Elise

I suppose my birth story starts with the conception. Our fertility journey was a long one, but not as traumatic as some. We tried for two years unsuccessfully before going down the treatment and eventually IVF path. We were very lucky that our first egg collection resulted in five successful embryos, and we became pregnant with our bub on just the second transfer.

The initial pregnancy was uneventful. I continued exercising, had some terrible nausea but nothing unusual. As we progressed we had a successful NIPT and found out we were having a little boy. I entered the second trimester and started to have some random spotting, no pain or discomfort, and all reviews seemed to confirm everything was fine.

At 23 weeks and 6 days I went to the gym in the morning and came home to shower. I experienced a sensation as if I was weeing but I hadn’t actually intended to; when I looked down, the floor of the shower was covered in blood. I would like to say I was cool, calm and collected but I started hyperventilating. My husband was away in China for work and I was home alone. I got out of the shower and felt the blood continuing to run down my legs.

I wasn’t thinking straight, so I rang the OB clinic first, who told me to call an ambulance. I was terrified. I’d never quite let myself believe that we would actually get pregnant, and I was certain this was the inevitable conclusion of the pregnancy and our journey through infertility. Shaking and still bleeding, I got myself dressed and downstairs, holding a towel between my legs, to wait for the ambulance. I messaged my husband, assuming he’d be asleep, as I just couldn’t quite think straight.

The ambulance arrived and weren’t able to tell me anything related to the baby; they did my obs and helped me into the ambulance. As we left the house my husband rang, and as I answered I felt another stream of blood. In tears and distressed, I tried to explain to my husband what had happened, although really we knew nothing. It was around 4am for him and he had to start trying to find a way home (he was in central China, away from major airports).

Obviously that ambulance drive was horrific. Knowing nothing, I started to feel some kind of tightening. When we arrived at the hospital there was some debate over where to take me, but I eventually ended up in the Frances Perry birth suite, waiting for my OB. I just remember thinking I had no idea how to give birth as they wheeled me past the “birth suite” sign.

The scan my OB did showed bub was fine — heartbeat, movement, cervix closed. It seemed we’d be okay, although we didn’t know what had happened. Little did I know the journey which was ahead of me. An ultrasound showed my cervix had shortened considerably, a condition known as cervical insufficiency (meaning it was too short for my gestation and could potentially result in an early birth). Although this wouldn’t have caused the bleeding, it did mean my pregnancy was now high risk, and they still didn’t know the cause of the bleed, which was considered a significant amount of loss.

I remember my mum asking if it was possible I’d need to remain in hospital for the rest of the pregnancy, and thinking how ridiculous that idea was...I remained in hospital for a week to be monitored while on progesterone; if I stabilised, I could potentially be monitored at home. The option of a cervical stitch was discussed but, due to my later gestation and the bleed, it was decided this wasn’t the best approach.

The next week another ultrasound was undertaken by a different sonologist, who discovered something called vasa praevia. She explained that she could see open vessels sitting in the lining/membrane of my uterus, rather than in the umbilical cord sheath, and that these vessels were sitting over the top of my cervix. This was a serious finding requiring careful monitoring. My husband and I (who had made it back from China, to much tears and relief) had to go back to the hospital room and resist the urge to google while waiting for our OB.

The detail was terrifying. The vessel could easily rupture, causing my baby to bleed out within minutes. Vaginal delivery was out of the question, and the safest place for me was on bed rest in the hospital. My case was particularly tricky as I had both the short cervix and vasa praevia, which meant things were pretty dangerous — the short cervix meant possible early labour progressing quickly, which I’d likely not feel come on, resulting in the vessels rupturing as my cervix dilated. Basically, I was staying here for the foreseeable future with a high possibility of a premature baby. The NICU doctor visited us with handouts and stats. Research doctors asked for consent for trial research participation. And then we waited. We waited and we hoped.

In total I spent 3 months in hospital. And because I was in private care, I had no access to mental health support, a gap between private care, the state-based hospital, and the national Medicare system.

It was at this point I was particularly grateful for MAMA. I’d originally signed up for a full midwifery package, wanting to labour at home for as long as possible before coming to hospital for my lovely natural birth (hahahaha). I’d already met my midwife, Bridget, a few times, and she ended up being a godsend. Going from wanting a pretty natural birth to being highly medicalised was a huge shift, and Bridget was amazing. She was always happy to answer my questions, and even helped me find alternate ways to get my first aid training. In fact, MAMA in general were very flexible in how they supported me in my very unique situation.

Looking back, this time is just a blur to me now. I can’t really remember it except for the mix of emotions, grateful for each week bub stayed inside, aware of others who were not so lucky. The loneliness of being in a room alone for days on end, relying on others to wheel me outside for sun or fresh air. My poor husband under pressure, home alone, trying to continue to run his business while preparing our house for a baby. The constant sense of loss about what we were missing in our journey, followed by guilt because we should be grateful our baby was still alive.

A constant swirl, all the while surrounded by uncertainty and continued change... C-section dates booked and changed and changed again, stable cervix scans followed by significant shortening. Frustration and guilt all mixed up into a swirl of emotions and tears. It feels wild now to try and capture those feelings and that experience in writing. It was one of the toughest and loneliest times of my life.

At 34+4 I was due to have a C-section. In the scan that week the sonologist could no longer see the vessels covering my cervix, however bub was sitting very low so it was possible they were just hidden. It was decided to delay by one week and do another scan. If that scan was clear, I could go home. I was in complete denial; I couldn’t and didn’t believe it would happen.

We had the second scan at 35+4, and the sonologist confirmed the vessels appeared to have moved. We waited for 3 hours for my OB to come by with an outcome. I refused to pack up or do anything, as we’d been here before and I knew if I packed it wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t excited, and I didn’t want to let myself hope. However, by some miracle, it was real, and my OB signed off on me going home. We packed up that hospital room in 30 minutes and were home within the hour. It was incredible, amazing, and blissful. Surprisingly I wasn’t so nervous about things at home, although after the rollercoaster of emotions from the last few months combined with pregnancy hormones, I did feel quite up and down emotionally.

The C-section was booked for 37+4, and we eagerly awaited and planned for our now “term” baby, who wouldn’t have to go to NICU or SCN. At 37 weeks I started hand expressing (I didn’t think this would be possible). I started moving around too and going for small walks as the risk of a premature birth slowly decreased.

The night before the C-section I couldn’t really sleep. Our bags were packed and we were ready, and I was furiously trying every calming thing I could think of to get to sleep. At 12am I was feeling a bit strange and got up to go to the bathroom, and when I wiped I looked down and saw blood; when I stood up I again felt a rush of blood down my legs. I remember very calmly calling to my husband that I was bleeding and we needed to go to hospital. We both knew the risk, if it was baby’s blood, we had minutes before he would be in trouble.

We left the house without anything, not even my glasses. I had a blanket between my legs and a nightdress on. I called the hospital from the car, shaking and hoping everything was okay. In the car on the way I thought I could feel movement. When we arrived we got hooked up, and bub still had a heartbeat. People consulted, and a decision was made to go ahead with an emergency C-section (the irony of this being 4 hours before our scheduled one wasn’t lost on anyone). No one was quite sure what had happened, but the blood wasn’t a good sign, and while bub seemed to be okay, they weren’t sure for how long.

As we waited for the C-section my waters broke and I went into labour. I was so completely unprepared for contractions, given I’d known I’d have a C-section for 24 hours. I remember feeling both numb and terrified, it’s strange how, even though we were planning to do this anyway, the emergency nature of it just completely threw me. We were off to the operating room, and between contractions they put in the spinal.

Then we met our little boy Felix. Miraculously he was healthy and perfect. No oxygen required, 10 fingers and 10 toes. He latched and fed straight away. It is honestly unbelievable how completely and utterly normal everything has been from the moment he came out. We are so lucky and fortunate to be in this position, and despite the wild journey to get here, we now have a beautiful, healthy ten-month-old boy who is just amazing. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.