It occurred to me recently that DB1, should she ever stop viewing me as an elderly, incompetent version of herself whose main job is to spoil her fun (Wait. What am I talking about? That's never going to happen), she may take an interest one day in what I have to say about the circumstances of her birth. I can remember every detail as if it were yesterday but I am aware that this may not last forever as I get increasingly decrepit and daft. And even though like many people who write, I die slightly when I read my own stuff, it's nice to have a written record of her birth here.
Since then I have had another one, DB2, and I think it's only fair to make a similar record of her birth. So here it is.
There are differences between preparing for the birth of a child in the UAE compared to the UK, which I go into a bit here but one of the more perplexing, is when you read UK-focused stuff about it, they talk about this 'birth plan' business a lot. I did not have a birth plan written down. All I had was in my head, which was 'stay at home as long as possible, give me the f***ing drugs if I say I want them but don't force them on me, and don't cut me open unless you have to'.
I have heard tell in other places of mothers having a very good idea of how it will all proceed, having a written out and printed birth plan, and they know what will play on their phone, how they will be massaged by/shout at their husband depending on how things are going, at what point they will ask for intervention and so on.
That did not happen for me
My doctor was the chatty sort, and I quite often could not get much of a word in edge ways, which is fair enough, she has delivered hundreds, probably thousands of babies, I had delivered one, so she probably had more to say on the subject.
She surmised from my various head noddings and silences during my appointments that I would prefer a V-Bac, although she raised something of a cynical eyebrow about that, for reasons I will explain later in part 2 of this blog. DB2's due date was January 29th, and I was psychologically prepared to go sailing past that, be prodded and poked some time in early February, to no avail, and end up with a caesarean section.
So, it was, on January 26th, I dragged my large self, Him Indoors and DB1 around IKEA for a few last minute bits and pieces. I cannot remember what now, but it seemed important at the time, then ate a high blood pressure/low iron/high blood sugar friendly lunch, and headed home with me preparing for some pretty serious lazing around in the run up to the birth.
That did not happen
It turns out, trudging around IKEA is exactly the kind of gentle, distracting exercise the doctor tells you to do to get a medium-to large sized second baby to think about exiting from her uterine home.
I had had a few practice contractions in the weeks leading up to this, but nothing that would send me running for the hospital bag. So while I was noticing a few interesting sensations as I put my head down for my last sensible full night's sleep until date, there were no indications that it was about to happen.
The next morning, I dropped DB1 off to nursery, came home and then sure enough, the pains started, getting more frequent, and I fired up one of those smartphone apps that any of you who have done this will no doubt be familiar with: "agony optimiser" "child squeeze" "baby bellower", I forget what they're called now, definitely something like that, and timed the contractions. I phoned Him Indoors at work to tell him that something was definitely happening, attempting to remain calm.
Here, at this point, I will go on a little diversion about hypnobirthing. I'm told that this is a very helpful tool for many birthing mothers when it comes to getting through the early stages particularly without the need for intervention.... and yeah, that hypnobirthing, that was definitely something I was definitely going to get me some of, yep, I definitely was going to get round to learning about that before having both my babies, yep. Totes.
That did not happen
DB1 was born just before the 39th week, and hypnobirthing was still on my to do list that time. It was irrelevant anyway because the closest I got to a contraction that time was a slight bit of indigestion over a cup of hospital green tea. I did get around to watching a YouTube video prior to DB2's birth, as I am way too mean to pay for an actual class, you see, but I got as far as "breathe in...... 1....2...3...4....5.....6.....7......breathe out 1....2....3....4.....5....6...7....." before wanting to punch the woman on the video in the face.
It was the way she said, and this woman was both a midwife, and pregnant, by the way: "ooooooh, I feel so relaxed now...." after just two or three rounds of breathing in....1.....2....3....4....5.....6....7..., breathing out....2 ....3....4......5.....6.....7...."
I may not have experienced "natural" birth at that point, but people, I can smell BS a thousand miles away, and that woman was promulgating mega quantities of the brown smelly bovine byproduct. I don't care what any of you say.... "Breathe in....1...2....3....4....5...6....7" once or twice is not going to cut it when it comes to the raw agony of childbirth, and please don't pretend it will.
The thing is, you see, I know now. I know, I know now that the pain of childbirth is some gen-u-ine industrial strength, medieval-style BS, and no amount of breathing and relaxing is going to sort that out. Feel free to reply telling me how you got through it all with whale music and hemp and a few pats on the back from your partner, I would simply love to hear from you...Actually I wouldn't, don't do that.
Anyhoo. When it came down to it, I did actual give the old breathe in.....2....3 etc a go in the early stages, but I think I did not do much else right. The little I do know about labouring has told me that being upright is often preferable to lying down in terms of managing the pain. Well, I just wanted my bed, so I lay on my side, timing my contractions, listening to BBC Radio 4 until the sound became profoundly annoying, then tried some calming BBC Radio 3 throughout that morning, until the cervix scourger app started flashing something along the lines of: "What are you doing still at home, you ridiculous prego sow? Get the heck to hospital, are you out of your mind?!"
Again, I'm pretty sure that's what it said.
At that point, my terribly calm hypnobirthing attempts had become "breathe in 1....2.....3...4...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGH FER F**K'S SAKE...." I decided whether or not it was happening, it was probably time to call Him Indoors again and tell him to come home.
The thing is about Him Indoors is he works right down in the depths of Dubai International Airport, which is rather large, and it's about half an hour walk until he gets to the front of said airport and to any method of transport out of there. So I phoned him, then cut him off quickly so he wouldn't be freaked out by the sound of me yelling, and messaged our dear friend who agreed to look after DB1 while we were in hospital, and asked her to come and pick her up from nursery for us.
The fact that it would take him half an hour to get out of the airport weighed heavily on my mind as I lay there, trying not to yell my head off, as I am fairly sure I would not have been in any fit state to get there on my own without summoning an ambulance at this point. It was like one of those scenes in the movies, where you are outside yourself, watching yourself, from the ceiling - a large pregnant lady hunched over in agony clutching an iPhone that is playing some obscure classical music and making those low groans that you have never heard yourself make before.
As the pains got closer and stronger, I started to feel the kind of regret that only those of you who, like me, suffer from being perpetually stubborn and bloody minded about wanting to do things your own way, will know.
"Oh, Dubai Sand Witch, you have effing done it this time, you massive, pregnant idiot," I thought to myself. "You are a medium risk pregnancy, you have been so determined to avoid intervention and make a point that you can 'do this yourself', that despite the fact that you have private insurance and every possible medical care and intervention at your finger tips, and doctors who won't over rule you and will listen to you, despite that, you have left it to friggin' late to get to the hospital, and you are going to give birth, here, alone, on your own bed, howling in agony, except for a security guard, who will have been sent upstairs to pass along the noise complaints from your pathetic downstairs neighbours, who can't even cope with the sound of your child dropping a plastic ball on the floor, so how are they going to cope with you heafing a large baby into the world? How? How? How?
Since then I have had another one, DB2, and I think it's only fair to make a similar record of her birth. So here it is.
There are differences between preparing for the birth of a child in the UAE compared to the UK, which I go into a bit here but one of the more perplexing, is when you read UK-focused stuff about it, they talk about this 'birth plan' business a lot. I did not have a birth plan written down. All I had was in my head, which was 'stay at home as long as possible, give me the f***ing drugs if I say I want them but don't force them on me, and don't cut me open unless you have to'.
I have heard tell in other places of mothers having a very good idea of how it will all proceed, having a written out and printed birth plan, and they know what will play on their phone, how they will be massaged by/shout at their husband depending on how things are going, at what point they will ask for intervention and so on.
That did not happen for me
My doctor was the chatty sort, and I quite often could not get much of a word in edge ways, which is fair enough, she has delivered hundreds, probably thousands of babies, I had delivered one, so she probably had more to say on the subject.
She surmised from my various head noddings and silences during my appointments that I would prefer a V-Bac, although she raised something of a cynical eyebrow about that, for reasons I will explain later in part 2 of this blog. DB2's due date was January 29th, and I was psychologically prepared to go sailing past that, be prodded and poked some time in early February, to no avail, and end up with a caesarean section.
So, it was, on January 26th, I dragged my large self, Him Indoors and DB1 around IKEA for a few last minute bits and pieces. I cannot remember what now, but it seemed important at the time, then ate a high blood pressure/low iron/high blood sugar friendly lunch, and headed home with me preparing for some pretty serious lazing around in the run up to the birth.
That did not happen
It turns out, trudging around IKEA is exactly the kind of gentle, distracting exercise the doctor tells you to do to get a medium-to large sized second baby to think about exiting from her uterine home.
I had had a few practice contractions in the weeks leading up to this, but nothing that would send me running for the hospital bag. So while I was noticing a few interesting sensations as I put my head down for my last sensible full night's sleep until date, there were no indications that it was about to happen.
The next morning, I dropped DB1 off to nursery, came home and then sure enough, the pains started, getting more frequent, and I fired up one of those smartphone apps that any of you who have done this will no doubt be familiar with: "agony optimiser" "child squeeze" "baby bellower", I forget what they're called now, definitely something like that, and timed the contractions. I phoned Him Indoors at work to tell him that something was definitely happening, attempting to remain calm.
Here, at this point, I will go on a little diversion about hypnobirthing. I'm told that this is a very helpful tool for many birthing mothers when it comes to getting through the early stages particularly without the need for intervention.... and yeah, that hypnobirthing, that was definitely something I was definitely going to get me some of, yep, I definitely was going to get round to learning about that before having both my babies, yep. Totes.
That did not happen
DB1 was born just before the 39th week, and hypnobirthing was still on my to do list that time. It was irrelevant anyway because the closest I got to a contraction that time was a slight bit of indigestion over a cup of hospital green tea. I did get around to watching a YouTube video prior to DB2's birth, as I am way too mean to pay for an actual class, you see, but I got as far as "breathe in...... 1....2...3...4....5.....6.....7......breathe out 1....2....3....4.....5....6...7....." before wanting to punch the woman on the video in the face.
It was the way she said, and this woman was both a midwife, and pregnant, by the way: "ooooooh, I feel so relaxed now...." after just two or three rounds of breathing in....1.....2....3....4....5.....6....7..., breathing out....2 ....3....4......5.....6.....7...."
I may not have experienced "natural" birth at that point, but people, I can smell BS a thousand miles away, and that woman was promulgating mega quantities of the brown smelly bovine byproduct. I don't care what any of you say.... "Breathe in....1...2....3....4....5...6....7" once or twice is not going to cut it when it comes to the raw agony of childbirth, and please don't pretend it will.
The thing is, you see, I know now. I know, I know now that the pain of childbirth is some gen-u-ine industrial strength, medieval-style BS, and no amount of breathing and relaxing is going to sort that out. Feel free to reply telling me how you got through it all with whale music and hemp and a few pats on the back from your partner, I would simply love to hear from you...Actually I wouldn't, don't do that.
Anyhoo. When it came down to it, I did actual give the old breathe in.....2....3 etc a go in the early stages, but I think I did not do much else right. The little I do know about labouring has told me that being upright is often preferable to lying down in terms of managing the pain. Well, I just wanted my bed, so I lay on my side, timing my contractions, listening to BBC Radio 4 until the sound became profoundly annoying, then tried some calming BBC Radio 3 throughout that morning, until the cervix scourger app started flashing something along the lines of: "What are you doing still at home, you ridiculous prego sow? Get the heck to hospital, are you out of your mind?!"
Again, I'm pretty sure that's what it said.
At that point, my terribly calm hypnobirthing attempts had become "breathe in 1....2.....3...4...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGH FER F**K'S SAKE...." I decided whether or not it was happening, it was probably time to call Him Indoors again and tell him to come home.
The thing is about Him Indoors is he works right down in the depths of Dubai International Airport, which is rather large, and it's about half an hour walk until he gets to the front of said airport and to any method of transport out of there. So I phoned him, then cut him off quickly so he wouldn't be freaked out by the sound of me yelling, and messaged our dear friend who agreed to look after DB1 while we were in hospital, and asked her to come and pick her up from nursery for us.
The fact that it would take him half an hour to get out of the airport weighed heavily on my mind as I lay there, trying not to yell my head off, as I am fairly sure I would not have been in any fit state to get there on my own without summoning an ambulance at this point. It was like one of those scenes in the movies, where you are outside yourself, watching yourself, from the ceiling - a large pregnant lady hunched over in agony clutching an iPhone that is playing some obscure classical music and making those low groans that you have never heard yourself make before.
As the pains got closer and stronger, I started to feel the kind of regret that only those of you who, like me, suffer from being perpetually stubborn and bloody minded about wanting to do things your own way, will know.
"Oh, Dubai Sand Witch, you have effing done it this time, you massive, pregnant idiot," I thought to myself. "You are a medium risk pregnancy, you have been so determined to avoid intervention and make a point that you can 'do this yourself', that despite the fact that you have private insurance and every possible medical care and intervention at your finger tips, and doctors who won't over rule you and will listen to you, despite that, you have left it to friggin' late to get to the hospital, and you are going to give birth, here, alone, on your own bed, howling in agony, except for a security guard, who will have been sent upstairs to pass along the noise complaints from your pathetic downstairs neighbours, who can't even cope with the sound of your child dropping a plastic ball on the floor, so how are they going to cope with you heafing a large baby into the world? How? How? How?
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