The Homebirth of Ace Bravo Ellison

What better way to start off this little spring of thoughts than with my second baby's birth story! I was cared for by the amazing midwives at the Darwin Homebirth Service who provide continuity of care for (low risk) women choosing to birth at home or at the Birth Centre. It was this continuity of care and the relationship that I had developed with these women that allowed me to feel safe and secure when things took a bad turn after the birth. The importance of continuity of care for birthing women cannot be underestimated. ​
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​The Story

I’d had a bit of prodromal labour in the 10 days or so leading up to my birth and there were at least two evenings where I was convinced that, “Tonight is the night”, only to wake up the following morning next to my sleeping Tiger still very pregnant. On Friday (39+3) I had the usual mild sensations all day and into the evening but today felt different to the other days. I had an unusual feeling of calm and peace within myself that made me feel that something was happening. I did a few jobs around the place and cleaned up the living room and kitchen before bed. I assumed tonight would probably be another fizzer but wanted to clean up my laboring space just in case, as I knew that if having stuff everywhere annoyed me normally it would really annoy me in labour. I had an extra snack and a big drink of water before I went to bed and cuddled Tiger to sleep, not knowing that this would be our last night like that. I probably would have cried myself to sleep had I known that. I had very strong feelings of sadness during my pregnancy about the thought of having our little bubble burst and also strong feelings of guilt about not feeling connected to the little person growing inside me. It was a confusing and overwhelming cocktail of emotions but I trusted that all would be well once I met this new little soul about to join our family.
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​At about 12.30 that night I was awoken by the unmistakable sensations of early labour. I was immediately flooded with memories of the intensity of my first labour and birth and thought something along the lines of, “Here we go again”, accompanied by a big sigh - preparing myself for what I knew lay ahead. Before I became a parent, I was an athlete. Since about 2004, I had trained as a triathlete, turned to cycling during my late teens and early twenties, then went back to triathlon and mountain biking. I was no stranger to pushing myself through long hours of physical pain and psychological turmoil​. As much as I’d love to say that I enjoy labour and birth and I don’t experience it as painful, it’s just not the case for me. For me, there is physical pain and psychological turmoil but there is a strange part there in the back of my brain that gets a kick out of forcing myself through it and coming out the other side victorious. If my body is strong and nourished, it comes down to being purely a mind game, the same as any long, lonely training session on the bike.
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I lay awake, breathing through the surges and noting that they were indeed becoming more consistent and increasing in intensity. Just before I had to get out of bed to start managing them with more than just my breath I said to Tim, “We’re having a baby today”. Tim was supposed to be driving to a remote beach at lunch time and spend the night away for his eldest daughter’s wedding the next morning. It’s probably not often that a Dad has a wedding for one child and is present at the birth of another on one weekend. So needless to say there was an element of stress there. I went out into the dark living room and rocked side to side leaning on the desk during surges, sitting on my ball in between. It was a cold morning (for Darwin) so I took the doona off the spare bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. It was the first time in my 18 or so years in the Top End that I’d thought, “Gee, a heater would be useful right now”. I had my diffuser going with clary sage and lavender but my primary reason for turning it on was for the soft yellow light it cast around the room. Almost an eerie glow as I worked with the sensations that were intensifying in my body during those early hours of the morning. It felt like the whole world was asleep and I was alone in the darkness. I actually quite liked that feeling. I don’t normally like the dark but today it did something for me.
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I was using an app to time surges and after a while decided to stop looking. It didn’t really matter. Our damn phones even feature in birth. Once I stopped looking at my phone I was able to turn inwards a little more. I continued with the same pattern of desk to ball through the early hours of the morning and as the sun rose on my birthing day. At some point my yoga breath no longer cut it and I had to start vocalising to get through each surge. A low monotone note that I can still hear when I think about it. The same note, over and over. At about 6am I decided Romy, my midwife, had enjoyed enough of a Saturday morning sleep in so I sent her a message to let her know that I was in labour and that I’d be in touch again later on. It was good to make that connection and know that she was now thinking of me and getting ready to be with me. At about 8am I sent another message asking her to come over.
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​At this stage I was in the hot shower, which offered great relief. I was standing in there wondering why I didn’t get in sooner. At some point while I was in the shower Romy arrived and Tiger woke up. He stumbled in to the bathroom in his little dry season onesie, sleepy eyed, messy haired and wondering what was going on. I told him the baby was being born today, he took that to mean that he was allowed to have some of my electrolyte drink sitting on the edge of the shower as I had told him over and over during the week that we couldn’t have them until the baby was being born. I found it hard to have him there during surges, which I knew would happen, so I’m glad I had Tim and Penny there to share his care. Suddenly I noticed that the water was cooling down. What was this dark magic? The hot water had run out so I reluctantly turned off the shower and dried myself. Never in the history of this house has the hot water run out. It still baffles me. I figured I should put something on as it was still a bit chilly (we’re talking Darwin standards here) so I put on my pink flowery cotton dressing gown. For future reference, it would be useful to have something suitable ready to wear if you want to wear something during a birth.

​I walked around the house, stopping for surges and holding a heat pack over my lower belly. I was in the living room for a short while then retreated to the bedroom. I felt the need to be on my own, in my own space, in my own head. I couldn’t tolerate hearing people talk and didn’t seem to be able to talk back. I tried sitting on the toilet for a little while but toilet surges hurt too much, I also tried getting back into the shower in our bedroom but the hot water wasn’t playing the game. I was slightly horrified at the hot water situation, it was my one and only pain relief strategy, apart from sheer determination, which is what I then turned to. I hadn’t liked the idea of a pool during pregnancy but now I realised I should have had one. I stayed in the bedroom, walking between surges. Head dropped and eyes tightly closed during surges. I'd say I had my eyes closed for about 80% of my labour. It helped somehow.
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Out in the house, my support crew were sitting on the verandah having cups of tea and talking quietly. Midwives are amazing, they just know how to be. Every word spoken to me was deliberated on and deemed necessary before it was uttered. And every check of the baby’s heart rate was done as unobtrusively as possible.
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It came to my attention that I was experiencing a lot of pain in my lower back. I didn’t need to say anything. This was noticed. It was also noticed that my noises and manner had been the same for a couple of hours. Romy came in to the bedroom at about 11.45 and we had a talk about how things were going. She offered me a few options, one of them was to lie down so she could check baby’s position. I had two big surges, one on top of the other before I was able to lie down. It was determined that the baby had gone from being over on the right to posterior and its head was a bit flexed. It was trying to make its way around to LOA but had gone the long way about it. I asked what my cervical dilation was. 6-7cm was the answer. Tim was in the room with me at this point and I just looked at him. This news didn’t excite me, though I knew I just had to keep going. Looking back, that was my experience of old friend, transition. A couple of options were suggested to me here, Rebozo was one of them but I chose stair walking.

I made my way down the stairs outside. It was helpful to have a change of scenery and be in the garden. I walked around downstairs for a short while. I’m not sure how long I was there but I had a powerful surge and noticed a thin stream of pink fluid running down my leg. A sign! Something was happening! I started walking back up the stairs to share my exciting news then with about 2 steps to go I had a surge with a difference. There was a little bit of pushiness at the end of it. I’m sure pushiness is the technical word here. My noise changed to match the sensation I had just experienced and everyone’s ears pricked up. I was given a drink and it was suggested that maybe I should continue walking and go inside as it would be ok for a baby to be born on the stairs but better if it happened inside.
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​​I was excited by the possibility that it could be that close. I stood on that step for a while at the front door of my house, knowing that I was on the final stretch but I was also a little apprehensive about what lay ahead. Two and a half years earlier I spent two hours pushing out my first baby to sheer exhaustion and I really wasn’t keen on a repeat of that. I took a few steps in the front door and then it really started. Everything I knew about breathing the baby down went out the window, my body was pushing and it was pushing hard. It was loud too. I was standing there in the middle of my living room, hands on hips, head back, mouth wide, eyes closed tight, roaring my baby out. It was a powerful, vulnerable, transformative moment. I think I only pushed for 10 or 15 minutes. At one point I asked how it was going and was told to have a feel for myself. There was a head. Right there. Soft and squishy, still in its bag of waters and right there.
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​I eventually squatted down, feeling the need to be closer to the floor and with Monika on one side and Tim on the other holding all of my weight, I continued to roar my baby out. The last big pushes and the familiar burn with the birth of my baby’s head left me in tears. Tears of exhaustion, tears of pain, tears of relief and tears of joy. The head was born with a big gush of fluid and blood. I did not want to push any more. My baby’s body was born with the next surge and a half hearted final push. I thought I wanted to birth my baby into my own hands but I really wasn’t ready to do that. I wanted a moment to process what I’d just done. Romy or Pippa handed me my baby and held him to my soft, deflated belly, the home of my baby for the last 10 months, now empty, signifying the end of one chapter and beginning of a new one as a mother of two little people. At about 36 weeks I started grieving the end of this pregnancy and now it was over.
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​I held my new baby for a couple of minutes, taking in the events of the day so far before having a look to find out a bit more about the little person that had just joined our family, reluctantly it seemed, by the screaming that took place. Once again, I was surprised but delighted to see I had a little boy. My second son and a little brother for Tiger. Tiger and Penny, who had been playing downstairs, came up to inspect my work. I sat there on the floor holding my new baby, all covered in blood and perfect, then was helped to moved over a bit so I could lean against the day bed. Not long afterwards I knelt up and the placenta was born along with a bit more blood. I’ll never get over the feeling of birthing a placenta. It’s weird, slightly scary and a relief all in one after having just had a whole baby come out of that very hole. The feeling of blood coming out was new though. I hadn’t felt that with my first birth and I didn’t like it.

​I was then helped up onto the day bed, I was all done. My baby was born, the placenta was born, I was ready to have a snuggle with my new baby, talk about it all, have something to eat then in a while, have a shower and hop into bed, maxi pad and towels in place and get some final photos by Lucy of my new babe still attached to his placenta and our new family of four. I had birthed my baby gently at home, just as I had planned. I wish the story ended here.
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​But I wasn’t all done. My uterus wasn’t contracting properly, Monika pressed on it to get it to respond and out came a whole lot more blood. I’ll never forget that feeling either. But this was one I hope not to experience again. I hadn’t had the third stage injection but now it was indicated. OK, I thought, not part of the plan but I could see it was necessary now. But the bleeding continued, not continuously but in occasional large gushes. That was when it got a bit serious. There was no more being calm and relaxed. I quickly had a canula put in place and was given fluid and hormones to try and get my uterus to respond and stop the bleeding. I lost consciousness once (which is the most lovely, peaceful feeling by the way). I guess that’s about when the ambulance was called. The ambulance arrived and the paramedics came inside. They kind of fluffed around and took ages putting in another canula then were trying to decide how to get me down the stairs. I was kind of confused by their dilemma. Surely they take people down stairs all the time? Anyway. (I want to note here that everything that was done for me at home is exactly what would have been done had I been birthing in the hospital)
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​In the mean time we had to cut Ace’s cord so he was a bit more portable. I was helped to get dressed, all covered in blood and tangled with lines in both arms and a catheter. I walked down the stairs, with some help and was loaded into the ambulance with Tim who was carrying Ace. Tim had been downstairs this whole time with Tiger. For someone who is scared of birth at the best of times, this was a bit much for him. Romy and Pippa left to meet us at the hospital. I had to say goodbye to Tiger, which was heartbreaking. He was crying when they shut the door. Part of my reason for birthing at home was so that I didn’t have to leave him. Monika, Penny and Tiger were left at home (and cleaned up all the blood, thank you!). Apparently they went upstairs, he pulled a chair up to the edge of the verandah, sat on it overlooking the empty space in the driveway where the ambulance had just been and said, “I wait for Mum”. It still makes me cry when I think about it.
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By the time I left home, I had stopped bleeding and no further treatment was needed. The transfer was for observation because it was a significant amount of blood lost. Romy repaired a 1st degree tear when we arrived at the hospital and continued to visit me late into that night. I had the option of going home that evening but it was recommended I stay the night. I chose to stay because it would have been very stressful to have to call an ambulance again in the middle of the night if the bleeding started again. Tim left for his daughter’s wedding that evening and Penny stayed at our place with Tiger. I didn’t sleep that night but my new boy fed beautifully after taking about 5 hours to show interest in his first feed and was quite content just sleeping on me. I bled a bit overnight and passed a bar of soap sized piece of tissue the next morning when I finally had my catheter removed and got up to go to the toilet. I immediately felt a shift in my body and felt so much better, the bleeding also reduced to the normal amount straight after that. I also felt more human once I had both cannulas removed. What horrid things to have in both arms for so long when trying to hold and maneuver a tiny baby.
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Penny and Tiger came and picked me up from the hospital the next morning. When Tiger came around the corner he said with a big smile, ‘Have you still got the baby?’ He has loved his baby brother since day one and has shown more and more affection towards him as time has passed. It’s just beautiful to watch. I feel like this birth is split into two parts. The labour and birth, which on its own was very powerful and positive and then the immediate post partum period and first night which was very disappointing for me. It took me a couple of weeks to separate the two. Initially, the disappointing aftermath overshadowed the amazing birth but I’m now able to see each part for what it was.

When Tim came the following afternoon we decided on our new baby’s name, Ace Bravo Ellison.
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​I’ll be forever grateful to Romy, Monika and Pippa who were there with me that day and supported me so respectfully and gently and managed the immediate post partum period so well when things when down a tricky road. I’m also grateful to Lucy for the amazing photos she captured of the day. I found them hard to look at at first, seeing only flaws in my appearance, but since sharing them with friends who see what’s really there I have been able to see the power and beauty. And my sister Penny, I couldn’t have done it all without her. Knowing that Tiger was having his needs sensitively met with her meant I could focus on bonding with my new baby. I fell in love with Ace that day and have fallen more and more in love with him as each new day unfolds. It’s challenging with two but my heart is so full. I wouldn’t have it any other way. On the day of Ace’s birth, I swore and declared that I would never have another baby. By the next day my declaration was faltering and now I can’t wait to do it all again.
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​Ace Bravo Ellison
Born gently at home at 12.23pm
6th August 2016
3.68kg, about 50cm long and 36cm head