The Broken Waters

My husband picked up the phone, expecting me to be in tears again.

I had called him just an hour before, weeping in despair.

“I can’t take one more day of this. I can’t breathe. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t get comfortable. I can’t do this anymore!” I had sobbed hysterically.

But this time I wasn’t crying.

“I just broke my waters,” I informed him.

“WHAT?!” He exclaimed.

“They are taking me into theatre within the hour. You better get here.” I demanded.

He started to panic – in an excited way.

“Did you ever pack your hospital bag like I asked you to?” I nagged.

“Nope,” he replied.

I grunted in frustration.

He hung up the phone and ran over to our apartment, frantically grabbing a few things before driving as quickly as he could to the hospital.

Earlier that day, when my obstetrician did her daily rounds, I had informed her – in an unusually emotional way – that I was no longer coping and that I needed her to end my suffering.

Little did I know that this emotional outburst was a sign of my hormones changing.

She looked at me empathetically and admitted that she DID have the power to take these babies out but reminded me of what I already knew as a midwife – that with premature babies every day they stay inside counts; it matters and it makes a BIG difference.

I knew this, but I was intensely emotional that day and did not have my midwifery “hat” on: I had a hormonal, uncomfortable twin pregnancy “hat” on. I was completely irrational. 

She reminisced of her own twin pregnancy (almost 30 years ago) and told me she still remembers the profound discomfort. She admitted, though, that my boys were measuring MUCH bigger than her boys did at 34 weeks, and she had a sneaky suspicion that I would run out of space soon and wouldn’t last much longer – especially knowing that babies have a big growth spurt around 34 weeks.

“I have an opening at 1pm,” she joked and then gently encouraged me to hang in there as long as I could.

After she left I took a long, hot shower and slowly and painfully dressed myself.

I hobbled over to the chair by the window and stared outside at the horizon that was hazy with emanating heat waves. It was the peak of summer and even though I no longer had my bath at home to lay in for hours (which is what I did every morning to relieve some of the back and joint pain), I was grateful to be in the hospital, basking in the coolness of the air conditioning.

My obstetrician had admitted me as an inpatient because I could no longer walk and I couldn’t even stand in the kitchen long enough to prepare any food for myself. I had lost 3kg (about 6lb) in one week and she (obviously) felt like I needed some support.

At first I resisted the idea of being in the hospital. I wanted to be at home in my own bed, with my own bath and my own things but once I arrived in the hospital I was thrilled by the electronic hospital bed (that allowed me the luxury of sleeping sitting up) and, of course, the food delivery system. It was glorious!

I had just ordered morning tea and was adding my protein powder to my hot chocolate (I was mainly living off protein shakes and smoothies at this point) when I suddenly felt a little gush of fluid.

“Ok,” I thought, “I’ve either just broken my waters or I’ve peed myself – and I have NEVER peed myself.”

I went to the bathroom and checked my pad.

Sure enough, it was saturated with a clear yellow fluid.

As a midwife, I KNOW the smell of amniotic fluid.

It is distinct.

It very different from urine.

Once you’ve smelled it, you never forget it.

I was relieved that the fluid was clear (even though I assumed that this was the water from the amniotic sack of the first baby only).

Amniotic fluid should be CLEAR.

A light green, or brown, colour signifies that the baby has passed stool (had a bowel motion) in the water and that typically indicates a distressed baby; something is usually wrong (unless the baby is WAY past their due date, then it is not uncommon for them to open their bowels because they are “post maturity” and ready to poop).

A red-tinged, or pink, amniotic fluid means there is blood somewhere and should be investigated immediately.

I pressed the emergency buzzer in the toilet and a midwife was in the room within a minute. She happened to be one of my old educators (as this was the hospital that I did my Midwifery training in) and she gleamed when she saw me.

“I heard you were pregnant with twins!” she said in a congratulatory tone.

She checked the pad. “Yep, you’ve broken your waters.”

“Are you having any contractions?” she asked.

“I am tightening every few minutes,” I said, “but it feels no different to my usual braxton hicks contractions.”

She moved me back to the bed and brought in the CTG (stress test) monitor to check on the babies.

Twin # 1 was lying breech, so she put the heart rate monitor halfway up my abdomen. According to the scan I had had the day before, he was in a “footling breech” position (which means he was feet first, not tucked up tight with his round little bottom sitting in my pelvis).

“Footling Breech” is an immediate indication for a caesarean. Once your waters break and you start to dilate you are at high risk for cord prolapse (the umbilical cord can fall out of the vagina) – which is an obstetric emergency and can be fatal to the baby.

Twin # 2, on the other hand, never stopped moving (doing constant summersaults). During the scan he had flipped from head down (cephalic) to breech and was now in the lateral position – lying sideways across my abdomen. 

It wasn’t uncommon for Twin # 1 to kick me in the bladder while Twin # 2 would simultaneously kick me in the stomach – making me throw up and pee at the same time.

When the midwife put the heart rate monitor on twin # 2 – who was lying sideways – she commented “Wow, you must be so uncomfortable.” 

“There are no words to describe it,” I laughed miserably. 

According to the CTG monitor, it appeared as though I was in labour with my regular “contractions”. I found that hard to believe because they felt exactly like braxton hicks. And as neither of these babies were in a position to facilitate a vaginal birth, I was immediately prepped for OR/OT.

While they were putting on my gown and compression stockings I suddenly realised how very calm I was. I felt SAFE. 

Safety had been my #1 priority when it came to a “Birth Plan” because all I wanted was for my babies to be born alive and healthy (especially after everything we had been through).

It was wonderful to feel safe, calm and well supported. I honestly could not have asked for more. Though – much later – I would inevitably grieve the fact that life had robbed me from experiencing anything “natural” about pregnancy or childbirth.

My husband arrived a few minutes before they wheeled me down, and frantically changed into scrubs.

It was so surreal.

The moment was finally here.