That is, until M's birth in May 2010. Here is his story.
M's story is one that I've written about half a dozen times. The first time - facts. It was just a retelling of facts. I was still taking it all in, still in denial perhaps? The second, I was trying to get my head in a positive space - so I wrote a new story trying to make it sound better than it really was. Then there were others where I started to really 'nut it out'.
This one, I didn't [originally] write for an audience. It was written in my diary at the beginning of August.
Here goes...
M's story is difficult for me to write. My heart still aches for our birthing journey.
Even though Haylee's early months were difficult, motherhood was a huge adjustment and I felt lonely, isolated and unable to cope - by the time she turned one, I was very much ready for another. L wasn't so convinced however. By then, I was also back at work [full time] and finding it incredibly tough. I'd lost my passion for music, and teaching. I resented the time work took away from my little girl. I hated having to bring work home. I felt isolated from my colleagues and I was desperate to go back to being a mumma.
In July 2009, L turned to me and said "OK, let's have another baby". Needless to say, I was thrilled! I was even more thrilled when a month later I found myself squinting at a test thinking "Is there a line?" followed by another the next day that confirmed that yes, I was pregnant! We were both over the moon.
Even though I wasn't exactly 'traumatised' by H's birth (except the tearing issue), I knew I wanted this time to be different. I wanted continuity of care, I wanted L to be able to stay with me, I wanted it to be natural and magical and amazing. So I booked into the Birth Centre - a decision I will regret for the rest of my life. The antenatal care was fantastic, amazing, and the midwives were so wonderful. We spent hours at our antenatal appointments and formed strong bonds with the 4 midwives that work there. I felt so cared for, and 'informed'. But little did I know...
Anyway, back to the pregnancy for a moment. Looking back now, I don't really know how I survived being pregnant, looking after a toddler and working full time. It was SO hard - especially as I didn't stop vomiting until 20 weeks. Try hiding that from a bunch of nosy teenagers! I made the decision to finish work at the end of the school year and spend the remainder of my pregnancy with H at home. That time was amazing and much cherished, although by the last few weeks I was so exhausted an in pain (bad back/sore legs/nerve pain) that I just wanted the baby out! We also knew this time we were having a boy, but still referred to the baby as 'Grub', which he had been dubbed the night I told L I was pregnnat and long before we knew it was a boy.
So finally, the magic 40 week mark arrived, but still no baby! I was so upset and in so much pain. MIL had come up to look after H while M was born (yep, invited herself again, after pissing off for the 2 years in between births, and again I was too stupid to say no). So on the 6th May we went in to the Birth Centre appointment I'd hoped I wouldn't need. We packed our bags, just in case, and intended to ask the midwife to do an internal to see where things were at (I wanted to know if it was close or not - not really how little that means and how quickly things can change) - she was hesitant and tried to talk us out of it (oh how I wish I'd listened), but after some tears and anxiety about leaving Haylee at home, or bearing the 2 hour trip home only to need to come straight back, she agreed - on the condition we stayed in Mackay for 24 hours in case it triggered anything off. And that was the beginning of the end...
So the stretch and sweep was done - things were not looking very favourable. I admit I was rather disappointed. I really wanted to meet our little man and I didn't want to be away from my baby girl. But we decided to make the most of it - we went window shopping, saw a movie, took some photos at the beach (including my last pregnant photo), had a nice dinner, enjoyed a spa in the motel room.Then, we decided to see if we could 'get things going' (wink wink nudge nudge). As part of this, L felt 'down there' and realised it was very wet. We turned the light on. Blood. Fresh blood. I stayed fairly calm but L freaked out. He called the midwife while I stood in the shower. The midwife, N (who I'd never met as she was relieving another BC midwife - I was devastated because I'd really wanted a midwife I knew), told us it could have just been from the stretch and sweep, and to call her back if there was any more bleeding. 10 minutes later she called back, saying she'd been thinking about it, and would prefer if we went in for a quick check. So in we went - leaving our bags behind, anticipating it would be a quick check then back to the motel. Well, the 20 minute CTG trace ended up taking an hour and a half because they weren't getting the results they wanted. By the time they finished it was about 1130pm. Anyway, they then asked me to check my blood loss. I had a sinking feeling, as I knew there'd been more blood, I could feel it. Sure enough, there was. So the doctor was called in to check things out. By then, a student midwife, R, had also joined us [with our consent]. I was SO thankful, as she was amazing. I honestly don't know what I would have done without her, especially since N, my 'medwife', just didn't show ANY compassion, feeling, support.
So the doctor came in, poked and prodded (quite roughly too) and said she didn't know waht was causing the bleed so we had to get the baby out (typical scare tactics, I wish I hadn't listened). She had to look after another woman first, then would come back and break my waters. I reluctantly agreed. They also put a cannula in - saying they hoped that breaking my waters would be enough, but if not, they'd have to give me synto to move things along...or a c/s. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It wasn't supposed to be happening like this at all. I felt it all spinning out of control. I was supposed to be in the birth centre, with L and a midwife I knew, having a beautiful, intervention-free birth. Why was this happening? Why hadn't I prepared for this? I expressed my dissatisfaction about the drip (and secretly prepared myself to fight against it) and my intense desire to NOT have c/s. I hoped my body could do its job despite their interference, as I had been getting contractions, but nothing serious.
At 1.15am the doctor was back to break my waters. I wish I'd refused. I wish a lot of things actually, but anyway. So my waters were broken and things got intense, fast. The good news was that I was already 4-5cm dilated, which was encouraging. Maybe I could do this after all. But having my waters broken made the labour much harder to handle and I was struggling. Luckily, they hadn't strapped me down to the bed for monitoring - I wanted to be able to move, and shower, and I made this very clear. The shower was good for a while, then I wanted to try something different. I ended up kneeling on the bed with my arms resting on the bedhead, I'd been bouncing on the fitball too. I started giving in to the pain, even though L and R were so supportive and encouraging. I begged for pain relief, it felt like my insides were being ripped apart and I remember crying that out a number of times. I cried, I said I couldn't do it. N asked if I wanted an internal to see where I was at and whether there was time for an epidural, even though she doubted it. I agreed. The result - 8cm. Sounds good but I was devastated - I was too far gone for an epidural [which I now see as a blessing in disguise] but still had 2cm + pushing, and it had taken hours to push H out. L and R asked if I wanted another shower as I was complaining I couldn't get comfortable anywhere, and I didn't know what I wanted, so back to the shower it was.
That walk from the bed to the shower must have been something pretty fantastic because as I walked I got the most intense feeling of the baby moving down. I sat on the chair in the shower as a contraction hit and felt huge huge pressure immediately. I couldn't sit down! I had to brace myself weith my arms on the arms of the chair and remember saying [over and over] "I need to poo. I can't stop, I can't stop it". I stood up and leaned on L with my arms around his neck, still with that intense urge to push- which I loved, because I knew my body was doing what it needed to, and I was listening. The midwives brought in a mat and placed it on the floor. I gratefully got down on my hands and knees and just kept pushing. They told me if I didn't get up after this contraction I'd be having my baby on the bathroom floor. And on the bathroom floor was where he was born! I felt his head emerging, though I had to ask "Is his head out?", to which they answered yes (Just as an aside, I now had K as my midwife, as N had gone to attend another woman at the BC). The next contraction - whoosh! I felt his body leave mine, and the most amazing sense of relief and empowerment! My baby was here and I'd pushed him out of my vagina! At 345am on the 7th May 2010.
The midwife passed him up between my legs (as I was still on my hands and knees) so L and I could meet our little man. He was beautiful. Perfect. I stared at him. I drank in the sight of this new little person L and I had created, and I nurtured inside me for 40 weeks. I cried tears of joy, exclaiming "He's here, our little boy is here". I just stared in wonder for what felt like forever, and I touched him, held his hands, spoke to him. Time stood still in that wondrous moment. A couple of hasty photos were taken at my request. L picked him up, held him out and spoke to him. I didn't notice anything wrong. But then, before I'd even got to hold him, they told me they had to take him away. His breathing was 'noisy'. No, they can't take my baby. L had cut the cord too - I asked if it had stopped pulsing and they said yes, but I'm not sure...
L then went with them while they administered oxygen in the room. I'm glad he had his daddy there. But after 30mins things hadn't improved so they were taking him to SCN. And I still hadn't held him. I remember L saying to the midwives, "But Jen hasn't even had a cuddle" [God I love that man], but they took him anyway, saying his breathing was more important [and yep, sticking him in a little plastic box is the only, and the 'best', way to fix that...
Meanwhile I was helpless and bleeding. I delivered the placenta but then needed the needle and a drip as I'd lost a lot of blood [850ml all up], so couldn't stand without almost passing out. I cried for my baby. I cried for our birth, that had been taken away. Eventually I got back to the bed, and then needed to be stitched up. I was terrified. By now, every fibre of my being ached, longed, for my baby. Why wasn't he here? Was he scared? Was he hungry? Was he lonely? I wanted to see him. I cried. I begged. The student midwife offered to go and check on him. She came back and I burst into tears - she had brought him back to me! She placed his tiny [well not so tiny at 9lb3oz and 58cm], naked, warm body under my shirt and I finally felt his soft skin on mine. I cried some more, this time tears of relief and happiness (though I am sure some of it was sorrow too at the time, the precious first hours, we had lost together). I kept exclaiming 'My boy, my little boy'. I loved him immediately, deeply and unconditionally...
This was written a while ago, and since then I have done a lot of healing. That will take a separate post though.
So it was after this incredibly defining moment in my life that I just knew there had to be more. This blog will share with you some of what I am learning about what pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding and parenting really can, and should, be.
No comments:
Post a Comment