Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Hospital

Up until the day Elodie was born, I had never spent the night in a hospital. I now have four nights under my belt. My first night I was still, to be honest, quite out of it. I'm not sure what painkillers I was on actually during the surgery, but I do know that I had two top-ups of diamorphine through my epidural during the first 24 hours. My parents arrived - with a bag full of cheese and champagne - for the first visiting session and my father, bless him, put on a suit specially. The last time he wore a suit was at a wedding.

During the first night, as the drugs wore off, things got a bit painful. Also, there were several other women in the ward, some of whom were clearly not very well. The first 'breastfeeding' attempt largely consisted of one of the midwives manipulating my breast, Elodie failing to latch on, and then her hand-expressing a syringe of milk and giving it to her. Unexpected things were quite impossible and really rather painful, and I was unable to do the first nappy change - but when they came round at 3am, after checking I knew how to change a nappy, that responsibility passed back to me.

The morning brought ward rounds from the surgeons who had operated on me, and the anaesthetist who decided to give me more heroin. Soon after (or before, my mind is a bit foggy) I was encouraged to walk, with assistance, to take a shower. This was the most painful thing I had to do to date, and posed all sorts of unanticipated difficulties - like how to remove my bra when it was stuck down under the tape holding my epidural in place, or how to take off the anti thrombosis stockings when it was agony to bend in half. Then half way into the washing, I realised I was about to faint and had to pull the cord, and was found by one of the maternity care assistants, stark naked clutching my nightie sitting on a chair and, err, bleeding. She wheeled me back to my bed.

I was moved upstairs to the general wards later that day, where things were a bit quieter, and we started getting the hang of breastfeeding. More visitors came... Pain subsided a bit, and I came to the conclusion the only palatable hospital food was the multi-cultural asian halal meal, which was some kind of curry each time. My second night in the hospital was fine and dandy until I found myself in quite excruciating pain at 5am and had to get some morphine. Lovely.

Because of that, even though I was technically discharged from the hospital, I decided to stay another night to make sure if the pain returned I would be able to deal with it, and also to really nail the breastfeeding. Unfortunately, at this point my milk came in, and I went for nearly 8 hours without Elodie getting a decent feed, which was rather upsetting for both of us. Just as they were about to discharge us properly, I asked for help getting her latched on and the relief of her emptying my poor engorged boob was palpable.

Of course, nothing is as simple as that. An unstable hip joint had been spotted by the paediatrician when she was checking Elodie over, and she was supposed to have been booked in for an ultrasound scan and we were just waiting to hear when that would happen. Literally as we were about to leave - Elodie was in the car seat and everything, the midwives decided we couldn't leave until the appointment had taken place - and that meant another night in hospital. I was so ready to leave, I was absolutely gutted. I also had to wait for about an hour in the waiting area for a new bed, as they had given mine away. On the plus side, they felt so bad about the whole thing, I got a private room for the night, and help latching Elodie on to my other engorged breast. There were lots of apologies the following day when they discharged me, as it turned out that I could in fact have been discharged as the ultrasound appointment was at an entirely different hospital. Anyway, after all this, we were finally able to take our baby home.

Which felt pretty good.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Delivery

I was lying on my bed feeling a little despondant last Saturday morning, thinking that I had to wait five days before the big operation. As I lay there, trying to get a bit of extra rest, I felt a big kick low down in my pelvis that was quite painful. It felt a little different to what had come before, but I didn't pay too much heed to it.

Then I got a phone call from a family friend who assured me that having had both a natural birth and a caesarean, it would all be fine. All these supportive calls are helpful really only up to a point, as you kind of want to wallow a little in your own misery.

Anyway, after she got off the phone, I felt a bubbling sensation and then some fluid leaked out. I was fairly sure it wasn't me weeing myself, but you can never be entirely sure. As I stood up and called out to my husband, some more fluid came down my leg. I said to him 'I could be wrong, but I think my waters just broke...' The walk from my bedroom to the toilet pretty much confirmed this and suddenly it was all action stations. My first task for Saturday had been to repack my hospital bag to put in extra clothes etc for the anticipated longer hospital stay - something I had not yet done. I was also still wearing my pyjamas. I decided that it was highly unlikely the baby would arrive that second, so I would get myself ready before calling the hospital and coming in. I was a bit flustered and it was all a bit - not panicky exactly, but hurried.

The lady at the delivery suite, after I told her I thought my waters had broken and that my baby was breech and she said 'ooh, you'd better come in then'.

About 10 minutes later, we pulled up at the John Radcliffe Hospital where we were met by a midwife who took us to what I assume was one of the normal delivery rooms. She hooked me up to a monitor which measured mine and the baby's heartrate and any contractions I was having. It transpired that I was not in 'active labour' and had eaten some toast at 10am, it was unlikely anything would be happening until 4pm. Also, the anaesthetist and surgeons were all busy dealing with other pregnant women, so all I could do was sit it out and wait. And before long, I started having contractions - although they didn't really show up on the monitor and were disparagingly referred to by various medical people as 'twinges'. Twinges or not, they bloody hurt and also made me shivery and nauseous, which was just fab. And also like I needed to go and wee, which I kept doing - a weird experience as my waters continued to dribble throughout the afternoon. Delightful.

Just when I thought I might make it through the entirety of pregnancy and labour without an internal examination, the registrar who would be doing the surgery came and did an exam to check I wasn't just about to drop - I was only 1cm dilated so no issues there. All the other medical people followed, including one of the random doctors who did my presentation scan earlier in the week, and was there to 'consent' me to the surgery and any measures up to and including a hysterectomy if necessary to save my life. Then it was the worst part, when they took me off to theatre to be prepped and put under.

It was pretty horrible. I had to have an IV in my hand, which meant I had to have a local anaesthetic first, then they had to insert the epidural and pump in vast quantities of drugs, then they shaved my lady garden (or the top of it at any rate) and inserted a catheter. Considering my strong feelings against needles of all kinds, this was all just foul. And they kept asking me not to move because I was on a very tiny bed, so the only thing I could do to distract myself from the varying horrible sensations was make a fist. Not massively helpful.

To do the anaesthetist credit, the drugs were pretty darn good and seemed to do the trick very quickly indeed - with the added bonus that all the discomfort from my 'twinges' was gone virtually immediately. Soon after that, in came my husband, attractively attired in a blue gown and hairnet (which for some reason he has kept), and they put Elbow's The Seldom Seen Kid on. Once the drapes were down, I really couldn't tell what was going on - they tell you you will feel some tugging and slightly weird sensations, but it was actually much less than I expected to experience. And then, a few minutes in - literally - there was this crying sound and my baby was born and being taken away to be weighed and checked. I craned my head to get a glimpse of her - I was pretty out of it - and then my husband returned with our daughter in his arms, which proved a marvellous distraction from the rest of the surgery - which takes much longer. Before long they were wheeling me and my little girl - 8lb 3oz with an Agpar of 10 out of 10 no less - to the observation area, where I would spend my first night.

I suspect my reactions were affected by all the drugs and the stress of the situation - but when I heard that weeny little cry, I felt all overcome with amazement and love. Those first hours in recovery are a bit blurry, including as they did large quantities of fairly serious drugs, but there was a lot of cuddling, and staring at this tiny defenceless thing. I know all mums say it, but she was absolutely gorgeous - and because she didn't have the trauma of coming through the birth canal, she escaped having a weirdly bruised, pointy head. A fair bit of hair, deep indigo violet eyes (well, they all have that) and all the essentials.

I should point out that through all this, I was wearing my hospital gown back to front with the fastenings at the front to help with breast feeding, and nothing but my bra underneath it. But strangely, I didn't care two hoots - I did have a blanket covering my essentials. There was help with things like breastfeeding, and the first of many midwives spent lots of time vigorously manhandling my boobs to get some colostrum. And my parents came to meet little Elodie, and my dad even wore a suit especially.

It was all quite emotional. And quite lovely.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

External Cephalic Version

So, let's rewind to Thursday. I got a call saying that the consultant would be able to see me for an attempt to turn the baby the following day - which was a big relief at the time. We turned up at the hospital to see the consultant, let's call him Mr Pixie, on Friday, feeling pleased that at least we would have either good news or a time scale for the next step.

"Hmmm", he said. "50% success rate? Not at this stage I'm afraid. It's more like 25%."
As he ran the ultrasound over my belly, he continued. "The baby's buttocks are deeply engaged into the pelvis. And it's not a particularly small baby. Nor is there very much amniotic fluid."

Putting the ultrasound down, he said he didn't think the baby was going to turn - but it was worth a go. So have a go he did. It was uncomfortable and weird rather than painful. It did also make me feel a bit like I was going to have a wee - which would have been hugely embarrassing. It was also completely unsuccessful.

Mr Pixie told me that it had been worth a go, as he had successfully turned a baby in a woman who was 41 weeks and in labour. Then he said the next step was a C-section, the only question was when. But because I had eaten at lunchtime it couldn't be that day, and the next available slot was Wednesday. A full five days later. And back to the same 'if you go into labour, come straight in and tell them you're breech'.

We were at the hospital for about another two hours, having a long talk with the anaesthetist (who did not inspire me with masses of confidence with his talk of pain, side effects etc) and the theatre nurse. I was also given some anti nausea drugs to take the night and morning before the operation, and, somewhat more randomly some antibacterial wash which I was supposed to use all over my body including my hair to make sure I didn't bring MRSA into the hospital.

We left with a definite time by which the baby had arrived, feeling a bit emotional and disappointed, but pleased to have an actual date. Of course, it turned out the baby had other plans.


Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Unto us a child is born...

Or delivered by caesarean at any rate. We returned from hospital with Elodie Caitlin today after a mildly trauamatic few days. The full story - in all its instalments - will follow over the next few days if I manage to keep my eyes open long enough. But for now, the following will suffice. After various happenings, we went into hospital on Saturday and she was delivered at 4.30pm by caesarean. She's fine, I'm fine and we're now finally home. All the things I had been firmly hoping not to have, ranging from epidural anaesthesia to a prolonged hospital stay, ended up being pretty much inevitable. And some of it was indeed quite horrible. But the outcome was really very lovely.



Here she is just moments after she was, in the words of Macduff, ripped untimely from her mother's womb.

And this is us at home earlier today.

And finally, in the hospital bed. Not in chronological order I know.

Just one quick thought to leave you with - part of my care plan included intravenous injections of diamorphine into my spine. Diamorphine being the medical name for heroin. And I've got to hand it to all those junkies out there, cos it is bloody good stuff.

More later.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Breech

There has been something of a change of plans in the Bellygazing camp. At my 40 week appointment today, while palpating my bump, the midwife frowned and said that while she thought the baby's head was engaged, there was something at the top of the womb that hadn't been there when she last examined me. It might just be a bony bottom, but she thought there was a possibility the baby was breech....

What??? Anyway, she wanted me to have a presentation scan at the hospital - normally carried out on Tuesdays - but as there was a good chance I might go into labour before then, she called up the hospital and convinced them to scan me today.

About half an hour later, after two doctors had squirted an unseemly amount of jelly on my tummy and peered at a screen in a serious fashion, they concurred - stupid baby was indeed upside down in breech position.

I wasn't overly impressed with the doctors, who have booked me in for an external cephalic version on Tuesday (what is it with Tuesdays, is it the only day anyone works?) in a bid to turn the baby the correct way round and strict instructions to come straight to the delivery suite at the first sign of labour. The ECV has something like a 50% chance of working -but that goes down the further on you are and I will be at 40wks+5 by Tuesday, so chances will be less good. And if I do go into labour before then, I will almost certainly be whisked into theatre for a caesarean section, which I really, really don't want.

It seems to me to be a bit of a risk waiting so late to attempt this procedure, but I was a little bit in shock (having expected the scan to confirm that the baby was head down) so didn't say too much about it. Fortunately, my lovely midwife had instructed me to text her with the result and she called me up and talked me through what could happen next. It could be seriously painful, too, especially given how far along I am.

Basically, it's all a bit pants. There's still a chance I could deliver naturally, particularly if they successfully turn the baby, but more than likely I'm going to end up having a c-section one way or another. Which means six weeks barely able to walk, drive or even bend over, a lovely epidural to knock me out, a catheter, possibly a drip, several nights in hospital and generally having to recover from major surgery. Whoop de doo. But at the end of the day, I will get my baby one way or another, and she is still happy and healthy, and doing all sorts of kicks and rolls as we speak. Pesky little blighter. My midwife is going to call the consultant man (apparently a national expert on turning babies, which I'm sure he boasts about proudly to all the people he went to school with) tomorrow and see if there's any way he can squeeze me in before Tuesday - but she wasn't too hopeful. She did also advise me to stop having sex as that might bring on labour. I now have to stop doing all the things I was doing to encourage labour and hope to hang on until Tuesday - strange to have to change my mindset at this point.

Join me in thinking positive 'turn round baby!' thoughts.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

The Waiting Game

Impatience has now taken over as the main ruling emotion at Bellygazing towers. Although my due date is not until Thursday (and the original date from my last period was Friday) I'm about ready for things to start happening. It's not that I am suffering from ennui from having nothing to do, indeed yesterday, with my lovely other half here, I had a nice day involving scrabble (7 letter word and 62 points for tenantry, go me), qwirkle, and a lovely walk around the block in the sun culminating in a big fat white Magnum, it's just strange being on a countdown which has no clear end in sight.

There have been some very nice things going on in the last few weeks - my sister has taken me out for lunch twice, as has my mum, and we went to the cinema to see Inception (in the hope that by planning something I wanted to do, baby would throw a spanner in the works). I have done lots and lots of cooking (I now have neither tupperware nor space in my freezer left) and a few less exciting things such as, err, washing the shower curtains.

But I still don't know when things will actually get going. My due date is fairly meaningless, and it would be perfectly normal for nothing to occur for a further two weeks, taking me all the way to September 2... and while lots of boring types assure me that it's worth hanging on for a September baby so the little one gets the advantage of being the oldest, rather than the youngest in the school year, being the one with the sack of concrete in my belly I am rather inclined to disagree. My husband keeps on asking me for any 'surefire signs' that labour is imminent, and basically, there aren't any. Even once contractions start (not even a whisper of Braxton Hicks as far as I can tell), they could stop again and do that over the course of a couple of days. A bloody show might herald imminent labour - but it might still be a week or more before things start moving and I might not even feel it. An irresistible urge to clean is even less clear - but let's be honest, I can't really see myself being overcome with a need to get on all fours to scrub the floor at midnight. As for things like diarrhoea, that would probably just mean last nights dinner had disagreed with me.

I have another appointment with the midwife tomorrow. I had rather hoped not to be able to make it - or to arrive proudly (and perhaps rather painfully) in the early stages of labour, but as yet I see nothing to suggest I shan't be at the doctors bang on time with nothing to report. I suppose they may then offer me such lovely things as dates for a membrane sweep (eurrggh) and the prospect of an induction, and I would rather not have to have either of those things. She will probably suggest natural remedies to get things moving - but I am already pressing my long-suffering husband into service to give me lots of sex (the only natural thing which has any evidence behind it), walking as much as I can manage, drinking raspberry leaf tea and eating spicy food. I have been given guesstimates from various different sources as to when bambino will make an entrance, ranging from yesterday to August bank holiday Monday. I cautiously put my own money on very late tomorrow (as I tend to be early for everything) but I am becoming less and less convinced. The other half thinks maybe Sunday.

Whichever, I hope it's not too much longer. To continue the 'plan something and you won't want to be able to do it' method, we are going to have a nice spicy lunch tomorrow before the midwife appointment, then head to a bumps and babies group. I hope to have more news soon

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

39 weeks

By this time next week, I could have a baby.

In actual fact, by this time tomorrow I could have a baby - or I might still be waiting in three weeks time. But it is now officially just one week to go until D-Day - read the D as either due, delivery, dilation, disaster, disappointment.... whatever fits.

I'm now about two and a half weeks into my maternity leave, and so far, I haven't really been bored. It transpires I quite like sitting around reading books and eating strawberries. Plus, when the baby does that weird ripply whale thing across my belly it is completely fascinating. I've also really liked staying in bed until I can be bothered to get up (sometimes not much before midday) and rewarding myself for all the hard work I am doing growing this baby with great hunks of gooey chocolate.

I had an appointment with my doctor today (an extra one scheduled by my midwife to keep an eye on things as the bulbous nature of my puffy ankles and hands has become somewhat alarming) and things appear to be progressing in the right direction. I'm still getting the period-type pains and it would seem that this is indeed linked to the head engaging - we are now at 3/5 engaged. This is good news, although I do now feel when I get up and the weight goes onto my feet that there is something distinctly uncomfortable going on in my down-belows. I also went swimming last week, which was soooo nice - until I had to haul my whale-like carcass out of the pool, feeling every inch of extra blubber as it emerged from the water. Definitely worth it for the 40 or so minutes of weightlessness, lovely.

I've been thinking a bit about things I didn't expect about pregnancy, and things that I miss. I really miss being able to walk for longer than 10 minutes without having to stop for a rest, and all the other associated things. I miss my little ankles, not that I had ever much thought about them before. I miss being able to get up without having to employ the use of a heavy-duty hoist. I really miss being able to lie flat on my back or my front more than I would ever have expected, and being able to sleep all the way through the night (not going to get that one back unfortunately). And I never expected to start snoring, apparently quite heavily and quite reliably, in the last few weeks of pregnancy. It generally wakes me up, definitely wakes my husband up, and as soon as he starts tossing around in a bad-tempered fashion then that's it for sleep for either of us - until I do another half-snore and automatically wake myself again. I also never expected to misjudge the size of my bump on a regular basis seeing me walking into door handles, car wing-mirrors, the wall....

I don't really miss my waistline that much - and to be honest I reckon I'm still a pretty hot mama, just with a ginormous bump. And I definitely don't miss the ability to bend over and sweep the floor, I'm quite happy to let that one go for now.

Monday, August 02, 2010

Maternity leave - one week in

I have been not working for just over a week now. It's a strange state to be in - having been in full-time employment for what, seven and a half years, to be off with no fixed date of return. And no real idea when the big event is going to be.

To deal with all this free waddling time, I compiled a long list of things to do to keep me entertained. Ranging from cook lots of food to freeze, to sort out all the baby clothes by age. But as I'm likely to have up to five weeks of this, moderation and pacing myself is the key. So I'm trying not to do more than one or two things on the list in a day. I have also been adding to the list sporadically, and have stocked up on a large quantity of reading matter. That said, after popping to the library and picking up four books last week, I've already read two of them.

At 37 and a half weeks, the bump could become a baby any time now. I reckon we've still got a little way to go yet as bumpee is moving like a crazy thing, we sat watching my belly fascinated for about half an hour the other day. It was like there was an earthquake in there. I somehow feel that when it's imminent things will slow down slightly. I have had a new sensation, however. For the last few days I've been getting what feels like mild period pain and back ache in the evenings. Having googled this extensively, I suspect that it's the baby's head engaging. I'm pretty sure it's not Braxton Hicks because it's not something that comes and goes, and there's no 'tightening' feeling that I think would be associated with any kind of contraction. It's just like slight period pain. But it does feel like things are in motion...