- Hoping to sneak in one last camping trip before baby came, Annalise Crowdy, 31, from Stake Hill, WA, Annalise thought there was plenty of time
- At 35 weeks pregnant, she never expected to go into labour while on a hike
- Baby Laiken arrived early and is now happy and healthy
Here Annalise tells her story in her own words.
Rubbing my round belly, I sank into my camp chair and tucked into my pie.
‘This is living,’ I said to my hubby Scott, then 30, as he bit into his, our border collie cross kelpie, Narlah, sitting patiently at our side.
It was May 2021 and, at 35 weeks pregnant, we were sneaking in one last getaway, often called ‘a babymoon’ before our first bub arrived.
We loved nature so we’d decided on a camping trip to Stargazers Forest Hideaway near Pemberton, WA, two and a half hours south of our home in Stake Hill.
For the past four days we’d been enjoying the peace and quiet in our cabin.
‘Must just be my body getting ready for the bub.’
That day we planned a short hike to Beedelup Falls before heading further south in our 1983 Land Cruiser to camp off-grid for another four nights in D’Entrecasteaux National Park.
But that morning when I went to the bathroom, I felt a small gush of fluid that wasn’t wee.
Must just be my body getting ready for the bub, I reasoned.
Around lunchtime we pulled into the car park of our hiking spot, grabbed our water bottles and set off on the 45-minute loop to the falls.
It was gorgeous, but as we walked along, a dull ache similar to period pain began gripping my abdomen.
By the time we got back to the car, it’d intensified.
Telling Scott, he suggested we contact my mum, Michelle, who worked as a nurse.
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‘It’s worth getting it checked out,’ she said over the phone.
So we headed to the local clinic, but after a brief assessment they referred us to Manjimup Hospital, 30km away, where they could better monitor me and bub.
Arriving around 30 minutes later, I was admitted and strapped to a monitor to track our bub’s movements.
I already knew the baby was breech from earlier scans, and my midwife was hopeful it’d turn in the coming weeks.
‘Everything looks fine. You’ll be right to head off,’ the doctor said, preparing my discharge paperwork.
‘Well looks like bub is coming today.’
Relieved, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and suddenly felt a huge rush of fluid.
My waters! I realised, staring wide-eyed at the doctor.
‘Well looks like bub is coming today,’ he smiled.
But I’m only 35 weeks, I panicked.
Because the hospital wasn’t equipped to deliver a premature baby, the Royal Flying Doctor Service was called to transfer me to King Edward Memorial Hospital in Perth.
But there wasn’t room for Scott on the plane so he had to drive.
With the hospital a three-and-a-half-hour drive away, it became a race against the clock.
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‘You need to go now,’ I told him.
Kissing Scott goodbye, I prayed he’d make it in time.
Next, I texted my family while I was loaded into an ambulance and rushed to the airport.
By the time we landed around 6pm, I was already eight centimetres dilated.
Rushed into the maternity ward, I was relieved to see Mum waiting.
I groaned in pain with the pressure in my back intensifying as bub pressed into my spine.
‘We can have you in theatre in 20 minutes.’
‘Do you want to try and deliver vaginally?’ the midwife asked.
That morning I’d been camping in the bush, and now I was in labour.
As the day’s chaos caught up with me, I knew I didn’t want to risk a long, painful birth.
‘I want a caesarean,’ I told them.
‘We can have you in theatre in 20 minutes,’ they replied.
But phoning Scott, he was still 30 minutes away.
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My heart sank. He wasn’t going to make it.
‘Just get here as soon as you can,’ I begged.
I was wheeled into theatre and Mum stayed by my side as our baby – a sweet little boy – was delivered.
‘He just needs a little help breathing,’ nurses said, as he was placed briefly on my chest before being whisked away to NICU.
Incredibly, Scott arrived just in time to meet our son in the elevator. Knowing he was by our baby’s side brought me enormous comfort as I recovered.
Later that night, Scott came to my ward.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there,’ he said.
‘You are now,’ I smiled. ‘He’s perfect.’
When I finally saw our boy, who we named Laiken, the next day, his 2.6 kilo body was covered by wires and tubes.
His fingers were tiny, his chest gently rising and falling as a machine helped him breath. Holding him was overwhelming.
‘You’re Mummy’s little fighter,’ I whispered.
After 10 days in hospital, we were cleared to go home on June 3 – Mum’s 57th birthday.
‘What a precious gift,’ she beamed.
Back home in Stake Hill, Laiken thrived.
Now four, he’s a kind-hearted, truck-mad kid who loves dirt, fishing and family camping trips.
He adores his little sister Pippa, two, who we welcomed in March 2023 – but this time we skipped the camping babymoon!
Scott, now 35, and I are forever grateful to the RFDS.
If we’d followed our original plan and headed deeper into the bush, the outcome could have been very different.
