Sarah Maria Griffin — The last thing you want is to be a medical mystery when you’re 30 weeks pregnant
Sarah Maria Griffin: 'I went to the Rotunda every second day. I’d listen to the baby’s heart. She had a pulse, and there was a pulse coming from the placenta. The sound of the uterus is like a whooshing sound, like the ocean, like the sound you make when you soothe a baby — hush, hush – it comes from that internal landscape. I heard that every second day for a good few weeks.' Photo: Moya Nolan
I loved being pregnant — really, really enjoyed it, I felt amazing.
One Tuesday, at 30 weeks, I was in for a routine scan, and the doctor, her head tilted, said: "What’s going on here?"
My waters had started to diminish — I felt the floor go from under me.
She said to come back on Thursday and they’d take another look. I asked what do I do between now and then? She said go about my day as normal. So I went home, got dressed up, went out that night to the Olympia Theatre to see a musician called Chappell Roan — I’d the tickets booked a long time.
On the Thursday the doctor said there was less water than she’d have liked. She didn’t say exactly how much less than on Tuesday. The doctor was confident and I trusted her. I didn’t leave hospital that day, not for another week.
We weren’t sure where the water was disappearing to, that’s the thing. It was classed as mysterious. The last thing you want is to be a medical mystery when you’re 30 weeks pregnant!
My husband was very stoic, very supportive. I felt I’d never had so many questions all at once, and absolutely no answers: Were we having the baby this week, today, tomorrow? Is she ok? Am I ok? Mostly it was her... how big is she, how small? What does she need, what can I give her in this moment?
All I could think to help her was not to raise my blood pressure — I could control that, staying calm.
Every four hours round the clock, a midwife checked my blood pressure, the baby’s heart rate. She was breach, so a little tricky to find sometimes. One midwife, Natalia, always knew where to find her. They work so hard, the neonatal midwives — that floor was full of women trying to stay pregnant.
I was discharged after a week. We were both stable, the waters coming and going like a tide, some days up, some days down — nobody knew why.
Once home, I went to the Rotunda every second day. I’d listen to the baby’s heart. She had a pulse, and there was a pulse coming from the placenta. The sound of the uterus is like a whooshing sound, like the ocean, like the sound you make when you soothe a baby — hush, hush – it comes from that internal landscape. I heard that every second day for a good few weeks.
One day the water had gone back up. It looked really good for holding out for 39 weeks. Days later, it had gone back down again! This was it: a C-section was booked for Monday. I’d hoped we could go full-term — this was 35, 36 weeks — but we had to think of the safest thing.
All I wanted then was to meet her. All I could think: how I wanted to put my face against her face. Loads of things I was concerned about. That she wouldn’t be safe, that in some way my body had failed her. I thought about that a lot.
But there’s so much chaos involved in the conception and growth of a child, there’s no fault ever — it’s just the way nature falls out, you have to surrender to it.
You can’t ascribe personal responsibility to the things that happen. I had to treat myself with the same compassion I’d show any other pregnant woman.
What I kept coming back to: I’m her mother, I love her, I’ll do everything I need to care for her when she gets home. I had this strong abiding love that was able to push against fear.
Monday, October 21 last year, I heard my fabulous doctor say: "Your daughter is being born."
We’d chosen some music — Chappell Roan’s ‘Hot to Go’ was playing when she was born — a real fun song. She was born screaming, ready to go. They checked her very quickly. My husband met her first, then they put her on my chest, and I got to put my face against her face, like I’d wanted.
It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced… every time I look at her… her arrival is life-changing.
I was very superstitious about the pregnancy. I hadn’t bought a buggy, not a stitch of clothing, just one toy. You think you can plan, but life is full of twists and turns and surprises.
This was a scary thing to happen but at a certain point you just have to accept what’s coming. I was in amazing hands. They call it the miracle of life, and it is a miracle, because while we’d had an unexpected turn of events, we ultimately both made it out just fine.
And somehow, she’s a year old and standing up, bubbly and very silly and she has a personality. I feel very lucky.
I was never a compulsively optimistic person before this, but it has made me an optimistic person. When I think of what kind of mother I want to be to my little girl, I want to be an optimist. I want to focus on the things that are good and hopeful, and safe and stable, instead of staring into the darkness of the unknown.
- Sarah Maria Griffin’s novel, , was shortlisted in the Library Association of Ireland Author of the Year category of An Post Irish Book Awards 2025
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