Waiting for Scout
-by Geoff
Powell . Also by Geoff: the story of his and
Pernille's miscarriage.
 What
must carry the most weight in Scout’s birth
story is not the birth itself, as that was quite
short and incredibly sweet, but rather the story
of the wait for her to decide when she would come
into the world.
From the start, the pregnancy progressed perfectly.
We had planned a homebirth, with Jane and Robyn
the attending midwives. Our rather traumatic experiences
with the birth of our first child Eddie, which
had been planned as a Birth Centre delivery, but
had ended 20 hours later, after a botched episiotomy,
in the labour ward of King George with suction
and an unnecessary three day stay in the nursery
for our son, had convinced us of the risks of
giving birth anywhere near a hospital. We were
in no doubt of the healthy female body’s
innate ability to successfully give birth, and
we were all too aware of the medical establishments
predilection to interference and overkill, and
their disdain for the natural (after all, they
want to be needed).
This time we were determined to have nothing
whatsoever to do with the hospital, and up until
week 41 we were completely successful. That was
when we approached the danger zone of being ‘overdue’.
If we had been in the hospital system, at that
time there would already have been intense pressure
for an induction.
Eddie had also been overdue by about 12 days,
and labour had actually started the night before
a hospital induction was planned. This time the
midwives were aware of Pernille’s tendency
to go over, and our due date was thus calculated,
using the dates of a positive and negative pregnancy
test, as well as the highly probable day of conception.
This date was 10 days later than the hospital’s
rigid and totally inaccurate method based on the
last menstrual date, and was to become a major
factor of contention later on.
As we approached 41 weeks by our reckoning, our
midwives recommended that we begin regular ctgs
and scanning at the hospital. We were apprehensive
to say the least, but caution (or was it fear?)
got the better of us, and we decided it was wise.
A big problem for us was to keep an objective
distance to our own decisions, as we were heavily
influenced by our previous experiences.
On the Thursday after, at 41+5 days we found
ourselves at KGV. The nurse at the hospital, to
our surprise, was supportive and friendly. The
results were perfect, showing a healthy, reactive
baby and a deep pool of amniotic fluid. There
was simply no reason not to continue waiting.
We left the hospital a little disappointed that
we had needed to be ‘monitored’, but
relieved that all was as it should be.
The next day at the midwife we were made aware
of the statistical risks of going overdue, but
to my ear they sounded very small compared to
the risks and complications associated with inductions.
An induction as well, we realised, would mean
the end of any chance for a homebirth. Robyn spoke
of deciding where our ‘line in the sand’
was, but we were having trouble drawing such a
line. We just wanted to wait. We couldn’t
imagine at this point that we’d ever get
to that point.
Over the weekend we began using natural methods
of induction, but only in a half-hearted way.
We began with the usual. Walking, sex, aromatherapy
with Clary Sage, massage. Pernille could sense
that labour was close, but not imminent. But the
weekend came and went, and still there was no
movement. We rang to make an appointment for another
scan on the Monday morning, but decided to make
it for late Wednesday to give ourselves a few
days breathing room and to avoid the pressure
we felt was coming our way. A birth we had not
at all envisaged was beginning to seem more of
likelihood than a mere possibility, and this sudden,
disturbing realisation spurred us into immediate
action.
We began to get serious about ‘natural’
induction. Despite this term being a complete
oxymoron, we saw these methods being very natural
as opposed to the chemical methods available in
the labour ward. All in all it seemed to be the
best way forward to achieve our desired outcome.
We arranged for an acupuncture appointment that
afternoon. After that and a long walk, Pernille
got mild contractions that evening, but after
a few hours they subsided and disappeared. Pernille
was starting to feel the stress as well, and her
emotional state took a sharp dive. The fears of
ending up with interventions and dubious medical
outcomes began to plague her. I tried to reassure
her but I was just as worried.
Tuesday rolled around and we began to leave the
phone off the hook, to avoid family and friends
too impatient to wait for news. We had an appointment
with Jane that day. We were 42+3. There was more
talk of statistics and lines in the sand, and
she recommended we book an induction for Friday,
even though she was confident we would go before.
We were forever trying to push things into the
future, and wanted to book for the Monday if an
induction was to become necessary. Jane massaged
evening primrose oil on Pernille’s cervix
and found that it was already 2cm dilated. I still
felt at this time that we should not go over 43
weeks, which was on the Saturday, but Pernille
was not so sure. Her deepest instincts told her
that the baby was fine, and she told me she could
not be sure she would even agree to an induction
on the Monday. I was quite emotional that afternoon,
as my deepest fears were uncovered.
While Pernille rested I went on the Internet
and began to do my own research, so I could form
a more balanced opinion; one not based on fear.
Slowly that afternoon my fear receded, and in
its place grew a trust in Pernille’s instincts,
a trust in the female body, and a renewed scepticism
of the motives and validity of hospital methods
and arguments. I found well-researched reports
that completely contradicted the statistics I
had been given. I found moving testimonials from
many couples about the dangers of induction and
wonderful birth stories from couples that defied
the system and had perfectly healthy babies born
peacefully in their own time. I found much food
for thought that slowly, subconsciously began
to turn my attitude 180 degrees.
That evening though everything was on the menu.
We began to worry we might be overdoing it. Acupuncture,
walking, sex, aromatherapy, massage with Clary
Sage… The poor baby was being bombarded with
pressure to come out, despite our own deepest
wishes. That night we went to sleep that night
worrying about the next day at the hospital. Wednesday
morning was for more acupuncture, which again
had Pernille feeling something was happening.
We arrived at the hospital that afternoon in a
tense state of mind, and the attitude we received
was also notably colder. Again the ctg showed
an active, happy baby, and the scan had also positive
results, despite the fact it took them nearly
an hour to get what they wanted (because our baby
was moving so much :)).
But good results were not enough for the hospital.
It was obvious to me by the demeanour of the hospital
staff alone, that a positive ctg and scan had
no influence on their attitude. We had suddenly
landed in a war zone. I thought immediately of
the report I had read the day before. A Scandinavian
researcher Bergsjø had written:
By introducing routine intervention, we tend
to dismiss our clinical watchfulness . . . Our
most common sin is that we do not pay attention
to clinical detail …
We were made to wait almost an hour for a registrar
to come and talk to us. By this time, after three
hours in the hospital with a tiring toddler, I
began to feel very stubborn and hardened my mind
to what I knew was coming.
Then the doctor came and opened his mouth and
set my stubbornness in stone. He started by saying
we were 44 weeks. We corrected him to our due
date on the papers, and much to our surprise and
disgust, he tried to attack our midwives' credibility
saying they were not accredited at the hospital
and that we were in fact 44 weeks. After arguing
with him on this issue, he changed tack. Even
if you are 42+4 he said, we still want to induce
you. Tonight. Using his best authoritarian medical
voice he spoke of grave dangers without citing
any statistics and intimated we were being totally
irresponsible about our baby’s welfare. In
the end he told us we were taking the responsibility
in our own hands (where we wanted it all along)
and that it would be noted on our file that we
were going against his best medical advice. I
was furious. To be talked to like idiots was one
thing. To be subjected to their invasive tests
and them have them totally ignore the outcomes
of those tests was insufferable. He even admitted
that induction at 42 weeks was a "convention".
 Pernille
was quite distraught and found her resolve weakening
by his tough talk, but by this time, I would have
none of it. I reassured her in Danish that I would
support her 100%. We told the doctor we would
not be inducing our child today, thank you very
much. To placate the head midwife in the birth
centre, who was very friendly and was aware that
we wanted a homebirth, we booked an induction
for the following Monday. It was arranged that
even in the event of induction, it was likely
the birth could still take place in the Birth
Centre. We fled the hospital upset and angry.
Little Eddie was also very upset by this time,
feeding as he was off our palpable tensions.
I spent the evening on the Internet, continuing
to voraciously reading scientific reports, birthing
web sites and anything else I could find on the
topic. I found a wealth of material, some very
supportive of our position, some not so. The end
result of my research though, led me to the firm
conclusion that if there were no indications to
suggest the baby was in distress, the best option
was still to wait. After a long discussion with
Pernille, we decided that even if we went to Monday
we would not induce unless the tests showed there
was a reason for it.
Pernille rang Jane to talk about their line in
the sand. Her response was that she needed to
think about it, talk to Robyn and get back to
us. Being professional private midwives practising
homebirths in the currently ‘somewhat hostile’
climate must be a balancing act of supreme skill
and caution, and we were aware of the tightening
corner they found themselves in. That they must
have a line in the sand was therefore perfectly
understandable to us, but it left us with the
increasingly real possibility of being stranded
without support. Chances were we had only 4 days
left of support. What the hell, I thought jokingly.
Unassisted Childbirth always appealed to me…
Before bed I massaged Pernille’s belly with
Clary Sage, but we couldn’t muster up the
mood needed for sex. Again we had trouble sleeping
but eventually drifted off into a disturbed slumber.
As fate would have it (or Scout in any case),
Pernille woke me at 3.30am the next morning to
tell me ‘we were away’. A wave of relief
swept over me. In some corner of my mind though,
I was upset that it had come to this. Deep down
we wanted Scout to come on the day of her own
choosing, and I felt that our stress and induction
attempts had definitely contributed to her choosing
this day. On the other hand I was deliriously
happy to have avoided the hospital’s somewhat
brutal methods. Natural induction was what it
had come down to, to avoid the hospital’s
interference, but I was inwardly seething that
we had to do anything to avoid their meddling.
I started to prepare to fill the birthing pool
we had sitting in our lounge room, but Eddie woke
up, and so I dressed him and took him to his ‘support
person’, our neighbour Samantha. Upon returning,
labour had progressed rapidly and considerably,
and I abandoned my efforts to fill the birthing
pool. Instead I quickly rang the midwife.
To labour at home was very calming, despite the
intensity, and the wash of relief we had both
experienced left us full of energy for the task.
I held Pernille’s weight as she hung off
me, and between contractions she rested on the
lounge. The contractions were coming fast and
furious. It was a pain a lot more intense than
Pernille had experienced with Eddie, and already
after an hour or so said she had the urge to push.
As our only previous experience of childbirth
was a twenty hour labour, we were very surprised,
and I suggested she try and hold it a while, but
then Jane arrived and told her to ‘go for
it’.
I realised the birth of our second child was
imminent. Robyn walked in the door as the head
was crowning, and I relocated to take delivery
of our baby myself. As the head came out I cradled
it in my left hand. Then, while Jane slipped the
cord over the head, I positioned my other hand
for the arrival of the body. With the next contraction,
in an incredible gush of blood, vernix, and heat
- with a rush of life itself - our little daughter
slid out into my waiting arms.
‘It’s a girl’ I cried, amazed.
All the time we had been expecting another boy.
I passed her up to Pernille. She cradled the little
girl gently at her breast. At first she was not
breathing, but no one panicked. We wafted oxygen
under her nose to encourage her to come into herself.
After less than a minute, her colour came in and
her dainty cry filled the room. Of course, we
could not control our tears of joy.
 The
placenta arrived quickly, ten minutes later, perfectly
intact and totally free of calcification (a sign
of postmaturity). The baby, likewise, was well
covered in vernix and the amount of wrinkles on
the soles of her feet did not indicate postmaturity
at all. She was perfect, and not a day overdue.
Born on the 4th of July I thought with a laugh.
We did not weigh her that morning, choosing to
let her rest peacefully in her mother’s arms,
but the next day she clocked in at 3.820kg. A
healthy size, but certainly not overly large.
Particularly in respect to her mother being from
Denmark, where newborn babies are regularly up
around 4kg. Pernille bled quite a bit with the
placenta, but again the professionalism of our
midwives shone through. There was no panic whatsoever,
and within a minute the bleeding had stopped.
Shortly after the baby decided it was time to
feed, which she did contentedly for over 30 minutes.
 I
went and collected Eddie and brought him to meet
his little sister. ‘Baby’ he cried when
he saw her, and raced over and gently touched
her on the nose. ‘Nose’ he said. With
much obvious affection he placed a very sloppy
kiss on her head. Everyone smiled.
Between then and now I have had much time to
reflect and be thankful that we avoided that which
we feared the most. Of course, it is not to say
that a hospital outcome would have necessarily
been a disaster, and if there was an emergency
you couldn’t get us there quick enough. But
a natural homebirth was what we were after; confident
as we were that natural childbirth, if left to
its own pace, would deliver us a beautiful and
healthy child. The only trouble was avoiding the
‘inductionists’ long enough to let it
happen.
Scout was born at 6.44am on the 4th of July 2002.
By the hospital method of calculation, she was
44 weeks and 1 day. By our calculations she was
42 weeks and 5 days.
-Geoff Powell
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