HOW OUR SON JOSHUA JAMES GROOM WAS BORN ON 2nd March 1977.

LABOUR REPORT – PSYCHOPROPHYLAXIS

for the Childbirth Education Association

My mother arrived from South Africa for the ‘big event’ on the Friday (25th February 1977) in the morning, and laughingly ‘knocked’ on my bulging abdomen, and said ‘O.K. kid, your Granny is here, give me the weekend to get over the long flight and catch up on some sleep, and then arrive early next week!’   Gerald and I laughed, as the baby wasn’t due for another two weeks, on 12th March.    Mommy did catch up on her sleep that weekend, and we had a grand time exchanging the news of the last two years.

I went to bed on Tuesday night very early at 8.30 p.m. feeling very sorry for myself – fat, uncomfortable, and unexpectedly weepy.   At 10.30 p.m. when Gerald came to bed, I told him I had had a few cramps, similar to period pains, in my stomach, and he told me something about ‘wishful thinking!’   I seemed to spend a great deal of time urinating;  just a few drops at each visit, and wished I could sleep for an uninterrupted stretch without what felt like a bursting bladder.

I woke up at 2 a.m. (ever get the feeling something has woken you up, but you’re not sure what?), and was dozing off to sleep again when I felt a distinct tightening of my stomach, and what I can only describe as a cramp.  I quickly got out of bed, collected the luminous clock from Gerald’s side of the bed, placed it on my own bedside table, and watched it from a comfortable position in bed.   It was 2.15 am.   I knew from all the books I had read that at the start of labour one should sleep as much as possible and conserve energy, but I was so excited that sleep was impossible, and I lay there, dozing and watching the clock.   The next contraction came at 2.30 a.m., then at 15 minute intervals, until 3.00 am, when Gerald awoke.   When I thought about it, I knew why he had woken:  I had begun to use my breathing pattern as soon as I thought labour was underway, and Gerald’s breathing pattern had changed to match mine, and it had woken him up!   I told him I thought that ‘something was happening’, as I was still using the loo every five minutes as well, and once again I think he assumed it was wishful thinking of my part, and he dozed off, his hand resting lightly on my tummy.

He woke soon with the next contraction as my abdomen tightened under his hand! And we lay there in the dark, timing contractions.   It was most exciting!   Strange – we expected our labour to ‘be like the books’, that is, start off with fifteen minute intervals, then to ten, then five etc. – and it was startling to realise the contractions already at five minute intervals, and lasting between sixty and eighty seconds.   Gerald got out is note book, and began making notes of the interval and duration.

At this stage, Mommy awoke – as excited as we were, and hurried off to the kitchen to make a pot of tea (the panacea for everything in our household!)  We all sat on our bed drinking tea and timing contractions, plus talking on our tape recorder to our family in Africa, so they could share in all the excitement when they received it!  By 4.30 a.m. the contractions were between two and three minutes apart, between sixty and ninety seconds long, and we were coping very well – although Gerald had begun to get agitated, and rang the labour ward at the hospital, who were ost kind and helpful, and told Gerald to bring me in.

I didn’t want to go to the hospital too soon, and spend hours in the labour ward, preferring to be at home, but as this was our first baby we thought we should make ka move.  Fortunately, the hospital

Page Two

is only a two minute walk from our house, but it took us longer to drive there that morning, with the ‘One Way’ streets, traffic lights, etc. to contend with!

I thought it would be a good idea to have a relaxing hot bath, so I did just that, drinking tea and chatting to Gerald and Mom, whilst Gerald shared and got dressed.  There was the last minute ‘get my shower cap’ and ‘where’s our labour kit?’ business, but the suitcase was packed, and we were really very organised.  We even took a last photograph of me, huge in pregnancy, for our photo album – waiting between contractions so I could give a huge cheesy grin for the camera!   And all the time, our tape recorder was recording it all for the family.

I was well into using the breathing method we had been taught, and found it a marvellous help.   My mother, who has given birth to five children, commented on what a ‘fine job’ we were doing, which boosted our egos.   We left the house at about 6.30 a.m., after listening to, and shedding a few tears over, a beautiful record my father had sent us ‘When a Child is Born’ by Johnny Mathis.   It was still dark, unusual for March, and a light drizzle was falling, and I remember thinking how lovely it was to be starting such a wonderfully exciting day, the day our baby would be born, and watching the sun rise over the terraces of Paddington – a perfect day for birth!

We reached the hospital just a few minutes later, and I sat breathing my way through a few contractions whilst Gerald checked in at the reception desk.   I wonder why hospital authorities insist on one using a wheelchair to get to the labour ward? – I felt as healthy as a horse, and quite capable of walking, but ‘rules are rules’, so off I was wheeled, with Mom and Gerald in tow.

They had to waiting in the waiting room whilst I was ‘prepped’.  I was given an enema (unfortunately, the old fashioned type, with what appeared to be yards of rubber tubing …..!), and I was rather disconcerted to discover that whilst the enema did its trick, a nurse stood in the corner!  I was asked if I ‘would like something for the pain’, which I refused, to which the staff retorted ‘You’re doing very well with your breathing’.  I had the impression at this stage that they thought ‘Well, you may think you don’t want something now, but we’ll see how you are in an hour or two’.   Notes and blood pressure were taken, after which I had a shower.  Whilst in the shower, I noticed the contractions becoming stronger, perhaps because I was concentrating on note slipping on the slippery floor, and not my breathing, and as I got out of the shower I saw a bloody streak on ankle:  the mucus plug had come away.   I called the nurse to show here this evidence! – was draped in a white gown, and off we went to the labour/delivery room.

As I clambered on to the bed (why are hospital beds so impossibly high?) managing contractions beautifully, my obstetrician walked in, donning his gloves, and as he ben to examine me, my waters broke spontaneously – and what a glorious feeling it was – now I understand why children ete that pleasurable look on their face sometimes when urinating:  that warm uncontrollable flow of water was quite basically delightful!  I felt rather clever that the waters had broken without any interference, and happy that the obstetrician was pleased with my progress.   He told me he expected me to deliver about lunch time.  It was now 7.30 a.m and Gerald was ushered into the room as the doctor was leaving.   I was about 3 cms dilated.

We were introduced to Michael, a medical student in his final year, wo was to sit through the labour with us.  He was very sweet, and as all students seem to do, took copious notes throughout the morning.   He was most interested in what we had to say about Physchoprophylaxis, as he had heard very little about it before, and was most impressed with the way we were coping.  He told us later

Page Three

that he had never seen an entirely natural birth before, that is without drugs, Caesarian, episiotomy, epidural, etc., and was rather emotional towards the end.  All morning, we had nurses, midwives and students popping in and out and exclaiming over our ‘strange method’ of labour, although everyone was most complimentary, which encouraged us even further.

We were very glad of our ‘labour kit’ which Gerald had remembered to bring in with him.  As we had been advised, it contained two small Tupperware containers with small make up sponges in each (one for sucking iced water and the other for bathing my face), a pair of warm socks, talcum powder to aid the massage of my tummy and back, glucose sweets to suck (which we didn’t use), and a book to read – which never got opened!   I began to shiver with cold soon after Gerald arrived, and so he put the socks on my feet, and Michael fetched a beautifully heated blanket;  I felt luxuriously spoiled, with nurses asking if I wanted extra pillows or blankets.   They were a great help in that once they realised we were practising Physcoprophylaxis, they did not pressure us into accepting any drugs.  Michael explained the oxygen mask to us, and how it worked, and we settled down to business.

Contractions really began to get under way with considerable strength from about 8.30 a.m. onwards – they were about two or three minutes apart, and lasting about sixty to ninety seconds, but between Gerald and I, we managed them very well.  I tried lying on my side at the suggestion of the nurse, and in fact, this was the way we had practised in class, but I found I could not handle the contractions at all in that position, so lay on my back, which was infinitely more comfortable.  On two memorable occasions throughout the morning my concentration wavered, and I felt considerable pain – but Gerald instantly put his mouth to my ear, and ‘breathed me back’ into the established rhythm, and I found I could ride the contractions fairly easily.   I hyperventilated a few times, my lips and fingertips tingling uncomfortably, and Gerald cupped his hands over my mouth and nose for a few seconds, and I felt fine again.

Our doctor was attending another birth next door, which was lucky for us, as he popped in and out all morning, but I was dismayed at about 10.00 a.m. to discover I was only 5 cms dilated – it was SUCH hard work!   Gerald reminded me that the first 5 cm take the longest, and that it was quite likely the last 5 cms would dilate much quicker, and I felt reassured at the thought.  I found I was able to relax completely between contractions, sometimes almost dozing – except occasionally when one contraction would end and another would start almost immediately, and these were the most tiring.  Towards the end of labour, Gerald discovered that my right hand and face were going into some sort of muscular spasm, and occasionally my legs were tensing so he gently massed me, whispering soothing words, and these too, gradually eased.

Gerald was absolutely wonderful.   I cannot stress sufficiently the importance of having your husband as totally involved with the birth as you are – friends of ours have remarked ‘I couldn’t watch my wife give birth!’ – and Gerald has replied, ‘No, I couldn’t WATCH either, but being involved, and working hard with Sandra to deliver our baby was entirely different.’   He feels sorry for all those men who pace the corridor whilst their wives are giving birth and for all the joy they are not experiencing.   He did work so hard! – massaging my back and tummy, sponging my face and neck, offering me a tiny sponge to suck cool water from – how cool and delicious it was, I was so thirsty! – and actually had a sip of water once or twice which was wonderful.    Gerald talked to me and soothed me, cuddled me and loved me, told me how clever, beautiful and wonderful I was and how much he loved me, and it was the most joyous time, having him there with me.   He did all the talking for me, to the doctor, the nurses, whoever, as if he were switched onto the same wave

Page Four

length as I, he knew exactly what I wanted without my telling him.  The extra special closeness we felt then is something I shall never forget, although we are normally very close anyway – this was something quite different, quite unique and special, something we shall never forget.

Gerald was hunched over me continually, perspiring profusely, as I was – and the next day he suffered a lot of backache after all his efforts!  We chatted to each other during the early part of labour, but from about 10 a.m. onwards, I felt it was too tiring, and lay there between contractions in a kind of a dream.  Michael tried to feel my stomach to prepare me for when a contraction was starting and ending, but there was no appreciable tightening of the muscles anymore, so it was a wasted effort.   I experienced no contractions in my back at all, they were quite firmly centred in the lower abdomen.   Michael offered me pethidine, or whatever it is they use, several times, but I honestly felt that the contractions were not sufficiently painful for me to warrant taking a drug, as psychoprophylaxis was working so beautifully for us. Gerald backed me up in my refusals, but kept a careful watch on me in case I should let me him ‘Yes please, I want something now.’

At 10.30 a.m. I got my first urge to push, but after an examination, was told I wasn’t sufficiently dilated, and to try and ‘hang on’ for a while.  This I did, and the urge disappeared for a while.  Around 11 a.m. I got very frustrated, very angry, and quite emotional – I was also very tired – and I quite roughly punched poor Michael, wo happened to be in the middle of an examination!   I told my darling, slaving husband ‘Don’t talk to me!’ and punched the doctor too, when he arrived …… most out of character for me!  Gerald smiled at me in delight, and reminded me that ‘This must be Transition’, and my tears stopped when I realised we had only an hour or two left of labour to go, and I once more felt eager and enthusiastic.   I reminded myself too that the doctor had said I would deliver around lunch time, although I discovered later he had told Gerald ‘Not before 3 p.m.’ – which I am glad I didn’t know at the time!

Around this time (difficult to remember exact times, as everything had a dream like quality to it) I found myself quite exhausted, and when Michael offered me the mask again, I decided to give it a try.   He set the dial to a certain strength, and unknown to both of us, Gerald turned the setting down to ‘very low’ – so although I thought at this stage it was helping me through this difficult stage quite effectively (it became a sort of visual aid to me), I was actually receiving very little of the as.   I was to find that out later!  The big disadvantage was that it was impossible to breathe in my established pattern, one which kind of evolved by itself, whilst using the mask – so I alternated between breathing and using the mask for some time.  I found I hyperventilated much more when using the mask than with my breathing pattern alone.

Life became one long contraction! – and about 11.30 am I really began to have that incredible uncontrollable urge to ‘PUSH’ – and I yelled out, ‘I want to push!’ – and what a flurry of activity those worse created!   Nurses dashed in, and I was examined.  Gerald and I were feeling very excited by now, and I tossed aside the mask completely.  My doctor arrived, and he too examined me (examinations seemed never ending!) and invited Michael to do the same.   This was I think the most unpleasant part of it all for me, as Michael was obviously inexperienced in examination of women in labour, and I overheard my doctor admonish him ‘Be gentle, remember this woman has had no drugs at all!’ – and I confess to feeling somewhat smug.

There was great activity all around, and I was put into long white leggings, and my legs strapped up into the stirrups – prior to this, I thought I would find all this rather undignified and embarrassing –

Page Five

not so at all, it was exciting and exhilarating and I had no modesty left at this stage anyway!  The first few pushes were quite wasted – somehow, nobody can actually tell you the most effective method

of pushing, and after the first three or four pushes, I found I got the hang of it.  With Gerald on one side of me, and a nurse on the other (who was giving me a crash course in ’pushing’!), they sat me up with each urge to push.  I experienced the most basic, primal, animal feeling whilst pushing – as a long grunting and groaning emitted from my mouth – oh! – what a relief it was to push at long last, how GOOD it felt! – and I really thought we were getting somewhere.

When Gerald said to me, ‘I can see our baby’s head! – it’s the size of a five cent piece’ – I nearly cried with excitement, and this spurred me on to greater efforts, as your baby’s head grew bigger and bigger.  Gerald told me afterwards he felt so helpless watching as our baby’s head bulge forward, and then recede again – he wanted to grab our baby and hang on to him!   At this stage, my doctor gave me another rectal examination, and somehow gripped the baby’s chin with one strong finger, so ending the baby’s return journey – and with just a few more pushes, our baby’s head slipped out. Gerald was crying unashamedly, beaming and smiling (his mask having fallen to shred with tears!), and he sat me up to look at our baby, it’s screwed up red face, and plastered wet black hair – one more incredible urge to push, and the rest of our baby slithered out, feeling as if my whole intestines were unravelling out with him!

It was 12.11 p.m.

And what a joyous, perfect, wonderful moment that was! – with tears streaming down my face, our beautiful perfect baby was laid on my tummy, squirming and grunting, not even a cry, and someone said ‘It’s a boy!’ – and Gerald and I laughed and cried and admired our beautiful baby.  They very quickly cleaned his mouth and nose, wrapped him p and handed him back to me – I put him straight to the breast, and with another push, the placenta was expelled.   We asked the doctor if we could have a closer look at this wonderful organ and had fed our baby for nine months, and were quite amazed at the size and colour of it.

This was the culmination of all the months of waiting, such peace, utter contentment, and a great surge of love welled up inside me for my husband and our beautiful baby, and the fact that we had had such a good labour.

Fortunately, I need no stitches at all, and felt remarkably well and healthy, although obviously rather tired.  Our doctor was delighted with our efforts, and we glowed under his praise.   He told us that on two occasions he was tempted to intervene and offer me some pethidine, but looked at Gerald and I, and decided that the two of us were doing so well, that he felt it would be superfluous.   All the same, it was wonderful to know that all the facilities and modern equipment were there and available to us had we need it.

We spent about 45 minutes alone with our baby, Gerald taking some photographs, which we shall treasure all our lives, and just sat and cuddled and admired our baby, talking and sharing such special moments.   We then had a cup of tea and a well earned sandwich, which tasted like nectar of the Gods!   My mother, who had waited most impatiently in the corridor since 6.30 a.m. was allowed to accompany us up to my room, where she managed an illicit cuddle of her grandson before the nurse discovered her whereabouts!   For me, it was then a good long sleep, and for Gerald, home to send off telegrams and make overseas phone calls.

Page Six

As you can appreciate, Gerald and I were delighted with the whole experience of our son’s birth, and wish to thank the Childbirth Education Association for teaching us Physchoprophylaxis and enabling us to enjoy the labour, and the joyous spectacle of witnessing or son’s birth.   We shall never forget that day, and I find myself unable to speak to any pregnant woman without extolling the virtues of Physchoprophylaxis.

Sandra Groom

9 Ormond Street, Paddington, Sydney, NSW

March 1977