The Illawarra Doula in Wollongong, New South Wales | Pregnancy care centre

The Illawarra Doula

Locality: Wollongong, New South Wales

Phone: +61 416 180 207

Address: Wollongong 2500 Wollongong, NSW, Australia

Website: http://theillawarradoula.com.au

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23.01.2022 NSW Minister for Mental Health, Bronnie Taylor, has today announced the first public Mum and Baby Unit in NSW. She says: "Today we are announcing that for the f...irst time ever we are going to have a Mum and Babies Unit at RPA. It’s going to have eight beds. What it means is that a mother is able to bring her infant baby with her if she is experiencing an acute episode of her psychiatric illness. "We know that for women the time of pregnancy and that year after they’ve had their baby they’re more likely to experience a mental illness. This is the most at-risk time for them in terms of a mental illness. And what we also know is it’s so important that in those early moments and that first year of life particularly when a mother bonds with her baby. "So we know if you’re going through a really tough time in terms of your mental health and you require admission to a facility when we have this up and running by next year it means you can come here with your baby and you can be treated. You can access to the care you need. "This is the first one in NSW. This is about making sure that mothers and their families have access to the care they need. " We at COPE are thrilled to hear this news - it's something we've been advocating for for years!

22.01.2022 I’ve just seen another study showing that induction of labour is associated with having a poor experience of childbirth for some women. (More on that next week).... So I will continue to share these quotes from my book, Inducing Labour: making informed decisions in the hope of helping women and families to consider all relevant information relating to decisions such as whether to agree to induction of labour. Too often, we’re only given one side of the story: the pathway recommended by the system. Which is a bit like being told there’s only one size available. What if it’s not your size? What if you're smaller or larger than average? What if you don't necessarily want what those running the system think everybody should have? Too often, women are told that they or their baby are at risk without being told that the increased risk is really small, that induction of labour also carries risks and that no decision is risk-free. Too often, coercion is used to try to persuade people down a particular path. Too often, women sign up for induction of labour and don’t realise what the reality will be like. Some women are happy with their induction experience, and that’s wonderful. But some aren’t. So we need to keep reminding everybody that these decisions are theirs to make, and that information is key. We need to be able to make decisions based on FULL knowledge of what is on offer (because it IS an offer, no matter what words are used) and with a good understanding of the pros and cons of the different pathways. There is no one right way. There is no risk-free option. And, just like in life, there are no guarantees, whatever you decide. If you’d like to find out more, you’re welcome to surf around www.sarawickham.com where there is an information hub on induction of labour and also links to my book on this topic if you’d like a bit more depth. #birtheducator #birth #birthdecisions #midwife #midwifery #studentmidwife #doula #childbirtheducation #childbirtheducator #informedconsent #informedchoice #whatsrightforme #positivebirth #positiveinduction #labor #labour #quotes #drsarawickham See more

21.01.2022 This is why midwifery care and doulas are SO IMPORTANT!! How you feel about your birth matters just as much as the birth itself! Yes, safety is an absolute pri...ority but it should not negate how you feel while that safety is being maintained! I’ve seen plenty of emergent c-sections or emergent deliveries/interventions made where a mother felt completely empowered in that decision and BOTH mom and baby were safe! What fear based care have you suffered? There is NO place for fear in birth. Decisions can not be made in a healthy way when provoked by that kind of emotion. FEAR is a powerful tool of manipulation. It creates a stressful and therefore toxic environment in the body, disrupts a clear connection to one’s intuition, and scrambles the ability to make autonomous, confident decisions. . Due to our masculine-dominant society, a misogynist medical system, broken and traumatized matrilineal lines, and a complete lack of adequate educationamong other thingsFEAR is a driving force in how women are choosing to birth on a daily basis, all over the world. . Not only do we witness how women regard and plan their births from a place of fear, we also witness the sabotage of their birth plans by unsupportive care providers who use fear tactics (under the guise of letting you know the risks) to control the birth for their own benefit, at the mother/baby’s expense. . I call this fear-based medicine, and it looks like what a lot of people consider routine care. . While there is always a time and a place for modern medical interventions, the rate at which it is being utilized in birth is a direct and violent act against women and babies. . Swipe right to see a list of common assertions that I believe fall under fear-based medicine. Would you add any others? Has fear-based medicine ever convinced you that you couldn’t have the birth you wanted? . -Reposted from Wild Willing Wisdom

19.01.2022 This looks like it will be very interesting and useful https://facebook.com/events/s/birth-trauma-awareness-week-sp/241554850477350/?ti=icl

19.01.2022 Let's talk informed consent in pregnancy and birth. Swipe to see the difference. . Did you know that it is your legal right to give or refuse informed cons...ent for any/all procedures/treatments/interventions during your pregnancy and birth. Just as it is at any time. . Being pregnant or being in labour does not remove your legal right to informed consent. . But let's be really clear on what informed consent is and isn't. . Telling you what is happening is not informed consent. Adding an 'ok?' on the end does not make it informed consent. . Using medical language the birthing person does not understand, using fear-based tactics, coercion or putting pressure on to make a decision - not informed consent. . Informed consent must be given by a competent person (pregnancy and birth does not deem you incompetent), it must be given freely with an understanding of what it is be given for, it is valid for that procedure only (giving consent for an internal exam once does not mean you have given consent for all future exams) and can be withdrawn at any time. . Informed consent means having a conversation at your level about the risks, benefits and alternatives of whatever is being suggested. . Remember, you have the right to refuse consent and 'I do not consent' is a powerful sentence. No justification needed . What was your experience of informed consent during pregnancy and birth? . . . #informedbirth #informedconsent #birthmatters #birthmonopoly #hypnobirthingaustralia #hypnobirthingperth #perthmumsandbubs #pregnantinperth #duein2020 #duein2021 #dueinnovember #dueinseptember #empoweredbirth See more

17.01.2022 This is going to be great!! If you have had a disappointing or traumatic birth and want to know how you make your next birth better this workshop will be invaluable

15.01.2022 Stillbirth Awareness October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. In honour of today we are privileged to share Rose and Joseph’s story. Our s...on Joseph is perfect, he always was and always will be for he was born silent, sleeping. Tragically 6 babies are stillborn in Australia every day. On July 19th 2019 our family became part of that statistic. Our story is sad and one that might not traditionally be shared, but our son’s story deserves to be shared, and the stigma around stillbirth be shifted. I was fortunate to have my pregnancy care through Hunter Midwifery Group Practice at the John Hunter Hospital. My midwife, Mandy was fantastic. My pregnancy was medically ‘boring’ meaning there were no medical issues or risk factors. One day, at 38.5 weeks pregnant I was eating breakfast and realised that I had not felt the baby move that morning. I had a cold drink and lay down, waiting to feel those reassuring movements. They never camethe next 12 hours was a living nightmare. Our midwife met us at the hospital where scans confirmed that our baby no longer had a heartbeat, words that will haunt me forever. We came home that evening to be with our other children (ages 8 and 5) and to explain to them that the baby had passed away. Explaining the death of their long awaited sibling was incredibly sad. A reality that little kids shouldn’t have to be privy to. The next morning, with swollen eyes, we arrived back at the hospital. My midwife was waiting at the hospital entrance, and didn’t leave our sides over the next few days. To say she went above and beyond is an understatement. The amazing care from all of the midwives that looked after us helped to reduce the impact of PTSD, and other grief associated complications. They guided us and protected us with so much compassion. They made us feel that Joseph was the most important baby in the hospital and to us, he was. Joseph’s birth was, ironically, perfect. With my husband, my sister and two midwives Mandy and Jenni by my side I had an incredibly peaceful water birth. I knew that I had this one opportunity to birth Joseph into this world in the most peaceful and loving environment. I am proud that I was able to do that for him. We spent the next 24 hours in the hospital with our perfect son. He was baptised and our other children got to hold him and kiss him. We had a photographer come and take lasting memories for us, along with hand and foot castings. These are things that we would have never thought to do, but thankfully my sister, Liz organised everything. We were fortunate that the John Hunter Hospital had a ‘cuddle cot’. This is a special cot with a cooling system so that our baby could stay in our room with us for as long as we wanted. These cots are an integral in helping families spend precious time with their baby, which reduces the terrible impact of grief associated mental health issues. If you ever see a fundraiser for a ‘cuddle cot’ please donate if you can. Here we are, over a year later and we don’t know how we go through those initial raw moments. We had friends reach out and share their own heartache, and we were supported with counselling at Red Nose. The statistics of stillbirth are incredibly high, which means so many of us have either experienced it or know someone who has. Yet, it has remained unspoken for so long. October 15th is Stillbirth Awareness Day and I hope that by sharing my son, Joseph’s story others will feel inspired to share their own angel’s story. These babies are important and deserve to be known. Please feel welcome to share your Angel’s name in the comments of this post. For you Joey, our sunflower xoxo Thank you to Rose and her family for sharing their story. If you would like further information or support please see the following resources. Safer Baby https://resources.stillbirthcre.org.au/downl/SB_DL_Mums.pdf Red Nose https://rednose.org.au/article/stillbirth-awareness Sands https://www.sands.org.au/october-15th Bears of Hope https://www.bearsofhope.org.au

13.01.2022 Cereal and blueberries for the win! In the hospital we encourage moms to breastfeed every 2-3 hours to nourish the baby and bring in a good future milk supply.... It’s math: 8-12 feeds in 24 hours (ideal) = nursing every 2-3 hours It’s a quick and easy way to get the message across that this baby needs to eat, and often. Unfortunately, new parents seem think breastfeeding is going to be like the first picture (cereal)...all the feeds perfectly spaced out and all the same size. Every 2-3 hours. Easy. And the baby will sleep like an angel in between.... THIS IS NOT REALITY. In reality, your sweet newborn baby will have good feeds, short feeds, sleepy feeds, crappy feeds, and everything in between! The visual of the blueberries is amazing because it shows how realistically feedings are at all different times and different lengths (bigger blueberries ). And did you count the berries?!? More than enough! Yes, we want you to nurse every 2-3 hours, but the baby calls the shots. Less watching the clock and more watching for feeding cues

12.01.2022 Baby Albey had a unique welcome to the world on Wednesday, when he was born in the car after Mum and Dad made an emergency stop on the M1 while en-route to Wo...llongong Hospital. Congratulations Brittney and James and a special shout out to Midwifery Group Practice Midwife, Kylie who spotted their car as she was also making her way to the hospital and stopped to help as baby Albey was born in the backseat! Mum and bub are doing well. See more

11.01.2022 The face a of tired but happy doula. Two births in 36 hours. Two freakin phenomenal women who rocked their births and two gorgeous squishy babies in the world ... Was another reminder of how estimated due dates mean little, babies come when they come and sometimes it’s earlier or later than expected. Oh and it’s hubbies birthday! Good thing he is a good egg and doesn’t mind sharing his birthday and me disappearing for day. Gonna go sleep for a week (haha as if....I have kids! I’ll be lucky to get a lie in tomorrow ) #notoncallanymore #doulalife

11.01.2022 For Katie, a 35-year-old mum of two, her experience of postnatal psychosis manifested as frightening auditory hallucinations when her youngest child was six weeks old.

10.01.2022 This story is long but so worth the read! A few giggles and a very captivating, honest and beautiful birth story. We hope you read to the end as it is wonderful...! Confident, calm, courageous: My home birth story Jennifer Cartwright If someone had told me, once upon a time, that I would choose to birth my baby at home I would have laughed and told them, politely, that they were absolutely insane. Who in their right mind, who loved their unborn child and wanted the very ‘best’ for them, would voluntarily shun the safe enclave of modern medicine and re-enter the prehistoric cave of primitive childbirth?! Home births, to my unenlightened mind, were the domain of less fortunate third world countries and hairy-legged hippies. But, dear reader, I sit here today with a completely different perspective. I recently gave birth to a beautiful baby boy on my living room floor. And it was THE most incredible experience of my life. I want to share it with you. I’m telling my home birth story because I want to help break down the fear a lot of us (all of us?) have around childbirth. Fear of the unknown, of unbearable pain, of losing control, of something awful happening... We’ve all heard ‘horror’ stories that stick in our minds. Yet while this fear is healthy and normal and possibly also helpful in that it can be a catalyst for preparing for childbirth, it can also be hugely unhelpful. Because fear can actually impact the progression of labour by interfering with the very hormones that are needed to progress labour. Less oxytocin = fewer contractions = longer labour (very simplistically). If a woman feels safe and supported during labour, her body will produce more oxytocin and labour will progress more efficiently. Let me be clear- I’m not shouting in the streets and waving a banner demanding more women have home births. (Although incidentally during my labour we did stick a high-viz flag on our front lawn as a kind of homing signal to the attending midwives, much to the gleeful intrigue of my nosy neighbours.) That’s not the point. Although I will say that home births aren’t insane, or scary, or dangerous when expert midwives providing high quality perinatal care are involved. But while I’m lucky to live in the catchment for the Belmont Midwifery Group which provides state-funded midwifery care, including the option to home birth, I’m aware that for many women (living in Sydney for example), a home birth would involve considerable out-of-pocket costs through a private midwifery group. I would just really like more women to know that there can be a choice around how we think about labour. That we can absolutely be in control and in tune with what’s going on in our bodies as we work towards expelling a baby from the inside out. As clichéd as it may be, women have been giving birth for thousands of years and while yes modern medicine is solely responsible for the drastically improved perinatal morbidity and mortality statistics, ultimately our bodies are designed to do this. And certainly, for the majority of women a hospital birth is a no-brainer, but we can still face childbirth feeling confident, courageous, calm and maybe even a bit excited. One way to do this is to read up on what goes on in the body during childbirth and how to deal with it Juju Sundin’s Birth Skills book did the trick for me. Another way is to share more stories about ordinary everyday births where the only remarkable thing that happens is the birth of a healthy baby. So here’s my story. It’s early Wednesday morning. My first day of maternity leave. (Hooray for Netflix!) I’m lying on my side in bed reading, when I feel a sudden, warm, watery flow between my legs. Reality hits and I am instantly jolted awake as I know without a doubt that my waters have broken. A tingle of excited anticipation buzzes through my limbs. I heave my big belly out of bed and hobble past my husband who is standing in the kitchen downing a glass of water after his early morning run. My waters have broken! Shit! I sit on the toilet and feel another gush of fluid. As I wipe I feel the gluey mucous plug come away. I stare down at the slimy wad of paper in disbelief. Baby. Is. Coming. Now. Not now. Yes now. Really?! But it’s my first day of maternity leave..! I have another week and a half before I’m due! A needle of unerringly familiar mum guilt stabs me. Did I bring this on by overdoing it at work over the past week, tying everything up before my last day yesterday? I brush it aside impatiently. There’s no time for second guessing. Out in the kitchen I can hear Jon consulting the list of phone numbers on our fridge, handily placed there a couple of weeks earlier. (Preparation is EVERYTHING for the Belmont midwives.) He dials the number of our allocated midwife. Elise answers; Jenni is rostered off today (it’s her first for a week, we can let her off the hook). I am briefly disappointed but I have complete confidence in the whole team, especially having met some of the other midwives at earlier appointments. Elise calls us back within minutes and tells us that Kelly and Hollie will be at our place in about half an hour. It’s go time. Jon ushers me to our bedroom with a cup of raspberry leaf tea. I sit cross-legged on our bed and lean back against the pillows, wearing my green bath robe and an op shop towel over my knees (the cupboard has been stocked in preparation). I sip the warm liquid and gaze out at Lake Macquarie in the distance. (I’d call it a glimpse rather than a view.) The lake is stunning, with low wintery grey clouds mirrored over the glassy water. I love my early mornings - it looks like our little one agrees. A gentle wave of calm ripples through me. I’m ready for this birth. There’s nowhere to go, no mad rush to the hospital. We are fully prepared and I feel totally relaxed. And confident. And in control. (Poor Jon is too busy dashing around tidying up the toddler toy explosion that has erupted in our living room to get the chill-out memo. A ‘clutter free environment’ is stipulated on the pre-birth checklist for obvious reasons.) It’s a stark contrast to the panic of my first labour: Olive very nearly arrived in the passenger seat of our Subaru en route to the hospital. I barely had time to dip my toe into the birth pool before she came. (I’m sorry, patients of Waitakere hospital, for disturbing your sleep with my bloodcurdling screams.) A speedy first labour was the main reason for choosing a home birth the second time around, that plus the whole global pandemic thing making our local hospital a sensible place to avoid. A kind of mild period pain comes and goes in my lower belly, marking the early muscle contractions of my uterus as it starts to draw open my cervix. I rest my eyes on the glimmering lake in the distance and breathe until the cramping subsides. I keep an eye on my phone’s stopwatch timing the space in between contractions, at this stage it’s around four minutes, sometimes more, sometimes less. Olive toddles into my room, bed-haired and sleepy-eyed in her pink Frozen pyjamas. She climbs onto the bed and sits in my lap, interlacing her little fingers in mine. I bury my nose in her messy blond hair and feel the warmth of her back against my round, hard belly. She’s the most beautiful thing in the world and I want to have ten of them. (I think the oxytocin is kicking in.) My sister arrives and hands me another cup of tea. Jon and I had initially thought we’d bundle Olive off to a friend’s house, unsure about how a 2-year old would feel about watching a birth, or how we would feel about having her amid possible carnage, but Jenni the midwife had suggested we reconsider. And of course, she was right it feels perfect that my daughter and sister are here. I stay on my bed in the Partial Lakeview Suite for an hour or so, chatting and sipping, breathing and meditating, while my family and the midwives float in and out. There’s a buzz of excitement like there’s something momentously important about to happen, kind of like the lead up to a wedding, but at the same time it all feels so normal. Periodically Olive runs in for a story or cuddles and then continues on her merry toddler way. My sister is doing an ace job of keeping her close but not too close. Kelly pokes her head around the bedroom door to see how I’m getting on. Another contraction. I stop mid-sentence and gaze out the window as I concentrate on my breath, in and out. I wriggle my toes with this contraction, using the movement as an added distraction to the slightly stronger pain. Kelly watches quietly, gauging my progress. (At no point in the whole process do I have a physical examination the volume of my moans is their barometer.) I comment that my contractions are not building as quickly as last time and are still roughly four minutes apart. With Olive I’d given birth by now! My perversely competitive inner self is a little disappointed not to make a PB this time around, but she reassures me that everything is progressing just fine. Her confident, casual tone conveys years of experience, although it’s hard not to be distracted by the sparkly blue crown that my daughter has given her. It sits beautifully on her purple crop of hair. Every few minutes a contraction arrives and I withdraw to my reverie, my eyes focussing on the water or on the flickering candle flame on the dresser, my ears on the sound of my breathing, my body on the wriggling of my toes as the cramping intensifies. There’s a steady crescendo up to a peak that lasts about a minute before the pain fades away. In between contractions there’s virtually no pain, like I’m passing blissfully - into the eye of a tornado. Then a stronger contraction builds from within that pushes me off the bed. My body is compelling me to use something bigger and stronger to manage the pain. I send a brief mental note of thanks to the candle, lake and our comfy bed, and hobble into my second birth sanctuary: the Family Bathroom. Now a second pain appears. It’s a pressure in my bum, exactly like the urge to poo. I squat on the bathroom floor holding the edge of the bath, feeling my hips and pelvis open as I vocalise my breath, emphasising the ‘ahhhhhhh’ sound with each exhalation. Kelly appears at the door, hearing that my labour is progressing and stands quietly, watching. Jon tops up the half-filled bath with hot water while I take off my robe. I step in, instinctively leaning forwards so I’m on my hands and knees with my belly and chest in the blissful warmth. Another cramping contraction. A louder AAAAAAHHHH this time, the exhalation drawing my tummy muscles in and down as a cue for what my uterus is doing on the inside. I picture the walls of my uterus drawing down inextricably closer to my pelvis, widening my cervix incrementally with each powerful pull of muscle. Side note: the weirdest thing about labour is that there’s no sensation of the uterine walls shortening or of the cervix widening. There is only pain. And it becomes very, very intense, like a thousand period pains of pressure and cramping. To me, not knowing the physiology of what’s going on inside to explain this pain would make labour a terrifying and highly unpleasant experience. Being able to visualise the internal progression of my labour absolutely changed the whole experience for me. (Thank you Juju.) With each contraction the pressure in my rear end continues to increase, together with the cramping in my abdomen. As I moan away on all fours in the bath, Kelly pops a mirror in behind me to check the status of my nether regions. She can’t see anything yet, which I’m expecting as I know from my first time I’ve still got a way to go yet in terms of pain. I slip two fingers inside but all I can feel is fleshy walls and slimy mucous. It feels a bit like exploring a mysterious entryway to an alien world. As my cervix widens, amniotic fluid and mucous drift out into the bathwater and float around like those weird suspended particles in the Upside Down. I feel like I’m in a twilight zone. Another contraction, stronger yet again. I try squatting side-on in the bath to open my knees wide but the cramping at the front of my pelvis is too intense. I need to get out. I don my robe, bid farewell to the bath and enter my third and final abode, aka The Living Room. It’s been transformed into a birthing suite. The midwives have laid out a tarp which covers the rug and most of the floorboards, and on top of the tarp is a white sheet and several absorbent blueys. The dinner table is now a resus tray. An oxygen cylinder stands nearby. I find all this reassuring rather than alarming as I know all this paraphernalia will be extremely useful if anything were to go awry. (Plus at our antenatal home visits Jon has quizzed the midwives on every ‘what if’ scenario.) No part of me at any point in all this is fearful for myself or my baby. I feel completely in control and supported, and my uterus is obliging by progressing this birth. My body is urging me to push my knees wide apart so I kneel on a pillow facing the couch. I lean my torso over the seat of the couch, squeezing a cushion in my arms. The contractions are really, really strong now and the pressure in my bum is growing more and more intense. I grip and squeeze and AAAAHHHHH through another contraction. The pressure gives me the urge to sit on the toilet so I limp back to the bathroom clutching my belly, leaving behind a trail of god-knows-what fluid. I sit on the toilet with my feet up on olive’s step-stool and let my pelvic floor open, allowing my contracting uterus to do the work. It feels good to let go but I’m not quite ready to push yet. I return to my kneeling position at the lounge and wait for another contraction, making the most of the calm before the storm to re-tie my hair, swap the robe for a loose t-shirt and have a sip of water. Although the cramping pain subsides between contractions, the pressure pain now remains constant. This bubba’s on his way down. It’s hard to describe the pain of transition (without expletives, impossible). The mighty waves of muscle activity that open the cervix to its final ten centimetre diameter in preparation for a descending human head are FUCKING powerful and FUCKING painful. Each contraction is agonising and all-consuming. I’ve read somewhere that the force of a uterus contracting exceeds that of train doors closing. That is some serious force. (What an incredible organ. During pregnancy it expands to 500 times its original size. Imagine if men had one! We wouldn’t hear the end of it.) As I moan and groan and clench and squeeze through another contraction, this image of train doors comes to mind. I picture two sets of doors: there’s a vertical door crushing downwards from my belly button to my pubis, and a horizontal pair drawing across my groin from each of my hip bones. The doors slide and squeeze powerfully together in unison, compressing my trunk like a concertina. It feels as though my whole body, the whole universe, is drawing down to a single point within my pelvis. It’s difficult to breathe and all I can do is ride it out using the distraction of my voice and my clenched hands. I picture again my uterine walls drawing down and opening my cervix. I widen my knees and bear down, pushing my chest and face down into the cushion while leaning my lower half outwards. The pressure in my bum is immense and now crosses the threshold into pain. As I feel my anal sphincter open out of sheer necessity, out of my control, I apologise into the couch as an odour drifts to my nostrils. I don’t dare glance behind as Jon reassures me, blithely, that it’s only a little nugget. (My midwife told me afterwards that this is what they look for as the real indication that the baby is coming as it’s pushing out everything in the way. It’s probably the only time that shitting yourself is a good sign.) I gulp a swig of water. The contraction has receded but the pressure remains, painful and unrelenting. It feels as though I have a baby elephant inside me, resting on its laurels on top of a tiny stool like in one of those ridiculous circus acts, its enormous behind balancing bizarrely on the ring of my cervix. The sheer weight of this internal elephant is crushing my internal organs. It’s inconceivable that a tiny baby can exert this much pressure. Olive appears next to me, restless. I need to focus, suddenly I can’t have her near me any longer and she disappears with my sister into the backyard. (Looking back I regret telling them to go outside, they could have sat quietly and read books nearby, but oh well.) Another tidal wave of cramping mounts in my abdomen. The elephant presses its mighty weight downwards as the train doors pull together, across and down. I grip the pillow and moan even louder as the pain causes me to dry-retch and leaves me gasping for breath. Jon’s hands massage my back firmly by way of non-verbal encouragement. (He knows better than to say anything.) It must be awful seeing your partner in such pain. I almost feel sorry for him. I feel my pelvic outlet drawing wide. There’s a gateway opening between my internal and external worlds and I can feel, from the inside, my baby’s head resting against the lower ring of my pelvis. It’s tantalisingly close but I hold back from pushing, knowing how I had pushed too hard too early, frantically, at my first birth which had caused a 2cm tear. Not yet. This time around I’m letting my uterus call the shots and do the majority of the work. Keep him there Jen, he’s nearly there. As the contraction subsides I hear Kelly’s voice, strong and assured. I’ve got this. Another sip of water, more back rubs. My body is propelling us towards the finish line and it’s simultaneously tangible and unbearable. A murmur of disquiet rises at the edges of my mind as it dawns on me that I’m really about to do this at home, the hospital is 20 minutes away. Have I made a mistake? Can I really do this? It would be easy, at this point, to give way to panic and fear. I know this from my first birth where I was a petrified passenger on an out-of-control freight train for three distressing hours. Jon senses the shift in my mood and reaches for my phone. The beautiful, soothing melody of the Devi prayer greets my ears like the familiar voice of an old friend. We hadn’t planned this, but it’s a masterstroke. I’ve done yoga and meditated to this track many times, and now it helps settle my fears and bring me back into my body, back into control. I’ve got this. Another contraction, inexplicably stronger again. The train doors press and the elephant crushes. I feel my vagina stretch open and now there’s a third pain, the searing of flesh. The edges of my body are on fire. I can’t do this babe, I can’t do it, I can’t, I CAAAAAN’T!!! The thought of another searing contraction is too much. I am tempted to get up and walk out. This is fucked. I’m done. (Afterwards I mentioned this to my sister, who has had four babies, and she laughed and said she remembers that feeling from each of her births. And each time that was the exact point the baby’s head popped out.) One more contraction. I feel with certainty that the next one will be The One. It’s time to push. I’ve got this. This is it. As the train doors squeeze and the elephant pushes I bear down with all my might. A scream rises up and out of me. I remember my midwife’s tactful voice at my first birth- try and internalise that force- and I suppress the scream and push it back down into my abdomen where the power is needed. An almighty push. A burning hot pain. A portal, stretching. Time stops. The world teeters on edge. Then, a slippery sloppy POP of bone and fluid and blood. Somewhere behind me, a baby cries out. I slump into the cushion, elated and incredulous. THERE IS A HUMAN HEAD POKING OUT OF ME. I’m a two-headed beast. It’s unreal. Incredible. I give a final push and whoosh, a tiny slimy body, shoulders elbows knees and toes, slides out. There’s a blur of activity behind me, my shirt is whisked off, and I’m guided back to sit cross-legged on the floor. A body, perfect and wonderful and real, is placed in my arms. I did this. Congratulations Jennifer, Jon and Olive on the arrival of your gorgeous boy, Liam.

08.01.2022 Think close to term is near enough? A baby’s brain at 35 weeks only weighs two-thirds of what it will weigh at 40 weeks. New research has shown a trend towards ...PLANNED births occurring earlier than 40 weeks’ is associated with short, medium and long-term risks for the baby. View the article by leading maternal fetal medicine specialist, Prof Jonathan Morris, in the 2020 edition of The Whole Nine Months Magazine here: https://tinyurl.com/y8yxbqoq #pretermbirth #thewholeninemonths #premmie #everyweekcounts #pretermbirthalliance #APBPA

07.01.2022 Your care providers are there to serve you and support you, NOT to impose their preferences upon you. Your choices should be respected. Kirsten Small from @birt...hsmalltalk said this recently and I love it! Kirsten is an obstetrician and academic and is on point in her words. Women shouldn’t be doing what their care providers want them to do, care providers should be doing what women want them to do. #birth #midwives #obstetrics #obstetrician #autonomousbirth #birthpower #transformativebirthwork See more

07.01.2022 I am sorry When delivering a challenging diagnosis such as Down syndrome to a pregnant woman, beginning with I’m sorry is not appropriate. I’m sorry:... instantly frames the diagnosis negatively. creates fear for the mother, and her partner. insinuates that Down syndrome is something to be sorry for. is a subtle form of prenatal coercion, pressuring women to make decisions about their pregnancy quickly. The best way to deliver a prenatal diagnosis is to remain objective; acknowledge the potential challenges however also provide up to date information that are available to to babies born with this condition in 2020. How was your prenatal diagnosis delivered to you? How would you have preferred that your diagnosis was delivered? Joelle @321 Pregnancy Care. #diagnosis #downsyndrome #t21 #trisomy21 #pregnancy #prenatal #care #321pregnancycare

06.01.2022 Very interesting read about technology and birth from Dr Kirsten Small. The overuse and glorification of machines is rampant in maternity. Sometimes listening to women tells us so much more than a machine that goes bing...

05.01.2022 This is the WHOLE way that women are cared for in a medicalised context. Medicalisation literally means ‘to make medical’. Medical management of childbirth cen...tres around risk management and managing risk requires universal ‘treatment’ in order to prevent risk factors from manifesting into actual complications. BUT in order to prevent 1 adverse outcome, large numbers of people need to be treated. This means that most women will get treatment they never needed in order to statistically prevent an adverse event for someone else. You heard it here, from an obstetrician; Over-treatment is an inherent risk management strategy within a medicalised system of maternity care. This over-treatment is what women call ‘unnecessary intervention’... this means a pre-emptive intervention was given to them in the name of risk management and NOT in the context of an actual emergency or actual need... it’s up to women to decipher if they really actually need an intervention or if it’s just being offered it as a risk management strategy to statistically reduce the chance of an adverse event. If you want minimal intervention, consider choosing a care location and cater that doesn’t apply a medical lens to their care, if they believe birth is a medical event, they will care for you from a ‘risk management’ approach and you will be exposed to ‘over-treatment’. But remember, you have the legal right to decline. Quote from: ‘risk in obstetrics- perspectives and reflections’ in ‘midwifery’ by Andrew Bissits. #medicalisationofbirth #medicalisationofchildbirth #obstetrics #obstetrician #transformativebirthwork #unneccesaryintervention #birth See more

02.01.2022 What would it take for women to emerge from their births physically well and emotionally safe? Cannot wait to see this documentary next year! Tickets went on sale tonight for screenings around Australia