My daughter's emergency birth story

Her heartbeat dropped to nothing. The consultant pressed a red button on the wall

She almost didn’t get here safely.

My beautiful badass daughter turned 14 on Friday. When, at the age of 5, her class were asked by their teacher to explain what made them special individually, she replied, ‘I am special because I almost wasn’t born.’

She’s a tough little fighter, but she shouldn’t have had to be. So here is the story of her birth - at least, the details I can remember, because it was 14 years ago.

I love the NHS, but…

Mrs Chicken, back when she had blue eyes.

Much as I support the NHS, the care they gave me during my pregnancy was woefully inadequate. One of the first things I explained clearly, despite being mentally ill at the time, was that I was a petite, small-boned woman of 5’2” (158cm) and 7 stone 6lbs (47.5kg). Like my mum, who was 4’10” (147cm) and 6 stone 12lbs (43kg) I would most likely not be able to give birth naturally to a baby conceived by a tall, broad man.

‘We don’t do elective caesareans,’ a midwife told me sternly.

‘It wouldn’t be elective,’ I protested. ‘It’s for mine and the baby’s safety.’

‘It’s NHS policy!’ she snapped.

Suffering from extreme anxiety and pumped full of anti-psychotic meds at the time, I felt unable to advocate further for myself and baby Lily.

I would pile on five stone during the course of my pregnancy (only two of which were actually Lily, plus the placenta and associated gunk). I was stress-eating throughout due to anxiety, but my skeleton was still that of a small-boned, petite woman.

And I was correct that this would prove to be a problem.