Normal Vaginal Delivery - a second Pregnancy

Grant - 21 March 1972

Stephen was almost two years old and I thought it was time to add to the family.  I tried without success for six months.  At last, when my mind was on starting a new job, it happened.  Pregnant at last, I then began to worry about what the birth would be like this time, after a very difficult first delivery.  I hoped it would be a smaller baby, so that I could cope better.  Again I had nausea, but after three months, it disappeared just as the text books state!  At four-and-a-half months, I contracted german measles, which Stephen had caught at creche.  My husband also had it and we were kept in quarantine in the residential hotel room where we were staying for a whole miserable week.  Naturally, I worried about the baby, but my gynaecologist said I was not to give it another thought, the child would be perfectly alright as I was just over the dangerous period.  I felt wonderfully healthy after that and carried much lower and smaller than I had with my first pregnancy.

However, when I was seven month's pregnant, I suddenly became very ill indeed.  After a week of high fever and near delirium, I was taken to the Wilkins Fever Ward by ambulance.  I was extremely ill and John Stegmann, our pastor, came and prayed for me in my isolation room.  Though many tests were taken, it was never discovered exactly what the cause of my illness was.  Just another tropical virus.  The medical staff listened to the fetal heartbeat after getting me through my crisis and confirmed that all was miraculously well with the baby.  After a few weeks I was allowed to return home with doctor's orders NOT to return to work.

The baby was due on 16 March, so I did not have long to wait.  We moved from the hotel into our house at the beginning of March and waited anxiously for the baby's arrival.  On 20 March, a Monday, I went for a check up with Mr Cameron, my gynaecologist.  He asked how I was and I replied "Okay but getting very impatient".  He had already told me at a previous visit that this baby would certainly not be another nine-pounder and I was in fact, really looking forward by now to the birth, as he had also told me that my labour would not be very long as the baby was extremely low.

During an examination, Mr Cameron loosened the baby's membranes, saying that should be all that was needed to put me into labour.  He said that if nothing happened by the following morning, however, I was to go to the Lady Chancellor for an induction.  After my appointment, I met my mother in town, who was rather concerned that I should be in town after having this minor procedure done, as I had been warned that labour could begin at any time.  Nothing happened to disturb our tea together that afternoon, but at 6 pm at home, I had a show and my contractions began.

Deciding that a walk would do me good, I popped Stephen into his push-chair and walked several blocks to the shopping centre.  this had the effect of making the contractions stronger, however, they had not yet become regular.  I stayed up until 11 pm and then had to make the decision to get some sleep and perhaps have to rush to the maternity home a few hours later, or to leave then and take my time.  Since Mr Cameron had said that as soon as I was sure that I was in labour, I was to go in, I decided on the latter.  We reached the Lady Chancellor with Stephen fast asleep on the back seat of the car.  I didn't wake him to say goodbye, just planted a kiss on his soft cheek.  No children were permitted to visit at the Lady Chancellor Maternity Home.  Then we bowed our heads and prayed for an easy labour and a safe birth before I went inside.  After the forms had been filled in and goodbyes had been said, I was taken upstairs and given the usual preliminaries.  This time there was no fear, as I knew exactly what to expect.  The enema was still an anathema, however.  After this my contractions came every ten minutes and became progressively stronger.  The contractions had become regular at 1 am.  I was settled into a west-facing room and told to get some sleep and to ring the bell if the waters broke.  At about 3 am someone came quietly into my room and over to my bed.  In the dark, something dropped with a clang and then I heard my gynaecologist apologising.  He had obviously been to deliver a baby and had popped in to see how I was doing.  He had dropped the horn to listen to the baby's heart beat.  He playfully chided me for being awake at such an hour.  I was anyway far too excited to sleep.  After a hasty examination, he left mumbling something about going on from strength to strength.

By the time morning broke, my contractions were still ten minutes apart but becoming very strong and lasting much longer.  I had to concentrate on my breathing.  Nice and slow in deeply and out slowly.  It worked like a charm.  Early morning tea was brought in and I had to take quick sips between contractions, the maid holding my cup for me.

The sun was in the sky and I could see the top of a huge tree in the grounds outside.  It was very relaxing to be able to see out of the window and I actually managed some self-hypnosis looking at the form of the tree, but after a while the contractions became so strong that I asked for something for pain which on admittance, like so many other mother, I had stated I did not want as I wanted to be in full control of myself.  The sister examined me and said I could not have anything yet, until the dilation had progressed more as the drug could cause labour to stop.

Memories of the first bith came flooding back to me and I felt panic rise up inside me.  I breathed too quickly and soon my entire body became a mass of pins and needles.  I rang the bell and explained what was happening.  The sister said that I had taken in too much oxygen by breathing so rapidly.  After she left, I became afraid to breathe in too much oxygen again and as a result started having difficulty with the ever-strengthening contractions and began to groan.  The day staff were just beginning to take over from the night duty sisters when one of the day sisters appeard at my door.  She was not unknown to me.  She was the sister who had been so nasty to me when I had been in labour with my first child.  "Stop that noise!" she shouted, angrily.  "There's a sixteen year old across the way and if she hears you, you'll frighten her to death."  Reflecting on the past, I remembered how she had not cared about me when I was a little older at seventeen and having such a rough time.

The night sister popped in to say goodbye and held my hand.  I told her that I could relax no longer, that everything was going wrong.  She told me that this was a good sign - it meant that I was passing into the next stage of labour and was called 'transition'.  Oh yes, I remember I had read about it.  She assured me that I was doing fine and stayed with me while I had the next contraction, which lifted my abdomen like a bread loaf to her amusement.  She helped me through it and afterwards I told her that I was very frightened of yelling.  She replied "This is YOUR baby and if you want to yell then you yell as loud as you like!".  I was sorry to see her go, but before she left, she gave me an injection for pain and it seemed fairly soon after, that an Asian sister came to examine me and said "Come dear, I'm going to take you to the room where your baby will be born".

We walked along the corridor, she supporting me with one arm.  On the way, we had to stop while I had a strong contraction and after it was over, we laughed about it and I told her to hurry "Let's get to that delivery room before I have the baby in the corridor!"

I was settled on the delivery bed and handed the gas to use.  Soon, Mr Cameron arrived, examined me and said to the sister "There's still a rim all round, I'll be in the corridor if you need me".  I had no idea what he meant.  I was left completely alone in the delivery room, without even an explanation.

Feeling the urge to bear down and having no idea of what was happening, I yelled desperately "Will someone please tell me whether to push or not!"  After my first birthing experience, this was like having a first baby.  A sister appeared at once.  "NO, you will NOT push until we tell you that you can push" she said indignantly and added "If you must YELL, yell into THIS!" and she thrust the gas mask onto my face.  If I think back to how childbirth was then to how it is now I can only say that there was not much compassion shown in the days before epidurals had arrived.  Having a baby was like a test of stamina and keeping a stiff upper lip.

After what seemed like ages and yet could only have been minutes, Mr Cameron appeared once more and after scrubbing up, he encouraged me to push for all I was worth.  I did it all in my throat!  I was told how to go about it.  I just couldn't seem to get it right and began complaining bitterly.  Mr Cameron gently said "Stop fussing dear, your baby's head is here already and its looking up at you".  I heard a tiny rubbery sound, which was my baby's first cry and I was helped up to see the little face, though I could not see it fully for all that was still inside me.  It was so exciting and it was enough to encourage me to bear down a few more times and soon the entire baby was delivered, bringing instantaneous relief from pain.  Mr Cameron held him up by his thighs, upside down, and handed him to the sister.  "A big boy!" he said and at that moment, I could indeed see that it was a boy!  He cried in protest as the cord was severed and his name tapes sewn onto his ankle and wrist, then after he was shown to me (we were not allowed to hold our babies right away), he was placed into his sterile crib and promptly fell fast asleep as if nothing but his slumber had been disturbed.

In the meantime, the placenta was delivered and then the time came for stitching the episiotomy.  "Now dear you won't feel a thing, just a little discomfort" Mr Cameron assured me and he began to work, convinced that I was numb from the birth, which I wasn't.  "Ouch, I can, I can feel that!" I protested wildly.  I wasn't in the mood for any more pain.  The numbness from the birth had left me and he didn't give me any local anaesthetic.  I was handed the gas mask rather unceremoniously and told to "take your mind off things".  I didn't hesitate to use it as he stitched.  How barbaric they could be in those days!

At last it was all over, I was given a glorious cup of tea and settled into a comfortable bed where I fell asleep immediately.  Labour had lasted for 15 hours.  My husband had been in a job interview at the time of the baby's birth, which was 9.15 am on 21 March - weight 8lb 5oz - over one and a half pounds lighter than his elder brother!  My husband had phoned the Lady Chancellor at 10 am only to be told that I was still in early labour!!  It wasn't until amost three hours after the baby's birth that he saw Grant.

Grant turned out to be a beautiful baby with fine features, but allergic to nearly everything, even baby milk and was in hospital no less than seven times before his first birthday with various illnesses and in fact, almost lost his life at 7 months of age when his body did not respond to the antibiotic he was given for pneumonia.  Ultimately, he turned out to be as strong and as happy a child as his elder brother Stephen and they were great companions for one another.

3 days of labour, high-forceps delivery under general anaesthetic - large first baby

Stephen - 28 September 1969 - Lady Chancellor Maternity Home, Salisbury, Rhodesia.

I picked up the telephone excitedly.  The sister had asked me to ring after 10.30 am for the results of my pregnancy test and I was bursting with anticipation.  I had only been married for just over one month and hadn't planned on having a child for a few years yet, nevertheless the idea of being pregnant was thrilling.  The sister's voice came over the line "Oh hello" she said and added very matter of factly "Your test results were negative.  If nothing happens, send in another specimen in about two weeks time, love".  I was dreadfully disappointed but I reminded myself that after all, the doctor had told me that it could just be the result of having suddenly stopped taking the pill when I had glandular fever and constrictive yellow jaundice as a result, shortly after returning from honeymoon.

A week later, I could wait no longer - and sent in a second specimen for testing.  This time, the results were positive.  I was elated and it wasn't too long before I had informed all my family and friends and was knitting frantically for the anticipated arrival.

Things didn't go too smoothly, however.  I suffered dreadful nausea, especially mornings and evenings, but sometimes even throughout the day.  Perhaps this was due to my recent ill health, which I had not had time to recover from.  In fact, my doctor was rather worried about my kidneys and the high blood pressure I had developed.  But after three or four months, I started feeling better and gained weight rather rapidly.  Ante-natal classes were started, but I found them ineffective during labour.  The tutor had never had a baby, in fact, she wasn't even married!  It didn't worry me though, I was quite sure that everything would go smoothly and relatively, painlessly.

The days went by.  I marked each day off on the calendar.  It seemed an endless wait.  Soon all the things were ready for the baby's arrival.  Everything was neatly in place, all given by wonderful friends and the family at a baby shower given by the church we attended - the Assembly of God.  Almost everything was baby blue - even a blue potty.

I stopped work three weeks before the anticipated date, which was 21 September 1969.  A few days before the date, the doctor said that, as everything was in place, I could take some caster oil if the baby had not arrived by Monday.  I tasted the stuff - it was quite revolting!  I decided to wait for things to happen naturally instead - even though at this stage, every day seemed like another week of waiting!  I was extremely large and uncomfortable and the novelty of being pregnant had worn thin.

On the evening of the 25th, we went to visit some friends, came home and went to sleep uneventfully.  Just a few hours later, I woke up to go to the toilet and on getting back into bed, felt a twinge of cramping.  It was 1 a.m.  I tried to get back to sleep, but felt more twinges and realised that this could be the start of my labour. which it was.  By morning, things had not changed so I got my husband to drop me off at my sister's house to ensure that I wouldn't be alone (he had to go to work).  Soon after arriving at 7.30 am at my sister's, I had a show and knew for certain that I was actually in labour.  The contractions became a little stronger and I felt a fear of the unknown rise up in me.  I was only 17 years of age.

I had an appointment to see my doctor that morning anyway, so after plenty of walking to keep labour going, my sister and I drove off to see him.  The sister (the doctor's wife) greeted me "STILL here?"  I was very proud to tell her that I was in early labour.  The doctor gave me an internal examination and confirmed this, saying I was doing quite well.  He told me to go to the nursing home after lunchtime but there was no hurry and I was to take my time.  To tell this to someone after 9 long months of waiting?  It was the last thing I was going to do.  My sister and I rushed through lunch and fetched my husband from work and drove to the nursing home.  I soon began to feel nervous and vulnerable not knowing what lay ahead.  In those days, there were no "hospital tours" to become acquainted with things and everything was totally strange.  My husband and I were shown into a tiny reception office and after a long wait, a sister appeared and entered my particulars on a form.  Finally, my husband and I said our goodbyes and I was taken upstairs to the labour wards by the sister (no fathers allowed then for the birth).

I was shown into a small bleak room with a bed on one side along the wall and in the centre of the floor, a very old-fashioned rust-stained bath.  I noticed the bell by the bed and a trolley covered with green sterile cloth.  Very clinical.  I was frightened.  I was given a shave, enema and bath.  I had never had an enema before and when it was all over I certainly hoped it would be my last!  After my lovely bath the sister examined me and pronounced that I was already a few fingers dilated, doing well and that I would certainly not have a long drawn-out labour.  Ironic words.

After these preliminaries, I was taken to another room - single, front-facing - in which I was to go through the first stage of my labour.  I was handed a pile of magazines to pass the time and left alone.  Tired after my broken night's sleep and deciding to take a quick nap, I climbed onto the bed.  At that moment a very stern (in fact, bullying) sister appeard at the door, asked me what I thought i was doing on the bed, ordered me off the bed and back onto the easy-chair.  She told me that the bed was for 'later" when I "needed" it.  When she left I wondered how long I would have to wait to lie on the bed!  I felt uncomfortable, alone and out of place in this clinical and harsh place.  When the same bullying sister came into my room again, she found me fast asleep, upright in the chair.  Softening just a tad, she said "You may sleep on the bed now, if you like".

Supper was brought in on a tray, but I had no appetite.  My husband came to visit during the visiting hour (strictly kept!).  We heard a woman scream from the next room.  I could not believe that it would be necessary to scream so - could things really become that bad?  Later that night, I found it impossible to sleep and asked for something for pain.  The shot (possibly Pethidine) I received left me so groggy afterwards that I had to be helped to the toilet during the night.

The next day - Saturday 27th , followed the same pattern as the first.  The contractions were beginning to wear me out but sleep would not come while I was having them.  No epidurals in those days.  My doctor came to see me late that afternoon and found me in tears.  The bullying sister accompanied him.  "Whatever is the matter?" my doctor asked me so very kindly.  I didn't have time to respond for the bullying sister answered for me "She's crying because she thinks its taking too long - you know what FIRST babies are like!".  She had scoffed at me.  I had been in labour for nearly two days and she had absolutely no compassion for me.  How much more did I have to bear?  Two days of contractions!  My doctor was kind.  He examined me, but volunteered no results and I, cowed by the bullying sister's presence, was too afraid to ask.

During the evening visiting hour that Saturday night, my husband was sent home early and I was once again given something to make me sleep as it was apparent that I was becoming exhausted.  The stork was busy and I had to vacate my room and comfortable bed for someone else.  I was wheeled into a theatre, where I spent the night on the hard, narrow theatre bed.  I was afraid of falling off with my big tummy and could only lie on my back (not the best position for pregnant women).  I noticed a tiny green crib in the corner and once again I began to cry, thinking that my baby would never arrive, never survive this long and harrowing labour.  The contractions were very strong and frequent by this time.  The strong medication which I had been given had the advantage of making me sleep between contractions, but the disadvantage was that I would awake when the contraction was at its height, in pain, terror and alone.  I was aware of screaming many times throughout the night, all control having long since left me.  My thoughts never turned to that woman whose screams we had heard the night before.  Now it was MY turn.  The night nurse was very, very kind and would come and sit by me and comfort me and hold my hand with the contractions, but each time I awoke, I would find her gone until she again responded to my cries of agony.  That night was the longest of my life.  It seemed as if it would never end and it changed my thoughts forever.  Before this, I somehow imagined that you would pass out if pain was too severe under any circumstances and I found out this just was not so!

Morning broke on Sunday 28th.  It was a clear, beautiful day.  I awoke feeling utterly exhausted though thankfully free of pain, my contractions had stopped for the first time since they had begun.

At 5 am the nursing sister who had helped me through the night helped me to take a lovely hot bath, settled me back into my former labour room, refreshed and in a soft bed again.  But - I was not going to sleep.  I was given ergometrine tablets which I was to place under my upper lip one by one at regular intervals to start my labour again.  It did not take long before I was in steady labour again.  This time my husband was permitted to stay a while with me while the doctor and gynaecologist were called.  The doctor came to see how I was progressing and not long after, the gynaecologist was shown into my room.  He examined me thoroughly and then went outside to my husband who was waiting in the corridor.  I could hear their voices and the gynaecologist saying something about the baby lying posterior, was very big and that they would have no option but to use instruments to deliver it.  By this time, I was beyond caring what they were going to do, as long as it was going to be over with soon.

I was soon left alone again with my labour.  By late afternoon, contractions were progressing very nicely.  They were strong and frequent and I was given a gas mask and shown how to use it with contractions, to ease the pain.  I was told that my baby would be born that night.  It seemed an endless journey.

At long last, I was wheeled into the delivery room.  By now, it was late in the evening.  I had been in labour for three days.  The doctor and gynaecologist had been called and were waiting for me.  Everything was ready and prepared.  Instruments gleaming on the trolley, stirrups and the tiny green crib.  By this time, I felt ready to give birth.  The doctor said I could bear down which I did without producing any result.  The anesthetist walked in and immediately got to work.  As I stretched out my arm for him, I was more than thankful to sink into a state of complete oblivion.

I awoke in a haze in the delivery room and vaguely recall the doctor excitedly telling me that I had a  son , a beautiful, huge baby.  I awoke a second time, looked to my left and saw the little crib.  This time, there was movement coming from it.  I felt my tummy.  Yes, I had indeed had my baby!  I was still very drugged and fell asleep again.  When I woke a third time, I tried desperately to recover my senses.  A sister was lifting my baby up for me to see.  She asked me if I was glad it was all over and then she muttered some comment that I would come back again this time next year and she wondered what in hell was wrong with woman for going through all this.  I did not care about what she said for I only cared about my gorgeous son.  I fell fast asleep, feeling a sense of immense pride.  I was a MOTHER!  It was wonderful to be free of pain at last.  I slept as I had never slept before and wasn't even aware of being moved sometime during the night to the general wards.

The next morning I was greeted by a cheerful sister who had written the birth weight on the inner hem of her uniform.  9lb 12oz!  The biggest baby in the nursery!  "Whose baby weighed THAT?" I asked, still a little confused.  She replied "YOUR baby and he is beautiful and so FAT".  He had been born at exactly ten minutes before midnight.

We named him Stephen.  It was a name I had found in the Bible and had waiting for him even though without scans in those days, I somehow knew it was a baby boy.  I was not allowed to see him for 48 hours after his birth, due to being a high-forceps delivery.  But no-one told me this was routine after difficult deliveries and therefore I began to worry about him.  Seeing my concern, they wheeled Stephen into the ward in his little blue crib and placed him beside my bed for over an hour.  I was not allowed to touch him, as he was being "cot-nursed".  I was only supposed to look.  However, I could not resist pulling back his blankets to see if he was normal, which of course he was, in every way.

Recovery was slow and problematic as a lot of mechanical damage had been done.  Stephen was contented and easy, making up for everything.  The staff used him in a demonstration to show mothers how to bath a baby.  I was sitting there on my sponge ring, with a catheter I couldn't seem to get rid of.  The other mums were all amazed at his size.  As I held my baby close to me, I knew that despite what I had been through, he would not be my last.  The pain forgotten, all that mattered was that he was alive, well and perfect.  I could not have hoped for more!