Pregnancy and Birth During COVID-19

An insight of my experience – bringing me one step closer to healing

Okema, 2022

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How it started? – I was under the impression that I was infertile (I’ll probably touch on this in another blog)… so my method of contraception was the natural method based on my period app (P Tracker) and condoms which were working fine… until October 4^th 2020 when I asked my partner (D) to buy a test on his way from work because my period was one week late. My periods are regular and come on the predicted date 95% of the time. However, intuition was telling me it was down to stress being off work sick and in pain… or something different. The first test was voided. So, I got another few from Poundland and they were all positive! I was in shock and excited, but nervous about labour – my biggest fear.

I told D when he came home on his lunch break, poor guy got the shock of his life, but had the cheek to joke and say the baby is not his, considering we have been joint by the hip since the first lockdown! I then told my mom and my sister. I asked them to keep it quiet until I got past the first trimester knowing that I miscarried in the past. That night D and I went to Asda and bought prenatal supplements and a digital test…  I was 4+ weeks. Meaning I got pregnant end of August/early September when I was living my best life and probably drank the most alcohol in my lifetime ha-ha!… hence why the natural method did not work. According to my app, I was 5 weeks pregnant EDD 08/06/2021.

October 10^th, 2020, we went to the walk-in pregnancy (cannot remember the name of it) clinic at St. George’s Hospital, London to get a check up and confirm the pregnancy because I was getting a lot of stomach cramps. The Midwife/Nurse was nice and reassuring, she showed us the heartbeat and confirmed he was implanted in the right place… At this point it dawned on me that I would be pregnant and labouring in a pandemic and in a different city from my mother!

The nausea and sickness started. I just woke up with it one morning. It was the worst thing ever! I could not keep anything down, I was constantly nauseous, I was losing weight and I was drained. At this point my diet was salt and vinegar McCoy’s with a daily sea moss smoothie I would always bring up. I registered with the community midwives for Mitcham, and I had my booking appointment on October 17^th, 2020, the same day I was supposed to do my laparoscopy for endometriosis. D and I were basically interviewed on our decision to become parents, but Sarah my Midwife was down to earth, and we got along, you could tell she was passionate about her role and genuinely cared. At this point I was official – I got the pregnancy notes ha-ha!

D and I checked the app religiously, every week we would find out about the baby’s development and what to expect with the pregnancy. My Mom called multiple times a day to check if I was okay, if the baby was okay, if I ate or drank and if I was still constantly vomiting and nauseous. It was hard for her, knowing that her first child was pregnant with her first grandchild over 100 miles away and in a pandemic.

At this point my diet was potato wedges, crackers, and oranges (until my mom said I would give the baby jaundice). We went to the walk-in pregnancy clinic to see if the baby was okay because I was not keeping anything down and I was still losing weight. That is when we got our first scan and confirmation that the baby was healthier than me… we saw him bouncing off my uterus walls, living his best life whilst I felt like I was near death.

It was awkward because no-one I knew had pregnancy sickness and their nausea was not that extreme. I was under the impression that I was carrying an alien baby. I was not diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) because I never spoke to the doctor about it – I am not a fan of going to the doctor, you will probably notice that. I just thought it was a part of pregnancy and everyone’s experience is different. I just practiced mindfulness, tried all the natural remedies, slept, and gave in to joining peanut for peer support. I knew it was bad when I was hugging my vomit bucket during a Microsoft teams’ presentation, waiting for my segment to end before I threw up. I ended up finishing my presentation, but I was bringing up my insides whilst they were asking me questions… thank God for mute and the option to switch off your video. At this point I knew it was time to tell my employer that I was Pregnant. I also made the decision to move back to Birmingham December 2021. Pregnancy + HMO + Living & Working in Pandemic were messing with my mental health.

I announced my pregnancy with Christmas cards and a photo copy of my scan letting everyone know I was due June 2021. Nausea, vomiting, and exhaustion stayed with me until I was around 25 weeks pregnant. I could not eat fish or vegetables it was certain to come back up… though when I hit 30 weeks all I wanted was sardines and crackers or callaloo with fried dumplings and plantain… and that is when the weight piled on. I searched high and low for Soursop, grace Vienna sausage and you could win me over with a zinger burger, you would never think I was vegan/pescatarian before pregnancy. I even craved oxtail and kidneys but never acted on it.

I signed up for Birmingham City Hospitals Community midwife team whilst still attending my St. George’s appointments because I was not sure where I would settle or have the baby. The community midwives and appointments in Birmingham were not pleasing. In London I was classed as high risk, but I was still at ease with my care, and everything flowed well. I was not worried about being pregnant during a pandemic in London because at no point during my antenatal care did, I feel alone. I did not have the energy to attend virtual prenatal classes or do the photoshoots and activities that came with being pregnant in this generation. I was either too sick, too tired, or too demotivated from the sickness.

In Birmingham it was hostile, blasé, and D was not able to attend anything with me. It was a shame because at this point I was 6 months, and I was starting to feel like myself again and maternity leave was approaching. Instead, we made the most of my frequent London Midwife appointments. I made the most of online resources; Peanut, Instagram, Bump to baby Hypnobirthing, Black Mothers Matter, Lorna – Birmingham Doula and the Black Mamas Birth Village. I had my family and friends combined with all the support D gave me. I was okay. I made do. I took my antenatal herbal supplements, and I drank my water and smoothies packed with sea moss. I did my yoga stretches, evening walks and practiced my breathing and relaxation. Created an Amazon Wishlist. Delegated. Had a dinner to introduce both families before our unknown gender baby arrived. Despite the monthly meltdowns and occasional hostility, I was okay and coping with pregnancy. My introverted and low-key ways really helped.

Though apparently all of this was not enough. Mr was not ready to leave, he missed his due date. My second biggest fear – induction was looming. I do not know why but my brain calculated medical intervention = C-section, my third biggest fear. Starting to see where I am going with this? I refused the sweep, because when I weighed up the pros and cons it did not seem worth it. My community midwife boldly made a point of this whilst booking my induction which I did not agree to nor ask for. It was just made out as a routine tick box that had to be carried out and I was on the deny list for not wanting a sweep. I was still going for walks, running up hills, eating spicy food, having sex, bouncing on my birth ball – everything that was recommended. D was still working, so he would drop me off at my moms for day care as she lives next door to the hospital, and he was working in Solihull. So, to drive to Sandwell and get me, then get back to the hospital would be stressful.

At this point I was trying all the YouTube workouts to induce labour and blending my dates into my smoothies (and I still struggled to drink it because they are vile) whilst drinking my raspberry leaf tea religiously. Monday 14^th June 2021 at 41+1 my mucus plug went, and I started feeling a dull ache. I spoke to Lorna and told her I was going to rest, because I thought labour was getting started – she told me not to rest but keep moving to facilitate labour. By the end of the day, the aches were gone. Throughout the week I kept getting dull aches and sensations come and go but nothing. Friday 18^th June my induction was confirmed, and I was told to come into hospital for 5 pm the following day. At this point I turned my phone off and went into ghosting mode, because that is how I deal with unpleasant emotions.

Saturday Morning slow labour started, and I was getting contractions every 1 – 2 hours. I rang the hospital, and they said still come in as the induction would speed it up. Best believe I dragged my feet to city hospital. I arrived around 7 pm. I was given a bed in a tiny room with two other women. D was only allowed to drop me off and leave when I settled in. They saw the upset and distress on my face, so they let him stay a bit longer. During all the tests, procedures and insertion of the pessary the baby’s heart rate stopped and there and then they were going to rush me to theatre. I am quite sure I died and came back, because all I can remember is white noise and lights. Luckily, they got his heart rate back and I was put on close observations for the night. His heart rate did fluctuate but so did the pain. That night I tossed, turned, and hugged the cold wall hoping it would give me relief, I cannot even explain what the pain felt like, but I managed to dose off.

The next morning, I was rudely told that I would be moving upstairs to the induction ward. I had a shower, and I could feel the pessary… surely that is not right. This was around 8 am and I said it to FOUR members off staff and they all said yes, we will check it later. The last person I said it to even commented saying hopefully it has not fallen down because ‘it will do a whole lot of pain with no progress.’ I reminded her again at 4 pm and low and behold it had fallen down, so she just pushed it back up. I had basically done a whole shift in pain with no outcome, whilst seeing other women come in and leave after me. I drew my curtain around my bed, and I bawled. One of the midwifes came over and asked if I was okay. I told her no. I am here in pain, and I do not want to be here. I am alone and to be frank I am afraid, and I asked to be left alone because at this point I was convinced no one cared about me. D came to check on me that evening during his designated 1-hour slot and he brought me dinner. It was rough, we almost sat there in silence just feeding off each other’s body language and emotions.

When D left, I had a shower and used the headphones he brought me to listen to relaxing music and fall asleep. I was not given a new pessary if I remember correctly because of the previous one falling out and risk of infection. So, I slept well that night. Monday morning when I woke up my contractions started again, and I was walking around to ease the pain. D came and met me in the hospital corridor, and we just walked around and practiced some of my pain management skills. It felt good to be around D. My mom and her friends met up with us too as they all work at the hospital, and we conversed to take my mind away from the pain. I was taking the steps and rocking my hips to get myself into the rhythm, of things and ease the pain. I went to the toilet and my waters had broken, but it had a weird taint. I told the midwife and showed her my pad – it was meconium.

I had a very stern conversation with the senior midwife because they claimed I was not having contractions because I was moving around the hospital and did not seem to be in much pain – even though the machine was clearly showing this. When you live with chronic pain you learn how to gage your pain threshold. Anyhow, I told the midwife I wanted a C-section (even though it is my third biggest fear) because the fact that the baby had pooed means he is in destress or been in there too long and needs to come out. The response I got “you are being monitored; C-section is major surgery blah blah blah.” I went to bed early that evening because I wanted it all to be over.

The consultant woke me up that night to insert the second pessary. I told her I did not want it because the first one fell out and when I did not have it in, I was doing perfectly fine without it. Yet she insisted and explained that I would only have a longer hospital stay – bearing in mind I did not want to be there, I took the pessary. At this point I was the only one on the ward. Everyone has gone to have their baby or signed papers to be discharged – I wanted to do this but my extremely protective mother who thinks highly of the medics would march me straight back to the induction ward.

I was woken up incredibly early Tuesday morning and brought to the labour ward – it was drips day. The midwife was trying her best to be friendly, but I do not like small talk, and I was woken up unexpectedly. She set me up in a room that seemed very clinical and told me I could have a shower. My mom started her shift at 7 am and brought me breakfast but I was not hungry. I could see the fear in her eyes as she asked me if I wanted her to comb my hair, knowing full well I had given up and not combed it for a reason. Once again, I just started bawling and she tried to comfort me but ended up crying too.

My midwife for the day was nice I cannot remember her name it started with, an ‘S’ and she is originally from Luton. She encouraged me to eat because I would need my energy. The medics came in and I took out my notebook of questions which caught them by surprise. My main question was, ‘what are the chances of this ending in a C-section?’ the doctor’s response ‘based on your observations only 40%’ I opened my eyes wide and said OKAY. He tried to reassure me that everything would be fine. D was called because the midwife broke my remaining waters, the head waters, I think. The drips started around 9 am and I remember wiggling up and down the bed in a very clinical setting.

The baby’s heart rate dropped again, and the midwife called for help and managed to get it back. At this point she seemed flustered, but I tried to stay relaxed because the pain was hitting me. She kept asking if I wanted the epidural and I kept saying no, I want to hold out and start with gas and air. Before I could finish my sentence and look up all I remember is an ‘Okema I’m sorry’ and someone hit the red button.

Everyone came running in, my rights were being read and everyone was talking to me whilst seeing how I dilated I was. I remember trembling my signature on some double-sided paper whilst looking the same doctor who told me 40% dead in the eye whilst being rolled to theatre. I had dark thoughts; some might say terrorist thoughts. Thinking what I would do if they let anything happen to my baby. Then my good subconscious said, ‘Okema pray’. My eyes were closed, and I honestly do not know how I arrived in theatre.

I remember a genuinely nice blonde middle-aged lady speaking very calmly and reassuring me, whilst I was getting a thousand needles down my spine. A very frustrated and angry doctor shouting ‘curl up like a prawn!’ whilst I was thinking b*tch can you not see this full-term belly in front of me? I then felt the left side of my body light up and I screamed ‘what was that?!’ they jumped up asking me the same question after they just hit one of my nerves with the needle! At this point I was numb. I remember the anaesthetist asking me questions, but I had zoned out and D reappeared with my headphones. I asked for relaxing music to be played whilst I squeezed my eyes closed and held his hand.

I felt tugging and heard background chatter and a screech. D touched my face and moved the headphones, he had the biggest grin and said look. I looked up to see a very displeased baby boy hanging in front of me. He looked as if we disturbed him. The surgeon stitched me up and said ‘do not worry about the stiches’ and left? I heard someone comment saying they cannot seem to see what the emergency was… was it my prayer? Rei was weighed and cleaned up, they put him on me, but my arm was vibrating uncontrollably, and I was afraid of him falling so I asked D to hold him.

We went to the recovery room. Took pics and updated the grandparents. We were then brought up to the postnatal ward. I was almost immediately asked to go and shower. I feared my new wound. I quickly showered and returned to bed. Rei was just laid there quietly looking around. I kept wondering why everyone else’s baby was crying and mine was so calm, he only cried when they checked his temperature with the cold thermometer. He kept wheezing which worried me, but they said its normal for new babies.

He latched straight away but it was very painful as my whole body felt sore. I did a lot of skin to skin, and I kept trying him with the breast, but it was excruciating. I gave him the colostrum I managed to harvest but when it ran out, I had to give him formula because I had not produced any milk and I was in a lot of pain. This made me upset because we had it all planned out to exclusively breastfeed and pump. D and I caught up that night because everything felt like a whirlwind. It was nice to speak without fear or sadness even though we were both emotionally exhausted from the whole experience. I remember looking over at Rei and telling D I cannot believe he is mine and he interrupted with, ‘you better not forget him at the hospital.’ Knowing full well he had to come and collect us.

My mom came the next morning before her shift with breakfast, sensitive shower gel and bits and bobs that I did not plan to need because I had not planned for a C-section. The look on her face when she came around the corner and saw Rei was priceless. She held him and got him dressed for the day whilst checking in on me and making sure I ate my breakfast this time. Her friends who work on the ward kept checking in on me and attending to my needs when my mom left. My midwife was also nice. Though I was literally behind her all morning asking to be signed off to go home but she stood firm in her word that I could not leave until 24 hrs after my birth. So, I sat and watched the clock until 15:15.

D came for us, and I was sent on my way. We collected Mom and headed home. The hospital good meds soon wore off and I was feeling the pinch of the C-section. D was working over-time. Going to work, looking after me, the house, and helping with the baby. My mom staying for a week was tremendous help. It would have been 2 – 3 weeks but Mr. was evicted 2 weeks and 2 days after his due date. The staff that came and checked in on us and the infant feeding team were exceptional. I still have reservations about my community midwife who we went to see for the 5-day check. I remember her remark ‘hah, so you didn’t have a water birth after all then’ – the same lady who boldly told me I cannot have a home birth, because they are under staffed.

I would say overall, 80% of the staff who I came across at city hospital and their community teams were exceptional. It just sucked having to process this all during a pandemic with limited access to loved ones. I am traumatised, the fact all my fears unfolded, and I felt alone a lot of the time. The pain from the induction does not even hurt as much as the emotional turmoil. Why? I guess because I had this perfect fantasy of how it would all be painted in my head to wipe out my fears around labour. Even though my hypnobirthing course clearly states to go in with an open mind. It is hard to switch off the perfectionist side of your brain. It was a rollercoaster, but the main thing is I have a son who is everything that I wished for (happy and healthy) and he is loved. Would I get pregnant again in a pandemic if I had the choice? No. Would I work in mental health again whilst pregnant? No. Pregnancy taught me a lot. Motherhood is still teaching me a lot and I am sure it will continue that way. I will eventually post a blog with the continuation of my postpartum experience and motherhood… maybe in 15 months’ time ha-ha! Until then.