faced an anxious twelve months of monitoring to find out if he would suffer any lasting damage. He was given the all-clear shortly after his first birthday and is now a beautiful, naughty little scamp.
I am so lucky to have him.
