Birth Story: Water hypnobirth @ St Mary's Hospital, Manchester.

I’ve previously loved to share the birth stories of my couples on this blog, but this time it’s my turn! Here’s the story of how I birthed my baby boy, Ellis, in November 2020 at St Mary’s Hospital in Manchester.

I had well and truly had enough of waiting.

We found out about this pregnancy just 5 days before the first national lockdown in March.  I worked from home and felt quite isolated for my whole pregnancy. Most family and friends never even saw my bump! There was still so much uncertainty over the impact of coronavirus on pregnant women and their babies, so we stayed well away from everyone for most of the summer. I’m sure you can appreciate that I had no desire for relaxation, nesting at home or reflection once maternity leave officially hit... I’d spent 8 full months at home – waiting and worrying!

Thinking of the great future birthday party potential, I told the baby it had to be here for Halloween. I was so disappointed when the trick or treaters came and went without so much as a hint of anything starting up.

My waters broke.

I woke up 2 days later in the early hours with some tightening of my bump that had become common over the previous few nights. I hobbled to the toilet for the last time at about 3am, noting that I was a bit more uncomfortable than usual. Was I waddling? Something felt new, but at just 37 weeks pregnant it was so unlikely that anything serious was really happening, even though I’d hoped and prayed for an end to the backache, sleepless nights and tiredness of late pregnancy!  At 6.10am I felt that bizarre but familiar trickle of waters breaking.  I shot out of bed and ran back to the bathroom.  

Thunderbirds are go!

An important lesson from my first labour was that I needed to immediately remain calm and relaxed. With my first, my waters broke but the contractions never came, likely due to such a rush of adrenaline and excitement! This led to a medical induction which was something I was keen to avoid again.  My waters had broken at 11pm last time, after a very busy day! There was no time for sleep before being induced the next morning. By the time I gave birth, I’d been awake for over 30 hours - another factor I was keen not to repeat.

This time I’d hoped for a spontaneous start to the labour, not only because of the COVID restrictions in the hospital making induction a lonely process, but because I wanted to move around, bounce on a ball and hopefully use a birth pool for pain relief. I knew most of that would not be possible with a medical induction, where I’d be required to sit still and have continuous monitoring of my baby’s heart rate. Standing in the bathroom, not quite believing what was happening, I shouted my husband, Tim.

He had already jumped out of bed and we stood in the bathroom grinning. Both of us were so pleased this was happening after a full night of sleep! I decided I’d jump in a nice warm shower whilst he called my mum to come to be with our daughter. This was one big relief too – throughout the pandemic we’d been planning for who would look after our 2 year old daughter when labour began. Would it be safe to leave her with friends round the corner? Would my mum make it in time from work? Amazingly, I’d gone into labour just as she was getting ready to leave the house, so she simply had to drive to us instead!

Early labour.

As I showered, I noticed a few period pains come and go. By the time my mum arrived 30 minutes later, our daughter was awake. We packed the final bits for the car and I looked at some crumpets for a while… The mild period pains were coming regularly now, once every 10 mins or so, but with things going quickly last time, I wanted to be in my safe space at the hospital before things really got going. We had final hugs goodbye and left.

I’d heard people talk about that last moment. You hug your only child for the last time because when you return, she’s no longer your only world.  She doesn’t know, of course! She just takes the hug, carries on playing with a train track and shouts “Have a nice daaaay!”, thrilled to be spending time with Grandma on her own. I had a heavy heart – how would my first child cope with having a sibling? Had we prepared her enough? There was such a strange feeling of this being a huge moment of transition, yet she was so blissfully unaware.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on this. I had another cramping pain and remembered that I really wanted to get to the hospital. When should you go to the hospital when you’re in labour? The rational side of my brain knew we had time, but the slightly annoying side, which tends to remind me of the things I’m worried about, was telling me to just get there as soon as possible.

You might think that as a hypnobirthing instructor I’d have been keen to have a home birth and in a way, I was. But then we had the discussions. Firstly, my husband, who knows me better than anyone else, told me he thought I’d panic. And he was right. The idyllic scene of having a birth pool set up in the living room, unlimited birth partners and our daughter milling around quietly was like a perfect dream. But in reality would I cope? I know how important it is to relax through contractions for comfort, speed and pain control. I teach this week in, week out! So ultimately, we decided I’d be able to do that best in somewhere I perceived as a safe space. Somewhere where all of my last minute ‘what ifs’ were manageable. Given the difficulties we’d experienced the first time round, there would be many ‘what ifs’.  Perhaps our living room wasn’t the best place for me. No matter how many fairy lights and perfectly written birth affirmations hung around the room, it would not feel, to me with my personal medical history, like the safe space I knew the hospital could be.

The second conversation was with a midwife. My daughter had been born in compound presentation – her hand and arm were born with her head, flying superman style. Now I had no problems whatsoever pushing her out. In fact, I didn’t know any different as I didn’t know that she was presenting that way as I gave birth… but the midwife had confirmed that this could happen again and that it can often lead to the need for further intervention and potentially an emergency situation.  This cemented my choice of birth place as St Mary’s Hospital in Manchester.

What were the odds?

The hospital recently moved the Midwife Led Unit to Wythenshawe Hospital where it is now called The Manchester Birth Centre. For me, this was incredibly disappointing. I did not want to give birth at Wythenshawe for a few different reasons and so my options at St Mary’s were limited to the Delivery Unit where only one birth pool is available. It is, however, an incredible room, painted full of birth affirmations in different languages, soft lighting and furnishings… but there’s only one room like this (or there was at the time!). What were the odds on this being available for me to use? 

All of this played through my mind as we set off in the car. I’d called triage to let them know I was on my way and I’d mentioned the birth pool room.

“It’s in use at the minute but that could change so let’s just see where you’re at when you get here,” said the midwife who assessed me over the phone.

“It won’t be free in time.” I told Tim in the car.

Speed bumps.

There are several routes one could take to reach the hospital from our house but only one that involves navigating several hundred speed bumps and endless traffic light junctions. I’d advise against such roads if you are in labour and trying to relax. Having not really left the house much in 8 months, it struck me as typical that we’d be trying to drive into a major UK city in rush hour whilst in labour. It was the most traffic I’d seen for a long time. Not to worry - I zoned out and used some of that good old hypnobirthing positivity to avoid the panic zone. I’d prepared a playlist for labour but at this point I was happy without it. The period pains were coming and going and I noted every one whilst watching the car clock. Roughly 1 in 8 minutes, but seeming to get closer together and stronger each time. If it wasn’t for my waters breaking, we’d have stayed at home a little longer.

We arrived at the hospital car park sometime around 8am. We debated Tim dropping me off at the door whilst he went to park, but that rational side of my brain was back on top. I decided we should park together and walk across – after all, I’m the one who is always preaching about the need to be active during labour. A common theme was appearing: I knew what I needed to do.

“I’m in labour!”

Because my waters had broken, they continued to leak on our journey! I waddled out of the multi storey into the bright light of a very busy morning, with a big wet patch on the front of my leggings - effortless elegance. A long line of impatient cars, probably staff considering the time, rolled into the car park. We waited by a road crossing as several cars continued across it, ignoring us. Normal people were crossing in between, but a heavily pregnant, leaking, waddling woman wouldn’t have made it across in time before the next car.  A new cramp began, stronger than before, and I instinctively held up my hands at the next car and shouted “I’M IN LABOUR!” before walking straight out into the road. A member of staff smirked at me, but apart from that life continued bustling around us. The hospital campus is busy!

It was so sunny but freezing cold.  I had to stop once to focus on breathing as the tight cramps were becoming more like contractions by this point. I could no longer talk whilst having one, so I knew things were switching up a gear. We made it to the front of the building, like 2 snails. One held up by a baby bump, the other carrying his own body weight in birth bags, snack packs & a pillow. As we waited for the lift on the ground floor, an amused cleaner pushed a wet floor sign towards me, giggled and shouted “Good luck!” through her mask.

A birth affirmation above a door in the St Mary’s Hospital Delivery Unit, Manchester. This is exactly what you need to see when you’re in labour.

By the time we were sitting in triage, I was having those contractions every 3-4 minutes, except now they were stronger and I needed to use my magical breathing techniques to get through them.  We were told to sit in the waiting area, but I wanted to be upright and mobile so stood for a while before using the sofas to lean on. Thankfully it wasn’t long until we were called through.

After confirming that my waters had broken (she took one look at me and declared “Errrr yes, I think we can safely say your waters have broken.”) the midwife placed us on a heart rate monitor for the baby. ‘Oh no, this was exactly what happened last time,’ I thought. There was some worry that I hadn’t felt much movement, but at this time of the day I wouldn’t usually have been feeling much anyway. I’d usually have been in the throes of making breakfast, setting up play spaces or wrestling with a toddler to get her dressed.

Whilst being monitored, a midwife came to assess me further. She was called Leila and she wanted to do an internal examination to find out how far dilated I was. I was pretty set on refusing internal examinations this time round if all went to plan, but as always, I was open minded in case I needed to be! In the moment, this felt like a good time to be examined – if I was as far along as I thought I was, they’d be admitting me soon. I really wanted to get settled into a birthing room so Tim could start dimming the lights, making it comfortable for me. Instead, I was stuck in a tiny, bright triage room.

A shot of orange juice and a piece of toast.

I was gutted when the midwife said I was 3cm. I don’t know why, because I know that it means nothing. It’s something else I teach – birth is not linear. It might take you 3 hours to get to 3cm, but that doesn’t mean it will then take 7 more hours to reach 10cm. There are so many factors. But still, regardless of whether you know that or not, it’s always disappointing.

After a shot of orange juice (why make juice cartons so small?) and a piece of toast, I was feeling regular movements from the baby again. I begged to get off the bed and move around. Here’s the thing – when you’re able to move, you can move through the pain. If you stubbed your toe but had to stay still, you’d be perceiving that pain highly, focusing on it. But you don’t stay still – not naturally. You grab your toe, hop around, swing your leg and make silly noises. And soon, because you were distracted and could do all of those things, the pain is gone. It feels the same in labour. Being made to sit still on the bed was infuriating. Not only did I instinctively want to move, I’d also taken the brilliant ‘Moving for an easier birth’ course with the wonderful Mollie O’Brien at Optimal Birth. I knew what I had to do… again.  As soon as the midwife came back, she agreed that I could come off the monitoring machine…

Then she checked the trace. The baby’s heart rate had taken another dip. I needed to be on the monitor for another 30 minutes. I pleaded with her to be able to stand up. I’ve since told Tim I’m surprised I didn’t shout “I know my rights!” but I think I knew she was on my side. Leila agreed to let me stand, but made me stay next to the monitor. I made Tim do the same. I swayed from side to side. With every contraction, I danced! I probably looked ridiculous, but only Tim could see so I didn’t care. Again, I knew what I had to do. I also used some self-hypnosis, taking myself away to other places in my mind during the contractions. I find it so easy to snap in and out of this and it definitely proved useful as a distraction technique.

The labour pains were getting more intense now. Twice I needed to grab onto Tim’s arms and breathe through the pain slowly. It was working. I was coping. Yet a new midwife entered the room and offered me pain relief. BIG NO. The minute someone offers you pain relief, it sets off a chain reaction of thoughts in your brain. Does she think I need it? Has she seen other women like this who have already taken it? Do I need it? How much longer can I go without it?

Thankfully I stuck to my guns on this. I had no problems taking medical pain relief whatsoever. I’m a firm believer that hypnobirthing goes alongside any of your other birth choices, it doesn’t replace them (unless you want it to). I decided I was coping well and would wait until we were transferred to the birthing room, which was almost ready.

Like a scene from a movie…

The midwife led us round the corridors to our room. Like a scene from a movie, we walked straight past the open doors of the empty, clean birth pool room. There was a slow-motion realisation – it was free! In contrast, the room we’d been allocated, directly next door, was brightly lit, with whitewashed walls and strip lighting beaming down onto a bed in the middle of the room. Immediately I asked if we could move. The midwife was unsure. People who know me, will know that I’m not particularly argumentative or confrontational. But this was the game changer. I needed to do everything I could to move to that room, now knowing it was available. I was polite, but firm - I wanted to use that room and I could see that it was available. She came back with another colleague and they looked through my notes. Eventually they decided yes, we could have the birth pool room!

Imagine walking past the doors to this…

I couldn’t believe our luck! Straight away, Tim got the snacks out (priorities) and I bounced on a waiting birthing ball. Every time a contraction came, I really needed him now. We stood for each surge, for which I gripped the inside of his elbows and he gently rocked from side to side. The breathing techniques were helping immensely.  Our newly allocated midwife, for the birth, came in to meet us. Her name was Becky and I knew right away that she was going to be perfect for the type of birth we wanted. Her first words were “Oh no, this isn’t how this room is meant to look. Give me 2 minutes!”.  She worked her magic and whizzed around the room, moving furniture and creating spaces that were relaxing, calming and just not what you’d typically expect to find on a delivery unit!

Becky seemed thrilled that I wanted to use the pool. She began to fill it up. In the back of my mind, I wondered how far along I was now, but any number of centimetres didn’t matter. I knew things were progressing nicely – my contractions were getting stronger every time and there seemed to be less time to chat in between. Tim continued to pour Lucozade Sport into my mouth whilst I changed into a bikini top for the pool. That’s the ultimate best drink for labour by the way. Pack 4 bottles in your birth bag.

Once in the pool, I couldn’t believe how relaxing the warm water was. It was so lovely to just let go and sort of flop down into the water. I was so happy that I was actually using a pool. I knew my chances had been slim. Just as I was basking in the glory of things going to plan… BAM.

Birth partner magic…

I had the worst contraction of the entire labour. My first contraction in the water. I think I just assumed that the warm water would help me through the pain and so I didn’t use the deep breathing to the same intensity that I had before getting into the pool. Wow. It took my breath away. Tim reassured me that I was doing just fine, but at this point I started to wonder if hypnobirthing techniques would work enough for me to birth my baby without anything else?  Later, I would learn that this was my transition. I asked for the gas and air to be set up.

Thankfully, the next contraction wasn’t as bad. I’d regained positivity and relaxed and this was all down to my birth partner. He knew what to say and what to do to get me back into that zone. Without him, I wouldn’t have done it. I got through the next 20 minutes or so with the gas and air and some very deep surge breathing, a technique I teach on my course. After every contraction I was completely lapping up the relaxation element of being in the pool. It felt incredible immediately after each pain had gone. I stayed on my knees in the water, leaning against the side of the pool where Tim also knelt, but on the dry side! I needed him completely. He was the wise one, whispering the encouragement, holding it all together. I was in and out of ‘being aware’ I suppose - the hypnobirthing strategies came naturally and I flipped between zoning out for contractions and lapping up the happiness of the moments in between.

Very suddenly, I knew that my body was doing something a bit different. I was instinctively reaching up to Tim, trying to pull myself up. My entire pelvic area was relaxed, but there was the once-felt and therefore always familiar feeling of something moving down. I knew in my head that my body was starting to push. But just as I tried to tell the midwife this, another surge hit. It was an almighty one, a powerful contraction which took my breath away. The gas and air was useful now and just as that contraction came to an end, I was able to look up at Becky. But I didn’t need to say anything.

She already knew. She was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear her. I remember her saying “Ok Samantha, when your baby is born it’s really important to not…”. I knew what she about to say because I teach it… but I still panicked that I didn’t hear the rest before my next contraction.

Tunnel vision

They say that your memory of giving birth can sometimes feel like tunnel vision. I can remember what I could see and how I felt. What I could hear. But there are parts when I know I was so far ‘in the zone’. I didn’t do any of the initial pushing. I felt the baby moving down and I felt my body surge and bear down without my consent! The fetal ejection reflex was in full force.

As I realised what was happening next, Becky was right there telling me what I already knew. I was fully dilated and she could feel the top of the baby’s head. There was no time to celebrate. I saw Tim’s shocked face looking at the clock. I’d only been in the pool for half an hour or so! With one almighty push, the baby’s head was born. This time I was in control. I flashed back to my daughter’s birth and felt the same sense of ‘I need to get this baby out now’. The midwife was asking if I wanted to put my hand down and feel the baby’s head. I did not. With one more gigantic push, he was born.

The first picture of newborn Ellis - taken seconds after he was born.

Sitting in the water with a newborn in my arms felt incredible. As the midwives wrapped us in towels, we looked to find out that it was a boy! We asked for delayed cord clamping, so waited until the cord stopped pulsating until Tim cut it. I stayed in the pool to birth the placenta, having skin to skin with him until I became cold and wanted to retreat to the bed. I couldn’t believe how different an experience this had been compared to my first. Hypnobirthing had helped me hugely with my first labour, but this time luck had been on our side as well as good preparation. Not just luck actually - I knew my options, I knew my rights and I knew I had to repeatedly voice my request for the pool! The golden combination of good birth education, great timing and everything going roughly to plan on the day.

After an overnight stay, we were discharged and headed home so that our eldest could meet her new little brother. I hugged her again. There was no heavy heart now – yes, something had changed, but it was the most wonderful change. Our family was complete! Now for the challenge of tackling the newborn weeks in another major national lockdown. But that’s a tale for another day…

Ellis was born at St Mary’s Hospital, Manchester, with a fantastic team of midwives supporting us on the day. Thank you so much to Becky, our incredible birth midwife, and Leila, the triage midwife who managed to secure the birth pool for us, making our experience one to remember!