Her Herd

Alicia “Quirky” Lucas - Olympic gold medalist, commentator, physio and proud country girl - sits with me to unpack two wildly different births. We start in Tokyo during peak COVID, where language barriers, strict protocols and a scheduled breech caesarean meant Matt could only meet baby Matilda via FaceTime (and a stolen extra few hours thanks to one very polite midwife). Alicia lets us into the admin maze that followed - citizenship by descent, emergency passports, hotel quarantine with a newborn - and the ache of being far from home.

Fast-forward to Agnes Water and Bundaberg: no private options, long drives, and a crash-course in rural maternity realities. Alicia plans for a VBAC, walks in at 40+1 already 5 cm, detours home to tuck Tilly into bed (iconic), then rockets back for a 45-minute, hands-on, coached delivery of Daisy. We talk TENS machines, monitoring and cannula “non-negotiable,” the moment her waters went everywhere (RIP Uggs), the surge of “I did it,” and naming Daisy Lee after her mum - who, in perfect family-chaos form, turned up with a freshly broken ankle and a full heart.

Beyond the play-by-play, Alicia shares what elite sport taught her about labour mindset, how to hold both grief and gratitude, and practical ways to keep agency when the system is rigid - especially in the bush. If you’re navigating VBAC decisions, rural care, or just need a brave, generous story to remind you you’re not alone

Part 2 picks up in the glow of birth — that fierce post-birth high, the first feed, the shower, the “we did it” moment — and follows Em into the days and weeks that came next. What begins as ordinary newborn hard quickly tips into something else: fragmented postpartum care, escalating anxiety, pain, no sleep, and a second night on the ward that left her rattled. Back home, the joy kept swinging high, then higher — and then came the crash.

Em walks us through the red flags she can see now: the inability to sleep, hyper-vigilance about Levi leaving her sight, spiraling worries about feeding and weight, and a “banshee night” that ended with an ED visit. From there, we trace a system not built for rural families: a psychiatrist who hadn’t seen postpartum psychosis before, a near-miss separation to a psych ward that can’t take babies, and two midwives who stood in the doorway and said, “You will not separate this mother and child.” A bed opens in the Gold Coast mother–baby unit; medication begins; sleep returns. Then the next hard: being away from home and husband, advocating for breastfeeding on heavy meds, finding trust with new nurses, and choosing discharge earlier than recommended because autonomy mattered.

Em is clear about what helped her recovery — sleep, continuity, a small circle who showed up, and specialist perinatal mental health care — and she names the gaps: no mother–baby units in most regional areas, clunky referrals, short-supply psychology, and how easily women are told to “just get on with it.” She shares the long horizon too: the fog lifting around 10 months, another wobble at 12, and steadier ground by 14 — not the same person, but stronger, surer, and now advocating for body-weight bias reform, choice and control, and continuity of care for rural women.

This episode sits with the messy middle — the fear, the funny, the fragmented memories — and ends with practical signposts: call earlier than you think (PANDA), ask your GP for a perinatal-specific referral (Gidget Foundation, COPE directory), and keep telling your story. Your voice is the change.

Today we sit with Em from Warwick, QLD - wife to Max and mum to two-year-old Levi - to trace a first pregnancy that began with hope and quickly collided with the same refrain we hear from so many rural first-time mums: “I didn’t know.” Em takes us from deciding to try for a baby, through eight months of TTC, to that middle-of-the-night positive test, and into a system where timely information and continuity of care were often missing.

Across this conversation you’ll hear the rural realities: a GP visit that felt like a non-event; waiting until 19 weeks to be “picked up” by midwives; early, matter-of-fact risk talk focused on BMI and a likely transfer to Toowoomba; the fear of birthing far from home; and the emotional toll of repeating trauma histories to a new clinician at every appointment. Em shares how a borderline GDM diagnosis (and real-time Bluetooth monitoring) amplified anxiety, how advice landed differently depending on who offered it, and how the absence of relationship-based care can make a healthy pregnancy feel anything but safe.

You’ll also hear what made a difference. Em found credible education (Great Birth Rebellion, Core & Floor Restore’s free antenatal videos, Dr Sarah Buckley’s work, and Catherine Bell’s Birth Map), a local circle of mums who said “you’re one of us,” and - crucially - a private midwife who offered a soft place to land late in pregnancy. With that support, Em built clear, values-led plans (yes/no flowcharts and all), watched her blood sugars settle, and entered labour at 40+1 with a toolkit that included TENS, gas, horse’s breath, and a fiercely present partner. We follow her fast escalation from home to clinic to birth suite, waters breaking on the table, a gentle in-and-out catheter to quiet her mind, a tiny cervical lip moved aside, and finally an unaugmented vaginal birth crowned by the words every woman deserves to hear: “Look at you. Clever girl.”

This is an episode about how knowledge, safety, and continuity reshape the experience - and why rural models of care must center them. Part 2 continues tomorrow with Em’s postpartum, reflections on what she wishes she’d known earlier, and what she wants every rural parent and clinician to take forward.

In this episode, we sit down with Jenny, a rural mum whose birth story takes us deep into the complexity of what it means to carry risk, fear, and strength all at once.

After trying to conceive for five months, Jenny was told her pregnancy was high-risk due to her BMI and a diagnosis of gestational diabetes. What followed was weeks of uncertainty, a five-hour relocation to Newcastle for care, an induction at 38 weeks, and an emergency caesarean under general anesthetic. Her baby was born small and unexpectedly, with forceps. But that wasn’t the end — days later, Jenny developed sepsis and was hospitalised for 10 days.

Jenny speaks with honesty and clarity about the mental toll of her experience, the trauma that followed, and the hard decision not to have more children. But she also shares her resilience — in finding support, making changes for her mental health, and in speaking up for herself and other women navigating birth in larger bodies.

This conversation is a reminder that trauma and strength often walk side by side — and that no one should have to carry it alone.

We’re so grateful to Jenny for trusting us with her story.

In this episode, we sit down with Shara, a rural mum who shares the extraordinary journey of her four births - each one completely different, each shaped by its own set of challenges, decisions, and lessons. From a hospital birth during the peak of COVID-19 restrictions at just 21, to the calm of a water birth, the chaos of an unplanned roadside delivery, and finally, a planned home birth supported by family - Shara’s story is full of grit, self-trust, and quiet determination.

She reflects on what it was like navigating a system with limited midwifery options and no continuity of care, and how that shaped her choices along the way. With every birth, Shara grew more confident in listening to her body, asking questions, and making informed decisions - even when they went against what others expected.

This is a story about learning as you go, finding your voice, and doing birth your own way - four times over. We’re so grateful to Shara for sharing her story with us. It’s one that reminds us just how strong women are, and how every birth deserves to be seen and heard.