It was March 14, 2020. The same day Spain went into full covid lockdown, I was giving birth to my second baby.
The days before were strange. Covid news was getting louder by the hour, and that same week Igualada had already been confined. Everything was uncertain. I was 39+4 weeks pregnant and, despite all the noise outside, I had something very clear inside me: I had done a hypnobirthing course, and since week 30 I had been falling asleep every night listening to the audios. That was my anchor.
The day before
On March 13, schools were closed. My older daughter, who was still a few days away from turning two, stayed home with me. That morning my OB, Laura Rodellar, called to ask if I could come to the appointment without my partner. Restrictions had just kicked in.
I had been doing my prenatal care at Hospital General de Catalunya in Sant Cugat, but I had planned to give birth at Sant Joan de Déu in Barcelona. That day, at the appointment, I no longer felt sure about it. Driving into Barcelona with everything so uncertain didn’t feel safe. I told Laura that if I went into labour in the coming days, I would give birth in Sant Cugat.
I went home and spent the afternoon with my daughter. That evening, like every night for the past months, I went to sleep with the hypnobirthing audios. I fell asleep like any other day.
The night
At midnight I got up to use the bathroom, like so many other nights in late pregnancy. As I started walking, my waters broke. For a second I wasn’t sure, but the fluid was clear and there was a lot of it. I started to shake. I was scared. The moment had come.
I remembered what I had learned in the course: warm water, shower, relaxation. I stepped into the shower with the water nice and warm, and I stopped shaking. I reminded myself that everything would be fine, that I was capable of doing this.
I woke my partner, told him, and went back to bed. It was 3 a.m. I couldn’t fully fall back asleep because soft contractions had already started. I began tracking them and they were coming every 4 minutes, regular. At 4 a.m. I called my mum to come over and stay with my daughter. At 5 a.m. she arrived and the contractions were already every 3 minutes and quite intense. With each one, descending breath, the one I had practised so many nights. The playlist I had made during pregnancy was playing in the background.
The drive to the hospital
At 7 a.m. we left for the hospital. It’s a 10-minute drive that felt long because the contractions were now uncomfortable. I went with an eye mask and headphones. I didn’t want to lose the birth mode I had been in for hours.
We got to A&E and there was no one. No other patient. It was surreal. I walked in with my eye mask still on. They checked me and I was 4 centimetres. They put me on a monitor for twenty minutes while I kept breathing and I was starting to feel the need to vocalise with each contraction.
The delivery room
At 8 a.m. we moved to the delivery room. The midwife told me to lie down on the bed, but my body was asking for something else. I went on my knees, head resting on the bed, and stayed there for the next hour. Each contraction was one contraction less before meeting my baby.
My partner and the midwife took turns giving me a gentle back massage. It calmed me to know I was being cared for.
The week before, I had gone to speak with a midwife about my hypnobirthing preparation and my preferences. That day, by chance, she was the midwife on duty. She knew perfectly well that I didn’t want vaginal exams unless strictly necessary, and that I didn’t want anyone touching me unless needed.
At 9 a.m. she asked if she could do an exam, but she asked me to lie down on the bed first. I said no, that she could do it while I was in position. She did, and told me I was fully dilated. An hour earlier I had been at 4 centimetres.
And here comes the part that, years later, still lingers.
Pushing
When she told me I was fully dilated, she insisted I lie down on the bed with my legs up. I agreed. And something I hadn’t anticipated began to happen: that position makes me feel especially vulnerable. I am a survivor of sexual abuse, and there are positions and situations that can trigger memories for me. I didn’t know how to say that in the moment. I was in the middle of the hormonal cocktail of birth and there was no one beside me to remind me that I could choose.
I pushed. She wanted to direct me, but I pushed when my body asked me to. I felt the ring of fire clearly as his head passed through the perineum. In twenty minutes, Lluís was born. It was 9:30 a.m. He weighed 2,900 grams.
The placenta
I asked them to put him on my chest, but the cord was too short. It only reached the middle of my belly. I could touch him but not hold him close.
The placenta wouldn’t come out. Not even with oxytocin. I asked to stand up to use gravity, but they wouldn’t let me. They offered me a choice between an epidural and full sedation. The epidural had given me a strong allergic reaction during my first birth, so I asked for sedation.
Lluís stayed skin to skin with his dad. I went into the operating room crying. The birth had gone so well until that moment, and that ending was not what I had pictured. I broke down.
The procedure took ten minutes. Fifteen minutes later, Lluís was back with me and started nursing. From that moment on, we were never apart.
What I think about it now
I have a very good memory of that birth. I had a natural hospital birth, supported by hypnobirthing, an hour and a half from arriving until Lluís was out. And I sincerely believe that hypnobirthing was the key to arriving so confident, so present.
But there are two things that still linger.
The first: that I agreed to lie down on the bed for pushing, in a position that triggers me. I’m sure the intensity of that moment was much greater than it would have been in another position. I didn’t know how to advocate for myself.
The second: the placenta. I didn’t know how to ask, strongly enough, for what I felt I needed: to stand up, to give it time. I was in the middle of everything, full of hormones, with no one beside me to remind me that those were my preferences and I had the right to defend them.
And here comes the lesson that stays with me every time I now support a birth: having someone beside you who knows your preferences and reminds you of them when you can’t argue with the rational part of your brain can change the entire experience of a birth. Not because they decide for you. Because they give you your voice back when you can only feel, not speak.
That’s why I ended up training as a doula.
And that’s also why I remember Lluís’s birth so vividly. It was very positive. It showed me what I’m capable of. And, at the same time, it showed me what I would have wanted by my side.