The story of Oshin's arrival is inevitably a long one, but one worth telling, and there'll be lots of lovely pictures to admire along the way...
The first thing to happen was a practice labour. On the Thursday I got a call from Cori when I was in work asking me to come home. She was apparently in such a tizz when phoning me that she was looking me up under my old work in her phone, before phoning my workplace itself, rather than my mobile.
I met her in the car park, with Finn, Orry and Cori's mum, where me & Cori got into her car and set off to the hospital. Finn was teary, sad that he wasn't able to come with us, and that he was missing out on this long-awaited and very-exciting event. Grandma also really wanted to come with us - she knew that she had to be with the boys, but she still felt the pull to be with us.
Regardless, we set off to the hospital, only an hour or so after the first contraction. It was much earlier than is asked for by the hospital, but what with the incredibly quick births with Finn and Orry, we had to be in very early.
And here is Cori, looking confident but nervous in the labouring ward (where one labours, before moving through to the delivery room, where the real action happens):
A part of this was so that she could have a medicine in her, through a cannula. She hadn't had this since Finn, when it was a horrible and traumatic experience. It was pretty much the same again this time around, nearly fainting as it was inserted and left her in incredible pain and without the use of her hand afterwards.
However, the misery of the cannula was all for nothing, as the contractions got vaguer and more irregular from when we got in, and then petered out. This was despite walking all over the hospital and beyond and into the grounds. In the end we were just on a very boring walk.
Cori was not happy:
At the end of the episode, we were given the option of inducing, to make it happen overnight. We had a long hard conversation about it, with Cori tempted to take it, just to get it done with. I, on the other hand, argued that it wasn't something we'd have agreed to from outside the hospital, so it shouldn't be something we agree to just because of our being there. However, when the nurse clarified that they'd not actually be able to administer the inducement until the morning anyway, it made up Cori's mind and we went home.
It was a long time in the hospital, from about 3 or 4pm through to perhaps 10pm. Nothing came of it, but it acclimatised Finn and Orry, and us, to the trip to the hospital.
We didn't have to wait long for the real thing though, which was good, because the final, you-can't-go-past-two-weeks, inducement which we were booked into was on Monday...
On Friday night / Saturday morning, at about 2.30am, Cori woke up to Orry's crying that he had wet the bed (a very rare occurrence). When she was there changing the sheets (deftly and expertly, as Finn and Orry had made a den of Orry's bed and were sleeping in there together, on the one now-wet sheet!), she felt some contraction-like pains.
Thinking it might have either been the effort of changing the sheets, or another false alarm, she returned to bed but lay there quietly and attentively, waiting for and then experiencing what she recognised to be the contractions. At about 3.30am she woke me up and we rustled around getting ready for The Real Trip (this time not in my painful work shoes or with insufficient snacks!). Cori woke only her mother as I went to get the car, to let her know we were off and we set off to the hospital at about 4am.
Here is Cori arriving at the hospital, walking to the maternity ward, trying to look happy and confident, but probably a little nervous (with the tub for ice we'd thought to prepare at home before setting out):
By the time we arrived at the hospital the contractions were relatively non-arduous for Cori and they were coming at every 8 minutes or so. In sitting on the bed to monitor the baby, the contractions slowed down, but up again they got going, though without really increasing in speed or intensity.
We used the opportunity to take a final Cori-with-bump picture:
Knowing that her previous labours were very quick, the delivery room was immediately readied and waiting. But this labour was setting itself up to be anything but quick. By about 7am, tiredness was catching up with Cori, so she lied down and took a rest. She managed half an hour of solid sleep, only stirring in the middle for a contraction:
Once she'd recovered herself with a bit of rest, Cori was able to get back on her feet to get back on the labouring game. By this stage the contractions has slowed to be about once every 15 minutes, but in walking around the wards, they soon got back up to every 5-8 minutes or so.
It was still relatively early and so quite quiet on the corridors, but we were still rather surprised to meet only one person that we knew (the granny of one of Finn's classmates). Cori, however, was probably rather relieved to not meet more people we knew!
But the time the contractions were regularly at 8 minutes or so (though somewhat irregular, with about a minute's variance), we returned to the ward to be closer to the place we needed to be.
With our experiences with Finn and Orry, we had expected to be done very swiftly. Orry was born only twenty minutes after arriving (at a conventional point in the contractions) at the hospital, for instance. However, this was proving to not be the case with Oshin.
We were shocked to return to the ward and watch as the contractions struggled to keep at 8 minutes apart unless Cori was up on her feet. Any sort of resting or sitting down and they would slow. It was also seemingly entirely in her back, and she could feel Oshin's feet kicking towards the front of her tummy, meaning that he was facing the 'wrong' way - a position notorious for painful and long-drawn-out births. The contractions did not seem to be progressing towards the constancy you'd expect for birth, so Oshin's arrival seemed far off in the distance, and we seemed to be making no important headway towards it.
This was very frustrating for Cori, who continued to be hit by the pain of the contractions, without it seemingly getting her any closer each time towards birth. It seemed like a pointless repetitive pain. It also seemed like a painful failure in the birthing process. The last two births had been such remarkable cases of quick and 'easy' births - things to be very proud of as a mother - so this drawn-out and undirected labouring seemed like a horrible disappointment and failure, for Cori anyway.
At about 9am or 10am or so, this is where she was at; exhausted by the pain, dejected by a sense of failure, depressed by the cluelessness of what she was 'doing wrong', and very much not wanting to go on like that for an unknown number of hours more:
It should also be added in that we were shocked to find the labouring to be boring. With the quick births before, we had no idea that it can be so, with minutes between each contraction, and the contractions not being of a monumental state needing all hands on deck.
It was very strange to find ourselves bored in the midst of having a baby. We looked out the window at the people arriving for an antenatal talk and tour opposite. I recognise one of the cameramen we use at work (whose partner I didn't know was pregnant) and another couple we knew. I resisted the temptation to shout out the window to them, though Cori joked that she wanted to shout out the warning to them to not go through with it! I got out my book at some point, but I couldn't commit to reading it without feeling guilty as the contractions came and Cori suffered. So I put the book away and we waited vaguely for the contractions to hot up.
By about 11am the contractions were perhaps once every 6 minutes or so, but the contractions were lasting between a minute and a minute and a half.
It was at about this point that the doctor came in and finally convinced Cori to have a cannula in. Since this had gone so awfully the few days earlier, Cori had refused it . But in chatting to the nice midwife (Amy), we grew to understand/trust that there was a smaller one that could be put in better. So when the doctor pressed Cori on it, she agreed to have it put in.
We were amazed to find that the thing was indeed easy to put in, and Cori didn't faint, scream or lose the use of her hand. Amazing! But it did mean that we had to move to the birthing ward, as that was where the medicine to go through the cannula was.
(The medicine was an antibiotic to ward off Group B Strep, which Cori is a carrier of without affect to her but which can be fatal to babies).
The birthing ward was through in a separate part of the maternity ward. At the time of our being in there, no one else was in.
It has been a theme of all our trips to the maternity ward that they tell us that they are very busy and rushed off their feet, and yet we don't see it at all. It must be the sign of very good ward planning, that we didn't see at all the other labouring mothers which were apparently upon them at that time.
Regardless, it was just us and our midwife, Amy, on the ward to ourselves, in the large birthing room. As you will see in the picture, the different between the delivery room and the labouring room was quite significant, both in terms of the stuff in there and the room:
Having never been in hospital to labour before, I had never seen a labouring room, so I felt rather depressed to think that that was the sort of room that Manx mothers gave birth in. So I was pleasantly surprised to find that the equivalent to what we have experienced before in London was indeed present in the Isle of Man also.
The rather calm and relaxed picture (mid-way between contractions!) shows the cannula and drip (which was on for about 15 minutes and then unplugged, leaving Cori free to roam), the yoga ball thing (covered in a medical mat, just in case) and the bed which goes up and down nicely for leaning on etc.
In here the contractions sped up, coming to be every 5 minutes or so, with the 1 to 1.5 minutes in length for all. This was kept up by Cori pacing around slowly, or rolling on the ball (briefly). She didn't pace very far, as she was concentrating too much on her breathing to get over the pain of the prior contraction and gather her energy for the next onslaught.
She gave up the ball as she was too low, she found, and she had to be on her feet.
The midwife brought over a beanbag thing for Cori to stand over as she stood lent on the bed (which was now raised up for the purpose). The contractions at this point were now close enough together for Cori not to be walking about at all and just to be stood there, with the midwife now checking in on her progress by sight and she was writing up her notes on the seat opposite.
Things were hotting up but, rather ridiculously, and much to the midwife's frustration, and Cori's, the 'baby doctor' let herself in at some point and started asking Cori questions about her pregnancy relevant to her Strep B. It would have been comic had it not been at quite such an increasingly painful, serious and stressful time. It was clear that the doctor was flustered, though it seems more so by the babies she was having to deal with at that time, rather than being in the room as Cori was about to give birth. Later it became apparent that she had indeed been too flustered to actually listen, which made her brief appearance all the more ridiculous.
But, regardless, it wasn't long after she left that our midwife had another look, put away her papers, and got on her apron.
Now knelt behind Cori, who was still leaning on the bed we were evidently into the final minutes.
(The picture is slightly irrelevant here, but it's a good 'chapter' break! - It was, however, quite the thing to see when we came through to the birthing room, making us realise that things were going to step up from here on! Also, with the three legs of Man there ready to accept the new child, it's worth noting that Oshin is our first child to be born on the Isle of Man, with the other two officially having been born in Camden!)
Things were evidently progressing very quickly at this stage.
The midwife had warned us that she would call in an extra midwife in the final moments, to have extra hands available, by pulling the emergency lever (and therefore not to be worried by her pulling the Big Red Button!). But by this stage, it was clear that it was difficult to pull herself away from Cori to actually pull it. It was a couple of metres away, which meant that she had to leave Cori's side. She made a long lean for it, couldn't make it, had another look at Cori, then made a dash out to pull the lever and dash back. Cori didn't see it, but it was clear that things were indeed very close now!
Having been sat opposite Cori on the other side of the bed earlier (jokingly taken up by me (slightly embarrassed about being seemingly unengaged and out of the way) with the note that it was a potential fainting safety zone), I was at this stage stood by Cori rubbing her back. Or, rather, at this stage, holding up her nightgown-thing, over her bump and out of the way. Stood there like that at Cori's side, I found myself wondering about my shoes; how my previous pair had suffered in the breaking of Cori's waters with Orry, and how this new pair would likely suffer likewise with Oshin (not so in the end).
I had forgotten it from the previous births, but it was in these final moments that Cori got (gets) suddenly frightened, as the baby begins to threaten to finally come out. The pain at this point is obviously shifting from the contractions to the actual emerging of the baby. Having had hours of pain with contractions, that is obviously a managed and understood pain, but the emergence of the new form of pain is evidently a horrible and frightening thing. For Cori it was/is obviously something she is not in control of, and this loss of control at this important and painful stage is horribly frightening.
I had forgotten it from the past two times, but her controlled breathing, moaning and groaning, turns into whimpering, crying and screaming as the pain blooms swiftly and without control. The fear of the situation spread to me, as I too suddenly felt frightened and completely not in control in any way. Cori began hyperventilating a minute before the birth, which she'd done with Finn before, and I felt terrified to not remember how the midwife or I had helped her regain control then. I could only stand by as the fear gripped Cori completely.
But it was about then that the waters burst, smashing impressively on the beanbag and floor in one burst (impressively missing the midwife and me!).
The second midwife came in, and, seeing the situation, rushed across the room to get her apron on, calling out encouragement as she went.
A few pushes later and Oshin was out, guided out by the midwife and flopped onto the beanbag, before being lifted up into Cori's arms.
Exhausted, in shock, in great pain, we were all nervous of her holding him. This was more so as the umbilical cord was short, and so she had to stoop a little. We got off Cori's nightshirt thing, then manouvered her onto the bed, where she was covered in towels and sheets, safe and sound with the glorious new baby, Oshin.
Oshin Illiam Franklin:
12.58pm
Saturday 4 August 2018
7 pounds 11 ounces
The afterbirth came soon afterwards, and the midwife's check found that Cori needed no further attention. After a brief visit by the baby doctor, to weigh and measure Oshin, we were effectively left to ourselves, with the midwives moving around us to tidy up and make their notes etc. It was strange to be left alone like this. After the hours of pain, misery and fear, everything was all very calm and simple. To be relieved of anything to worry about, and left in effective silence was strange and joyous. The only break to the silence was Oshin himself, who was feeling the world with his tongue and simpering in a way that I'd forgotten from Finn and Orry. I knew that it was something that Oshin would only do for the next few hours, so I thought to film it there at the bedside.
This is what a very new baby Oshin, minutes into the world, was like:
A strange and lovely thing is a new baby. With the tongue, the strange sounds and the strange-coloured (completely normal) claw-like hands, it's very clear that this is a thing that was living in liquid and not in the world for the previous nine months!
Oshin was very calm and quite in those first minutes, and hours, opening his eyes and feeling about with his tongue. Very little crying, but for when he was being changed or other such disturbances. An easy baby to fall in love with.
Coming just before 1pm, it meant that we were treated to lunch within 20 minutes or so of the birth. One of the most joyous lunches of our life, I'm sure.
We used the opportunity to start telling people on our phones about the Good News. If you received an update from Cori in that first half hour after birth, it was probably sent from Cori in this way:
With no complications or difficulties to sort out, we were done with birthing as far as the hospital was concerned, and so we were ready for the post-birth ward. So it was that at the end of our lunch (though before I had completed the guzzling of all the tea available in the enormous pot!), we were packing up and getting a rather tender Cori into a wheelchair to be rolled back to the original ward area for a bed on the ward which was to be Cori & Oshin's home for the next couple of days.
We'll leave that continuation of the story to a separate post, and leave you here with two final pictures: the scene of where it all happened, and baby Oshin, under an hour old (paired with the picture which started this post, taken at the same time):
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