The Birth of Synnøve Kathryn Varslot

Synnøve's birth story.

In an effort to avoid "second child syndrome", and in order to progress my own psychological healing processes, I feel compelled to write another "birth story", this time regarding Synnøve's entry into the world. Anyone who enjoyed Erlend's birth story - in the same way that one "enjoys" watching "Silence of the lambs" or pretty much anything on the Fox network - will know that my descriptions of childbirth do not tend to contain phrases like "the joy of bringing a new life to the world" and "..but soon I forgot the pain". Not for the feint-hearted - don't say I didn't warn you!

The first thing to note, I suppose, is that unlike the circumstances surrounding Erlend's birth, it's harder for me this time 'round to come up with funny little anecdotes. Although plenty of people tell you second births are easier, I was dreading the whole thing. (And rightly so as it turned out!) Still, I determined to think of the delivery in terms of being a contestant on some twisted, TV reality game show, e.g. "Childbirth survivor" or " Labour fear-factor"". Something where body and mind are "tested to the limit of human endurance". Of course, in this game show, you don't win a 4WD or a trip to the Carribbean, as much as a poo-machine and six months of sleep deprivation.

Unlike Erlend, where the whole labour was rather odd, and not at all like what's described in the books, this time was somewhat more predictable - right down to the "..drive to the hospital in some pain, only to get hooked up to the monitor and have your contractions stop" phenomenon. For various reasons, I was sick of the whole thing before it even started and simply refused to go home. The midwife suggested that she could manually coerce my cervix into opening up a bit, and that this would speed things up. Downside? That would be painful. This was to be the first in a series of "Do you want the red pill, or the blue pill?" type questions that characterised the labour. I opted for the red pill, and she wasn't whistlin' Dixie about the pain...

Anyway, as I said, not much in the way of humorous asides for stage-one labour this time, not having been left unattended in a waiting room or fed baked beans and tomato sauce just prior to the onset of contractions. The basic facts: Stage one takes about five hours; contractions, painful (no surprises there I guess). I was told by the midwife that my breathing was good and that it was gratifying to see someone handling labour well. Yay. Skippy badge for me. Of course, I wondered at the time, what would you have to do for it to be said that you WEREN'T coping? Screaming abusive language? Climbing up the walls? Spontaneous bursts of physical violence? I wanna know!

At 9.5 cm dilated my cervix decided it didn't want to play any more. (#&%*!) I get another "red pill, blue pill" question. Guess I had the look of a woman in a hurry; think I mentioned I had to go see a horse about a man. Might have been sucking on a bit too much gas. Actually, I think the gas at St Olavs hospital was a better vintage than that at Innherred, because there's quite a lot about the birth that struck me at the time as somewhat surreal. At one point, the midwife asked what had caused me the most pain, Red-pill procedures a), b) or c). In my delirium I had no idea how to answer that question, but was reminded of the scene in "The princess bride" when the six-fingered man is torturing Westley, and says something like, "I want you to describe exactly how you're feeling; remember, this is for posterity, so please - be as detailed as you possibly can..."

Actually, I'm not sure it WAS the gas making that question surreal.

Also on the topic of strange, the solution to the uncooperative cervix problem was surprisingly enough, acupuncture. As in, "we're going to help get your baby out by sticking pins in you feet." Well, that just got me CROSS. I'm in agony and they're messing around with my FEET! In all fairness, it did actually seem to work, so three points to the Chinese....

Finally, we reach stage 2. Well. What can I say that doesn't involve the unrestrained use of invective and four-letter expletives? Trond and the midwife insisted that stage 2 took under five minutes, but I think they were messing with my brain. In her book, The complete guide to pregnancy and childbirth, Sheila Kitzinger uses a whole host of warm and fuzzy phrases to describe transition and stage 2 labour:

"For most women the very end of first stage is stormy and challenging..." yeah. Understatement of the year....

"The second stage of labour is most exciting..." Not quite the word I would have used.

Or my personal favourite:

"Then follows a wonderful time when you can begin to push....You will probably have an overpowering urge to bear down and press the baby through the birth canal. This is passionate, intense, thrilling, and often completely irresistible, and for some women it is the nearest thing to overwhelming sexual excitement..." GGGGaaaaahhhHHH. Who ARE these women? I want to tell them to get some BETTER SEX!

Anyway, while I would definitely NOT describe the whole thing as anything LIKE having sex, I have to admit that looking down on this tiny little person that I made (with help, obviously) was pretty bloody incredible. With Erlend, Trond and I were basically in shock when he was born. It was very much NOT like birth is depicted on TV sitcoms. Synnøve's arrival, by comparison, was a bit more "very special episode", if you know what I mean. She cried a bit at first, but was pretty settled once she got a nice towel wrapped around her and a cuddle. Most babies are pretty damn ugly when they're born, but Synnøve was gorgeous right from the word go. Instant love all 'round (sigh....)

At this point I'd just like to mention the fascinating, if mortifying, topic of tearing. (Told you this wasn't for the feint-hearted...continue to read and you're definitely moving past the point of no return.) At the pre-birth interview several weeks earlier, I had asked if there was any way to avoid tearing (had quite a bit the first time 'round). Apparently there is - in theory; has to do with the baby's position and when you push... Thus the midwife wrote a note in my file along the lines of "..take measures to ensure minimal damage from tearing.."

Just for the record, next time I give birth (HA!) I'm going to make sure there's a note in my file saying, "..mother does not, under any circumstances, wish to receive a million dollars".

Part of the problem was that when the baby started to arrive, and the midwife and Trond both said "Don't push", the sensations were so painful that I wasn't about to stop pushing for ANYBODY! As Kaz Cooke eloquently put it in Up the Duff, "Childbirth is not so much an out-of-body experience, as a GET OUT of my body experience".

The other problem was that when baby entered the world, she decided to wave at it. Like royalty. She also had her umbilical chord wrapped around arm and neck, so perhaps she was actually trying to communicate the thought, "not waving, DROWNING!" (Fortunately it was determined that no damage had been caused by this - having experienced a problem-free birth with Erlend, I kind of forgot how easy it can be for things to go wrong.:-()

Anyhow, the two factors combined ensured that my plea for suture-clemency had been made in vain. For various reasons, the stitching took quite some time to complete; so long, in fact, that Trond actually FELL ASLEEP! in the comfy chair next to the bed. (Childbirth is tough on a fella....HA!!!!) I started to wonder if the doctor and midwife, in order to indulge some neglected creative impulses on an otherwise boring Friday night, had conspired to reproduce the Baillieux tapestry. On the up-side, I was allowed to suck on as much gas as my heart desired. (You're only allowed to take a bit while you're actually in labour. fye!) My head started a spinnin'. I started to tell jokes. At one point, I thought I was Jim Morrison....

For Erlend's birth story, I stopped the description at the point when he was born. How remiss of me! After all, the hospital stay is even more fun than the delivery! First of all, I'd just like to say that I have nothing but praise for the staff at St Olavs. Very kind and competent. Still, there's a REASON why they are currently building a new maternity hospital in Trondheim. Actually, I think there are several reasons, including "Four new mothers, four new screaming babies, ONE room and NO CURTAINS". How anyone could think that someone who has just given birth would WANT to share a room with complete strangers, not be able to have her partner stay with her, have no privacy and be kept awake more-or-less continually for 72 hours by crying babies, is simply beyond me. Likewise, I'd like to meet the genius who determined that towels of dimensions 45x45cm were completely sensible for anyone larger than a poodle.

The other fun thing about a post-natal hospital stay is the disinfection procedure associated with going to the toilet. You pretty much have to clean the relevant surfaces with hospital-strength alcohol, which is something of a pain. To make matters worse, I managed to contract conjunctivitis the day after the birth, so to this rigmarol (sp?) I had to add "splash face with water and use eye-drops". Unfortunately, by the time I got to day three and was pretty much knackered from lack of sleep, I was not quite in a fit state to get the procedure straight. Just like with some drinking games, ala "I went to the market and bought an orange, an apple, a banana - doh! I meant kiwi-fruit. Oh well, another beer then...." I went to the toilet one day, reciting, "Lock door, wipe toilet seat, wash hands, rinse face, wipe eyes with 70% alcohol...AAAAAAGGGGHHHH". I don't know what passers-by must have thought, but it was probably along the lines of "By crikey, I thought I had bad stitches!" On the up-side, it did a bang-up job on the conjunctivitis!

Anyway, not much more to add at this point. Synnøve's birth might have been a bit rough, but she herself has been a delight to all....