When a plan goes up in flames (literally)

The birth of Hannah part 1 – A fire, a plan, and a whole lot of waiting

In the weeks following the birth of my baby girl, almost one year ago, I kept replaying everything that happened — the chaos, the choices, the quiet moments in between. Writing it down helped me process it all.

Now I’m sharing it here, not just because it was intense and beautiful, but because stories like these matter. Especially when you give birth far from standard care, or choose a different path.

This is for anyone who’s ever felt the pull to do things differently. And for those who are curious about how it’s possible to birth in your own power — even when the world around you seems to be falling apart.

We live on the tiny Portuguese Azorean island of Santa Maria, where there is no emergency obstetric care. As a result, all pregnant women here are transferred to the larger neighbouring island of São Miguel at 36 weeks to give birth at the public hospital.

But three days before we were due to travel, that hospital caught fire.

All care was hastily moved to a smaller private hospital, but it was completely overwhelmed. Pregnant women with complications, or those from other islands, were flown last-minute by the Portuguese Air Force to Madeira, Terceira, or the mainland. Somehow, I wasn’t flagged in their system – I never received a call and was simply told I should still go to São Miguel for the birth of my baby. My appointments were cancelled, but I didn’t mind at the time. My pregnancy had been smooth and joyful.

Then, at 37 weeks, I heard how things were now being handled: partners were no longer allowed during birth, women had to share delivery rooms with up to four others, births had to take place in bed, and epidurals were being strongly encouraged. I immediately no longer felt safe giving birth at the hospital.

I felt strongly that I wanted to be able to move freely during labour and birth – that had helped me immensely during the birth of my son. And of course, I wanted my husband in the room. That shouldn’t need any explanation.

That’s when it became clear – it was time for Plan B.

Together with my doula, we found a midwife in Lisbon who would fly to São Miguel the moment labour began to support a home birth. There are no midwives in the Azores who offer this, and only a handful in the whole of Portugal. We were ready.

In the Netherlands, where I’m from, home births are much more common than in Portugal. If you have a healthy pregnancy, you can choose between giving birth at home, in a birth centre, or in hospital. During a home birth, a midwife comes to your house to deliver the baby. It’s considered a normal and safe option - often even safer than giving birth in a hospital.

On Wednesday, 5th June 2024 – my due date – things were still quiet. A few signs here and there, one false start, but I felt well.

That evening, we even went out to dinner with friends. I had a strong feeling the baby would arrive by the end of the week.

The next morning (40 weeks and 1 day), I lost part of my mucus plug and started having irregular contractions. I ignored them at first. I still needed to get a ‘stamp’ from the hospital – proof that I was on São Miguel and receiving care – so I went to the emergency department to get a check-up and a stamp. That turned into an incredibly distressing experience.

Because the CTG (a CTG (cardiotocography) is a monitoring test that records the baby’s heart rate and the mother’s contractions. It’s often used in late pregnancy or during labour to check how the baby is coping) showed contractions, the staff insisted on performing a vaginal examination. They wanted to admit me. I refused – not just because dilation doesn’t mean much, but because I absolutely didn’t want to give birth there. Their pressure was intense.

I cried. I kept refusing. Eventually, after a quick ultrasound showed the baby was perfectly fine, they let me go. With the stamp, thankfully.

I called the midwife straight away – things were definitely shifting. We checked flights, but the next available one from Lisbon was early Friday morning. That day, Jochem, our four-year-old son Sam, and I went for a long walk in the park and did a bit of shopping – a sweet final moment as a family of three. Every now and then, I would pause to breathe through a contraction.

That evening, we watched a hilariously bad film and booked the midwife’s ticket. I laboured a little in bed, then got a few hours of sleep. But when I woke up… nothing. No contractions. I was gutted.

The midwife arrived at 7:30 a.m. We had tea and got to know each other. Every so often I felt a little something, but it was clear labour had stalled. The babysitter picked up Sam at 9, and the doula arrived. Still, only the occasional wave. I lost another bit of my plug, but that was it.

The doula and midwife left after a few hours. Jochem and I took a long, reflective walk. This pregnancy had been such a calm, grounded experience. We drove around, watched another hilariously bad film in the late afternoon, and felt deeply connected.

At 6 p.m., the midwife and doula returned – but they could tell immediately that nothing had changed. The midwife made me a spicy herbal tea and prepared an aromatherapy blend for a bath later that evening. They went back to the doula’s house, telling us to call if anything changed – though I could tell from their faces they didn’t really expect anything to.

But then… everything changed. 🔥

Part 2 is coming in two days!