At 3pm on Sunday 20th September 2015, I filled my shoes. I was midway through processing a transaction for a lovely customer at our Art Exhibition when I found myself retreating out of sight to catch the fluid gushing out of me. (I still wonder what they must have thought - we were having a very engaging conversation about Art until that point!)

I left my fellow exhibitors wrapping up the sale, and drove home. I felt the kind of excited that gave me butterflies and made my heart beat hard in my chest, and I started to picture the four beautiful rooms at Worcester’s Midwife Led Unit, each equipped with low lighting, a pool, and lots of space to move around. I called my husband to let him know my waters had broken (he was with our 4 year old son at a kids birthday party) and we both decided there was no reason for him to rush home. The rest of that afternoon was spent at home, moving about - pegging out the washing, eating and drinking and psyching myself up for the journey ahead.

At 6pm I called Worcester MLU to let them know my birth was on the horizon - my contractions were strong but manageable, so it wasn’t an urgent call, but I wanted to ‘check in’. I was disappointed to learn that the centre was closed! There were no beds on the neonatal ward next door, and as a result they had closed their maternity ward and MLU. Confused and thrown ‘off plan’, I called Hereford hospital to investigate giving birth there. They had 1 pool but they couldn’t guarantee me access - they were inundated with labours due to the Worcester closure. I suddenly felt a bit panicked, not knowing where I could give birth. My memory is hazy of the calls I tried to make that evening, but I don’t think I could get through to my midwife. I remember hoping I could keep my legs crossed through the night until Worcester opened it’s doors again! I think we all create an aspirational birth story before the event arrives, and that evening, I found myself mourning mine.

It’s important to mention here that I was not alone. I was lucky enough to live next door to my Aunty, Rachel, who I called in on when I got back from my exhibition. She had been taking me through some pregnancy yoga, breathing and visualisation, and had agreed to come with us for the birth itself. (She was present for the birth of our first son - she  pulled an all nighter with Andrew and me; advocated for me when I was off my head on gas and air (and Andrew was asleep in a chair) and sacrificed her back as she supported my ginormous body in squat position! We are forever grateful for the role she played in birthing both of our boys).

Andrew and I went to bed that Sunday evening with the plan of calling Hereford hospital when the time came. I drifted in and out of sleep with each contraction, and at 2am, three of us piled into the car. We left Noah asleep in the house with my parents, and drove the 45 minute journey to Hereford hospital. It was so uncomfortable in sitting position, I kept my eyes closed and willed the journey to end. I was wheelchair-ed up to triage but despite 12 hours passing since my waters had broken, over the next couple of hours the intensity of my labour subsided. I’d requested to be on my side or standing for monitoring as these were the most comfortable positions for my back. Instead I was asked to lie on my back as it was easier for them. I braced against the pain in my back as I was examined by a student midwife who couldn’t find my cervix. When she finally took a measurement, another midwife wanted to confirm it with a further examination.

The combination of travelling in, waiting to be seen, a double examination and the devastation of hearing I was only 7cm was all too much. I was not in established labour, so they couldn’t let me into the labour ward. I was welcome to wait in the corridor, but at 4am, all I could think about was going home. As we missioned it back, all the previous intensity of contractions returned, and I knew we wouldn’t be making this journey again.

Exhausted, we arrived home and Rachel encouraged Andrew to get some sleep - if things really kicked off she’d come and get him. I got into a warm bath as I’d been craving warm water all night. I felt immediate relief, and Rachel kept me topped up with raspberry leaf tea. As things developed, she decided to call an ambulance. Although she had been present at births before, she is not a midwife and felt a great weight of responsibility being there on her own! By now, morning had broken and Andrew was getting Noah ready for school. Apart from the moment I remember screaming “make it go back iiiin!” as the head was crowning, I felt peaceful, grounded and cared for at home.

I birthed our baby boy on my parents’ bathroom floor, and it was the BEST outcome of a truly turbulent 17 hours. I wished we’d never made the 1.5 hour round trip to Hereford - it was a huge disruption to my labour, and in hindsight I should have trusted my body, my family, and my home environment to help me have the positive birth I eventually experienced.

At home, I felt empowered. I was immersed in the experience, with total clarity of mind (no gas and air to cloud my memory this time!)... Rachel’s soothing voice helped me ride the waves of pain, she helped me stay calm through everything. I knew Andrew was nearby getting Noah ready for school, and I was aware of my parents somewhere in the house too (although they left us to it. I think my dad was pouring himself a whisky!)

I can hardly describe the joy of birthing at home, surrounded by family.

A paramedic arrived as the head was crowning, and he passed a slippery baby up to me. He let us wait as long as possible before cutting the chord - I felt no pressure from anyone, just our own choices being totally listened to. I watched our baby boy completely at peace, skin to skin on Andrew’s chest as I birthed the placenta without injection, and I felt ecstatic. Our baby boy latched on and fed before I’d left the bathroom floor, and I left him asleep on Andrews chest while I took arnica and had a lavender bath.

I ate a huge breakfast baguette delivered to me by my brother (still feels like the best meal I’ve ever had!) and spent the rest of the school day on the sofa with Andrew, feeding, kissing and loving our new baby. I was still there when 4 year old Noah got back from school to meet his baby brother ️<3 .