“This is getting ridiculous. This baby is wedged in my pelvis, without ultrasound technology it is unlikely that anyone would have realised this baby was breech. It’s legs are extended and there is little room to move. I am making myself sick doing acrobatics to try to get postural turning, and taking desperate measures to try to get this baby to move. “I just want to be normal”, I hear myself say it over and over again as I talk to family, friends and begin to beg the universe “You’ve made your point!”. The thought of lying on a theatre table, as they cut me open and surgically extract my child, makes me sick to my stomach. I don’t believe that I am “in need” of a caesarean section but I am not the one that needs convincing.”
“Dr A splints and supports one little arm out, then the other, each provides instant relief as they are birthed. I take a breather briefly, I am not contracting. As Dr A hangs my baby over her arm I am instructed to push. “Even though I’m not contracting?”, yes, “PUSH!” the chorus instructs me. At this moment, I feel like I want to “pant” more than “push”, but I am determined to do this “right”. I give one almighty push and my baby is born. (Rosemarie tells me later that “If it was a cephalic birth it would’ve been one push and the baby would have landed in the bucket on the other side of the room”). It is placed on my chest, eyes wide, looking a little stunned, it is 12:25pm. I pull it’s little legs apart, “what have you got?” someone asks me “A girl!” (I knew it!). ”