Diary of a Mum (no longer first time!): November 2012

Well, that week got a whole lot worse before it got better. Edward stayed off nursery the day Elizabeth was ill, went back the next day, then threw up that night a lot... and had the next two days off nursery. I was on my knees by the Friday so husband had a day of annual leave to help me out. So much for resting up in anticipation of going in to labour... On the Saturday we took them to their swimming lesson, then went around Tesco getting stuff for lunch etc, then I started feeling really awful. Lay down while husband did the lunches, then was sick. I had my hair appointment at 2.30pm, and really didn't want to miss it, so made the stupid call to drive myself to Albrighton and have my hair cut. It was ok up until the end, when I felt like I was actually going to be sick. Remember standing trying to pay, worried I was going to throw up there and then! Got home, lay down, was sick again - felt awful. Spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in bed, and had a horrible night - really hot, really thirsty, couldn't sleep, absolutely terrible!!The next morning was D-Day, so we had to get the children ready for Nanny and Grandad coming, and I had to have my bags packed and be ready to go. We left at around 9.15am, and got to the hospital for my 10am appointment. Was shown to a nice quiet ward (with one woman lying in the corner - suffering from a sickness bug!). There was protein and ketones in my urine, so I had to drink a lot. Had the monitor on for 20 or so minutes, was examined, and was given the first dose of prostin gel.Went for lunch with George at the hospital restaurant which was strangely deserted, and remember having a tiny piece of his chocolate muffin – the first chocolate I’d tasted in weeks! All the time I was conscious that the children were probably running my parents ragged at home, so I was really anxious to get George home while nothing was ‘happening’. Walked round the corridors for a while, then at about 3.30pm George went home. I was moved into a side room in a bizarre secret manoeuvre so as not to upset the woman in the bed opposite who’d been sent home several times because the labour ward was full. They spoke to me in hushed tones in the corridor, then whisked all my bags out and wheeled my bed through, while I made my own way there. By early evening I was having fairly regular albeit 10 minutes apart contractions. I can’t remember much about the evening, apart from ringing home and George saying that he thought he was coming down with the sickness bug I’d had that day. I was really worried, thinking that things were about to start happening, and couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to get in to Shrewsbury.They examined me, but said I wouldn’t be given a second dose of the gel because contractions had started, and that they’d look at me again in the morning to see whether I’d have a further dose or not I couldn’t really sleep because of the increasing pain levels, but nobody seemed concerned that anything was going to happen quickly. They gave me co-drydomol or something for the pain. I do remember having the most horrible heartburn and really regretting that I’d left the most enormous bottle of Gaviscon at home, thinking there’d be no need for it. They had ‘run out’ of Gaviscon on the ward, but eventually at some point in the early hours located a replacement potion to give me which helped a bit. I couldn’t wait for breakfast – think I must have been up at about 5.30am, pacing the corridor willing the breakfast trolley to arrive.
Talking to the ladies at the breakfast table was a bit surreal – so many of them seemed to have been bounced from home to hospital over a period of a week – and this made me feel quite negative, imagining it was going to be days if not longer before the whole thing was over.George arrived some time after that at about 10am, and I was examined and they decided not to give me any more gel because the contractions were still happening. They were getting increasingly painful, and at this point we got the TENS machine into position, and I adopted my favourite stance standing at the bottom of the bed, leaning over the end of the bed, swaying from side to side. I felt fairly ok with everything at this point, and George went off to buy a sandwich and I rang home to see how the children were doing. My Mum was keen to know when George would be home to relieve her, but I said I hadn’t the faintest idea!Over that hour or two before lunch time the noise I was making as each contraction came increased considerably, and the midwife examined me, said I was 5 cm and that I could go through to the labour ward to have my waters broken ‘soon’. Lunch started happening all around me, and ‘soon’ seemed to be stretching out indefinitely, but my hollering through the contractions became more and more difficult to ignore, and the midwife returned to say that I could go through. She brought a midwife from labour ward to look after me, and between them they wheeled my stuff on a trolley through to the delivery room. I can’t remember that midwife’s name, but she was lovely, very reassuring, but very surprised to see from my notes that I was GroupB Strep, as she hadn’t been told this, so had to set about getting my antibiotic drip in place.I had in my birth plan that I was worried about the cannula insertion process as I’ve had so many botched attempts in the past, and people can never seem to find my tiny veins. Thankfully this midwife had one look then went to get the doctor on duty. Thus far I’d been standing at the side of the bed, leaning across the bed with TENS machine wires and monitoring equipment everywhere. He wasn’t prepared to insert the cannula with me standing so I had to lie on the bed, which I found very difficult. As soon as he’d done that, I was up again, swaying from side to side and secretly feeling that it wasn’t too bad afterall. I suppose I was thinking that there wouldn’t be long to go, it would be like Sarah’s birth, and I was coping ok with the pain so didn’t feel too frightened. The TENS machine was really helping, and when I was eventually examined they said I was 8cm, and I hadn’t had any gas and air, so they were really encouraging about my progress and I was on a real high thinking it might be nearly over! I had the IV antibiotics and was told that they wouldn’t break my waters because if things happened quickly there wouldn’t be enough time for the drugs to work, so I was happy with that.The pain got much worse and I started gas and air in earnest, and was slightly worried to hear that the midwife was about to end her shift and hand over to her colleague. I’d been quite happy with this serious but efficient lady (really don’t like over-familiar ‘jolly’ types when I am in labour!) so was worried that someone new would upset the process. The new midwife was Maddie – and I remember her saying as she came into the room that it was her birthday, and it was a good day to have a baby because of this.I think it would have been about 3 o’clock in the afternoon by now, and I remember saying that it would be a pleasant change to have a baby in daylight hours. The midwife was convinced it was going to happen very quickly, and got me in position leaning over the back of the bed, but I didn’t feel remotely like pushing, and was beginning to get disheartened with all the talk of the baby being imminent but nothing actually happening. I think she said that we’d have to review things in another hour, and I was a bit panicky about the threat of the dreaded drip, but she was very reassuring and reasonable about it all. After a while she suggested changing positions again, and I stood for a while. Then something bothered her about the readings on the monitor, and the consultant was called to look at the trace. The consultant said it was ok, and she wouldn’t be needed again, so she disappeared, and Maddie asked if she should break my waters, as nothing much had changed since I was examined at 8cm. I agreed to this, and then she started saying encouraging things about the head coming down. There was a long (very long in my mind!) period of changing positions, sitting on the end of the bed, lying on one side, standing etc, and various gushes of waters, each one seemingly signalling that something was about to happen, but nothing much changing.Then the pain dramatically increased, into the unbearable zone, and I started to really panic. I remember uttering my mantra ‘I can’t do this’ repeatedly, and feeling so negative and dejected about how long it was taking and how badly I was coping. The midwife explained that the head had been very high, but was definitely moving now that the waters had been broken, and the greater pain was a very good sign that things were going to happen soon. She persisted with getting me to try different positions every couple of contractions, and eventually suggested a half dose of pethidine to relax me. I had said on my birth plan NO PETHIDINE but I heard myself agree to this, so desperate was I to end the seemingly never-ending lack of progress but huge pain. She was about to go and get the pethidine when things went up a notch again, and I must have started pushing, so I didn’t actually have the pethidine injection. Pushing felt completely ineffective to me, and I was beside myself that I couldn’t get myself into any sort of position to deal with the pain. She asked why I was ‘psychologically holding on to this baby’ and I shrieked something about not wanting to tear (again). She then said to avoid this it would probably be better to be on one side, rather than kneeling, and I went along with this. I think I’ve blocked out the full terror of the actual process of the crowning. I remember her saying that there was ‘lots of pressure’ and this was a good sign, and they could see lots of dark hair, and lots more amniotic fluid had gushed about… then when the head came out she said to stop pushing but I couldn’t really comprehend what was going on, let alone control my body to do one thing or another. She eventually gushed out like a big slippery frog on a tidal wave of fluid and such, and Maddie whipped her straight onto me… George said ‘It’s a girl’ and I remember saying “Are you sure? Are you sure?” – not quite able to take in that I’d got what I’d secretly wanted (love Edward to the moon and back, but one boy is more than enough for me!). I’d been convinced she’d be a tiny baby because of my gestational diabetes diet, but as it turned out she was 9lb 13.5 oz, right in the middle of Edward and Sarah’s weights. She fed straight away, like a dream, and we sat in an absolute daze (again!). The midwife then chatted to George about Birmingham where she’d trained, and they reminisced while I gazed at my beautiful baby girl. The midwife said I hadn’t torn, which was an absolute first, and it was such a pleasure not to have to endure an hour or so of being stitched up, sucking on yet more gas and air when the pain was supposed to be over. I vaguely remember the placenta being delivered, and the baby having her vitamin k injection, and me having the first of 7 injections because of my high risk status for thrombosis. They wheeled in a terrible looking meal of mashed potato with potato pie and more potato (or so it seemed) but I was so hungry I tucked into this straight away while feeding baby. Somewhere amidst all of this I’d had to check and monitor my blood sugar levels and had been given sips of lucozade to keep my blood sugar levels ok… but that is all a blur, and writing this I realise that there are many blurred areas where I wish I could reach back and remember the detail…I stayed in hospital having jumped through the gestational diabetes hoops on the first night, and eventually came home on the Wednesday (26th September). There was a protacted period of legal wrangling, surveys, negotiations etc which were so painful and emotional at the time, but which I've completely forgotten about now. We were all set to move on Friday 12th October but further delays set in, and eventually we exchanged on Monday 15th (I think) and were due to move on Wednesday 17th October.We were exhausted from continually packing around the baby (who didn't seem to stop feeding initally, and certainly didn't have any intention of sleeping!). Unbelievably we had about 217 boxes in the end, and were thoroughly thoroughly fed up of it. Never want to see another box or any parcel tape as long as I live! As it was we didn't have time to fully reflect when we moved out of our old house. I think we'd reached a point where it no longer felt like home - so long with boxes all around us, so long with things needing doing but reluctant to spend money and time/energy doing repairs etc, and so long towards the end with pictures taken down, and all the bits and bobs that make it feel like home packed away, so it didn't feel quite as emotional as I thought it would leaving. I had planned for Sarah and Edward to stay over at my Mum's the night before to keep them out of the way as it were, but then she broke her arm, so you can picture the scene as the removal men turned up at 8.30am on the day: Eliz and Edw getting ready for school amidst 217 boxes, me breastfeeding Charlotte and Sarah sitting in her pyjamas covered in porridge! Sarah was a superstar on the day though, given that there was no space she could safely occupy, she had to sit in her highchair and draw for most of the morning, which she did. I didn't realise how quickly the van would fill up with all our stuff, and before we knew it the estate agent was ringing to say the keys were ready, and I was desperately trying to clean and get someone to move the electric cool box thing my parents had provided which was the size of a small house, together with all the other stuff we'd kept out of the removal lorry (baby cot, highchair, buggy, changing bag, etc etc.Talking to the ladies at the breakfast table was a bit surreal – so many of them seemed to have been bounced from home to hospital over a period of a week – and this made me feel quite negative, imagining it was going to be days if not longer before the whole thing was over.George arrived some time after that at about 10am, and I was examined and they decided not to give me any more gel because the contractions were still happening. They were getting increasingly painful, and at this point we got the TENS machine into position, and I adopted my favourite stance standing at the bottom of the bed, leaning over the end of the bed, swaying from side to side. I felt fairly ok with everything at this point, and George went off to buy a sandwich and I rang home to see how the children were doing. My Mum was keen to know when George would be home to relieve her, but I said I hadn’t the faintest idea!Over that hour or two before lunch time the noise I was making as each contraction came increased considerably, and the midwife examined me, said I was 5 cm and that I could go through to the labour ward to have my waters broken ‘soon’. Lunch started happening all around me, and ‘soon’ seemed to be stretching out indefinitely, but my hollering through the contractions became more and more difficult to ignore, and the midwife returned to say that I could go through. She brought a midwife from labour ward to look after me, and between them they wheeled my stuff on a trolley through to the delivery room. I can’t remember that midwife’s name, but she was lovely, very reassuring, but very surprised to see from my notes that I was GroupB Strep, as she hadn’t been told this, so had to set about getting my antibiotic drip in place.I had in my birth plan that I was worried about the cannula insertion process as I’ve had so many botched attempts in the past, and people can never seem to find my tiny veins. Thankfully this midwife had one look then went to get the doctor on duty. Thus far I’d been standing at the side of the bed, leaning across the bed with TENS machine wires and monitoring equipment everywhere. He wasn’t prepared to insert the cannula with me standing so I had to lie on the bed, which I found very difficult. As soon as he’d done that, I was up again, swaying from side to side and secretly feeling that it wasn’t too bad afterall. I suppose I was thinking that there wouldn’t be long to go, it would be like Sarah’s birth, and I was coping ok with the pain so didn’t feel too frightened. The TENS machine was really helping, and when I was eventually examined they said I was 8cm, and I hadn’t had any gas and air, so they were really encouraging about my progress and I was on a real high thinking it might be nearly over! I had the IV antibiotics and was told that they wouldn’t break my waters because if things happened quickly there wouldn’t be enough time for the drugs to work, so I was happy with that.The pain got much worse and I started gas and air in earnest, and was slightly worried to hear that the midwife was about to end her shift and hand over to her colleague. I’d been quite happy with this serious but efficient lady (really don’t like over-familiar ‘jolly’ types when I am in labour!) so was worried that someone new would upset the process. The new midwife was Maddie – and I remember her saying as she came into the room that it was her birthday, and it was a good day to have a baby because of this.I think it would have been about 3 o’clock in the afternoon by now, and I remember saying that it would be a pleasant change to have a baby in daylight hours. The midwife was convinced it was going to happen very quickly, and got me in position leaning over the back of the bed, but I didn’t feel remotely like pushing, and was beginning to get disheartened with all the talk of the baby being imminent but nothing actually happening. I think she said that we’d have to review things in another hour, and I was a bit panicky about the threat of the dreaded drip, but she was very reassuring and reasonable about it all. After a while she suggested changing positions again, and I stood for a while. Then something bothered her about the readings on the monitor, and the consultant was called to look at the trace. The consultant said it was ok, and she wouldn’t be needed again, so she disappeared, and Maddie asked if she should break my waters, as nothing much had changed since I was examined at 8cm. I agreed to this, and then she started saying encouraging things about the head coming down. There was a long (very long in my mind!) period of changing positions, sitting on the end of the bed, lying on one side, standing etc, and various gushes of waters, each one seemingly signalling that something was about to happen, but nothing much changing.Then the pain dramatically increased, into the unbearable zone, and I started to really panic. I remember uttering my mantra ‘I can’t do this’ repeatedly, and feeling so negative and dejected about how long it was taking and how badly I was coping. The midwife explained that the head had been very high, but was definitely moving now that the waters had been broken, and the greater pain was a very good sign that things were going to happen soon. She persisted with getting me to try different positions every couple of contractions, and eventually suggested a half dose of pethidine to relax me. I had said on my birth plan NO PETHIDINE but I heard myself agree to this, so desperate was I to end the seemingly never-ending lack of progress but huge pain. She was about to go and get the pethidine when things went up a notch again, and I must have started pushing, so I didn’t actually have the pethidine injection. Pushing felt completely ineffective to me, and I was beside myself that I couldn’t get myself into any sort of position to deal with the pain. She asked why I was ‘psychologically holding on to this baby’ and I shrieked something about not wanting to tear (again). She then said to avoid this it would probably be better to be on one side, rather than kneeling, and I went along with this. I think I’ve blocked out the full terror of the actual process of the crowning. I remember her saying that there was ‘lots of pressure’ and this was a good sign, and they could see lots of dark hair, and lots more amniotic fluid had gushed about… then when the head came out she said to stop pushing but I couldn’t really comprehend what was going on, let alone control my body to do one thing or another. She eventually gushed out like a big slippery frog on a tidal wave of fluid and such, and Maddie whipped her straight onto me… George said ‘It’s a girl’ and I remember saying “Are you sure? Are you sure?” – not quite able to take in that I’d got what I’d secretly wanted (love Edward to the moon and back, but one boy is more than enough for me!). I’d been convinced she’d be a tiny baby because of my gestational diabetes diet, but as it turned out she was 9lb 13.5 oz, right in the middle of Edward and Sarah’s weights. She fed straight away, like a dream, and we sat in an absolute daze (again!). The midwife then chatted to George about Birmingham where she’d trained, and they reminisced while I gazed at my beautiful baby girl. The midwife said I hadn’t torn, which was an absolute first, and it was such a pleasure not to have to endure an hour or so of being stitched up, sucking on yet more gas and air when the pain was supposed to be over. I vaguely remember the placenta being delivered, and the baby having her vitamin k injection, and me having the first of 7 injections because of my high risk status for thrombosis. They wheeled in a terrible looking meal of mashed potato with potato pie and more potato (or so it seemed) but I was so hungry I tucked into this straight away while feeding baby. Somewhere amidst all of this I’d had to check and monitor my blood sugar levels and had been given sips of lucozade to keep my blood sugar levels ok… but that is all a blur, and writing this I realise that there are many blurred areas where I wish I could reach back and remember the detail…I stayed in hospital having jumped through the gestational diabetes hoops on the first night, and eventually came home on the Wednesday (26th September). There was a protacted period of legal wrangling, surveys, negotiations etc which were so painful and emotional at the time, but which I've completely forgotten about now. We were all set to move on Friday 12th October but further delays set in, and eventually we exchanged on Monday 15th (I think) and were due to move on Wednesday 17th October.We were exhausted from continually packing around the baby (who didn't seem to stop feeding initally, and certainly didn't have any intention of sleeping!). Unbelievably we had about 217 boxes in the end, and were thoroughly thoroughly fed up of it. Never want to see another box or any parcel tape as long as I live! As it was we didn't have time to fully reflect when we moved out of our old house. I think we'd reached a point where it no longer felt like home - so long with boxes all around us, so long with things needing doing but reluctant to spend money and time/energy doing repairs etc, and so long towards the end with pictures taken down, and all the bits and bobs that make it feel like home packed away, so it didn't feel quite as emotional as I thought it would leaving. I had planned for Sarah and Edward to stay over at my Mum's the night before to keep them out of the way as it were, but then she broke her arm, so you can picture the scene as the removal men turned up at 8.30am on the day: Eliz and Edw getting ready for school amidst 217 boxes, me breastfeeding Charlotte and Sarah sitting in her pyjamas covered in porridge! Sarah was a superstar on the day though, given that there was no space she could safely occupy, she had to sit in her highchair and draw for most of the morning, which she did. I didn't realise how quickly the van would fill up with all our stuff, and before we knew it the estate agent was ringing to say the keys were ready, and I was desperately trying to clean and get someone to move the electric cool box thing my parents had provided which was the size of a small house, together with all the other stuff we'd kept out of the removal lorry (baby cot, highchair, buggy, changing bag, etc etc.

Then I hadn't banked on the fact that we'd have to do the actual leaving separately - George went off in his car to get the keys, I loaded Sarah and Charlotte into the other car and off we went, with the new people sitting outside in their van waiting eagerly to get in!! George's Mum and Dad were a Godsend, they'd turned up by this stage and as soon as we got into the new place started making lunch... and the men unloaded the stuff for about 4 solid hours, then we were in!

Diary of a Mum (no longer first time!)

Monday, 5 November 2012

Illness strikes again

We got a new baby (and a new house too!)