A Premature Arrival: Navigating the Unexpected

The past week has been a roller coaster of emotions. I am still finding my way through the mind fog, the emotional highs and lows, the frustration, and the feelings of gratitude.

A week ago, on Monday evening, I was tossing and turning in bed. I had cramping pains all night, which kept me awake for most of it. The following day, I was tired, but alright considering the lack of sleep. I thought maybe it was just one of those weird pregnancy things. A few cramps, nothing to worry about. But as the day went by, I became increasingly uncomfortable. I was fidgety, going from sitting on the lounge to sitting on the floor. I couldn’t get comfy, and my stomach felt agitated, crampy, weird.

By the time the evening rolled around, the cramping pains had become more frequent. There was also more of a pattern to them. I lay in bed for hours thinking that this was just a part of being pregnant. You get strange pains. My mind went back to when I thought that I was having a miscarriage at thirteen weeks. In the end, it was a subchorionic hematoma that caused all the fuss.

So all night I was trying to convince myself that I was fine and that I should just wait it out until the morning. But as I continued to lie there, I became more and more paranoid. What if something wasn’t right, and by leaving it, I risked the safety of my baby? Stuff it, I thought, I am going to call the maternity ward and just check in. If it is nothing, well then I at least know.

When I contacted the maternity ward, they initially told me to have some Panadol, use a heat pack and/or have a hot shower. They asked me to see how I went and phone back in an hour.

Note to self – make sure I purchase Panadol and a heat pack for future use.

So, a hot shower it was. I stood under the water hoping it might settle things down. Maybe it did for a few minutes; I’m not really sure. But once I got out, the wave-like cramping sensations were still there.

I was desperately trying to cling to the narrative that everything was alright. Surely I would know if I was going into early labour, wouldn’t I? I didn’t want to take up anyone’s time if this turned out to be a false alarm. It was also midnight, and I was thinking about how to get myself to the hospital if I needed to go.

I live on my own. I have a small dog that I can’t just leave trapped inside, and I am about an hour away from the hospital. My mum lives close by, but given that it was late at night, her eyesight is not great, so she couldn’t drive. Getting a taxi from where I live would also be challenging, if not impossible, at that hour. We don’t really have Uber in the area; if there are drivers, it is sparse. Then, with the local taxi company, the drivers have limited availability late at night, so you either can’t get a taxi or there is a very long wait time. I had started to make accommodation plans for my birth, staying close to the hospital, but these were later plans. Plans closer to my due date, not now.

Anyway, with all of this in mind, I phoned the hospital back and this time I spoke with a different nurse. I told her I was not feeling great, that I was having cramps that would come and go, and explained how I had been feeling since the night before. This nurse said, “You need to come in now.”

I explained the driving situation, that I wouldn’t likely be able to get a taxi, and that I would have to drive myself in. After the phone call, I packed a small bag for myself, packed up my little dog, hopped in the car and drove around to my mum’s. Fortunately, another family member was staying at my mum’s house that night, so I was able to leave my little dog with them, grab my mum, and make the trip over to the maternity ward. It was not ideal, but I felt fine to drive, and if that changed, I would pull over, and we would need to wait for a taxi. It was the best I could do at the time.

During the drive, I had Mum start timing the wave-like pains that were becoming increasingly painful. They would stop for about one minute and forty-five seconds, then come back for about thirty to forty seconds. Because of their frequency, I was coming to the realisation that this was not regular pregnancy cramping pains. This was something different. I thought maybe this could be Braxton Hicks (“practice” or “false” contractions). However, I didn’t think those were meant to be painful.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was ushered into one of the private birthing suites. I was hooked up to a monitor and told that my Obstetrician had been contacted. An hour or so later, my Obstetrician arrived. She told me that she needed to do a quick internal check to see what was happening.

The check revealed that I was 1–2 cm dilated and that she could feel the baby’s head. She told me that at 31 weeks, I was going into labour.

This is probably a good point to mention something relevant to the story. In a previous post, where I discussed my egg collection, I wrote that I had been paying for private health insurance. In fact, only the weekend before I had completed a walkthrough of this exact maternity ward. So I felt secure here. This was a part of my birth plan, and I thought I was here to stay.

Unfortunately, this was all about to change, and I would not be staying at this particular hospital. I found out that, as I was 31 weeks pregnant, this private hospital was not set up to manage premature births under 34 weeks. Great, I thought. That was money well spent on insurance for the past two years.

Now, I would need to be transferred by ambulance to the neighbouring public hospital.

An ambulance arrived a short time later, and I was taken to the public hospital. My Obstetrician would still treat me there as her private patient, but my care team would now be different. They would still use my private health fund to pay for my stay, but I would not be receiving the private care I had hoped for.

I understand people might think this is bratty. Be happy with the support you are receiving. And I am grateful. Truly. But after paying a substantial amount of money for the past two years, I was frustrated. Why didn’t I think to look into the T&C’s?

When I arrived at the new birthing suite, I will say that it was a far cry from where I had come from. The room was fine; however, the bathroom was gross. There were multiple small to medium cockroaches that crawled around. I had to kill a few so that they didn’t crawl out into my things. This was not what I had envisioned for myself. I will say, on the positive side, the staff I met at that time were really nice.

My Obstetrician arrived a little while later and explained that they were going to give me medication to try and stop the contractions. They needed the baby to stay in for as long as possible so I could be given steroids to help her lung development.

During my pregnancy, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Now that they were administering steroids, I was told that this would cause temporary insulin resistance. So they would need to monitor me with regular sugar checks every 30–60 minutes for the foreseeable future.

Between the medication to stop the contractions, pain relief, steroids and regular blood sugar checks, I was constantly being poked and prodded. I was grateful for the close monitoring, but it was a lot, and I felt stressed.

Once everything was underway, I was wheeled out of the maternity suite and into a room with four other women. I was then told that because it was a shared room, my mum wouldn’t be able to stay with me overnight.

What was happening?

Everything felt hopeless.

My mum was emotional and didn’t want to leave me, but we had no control over that. Fortunately, she managed to find some local accommodation at the last minute, so she could at least stay nearby and come back during visiting hours. But it wasn’t the same.

After she left, I was in a room with strangers, in pain, and constantly having some form of injection every hour. This went on for nearly three days.

By the third day, after not having slept a single wink, I got up at 3 am and asked the nursing staff to unplug my cannulas. I just needed a hot shower. By this point, I was highly emotional, exhausted, unwell, alone and on the edge of having a breakdown.

Perhaps they saw it in my face because they unplugged me. I hopped into the shower, sat underneath the hot water and cried.

When I got out, I didn’t want to go back to that room. They hooked me back up to everything, and I went and sat in one of the sitting rooms. Wheeling my IV stand along with me.

I just sat there in silence.

Too tired to cry again.

Too tired to think.

I felt like I was in an empty void of hopelessness.

How do women stay and do this for so long?

While Mum had been here, she had bumped into another pregnant woman while getting some water. This woman had already been there for five weeks. Her water had broken and, like me, they were trying to delay the birth for as long as possible.

How did she get through five weeks of this?

I honestly felt like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

To add to everything else that was happening, I also want to mention my experience with the nursing team.

Whilst there were a few nurses who were genuinely lovely and supportive, the rest were not great. The majority of them were not very friendly. I understand that they are run off their feet, and I don’t know what was happening behind the scenes. At that point, though, I really needed some kind words. But I guess that is not their job. I don’t know what the expectation should be, as I have never been in this position before. This might be completely normal. Maybe I was asking for too much. I don’t know.

I was constantly being told that I was probably fine, that I was most likely having period-type pain rather than early labour pains, and that because I had only been 1–2 cm dilated during my initial assessment, I would probably just go home. Apparently, my private doctor was overshooting the mark, and I wouldn’t be giving birth that week.

Being in constant pain while repeatedly being told it was probably just period pain made me start questioning myself.

I knew this felt different.

And my doctor had essentially said that.

So what was happening here?

My care was now being split between two hospitals, and everyone had something conflicting to say to me. Messages were being passed back and forth, but no one seemed to be on the same page. It was awful.

To make matters even harder, my Obstetrician didn’t want anyone checking how dilated I was because there was a risk of accidentally breaking my water. So the nursing staff continued working on the assumption that I would probably be going home soon. And whilst I tried to cling on to that as well, I knew that was not the case.

On day three, my Obstetrician arrived and said she wanted to check my cervix. She wanted to see how dilated I was compared to my initial assessment.

She checked, and I was 8–9 cm dilated. My baby had also moved from a head-down position to sideways. My doctor looked at me and said that this was serious. If my water broke, the umbilical cord could slip down ahead of the baby.

This was a problem.

An urgent problem.

I was told I needed an emergency C-section, and it was happening immediately.

Off I was wheeled. I was prepped for a C-section, and there was no time to think about anything.

In the middle of all of this, I decided to have a full-blown panic attack.

I was shaking so much that I am surprised I didn’t vibrate off the bed. Needless to say, I was highly emotional and completely overwhelmed. I had not mentally prepared for a C-section.

Fortunately, Mum was there, as it was during visiting hours. I don’t know how I would have managed if she hadn’t been there.

Next, I was taken into the operating theatre, where I met a very large team of people.

I will say, these people were amazing. The best of the best, I felt.

Everything was structured. Even in my panicked state, I knew these people were completely on top of everything. They were calm, reassuring, and guided me through every step of the process. I could not be more thankful for the support and professionalism they showed that day.

Having an epidural was a very strange feeling. You are completely numb from the chest down, yet you can still feel your body being tugged around. I felt like a rag doll with my stuffing being moved around. I could feel the pulling, but no pain, only numbness.

The entire time, I was shaking and in shock. Shaking the parts of my body I could still control.

I wasn’t sure whether they would offer me the chance to hold my baby when she was born, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. By this point, my panic attack had only gotten worse.

Then, in what felt like a very short space of time, I heard the cry of a baby.

For a brief few seconds, I forgot about everything else.

A tear rolled down my face.

My daughter was here.

And she was okay.

I was asked if my mum would like to cut the cord, and I answered for her.

“Yes, she would.”

Mum went over and cut the cord of her granddaughter.

She was crying.

I was crying.

It was a highly emotional moment.

I saw my little girl briefly as they stopped beside me before wheeling her away. I was stitched back up and then taken through to recovery.

And so that was that. That was our labour and birth story.

Sometimes I think about how differently this could have ended. Whilst I try not to dwell on that and just try to live in gratitude, that thought still finds me from time to time.

It scares me.

For now, I’ll leave this post here. There is still more to our story, though, and I’ll continue to share it with you over the coming weeks.