...
My baby was 5 days late. I had spent the last few days watching the clock, trying to resist the urge to shop online and sleeping in late. There was little else to do. I live about 30km from the nearest town, and wandering any further would be silly, given I could go into labour at any moment. So, I waited. I was told by my doctor that I would be induced the following Tuesday. It was the day before Good Friday. Nothing was going to happen for the next four days, public holidays and all. Thanks, Jesus.
Late Thursday night, I started feeling cramps. Yes, I thought, this is it! I counted the little contractions for a while and they came approximately every 10 minutes. I rang the hospital to let the midwife know where I was at. She advised me to relax at home, and call again when things had progressed. I went back to bed. Then I fell asleep. I woke up in the morning to the phone ringing. It was the midwife. The contractions had gone away. 'You're not in labour. Come in anyway, and we'll see where you're at.' 30 minutes in the car. One hour strapped to an ECG. You're not in labour. Go home.
I spent Friday with the irregular contractions happening. It's painful and uncomfortable, and I wanted to know what was happening. Back to the hospital. 'You're not in labour. You can stay the night if you wish, here have a Panadeine Forte and a sleeping pill.'
Saturday morning. 'You're still not in labour. Best thing is to go home, there's no point being here and you're more comfortable at home anyway.'
My best friend and her husband had come up on the weekend to keep me company while I waited. They were now on back rub patrol every time I had a contraction, just to help take the edge of the pain. This was happening every three, five to 10 minutes. By the evening, I was over it. I was frustrated, anxious, sore, and tired. I lay on the bed, desperate, sobbing. My partner scooped me up, placed me in the car on the backseat with my best friend comforting me. Back to the hospital.
'You're not in labour. You'll know when you're in labour. This is nothing. You can stay the night if you wish, here have a Pethidine shot.'
Sunday morning, Easter Sunday. My partner pulled the midwife aside, and let her know that I am someone who doesn't complain, and is in more pain that I let on. 'Please do something, she is exhausted.' The midwife finally rings my doctor. My doctor comes in, asks me if I would like her to rupture my membranes, but then we would be committed to delivering the baby. This meant, if nothing progressed, I would be staring down the barrel of a caesarian section.
Whatever! I don't care! Just get it out!!
It was about 10:30am. I felt the gush of amniotic fluid and felt relief that something was finally happening. The midwife suggested I stand up if I could to help things move along. As soon as I stood up, I felt an intense pressure and then, a shooting pain that I had never felt or anticipated. I howled. 'OK, how about we head into the labour ward, get your comfortable'. The prospect of the 20 metre walk was overwhelming. I got in, felt another contraction, howled and writhed again. I felt the need to push immediately, but I didn't know what was happening. The doctor said she'd see me later, it could take several hours. Really? Really? I don't know if I could bear it! I felt another contraction, screamed and threw myself around the bed. The doctor and midwife looked at each other, wondered if my pain threshold really was that low. They decided to have a look and see what's going on. Oh! There's a head! 'This baby is coming' said my doctor. She didn't have time to get changed from her civvies, just throw on an apron. It was time to push.
Push I did, I don't know how many times, but it felt like every 30 seconds another contraction came. The head kept coming down, then going back up. It felt like an eternity. The feeling of burning was so intense, I felt on the precipice of conscienceness. I am sure I saw myself out of my body a couple of times. The gas didn't do anything for the pain. Oh please, let it end.
11:14am. My baby was born. A boy. My partner was in tears, having helplessly stood next to me the whole time. Lucas Sydney was weighed, cleaned, and cuddled, meanwhile the doctor and I were trying to deliver my placenta. My uterus was so exhausted it took a while. Shortly after, I spent two hours feeding my newborn.
...
The first sign of trouble was when I fainted in the shower. I came two with about ten nurses standing around me. OK, maybe I'll shower later. I was covered with blood and meconium but I didn't really care. I just wanted to rest and having a shower seemed like an overwhelmingly energetic task.
A few hours after birth, I was sitting back in my room with my parents coo-ing over their grandson, my best friend and her husband in awe of what had just happened on the weekend, and my partner and I just trying to absorb everything that happened. I felt a lot of blood. I felt like I was swimming in it. I mentioned it to my partner and he went to fetch the midwife. She lifted the covers, then hit the green button. Again, 10 or so nurses surrounded me. The doctor returned. There must be a tear they didn't find after the birth. They have to find it.
I was offered the gas again, this time the portable unit. It was strong. I felt out of control and scared, I was experiencing a bad trip with a triple echo. No more gas. After about an hour and a half, the cervical tear was located, stitched up. A catheter was inserted as well as an IV in each arm. two litres of saline was pumped into me, followed by 2 units of blood. 2 more units were being couriered from Melbourne, 3 hours away.
If I thought childbirth was painful and difficult, it had nothing on the emergency that followed. I was in shock for a few days, although felt grateful for the extremely high quality professional staff looking after me and ensuring my recovery. I could have died.
It took a few weeks to feel like myself again. My body was so battered, bruised and exhausted I could barely walk, but here I am 10 weeks later writing this post. I realise that if it weren't for the generous people donating blood, I would not be here. Nor if I had lived in a country without the resources available to me here in Australia.
My son would've grown up without a mother, and he may never realise just how lucky he is. And that is just the way I prefer it.
No comments:
Post a Comment