I Can Do This!

I am sitting here in the sun on the balcony, writing my birth story. My son is 12 days old and sleeping in his cradle in the bedroom. Life is very sweet, calm and still.

I gave birth on Sunday 15 May at 14:56, but the lead-up to the birth was quite funny. At the beginning of the pregnancy, I had already decided that I was going to give birth at 37 weeks — and not a day later — and that it would happen at home. I was so determined that all my midwives knew it, as did my friends and family.

Stefán and I attended a Hypnobirthing course together to prepare ourselves mentally for the birth, and we were diligent about practising breathing and relaxation exercises. In one Hypnobirthing class, Edythe, the midwife, asked us to visualize the birth. I had often thought about how I would give birth to my baby and was almost certain that I would complete dilation in the water, but want to get out of the pool once pushing began, because I would probably feel too hot, nauseous and maybe a little irritated.

But during that Hypnobirthing class, while I was in a state of deep relaxation, I had a vision that I would give birth to my baby in water, with Stefán behind me. I knew Stefán was not exactly thrilled about the idea of getting into the pool with me, so I thought this vision was highly unlikely to become reality. Later, it turned out to be a beautiful surprise.

I felt quite early on that I did not particularly enjoy being pregnant, even though the pregnancy was physically very good and later also good mentally. The pregnancy came as a big surprise to both Stefán and me, and it took me quite a while to adjust to the unexpected news. I took very good care of myself during pregnancy. I ate well and a lot, slept well and moved my body often. Stefán and I practised breathing exercises together and often fell asleep listening to guided relaxation.

And here, on that sunny day, life interrupted the writing, and I did not get any further.

… Four months later, the story continues.

My little boy is now four months old, and I have had more time to process my birth. On Friday 13 May, when I was 36 weeks and five days pregnant, I was about to experience an incredibly fun weekend and, without knowing it, the most remarkable weekend of my life.

My sewing club from Grindavík, who call themselves Stellurnar after a good Christmas beer, had rented an apartment downtown for the weekend. I was therefore in full swing late into the night on both Friday and Saturday.

On Saturday, I thought to myself: “After the next 24 hours, I will have reached 37 weeks, and then I can give birth at home.” Then I thought: “Wow, I really hope Ukraine wins Eurovision tonight.” Stefanía, mamo mamo, Stefanía. As it happens, the song is saying “Stefanía, mama, mama, Stefanía.” The song could not have been more fitting for that day — the day that I, Stefanía, became a mother.

Preterm birth is common in my family, so I was relieved that I had not given birth too early. At the same time, I was not very excited about waiting much longer than 37 weeks. My wish was to be exactly 37 weeks pregnant.

At midnight, I celebrated the achievement of reaching 37 weeks by pouring water on my grey cosy trousers and pretending that my waters had broken with the baby’s head still high. The joke stopped when the doctor in the group was about to call emergency services. Excellent reaction!

After that, I had to change into new underwear and grey cosy trousers number two — an essential item when you feel like you are starting to resemble Winnie the Pooh in late pregnancy. While changing my underwear, I noticed a small brown spot, about the size of a coin, and thought: “Well, maybe this will happen soon.”

Then people started getting tired, Ukraine won Eurovision, the party ended, and all seven of us were in bed at around two in the morning.

I was lucky to share a room with a dear friend whom I unfortunately do not get to see very often. We talked and talked, deep and juicy heart-to-heart conversations, and the more we talked, the stronger the contractions became. At five o’clock, I drew the line, because suddenly the thought of being very tired if I really was going into labour became overwhelming. By then, I was also secretly trying to focus on listening to my friend while experiencing contractions.

After one hour of sleep, I woke up because someone was recovering from the previous night’s drinking, so I went out to check what was happening. I managed to get myself two paracetamol tablets and then started wondering whether I should just go home. By then, the contractions were quite strong and required my concentration. But should I just take a taxi home? I found the situation both funny and strange — being alone and pregnant, taking a taxi from downtown Reykjavík at six o’clock on a Sunday morning. Fortunately, my sister was able to drive me. I said goodbye to my sewing club and thanked them for the weekend. They probably thought I was joking again. In the car on the way home, I chatted between contractions. It felt good to hug my sister goodbye.

And then my waters really broke.

When I got home, I lay down in bed. Stefán, who had now become ill, asked me why I had come home so early. I told him briefly that I thought labour might be starting, but encouraged him to keep sleeping and gather his strength, because I was going to try to do the same. I sent my midwife Emma the following message at 06:47:

“Well, it might be that things are starting. I’m just going to lie down and try to sleep. I took Panodil. Slight brown bleeding and short contractions.”

I lay in bed with increasing pain at the front of my belly, moaning and breathing through the contractions while trying my absolute best to fall asleep. No chance. One hour of sleep was all I got. Still exciting.

I walked out and got my TENS machine and put it on my back, though I am not sure it did much. Now and then, I thought that I probably would not make it to the building association’s spring cleaning, which was scheduled from 12 to 4 that day — and I was, after all, the chair of the association.

Then came a contraction so strong that I stood up from the bed, and as I did, my waters broke.

“Neat,” I thought. “But very painful.”

It was now 11:10 in the morning. I went to the bathroom and ordered Stefán to call Emma. NOW. Labour had STARTED. With force.

Emma arrived 17 minutes later. I remember feeling very relieved to see her, and Hafrós arrived shortly afterwards. Because I had foolishly declined, at my 36-week antenatal appointment, to have the birth pool inflated — even though Emma had recommended it — it took quite some time to get the pool ready. On top of that, we had not checked which adapter was needed for the tap and the hose, so Emma and Hafrós were carrying hot water in bowls into the pool. I remember watching Hafrós, with my heavy blue salad bowl full of hot water, moving quickly between the kitchen and the living room. That woman is in good shape.

Meanwhile, I was lying on my small sofa, which I cannot stand, trying to get comfortable through these intense contractions. I experienced contractions so strong that I could not stand, yet there was no way I could lie still. Before I knew it, one contraction was ending as the next one began. I had one moment between contractions — literally.

Hypno-breathing, ocean breathing, anything — just some kind of breathing. It turned out to be incredibly useful that Stefán had attended Hypnobirthing with me. He managed to breathe with me, count down and calm me with his steady presence. All I had in that storm was my breathing.

Then I became very tired and exhausted and asked Emma to examine me. It was 13:30. She examined me and I was 4 cm dilated. I freely admit that some spark of hope went out inside me at that moment. Emma encouraged me to sit on the birth ball, which I felt completely unable to do, but I nodded with sad eyes. How on earth was I supposed to do this, so tired and in such intense pain?

For a moment, I stood in the heart of my apartment, alone, very uncertain and deep in thought. I thought about an epidural, but quickly pushed the thought away. Then I thought about nitrous oxide, and how it would save me in the distress I was experiencing. I scolded myself for having slept so little, but also understood myself completely, because that conversation with my friend had been so good.

Again and again, I thought from the bottom of my heart that I could not do this anymore. And every single time that thought appeared, I answered it out loud:

“I can do this.”

With four centimetres of dilation.

Then I came into the living room, deeply distressed: “Is the water almost ready?”

“Yes, almost ready,” came the reply.

I looked into the pool, and in my mind, it was not almost ready at all.

“Do you have Parkódín? Or Panodil? Or just something?”

And I knew perfectly well that none of it was going to do anything for me.

In a moment of impulse, I took off grey cosy trousers number two and got into the birth pool. Almost every part of my body was sticking out of the small amount of water that had made it into the pool, but I managed to centre myself. I managed to breathe and relax. For a few moments, I found calm and rest. Even though it was probably less than 30 seconds, I regained control of my breathing and of the disappointment that had followed the examination and the lack of sleep.

Without thinking, I examined myself and felt the baby’s head, but also felt that dilation was not complete. Hopeless, guttural sounds came out of me — but onwards we went.

Because I felt best lying completely flat, it was difficult to get comfortable in the birth pool. I looked at Stefán and asked him to get into the pool to help me feel better. Sorry, babe. I know you really did not want to get into the birth pool.

It was incredible how much difference it made. He pressed a cold cloth to my forehead, helped me breathe and encouraged me. “I can do this” kept coming from me whenever I felt like giving up, especially when I felt sorry for myself for being so tired. At one point, Stefán told me there was not much left, and I answered half crying, half angry: “No, exactly not.”

Then I felt a strange need to pee, but could not pee. I responded to that sensation by pushing, and somehow it eased the bladder-like pain. I looked at Emma, hopeless and afraid that I was pushing before full dilation. In my mind, a whole forest of questions sprouted rapidly like weeds:

“Is the baby’s head in the wrong position? Am I fully dilated? Do I need to transfer? Do I need an epidural? Is this going to become really difficult?”

It had been around 40 minutes since Emma had examined me. At that point, I lost my calm and asked her to examine me again. I watched her face light up, but calmly she told me that dilation was complete. She was probably surprised too. I made it very clear that I wanted her to be sure — no, REALLY sure. Yes, dilation was complete. And yes, I could do this.

Then I thought: Wow, Stefán was right. There isn’t much left. What a midwife.

I began to prepare myself mentally to meet my son. I directed all my strength into pushing. The sounds coming from me were loud, and I swore and screamed, but it felt good and empowering. It kept me focused, awake and sharp. For the first time, I also had proper rest between contractions. This was the birth I had imagined: getting time to rest, gather myself, relax, experience stillness and all those good feelings between contractions.

I could hear the residents of the building outside, probably grilling together in our garden after the day’s spring cleaning, listening to me scream. Then I remembered the pushing breath I had learned from Edythe in Hypnobirthing and used it.

Emma regularly confirmed the progress and said she could see a lot of hair. During pushing, I asked whether it was dark, because I would have found it very strange if I had been expecting a fair-haired baby.

I felt my son moving and was therefore certain that he would be born alert and strong.

“He is coming,” I kept saying to Stefán.

Then the head was born, and everything became completely still. In that calm moment, I talked with my birth team about what a strange moment it was, while looking at the dark-haired head of my son.

Then I felt the final contraction building, and I became very afraid. Afraid of letting go of my old life. Afraid of my new life. Afraid of the pain. Nervous about receiving him into my arms, knowing that my whole life would change from that moment. As dramatic as it sounds, these were the thoughts that rushed through my mind in the few seconds it took for the final contraction to build.

And all at once, we were three.

Our baby was born at 14:56, with thick dark hair, covered in vernix — so much that his eyes were glued shut. He cried immediately with his arms stretched out, and I took him into my arms with Stefán behind me.

I was instantly filled with pride in my baby. My strong little, little baby, born at 37 weeks exactly, in water, at home, with both of his parents.