Ashley’s Birth Story

It all began on New Year’s Eve at around 8:30 am when I started having dull but regular contractions. They weren’t too painful at first, but after about an hour, I rang the maternity unit, and they advised me to come in.

When we arrived, they checked me over and said my waters hadn’t broken yet, and I was only four cm dilated—not enough to be admitted. Instead of keeping me in, they put my contractions down to the fact that my husband and I had been intimate and sent me back home.

As we were leaving, things escalated fast. By the time we actually got checked out of the hospital, I was having contractions every 2 to 3 minutes—they were so intense I could barely walk, and the pain was making me scream. I somehow made it to the car.

At this point, my mum and husband were begging me to go back inside, but I was terrified. They had literally just sent me home—what if they didn’t believe me? What if they turned me away again? But deep down, I knew my body was in full-on active labour, so eventually, I gave in and went back.

As soon as we got there, I was crystal clear about one thing: I wanted my epidural, and I wanted it fast. I’d had one with both of my previous births, and I found that with my daughter’s birth, it made the entire experience so much more enjoyable. I was able to be more present, focus on the moment, and not just get through it—but actually experience it in a way that felt empowering. So I was set on getting it as soon as possible.

But then I noticed one of the nurses exchanging a look with another. She finally turned to me and, with a slightly panicked expression, said:

“The anaesthetist has just gone into surgery… it might be a while.”

I instantly felt defeated. I had gone from relief—thinking my pain would soon be gone—to panic, frustration, and full on fear. Another hour passed, and my contractions only got more and more intense.

My obstetrician kept offering to check my progress, but he warned me that if he did, my waters would probably break in the process, which meant I’d have to push the baby out unmedicated. At the time, that was the last thing I wanted, so I kept refusing. Looking back, I wish I’d just let him do it—it would have all been over so much quicker

Finally, the anaesthetist arrived. But just as they sat me up to insert the epidural, my waters broke on their own. He still went ahead with it, telling me it would take 10 minutes to kick in—except by the time they laid me back down, it was already time to push.

Two pushes later, my beautiful baby boy, Levi Jude Guy, was born.

And, just as predicted, ten minutes after he arrived, my epidural finally kicked in—which felt slightly ironic after everything.