This photo is just for you, Uncle David! I doubt anyone, apart from my mother, wants to read a complete blow by blow of my birth experience, but I have had my fears about giving birth under the care of NHS "socialized medicine" ever since I found out I was pregnant, so here goes... Throughout the pregnancy, my care has been very adequate, but without some of the bells and whistles and comforts that I experienced at home. My birth experience, however, was fantastic, even though it unfortunately turned out to be an emergency cesarean in the end.
Last Tuesday evening I started having contractions about every ten minutes and was on alert since I was pretty sure the baby was still breech. I managed about 45 minutes of sleep, but woke up to stronger contractions which were five minutes apart. I did what any normal woman would do: got out of bed and scrubbed all of the toilets in the house. I then Googled "how to tell if you're in labour" or something like that... as if I didn't know the third time around. Eventually I rang the hospital, and after describing my situation, the midwife on call asked me to come in straight away. I woke George, who was completely confused, then called my friend Sonia, who immediately shot over to look after Emma and Sophie (at 2:00 am...that is a true friend)!
We were on our way, and upon arrival, I was coincidentally greeted in the car park by two of the maternity workers who were out for a breath of fresh air (i.e. a quick fag). They walked me straight up to the maternity ward, where I was greeted by a midwife who had a room all ready for me. There was no waiting even though it was apparently a busy night on the ward. (There was a baby boom in the hospital the week I was there... Christmas babies, you know.) My completely adorable and perky midwife, Becky, did all of the preliminary checks and shortly the registrar on call came in. Both determined that the baby was breech and that I was indeed in early labour. What to do? After a bit of private deliberation with George, I decided that I was most comfortable going with the c-section. I knew I didn't want to attempt a breech birth and was completely freaked out by the idea of an external cephalic version. So... immediately the wheels were set in motion and I was off to the operating theatre for surgery.
Before I could go into theatre, I had a meeting with the anesthetist on call. This was a small, exhausted-looking, extremely gay, Asian man who wore red and gold bowling shoes with his scrubs. (Get the picture?) He described to me in great detail everything that could possibly go wrong with my anesthesia, then urged me to "just relax". By the end of it all, he and I were on great terms and cracking jokes, but at first, he seriously freaked me out.
Before I knew it, I was on my way to the theatre with trusty midwife Becky by my side. A spinal anesthetic was given and I eventually lay there completely naked, sprawled, numb, and slightly distraught about it all. George was allowed in at that point, the curtain was pulled, and all of the surgical stuff that I'd rather not think about began. Only a few minutes later, the anesthesiologist told George he could stand up and watch the baby being "delivered."
"There she is!" He breathlessly called out.
"Does she have hair?" I asked.
"I can only see her bottom." (of course) was his reply.
Well... in that case, "Is it a girl??"
"Yes!!"
Literally seconds later I heard our girl crying and found that I was crying as well. Becky took her for a very quick clean and then brought her straight to me for a cuddle. At that point I was able to completely forget about all the layers of stitches and vacuum suction and such which was happening on the other side of the curtain. We simply took time to fall completely in love with our new little bundle. Becky and the anesthesiologist each predicted a birth weight over seven pounds, but the jelly bean only weighed in at 6 pounds, 6 ounces. This all happened sometime around 5:30 in the morning, but I wasn't keeping track at that point.
After I was all stitched up, the registrar stuck her head around the curtain to tell me that all had gone well. She also said that the baby was basically doing a split inside my uterus when they pulled her out... one foot down below her bum and the other up beside her ear. She would have been impossible to turn externally, so we had made the 'right' choice opting for the cesarean.
The next half hour or so was a bit of a blur. There were about 7 people in the operating room with me, and it's funny how being completely naked, sprawled and numb in front of all of these strangers just became completely normal. We chatted about movies and other nonsense while I lay there on the table, completely vulnerable, and they moved me around like a fleshy rag doll.
A short time later I was taken to the Intensive Care Maternity Ward (where all mums go after a c-section), and I was looked after by the most fantastic midwives I've ever known. My favourite was a Scottish girl called Kim Hallewell, who was with me through the worst of it, including the anesthesia- induced sickness. (FYI: fresh abdominal stitches and vomiting are not a nice combination.) Kim (as well as the other midwives who worked with me) was completely sympathetic and answered all of my thousands of questions with patience, warmth and kindness.
I loved the fact that the aftercare centered around women looking after women. It seemed really old fashioned at first. Partners only were allowed to visit from 10:00 am-12:00 pm, and all other visitors were allowed for four hours in the afternoon. At first I thought this would be awful, but honestly it was nice that there was no pressure to entertain visitors or to anticipate that someone could stop by for a chat at any moment when I felt like I had just been hit by a lorry. No mobile phones were allowed in the ward either, which annoyed me at first, but after the second day I realised that I felt so much more rested than I ever had in my post-natal hospital rooms with private phone lines in the States. When visiting hours were over, I knew no one would be bothering me except the midwife on call, and she was no bother since she was always bringing pain killers or offering much appreciated help and comfort.
The entire time I was in hospital, my baby never left my side, except for the few minutes when midwife Becky took her to have a quick and gentle bath just after the birth. The baby was not scrubbed raw from top to toe as they do in the States. In fact a good bit of the vernix was left in the creases of her skin and just rubbed off naturally over the next couple of days. This seemed so much nicer to me, and I would venture to say it's also healthier and less traumatic for the baby.
By day two in the hospital I was gingerly on my feet and felt ready to come home to my own bed. George has been fantastic. At any moment of the day, he can either be found doing the dishes or the laundry. Ah, the life of a domestic goddess. For the last two days that I have been home, the community midwife has visited us to check on me and Lili. Today she weighed Lili and told us that she is just about back up to her birth weight. Hooray for mother's milk! She will be back again every day until Lili is one week old at which point the health visitor will take over to do well baby checks whenever necessary. Tomorrow I get to have my sutures taken out, and I am doing my best to just not think about that.
Well... this mama is up far too late. I am off to bed with a rack that would put Katie Price to shame and a baby who could melt Simon Cowell's heart. And that is all the British pop culture references you're getting from me until we meet again.
Last Tuesday evening I started having contractions about every ten minutes and was on alert since I was pretty sure the baby was still breech. I managed about 45 minutes of sleep, but woke up to stronger contractions which were five minutes apart. I did what any normal woman would do: got out of bed and scrubbed all of the toilets in the house. I then Googled "how to tell if you're in labour" or something like that... as if I didn't know the third time around. Eventually I rang the hospital, and after describing my situation, the midwife on call asked me to come in straight away. I woke George, who was completely confused, then called my friend Sonia, who immediately shot over to look after Emma and Sophie (at 2:00 am...that is a true friend)!
We were on our way, and upon arrival, I was coincidentally greeted in the car park by two of the maternity workers who were out for a breath of fresh air (i.e. a quick fag). They walked me straight up to the maternity ward, where I was greeted by a midwife who had a room all ready for me. There was no waiting even though it was apparently a busy night on the ward. (There was a baby boom in the hospital the week I was there... Christmas babies, you know.) My completely adorable and perky midwife, Becky, did all of the preliminary checks and shortly the registrar on call came in. Both determined that the baby was breech and that I was indeed in early labour. What to do? After a bit of private deliberation with George, I decided that I was most comfortable going with the c-section. I knew I didn't want to attempt a breech birth and was completely freaked out by the idea of an external cephalic version. So... immediately the wheels were set in motion and I was off to the operating theatre for surgery.
Before I could go into theatre, I had a meeting with the anesthetist on call. This was a small, exhausted-looking, extremely gay, Asian man who wore red and gold bowling shoes with his scrubs. (Get the picture?) He described to me in great detail everything that could possibly go wrong with my anesthesia, then urged me to "just relax". By the end of it all, he and I were on great terms and cracking jokes, but at first, he seriously freaked me out.
Before I knew it, I was on my way to the theatre with trusty midwife Becky by my side. A spinal anesthetic was given and I eventually lay there completely naked, sprawled, numb, and slightly distraught about it all. George was allowed in at that point, the curtain was pulled, and all of the surgical stuff that I'd rather not think about began. Only a few minutes later, the anesthesiologist told George he could stand up and watch the baby being "delivered."
"There she is!" He breathlessly called out.
"Does she have hair?" I asked.
"I can only see her bottom." (of course) was his reply.
Well... in that case, "Is it a girl??"
"Yes!!"
Literally seconds later I heard our girl crying and found that I was crying as well. Becky took her for a very quick clean and then brought her straight to me for a cuddle. At that point I was able to completely forget about all the layers of stitches and vacuum suction and such which was happening on the other side of the curtain. We simply took time to fall completely in love with our new little bundle. Becky and the anesthesiologist each predicted a birth weight over seven pounds, but the jelly bean only weighed in at 6 pounds, 6 ounces. This all happened sometime around 5:30 in the morning, but I wasn't keeping track at that point.
After I was all stitched up, the registrar stuck her head around the curtain to tell me that all had gone well. She also said that the baby was basically doing a split inside my uterus when they pulled her out... one foot down below her bum and the other up beside her ear. She would have been impossible to turn externally, so we had made the 'right' choice opting for the cesarean.
The next half hour or so was a bit of a blur. There were about 7 people in the operating room with me, and it's funny how being completely naked, sprawled and numb in front of all of these strangers just became completely normal. We chatted about movies and other nonsense while I lay there on the table, completely vulnerable, and they moved me around like a fleshy rag doll.
A short time later I was taken to the Intensive Care Maternity Ward (where all mums go after a c-section), and I was looked after by the most fantastic midwives I've ever known. My favourite was a Scottish girl called Kim Hallewell, who was with me through the worst of it, including the anesthesia- induced sickness. (FYI: fresh abdominal stitches and vomiting are not a nice combination.) Kim (as well as the other midwives who worked with me) was completely sympathetic and answered all of my thousands of questions with patience, warmth and kindness.
I loved the fact that the aftercare centered around women looking after women. It seemed really old fashioned at first. Partners only were allowed to visit from 10:00 am-12:00 pm, and all other visitors were allowed for four hours in the afternoon. At first I thought this would be awful, but honestly it was nice that there was no pressure to entertain visitors or to anticipate that someone could stop by for a chat at any moment when I felt like I had just been hit by a lorry. No mobile phones were allowed in the ward either, which annoyed me at first, but after the second day I realised that I felt so much more rested than I ever had in my post-natal hospital rooms with private phone lines in the States. When visiting hours were over, I knew no one would be bothering me except the midwife on call, and she was no bother since she was always bringing pain killers or offering much appreciated help and comfort.
The entire time I was in hospital, my baby never left my side, except for the few minutes when midwife Becky took her to have a quick and gentle bath just after the birth. The baby was not scrubbed raw from top to toe as they do in the States. In fact a good bit of the vernix was left in the creases of her skin and just rubbed off naturally over the next couple of days. This seemed so much nicer to me, and I would venture to say it's also healthier and less traumatic for the baby.
By day two in the hospital I was gingerly on my feet and felt ready to come home to my own bed. George has been fantastic. At any moment of the day, he can either be found doing the dishes or the laundry. Ah, the life of a domestic goddess. For the last two days that I have been home, the community midwife has visited us to check on me and Lili. Today she weighed Lili and told us that she is just about back up to her birth weight. Hooray for mother's milk! She will be back again every day until Lili is one week old at which point the health visitor will take over to do well baby checks whenever necessary. Tomorrow I get to have my sutures taken out, and I am doing my best to just not think about that.
Well... this mama is up far too late. I am off to bed with a rack that would put Katie Price to shame and a baby who could melt Simon Cowell's heart. And that is all the British pop culture references you're getting from me until we meet again.
3 comments:
Congratulations...I'm so happy the experience was postivie and she couldnt' be any more adorable...enjoy many lazy days snuggling your girls!
Congratulations! She is beautiful and I am so glad everything went smoothly. I enjoyed reading your post as I have been through two c-sections and can completely relate. Enjoy this precious time with your family!
Oh my. That picture is like ER, but real...
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