![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tencrushI have decided to document the birth of Milliway before I forget what happened alltogether. Just for the sake of posterity and that.
But wait... what fabtabulous contraption is this, I hear you ask...
Yah, it's the Roma Birth Wheel and I'm about to pimp it hard because it's not nearly as scary as it looks.
A little background info; I had Beckett sitting up, with Darryn behind me. It was the most comfortable position I could find at the time. I was completely unwilling to lie down and if they'd even so much as suggested stirrups I think I'd have thrown their expensive midwifing equipment at them. Lying down sucks. Hard. The helplessness and loss of control is really daunting, and I couldn't deal with it whatsoever, there is just NOTHING for you to hold onto, throw your weight against, use as leverage, anything, and the idea of not being able to plant my feet anywhere freaked me out completely. So much so that when the time came to have Millie I KNEW and was very vocal about the fact that I refused to be horizontal at any time. Funnily enough, they'd put me in the room with the VERY EXPENSIVE WHEEL. The one they bought and nobody wanted to use because it looks kind of freaky. Well, I laugh in the face of freaky, let me tell you. The wheel spoke to me from the moment I laid eyes on it.
Rewind a mo, because I'd like to get the whole story out. I went into labour at about seven in the morning, the contractions were nothing major and I even sent Darryn to work for an hour because he had some stuff to do. Beckett toddled around the house while I intermittently panted and strained, as I was under strict orders not to phone the midwife until I had had contractions that were only five minutes apart for over an hour. I lied to the midwife and said this was the case when I eventually phoned at around nine, they were still seven minutes apart and had been for about an hour and a half, but I was pretty sure I needed help. I also phoned my mum, and Darryn was already on his way back home. At some point in the next hour my mum, Darryn and my obstetrician, Stefan, arrived, with his wee little assistant Like. By then the contractions were forcing me onto my knees crying like a baby. Bless his heart, Stefan was unimpressed and sent me upstairs with Like and her wee rubber glove. Now Stefan, who strikes one as being just the tiniest bit gay, is a big man, and most dauntingly, Stefan has the biggest hands I have ever encountered. This just to set the mood for ya. Like, on the other hand, was a slight girl, with dainty little girlie hands. Bless her. So there I was, lying on the guest bed with my bits out and Like's hand up my mimsy, fearing the worst. The worst did indeed come to pass. Like's fingers weren't long enough, and she couldn't for the life of her work out my dilation. Great. Now I don't wish to be mean, but I don't have a freakishly long vagina as far as I'm aware, so maybe the midwifery school of which Like was a student should consider weeding out the tiny-fingered ones? Just a suggestion. And so Stefan was called in with his big manhand. He's a funny guy, he just looked at me and said "Shall we go?", which, having known Stefan through two pregnancies, I knew to be Stefan-speak for "Fuck, here I am being all patronising and telling her it'll be ages yet but in fact she's about to push the damn thing out RIGHT NOW. I hate being wrong." And so off we went.
I got to the hospital at around 11.15, and there I was, on the bed, refusing to lie down while they poked and prodded me and broke my waters, when eventually Like just looked at me and went "You want the wheel? Really?" I assured her that yes, I really, really did want the wheel. I managed to install myself on it between contractions. What happened after that I can only vaguely remember, though having a big bar of steel to hang onto is the best thing that ever happened to me, let me tell you. Only drawback being that one is hugely tempted to redirect one's energy into pulling on the bar, and your arms really don't need the workout, and let's face it, the energy is really better off being put to use elsewhere. I must have had about twenty minutes worth of contractions on the wheel and everything went far to quickly to even think about giving me the epidural I so desired. I got the urge to push at around 12.15 and Millie was out within half an hour. They say the wheel speeds up delivery time and in my humble opinion, they're right. It does allegedly increase the chances of tearing, and I did end up with a doozy of perineal tear, so that might be correct, I don't know. But man, was it ever comfy. So comfy, in fact, that nothing bothered me, physically. I wasn't struggling to get comfortable or find something to hold onto, or push against, it was the oddest sensation being able to just focus on the contractions. And fuck, yes, they hurt like a motherfucker and I whined and cried and all the rest of it, but there was also an amazing feeling of control there, and between the mind numbing pain I actually found myself marvelling at the whole physical process. The way the contractions work, the way they build up to a crescendo of the most incredible pain, a pain you can't quite place anywhere in your body, it just seems to be everywhere, and the way that pushing actually relieves that pain, only to replace it with the far more focussed and somehow vastly preferable pain of the actual stretching and tearing. The whole thing amazed me.
It took me about an hour to recover, she fed successfully within about ten minutes, I got up and showered and pissed within an hour and a half and I was home by 3. I went to the shops the next day. On my own. Was visited by a vast number of midwives over the course of the next two weeks, half of whom said "You really should be lying down and taking it easy.", while the other half said, "Yeah, go to the shops, do whatever, being upright's good for the womb." They'll never agree on anything. What they DID all manage to say was "You went on the wheel! "No-one's ever gone on the wheel! Wow! Wheel-woman!" I smiled smugly. I'd go on the wheel again in a heartbeat, if I were inclined to have another baby. Which I'm not, because babies were invented by Satan himself. But there you go. Yeah, I went on the wheel, so I did.
I love the design of the wheel and the way they've painted it happy neutral colours because they know if they painted it any darker it'd look like they'd just stolen it from some S&M dungeon. I love the idea of the thought processes involved in the fastidious Swiss minds that invented the wheel, and the design experts involved who probably did years of reaearch to find out that turqoise was the colour people least associated with S&M dungeons and kinky sex. I love the fact that despite all that, the first thing I thought of when I saw it was S&M dungeons and kinky sex, and the other half actually immediately dubbed it "The Shag Swing". And I'll happily admit that said associations are probably a small part of what drew me to the wheel in the first place. But don't let that put you off. The wheel rocks.
But wait... what fabtabulous contraption is this, I hear you ask...
Yah, it's the Roma Birth Wheel and I'm about to pimp it hard because it's not nearly as scary as it looks.
A little background info; I had Beckett sitting up, with Darryn behind me. It was the most comfortable position I could find at the time. I was completely unwilling to lie down and if they'd even so much as suggested stirrups I think I'd have thrown their expensive midwifing equipment at them. Lying down sucks. Hard. The helplessness and loss of control is really daunting, and I couldn't deal with it whatsoever, there is just NOTHING for you to hold onto, throw your weight against, use as leverage, anything, and the idea of not being able to plant my feet anywhere freaked me out completely. So much so that when the time came to have Millie I KNEW and was very vocal about the fact that I refused to be horizontal at any time. Funnily enough, they'd put me in the room with the VERY EXPENSIVE WHEEL. The one they bought and nobody wanted to use because it looks kind of freaky. Well, I laugh in the face of freaky, let me tell you. The wheel spoke to me from the moment I laid eyes on it.
Rewind a mo, because I'd like to get the whole story out. I went into labour at about seven in the morning, the contractions were nothing major and I even sent Darryn to work for an hour because he had some stuff to do. Beckett toddled around the house while I intermittently panted and strained, as I was under strict orders not to phone the midwife until I had had contractions that were only five minutes apart for over an hour. I lied to the midwife and said this was the case when I eventually phoned at around nine, they were still seven minutes apart and had been for about an hour and a half, but I was pretty sure I needed help. I also phoned my mum, and Darryn was already on his way back home. At some point in the next hour my mum, Darryn and my obstetrician, Stefan, arrived, with his wee little assistant Like. By then the contractions were forcing me onto my knees crying like a baby. Bless his heart, Stefan was unimpressed and sent me upstairs with Like and her wee rubber glove. Now Stefan, who strikes one as being just the tiniest bit gay, is a big man, and most dauntingly, Stefan has the biggest hands I have ever encountered. This just to set the mood for ya. Like, on the other hand, was a slight girl, with dainty little girlie hands. Bless her. So there I was, lying on the guest bed with my bits out and Like's hand up my mimsy, fearing the worst. The worst did indeed come to pass. Like's fingers weren't long enough, and she couldn't for the life of her work out my dilation. Great. Now I don't wish to be mean, but I don't have a freakishly long vagina as far as I'm aware, so maybe the midwifery school of which Like was a student should consider weeding out the tiny-fingered ones? Just a suggestion. And so Stefan was called in with his big manhand. He's a funny guy, he just looked at me and said "Shall we go?", which, having known Stefan through two pregnancies, I knew to be Stefan-speak for "Fuck, here I am being all patronising and telling her it'll be ages yet but in fact she's about to push the damn thing out RIGHT NOW. I hate being wrong." And so off we went.
I got to the hospital at around 11.15, and there I was, on the bed, refusing to lie down while they poked and prodded me and broke my waters, when eventually Like just looked at me and went "You want the wheel? Really?" I assured her that yes, I really, really did want the wheel. I managed to install myself on it between contractions. What happened after that I can only vaguely remember, though having a big bar of steel to hang onto is the best thing that ever happened to me, let me tell you. Only drawback being that one is hugely tempted to redirect one's energy into pulling on the bar, and your arms really don't need the workout, and let's face it, the energy is really better off being put to use elsewhere. I must have had about twenty minutes worth of contractions on the wheel and everything went far to quickly to even think about giving me the epidural I so desired. I got the urge to push at around 12.15 and Millie was out within half an hour. They say the wheel speeds up delivery time and in my humble opinion, they're right. It does allegedly increase the chances of tearing, and I did end up with a doozy of perineal tear, so that might be correct, I don't know. But man, was it ever comfy. So comfy, in fact, that nothing bothered me, physically. I wasn't struggling to get comfortable or find something to hold onto, or push against, it was the oddest sensation being able to just focus on the contractions. And fuck, yes, they hurt like a motherfucker and I whined and cried and all the rest of it, but there was also an amazing feeling of control there, and between the mind numbing pain I actually found myself marvelling at the whole physical process. The way the contractions work, the way they build up to a crescendo of the most incredible pain, a pain you can't quite place anywhere in your body, it just seems to be everywhere, and the way that pushing actually relieves that pain, only to replace it with the far more focussed and somehow vastly preferable pain of the actual stretching and tearing. The whole thing amazed me.
It took me about an hour to recover, she fed successfully within about ten minutes, I got up and showered and pissed within an hour and a half and I was home by 3. I went to the shops the next day. On my own. Was visited by a vast number of midwives over the course of the next two weeks, half of whom said "You really should be lying down and taking it easy.", while the other half said, "Yeah, go to the shops, do whatever, being upright's good for the womb." They'll never agree on anything. What they DID all manage to say was "You went on the wheel! "No-one's ever gone on the wheel! Wow! Wheel-woman!" I smiled smugly. I'd go on the wheel again in a heartbeat, if I were inclined to have another baby. Which I'm not, because babies were invented by Satan himself. But there you go. Yeah, I went on the wheel, so I did.
I love the design of the wheel and the way they've painted it happy neutral colours because they know if they painted it any darker it'd look like they'd just stolen it from some S&M dungeon. I love the idea of the thought processes involved in the fastidious Swiss minds that invented the wheel, and the design experts involved who probably did years of reaearch to find out that turqoise was the colour people least associated with S&M dungeons and kinky sex. I love the fact that despite all that, the first thing I thought of when I saw it was S&M dungeons and kinky sex, and the other half actually immediately dubbed it "The Shag Swing". And I'll happily admit that said associations are probably a small part of what drew me to the wheel in the first place. But don't let that put you off. The wheel rocks.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 11:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 11:58 am (UTC)Husband and I just had the Baby Talk again last night and we're still holding off, but we're gradually getting more receptive to the idea, so I'm keen to find as much information as possible to help with the consideration.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 02:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 11:09 pm (UTC)I'm 34, though. Ack.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-20 01:29 am (UTC)I don't regret breastfeeding. I do regret being lied to about "well, it's no worse than pregnancy." Nope. Given the number of times my breasts ballooned up because of disproportions between milk supply and baby demand, yeah, there was a lot more stretching going on than there would have been if I'd gone straight to the bottle.