NCT vs NHS: Is it worth paying for antenatal classes? 


With a hefty price tag, many mothers can’t afford to sign up to antenatal classes run by the National Childbirth Trust. But when Emily Payne was told by her midwife that the alternative offered by the National Health Service was not always up to scratch, she couldn’t decide what to do. In the end, she did both, and was pleasantly surprised by the outcome. Tweet with Emily @emilycpayne and read more of her writing at Payne’s World She also makes videos at bandromedia.com.

NCT

Price: £302.00

9.55am
My partner and I arrive at the pub where we will have our first NCT class. That’s right, we’re in the local boozer to talk all things birth and labour (though this will be more tea and bourbons than lager and darts). I tentatively look around at the other couples in the room. We are based in South East London, so naturally I am expecting 4×4 drivers, Bugaboo owners and ‘tiger moms’. Phew, at first glance they appear normal.

There are eight couples in a circle. We nervously introduce ourselves.

10.00am
“I’ll try and make this as uncringeworthy as possible,” says Kate* our teacher. Which is just as well, because due to horror stories I’ve heard about group massages, a staunch dedication to home birthing and an abhorrence towards pain relief, I’m cynical. I immediately like Kate, she is funny, sharp and not at all the wafting hippy I was expecting. “I’m not here to tell you what to do, I am here to tell you what you want to know,” she says.

The mums gather on one side and dads on the other, and we write down what we’d like from the classes.

11.00am
We’re taken through a “text book” birth, which we’re assured almost certainly won’t happen, and told to arrange cards with various stages of labour written on them into First Stage, Second Stage and Third Stage. There is some confusion about contractions, but otherwise everyone has done their homework. I still get confused about when the waters break, but don’t feel silly asking questions.

We’re then taught about decision-making during labour, which is reassuring, because I’ve always imagined just saying yes to whatever the doctor or midwife suggests.

12.00
It was only a matter of time before the benefits of home birth and the drawbacks of hospital births would be discussed. Kate certainly veers towards home birth and paints hospitals as a bright, clanging and unclean place to have a baby, using the cliche about one of her clients saying, “Why do we give birth where there are lots of ill people?”

We’re told there is much more chance of intervention during a hospital birth.

But she adds that for first-time mothers, the most important thing is being comfortable and feeling safe. She likens writing a birth plan to “planning a picnic in the English countryside,” you can’t tell how it’ll go, some will be sunny, others rainy.

2.00pm
Each group is given a hormone: Adrenaline, Oxytocin and Endorphins. After deciphering what each of these do, our team leaders are given a balloon. We’re told what raises each of these hormones and that when one rises, the other can deflate – like a balloon. Among the comedy balloon squeaks, the science behind an easy (easier) birth is effectively described.

Kate tells us ways of increasing oxytocin and endorphins and reducing adrenaline. At this point, we’re also told that a glass of wine during early labour is a good thing (is it ok to look forward to childbirth?).

We practice different labour positions using chairs and cushions and learn a deep relaxing breathing exercise, in which almost half of the partners fall asleep in their chairs. Damn that yogic golden thread breath.

3.00pm
In groups we design the ‘ideal’ pain relief, its qualities, how it is administered etc. Our group conjures up an exotic cocktail which works instantly and leaves you compos mentis, but ideas range from the sensible – pain relief patches – to the obscure – a wall hanging which stimulates feelings of happiness through sight, smell and sound.

Inevitably, none of the real pain relief options during labour sound half as (a) exotic, or (b) effective as our inventions, and appear to veer between ineffective with no side effects and effective but leave you feeling like a meth addict.

It’s fair to say that epidurals are frowned on a little, and there is a definite sway against them. But Kate is fair and neutral. Next, she talks about the newsworthy issue of delaying umbilical cord clamping, supplying us with statistics and helpful articles. I later find out that she has had five years of training – which shows in the structure of the session and her ability to answer questions from the sublime to the ridiculous.

For the last part of the session we talk about the essentials for newborns versus the luxury items which we don’t really need. This is particularly welcomed, as I previously thought of NCT lauding the kind of expensive gear which one can only afford if I earn triple figures.

4.00pm
Kate later sends a round robin email with everyone’s contact details. I’m confident I’ll see the other mums and dads again after the second and final class next week. There are probably more efficient ways of spending £300 (that don’t include putting it towards a Bugaboo Chameleon) but thanks to the lovely people I met, my NCT experience was invaluable.

NHS

Price: Free

6.30pm
Two-by-two future parents drift into small, stuffy room at my local community hospital. I instantly realise I’m the only woman here who’s partner couldn’t make it. This was the only time slot left, so my dearly beloved is still at work.

There are about 30 chairs out. Our tutor, a frank and warm lady who has been a midwife at Kings College Hospital for more than 20 years asks us to introduce ourselves. “I’m Pamela and I am a midwife,” she begins. “Sounds like an AA meeting doesn’t it?”

There are 12 couples and me. It’s a diverse group with ages between early twenties and early forties. It’s very relaxed and chatty from the outset.

6.45pm
As these sessions will be divided up into three evenings, tonight we’ll focus on birth. In our groups, the designated writer takes down all of our queries, which are very similar to what was asked in the NCT class: When to go to hospital, pain relief options etc.

7.00pm
Pamela answers each question with reassuring clarity. She has been a midwife for over two decades and had both her children at Kings.

I was expecting the NHS classes to be grittier, more about medical facts than breathing exercises and feelings. True enough, next Pamela whips out a real pelvic girdle, a 3D diagram describing cervical dilation and the frightening crochet hook-like tool used to break waters.

7.30pm
We stop for tea and biscuits and jokes ensue about everything from swollen testicles to what to do if your baby is ugly. The class is more informal than the NCT class, though the size does mean some couples continue to chatter while Pamela is talking.

8.00pm
The topic of home birth is raised. Like the NCT class, it is promoted, though Pamela admits that it is also beneficial for the hospitals, whose labour wards are already bursting at the seams. We are told that whatever we feel comfortable with is best.

We cover almost exactly the same topics as the NCT class covered, with the exception of breathing exercises, a break down of hormones and umbilical cord clamping (which is covered in a future class). The major difference is a lack of interactivity – we don’t practice good labour positions, we aren’t invited to move around the room or take part in quizzes. But with so many more in the class it’s easy to see why. I do wonder whether I’d be able to keep in touch with classmates, but I can’t speculate given that there are still two more classes to come.

8.40pm
We run over our allotted time, which shows Pamela ‘s dedication. She is a walking, talking encyclopedia of midwifery and I leave feeling as well prepared as I had done leaving the NCT class.

Sadly, the next week’s session is cancelled and I’m still waiting to hear when it will be rescheduled.

*names have been changed.