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.
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