No longer a Maternity Mammy

I’ve been meaning to update for a while but life with a little one who was confidently walking before she was one was a bit hectic.
And then she turned one, which was mental.
And then it was Christmas...you know how it is.
But today has been a BIG day for our little family of three and it seemed to be a good time to post something: I’m no longer a maternity Mammy. I’m a working Mammy.
After three weeks sick leave, ten months maternity leave and then some annual leave, today I returned to work.
I’m very lucky that I work in a place that I’m very passionate about so while in all honesty I didn’t want to go back, it’s not as horrendous as it could have been!
But I just can’t believe it’s over, forever.
Because unless I win the lottery there’ll never be another time where I’ll spend that many consecutive days with my daughter.
Yeah I’m still seeing her every day but there’ll only be a few times a year where I’ll spend more than three consecutive full days a week with her, and quite frankly, that’s shit.
And yeah it was nice to drink a hot cuppa today but I missed not clinking my mug with her plastic sippy cup and saying ‘cheers’ five times before I could actually have a drink.
And with an hour journey on the bus to work, I found time to write again, which was nice.
But from me getting in from work I had 1 hour 45 minutes until she was in bed. And that was hard.
It also reminded me that this is what it’s been like for her daddy since she was just a few weeks old. Most dads don’t get the luxury of a year or so off with their child. So while I’m sad we are ending one of, if not the best chapter of my life, I’ll be eternally grateful for my time as a Maternity Mammy. Even the poo explosions and frantic panics that something is wrong.
It’s been a blast.
A big virtual hug to all the working mams and dads out there who have to go to work. It’s hard, and it’s beyond me how I’ve not cried today, but I consider ourselves as part of an elite club who take ourselves off to work every day so that we can provide the best for our babies. So cheers to us, we deserve a drink!

The aftermath of delivery!

I feel like the next few posts are going to be a bit of a long ramble, for a number of reasons.

Partly because it’s really difficult to put in to words how it actually was, and so much was going on to then write that down in some sort of order isn’t easy. So if it all turns out a bit random, apologies!!

I was transferred to a ward the day after I’d had our daughter, which on a normal day is probably about a two minute walk away from the Special Care Baby Unit. But after major abdominal surgery, it felt a million miles away. I was going back and forward in a wheelchair to begin with, and then once I had my catheter out could think about walking. But I couldn’t do it unaided and normally by boyfriend would come and get me before going down to SCBU together.

It’s definitely not the start we planned, and with me on one ward, her on another and my boyfriend going home at night time, family time hadn’t quite kicked in.

We didn’t have any of the classes you have while I was pregnant because of how early she was, and there were some things I did not know happened after having a baby!! 

The labour after pains were horrendous, I didn’t even know they were a thing. I had no idea what was happening and they were worse than any stage I’d got too in normal labour, and there was no gas and air to ease the pain. I couldn’t even be in the unit with our daughter I had to go on the ward to my bed and knock back what ever pain relief they’d give me. After pains are basically the uterus contracting back to normal after you’ve delivered.

And then there’s the wind. Bloody hell. I’m a really private person when it comes to bodily functions, so actually saying all this is massive for me. Guess it shows how much of my dignity I did lose during proceedings, and now I just tell it like it is! You’ll probably cringe!

I didn’t really know, but I guess it’s obvious, but those performing the c section have to get really stuck in and move about your organs to get the baby out. And as your basically cut open, air is getting in to your body, and then they stitch you up. 

But it means you’re full of air and your organs are maybe a bit bruised and the pain that was causing me was awful. I didn’t know what it was, until one midwife explained to me and then said, and these were her words: ‘you probably just need a really good fart to pass the air.’

I mean it doesn’t sound like ground breaking medicine, but she was right, it was exactly what I needed. 

It was trapped wind causing me no end of discomfort. 

The only thing was, one wasn’t enough and it took a long time to get rid of that excess gas, with the help of gallons peppermint tea and a Buscopan prescription!! 

I was on some sort of pain relief or medication every two hours, I was almost rattling. 

Every couple of hours I’d leave her bedside and go in to a separate room and take my tablets. 

There was pain relief, Blood Pressure tablets, iron tablets because I was anaemic after the op and a few other tablets too.

And anyone who’s had to have iron tablets before will know what the side effects are. It’s like shitting tar! 

So I felt like crap, and I felt like left her bedside a lot, which I didn’t like. 

Whether it was to get myself checked as part of my recovery, take my medication, try and express, or just to get some food, I was in and out of the ward and didn’t like having to keep leaving her. 

And if I was ever on my own for these appointments, I’d just fall asleep. I fell asleep in a waiting room when going to get my BP checked. I also fell asleep in the little room I was put in too to express. 

I went in full of optimism but woke up about 25 minutes later with the breast pump resting on my belly and my boob hanging out. There was very little milk there (that’s another blog post) so not much mess, which I suppose was a blessing! 

I guess the reason I’m writing about this is because you think when you’ve had preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome that once the placenta is out, you’ll be better, but the recovery can be epic. 

A midwife told me this week that a c section recovery for someone in my condition would take about four times as long to recover than someone who’d had a c section without any health problems. 

It’s important to know that actually it doesn’t just end when you have the baby. My boyfriend had to give me an injection every night for weeks as part of my medication. So while I wasn’t seriously ill any more, it was a long process to get my body back to some sort of normality, added to the fact, I’d just had a baby. 

I finally got to meet her

Seeing my daughter for the first time by photo was amazing, the fact the hospital does that is brilliant and not something I was expecting.

At the same time though I was desperate to see her in person, but she was in special care and I was in recovery so it was physically impossible.

I’ve no concept of the time this was all going on. She was born at 10.12pm but I’m unsure as to how long I was in theatre after that, or what time I woke up.

It was late and I really wasn’t with it but I remember during the night my boyfriend sleeping on the chair in my room, then waking up and going to see her in SCBU then coming back. 

That was torture, I wanted to go. I wanted to see her. 

I can’t even imagine what that night was like for my boyfriend. 

I slept on and off and then in the morning was given a bed bath (they’re a hoot aren’t they) and then I could go see her.

I was put in a wheelchair with my creased, oversized Primark checked shirt on, my hair scraped back, my head, feet, well my whole body still massive, with a green hospital blanket covering the bag from my catheter as I was pushed in to SCBU.

There were four cots in her ward, and with the cots came parents so there was no privacy, and I remember going in to the ward and feeling like all eyes were on me. 

It lasted a second before I clapped eyes on her and she was handed to me. She was tiny, had the smallest little hat on and a little tube coming out of her nose. 

I cried! 

It’s definitely not how I imagined it. Seeing my daughter for the first time the day after she was born and unable to pick her up myself was not in any kind of birth plan, but it was lovely just to finally have her in my arms. 

I didn’t want to put her down, we both just wanted to cuddle her, but like me absolute rest was what she needed most and it was best for her to be in the cot. 

And so started a routine of just sitting and staring, all day every day.

You might be wondering why I’m still writing about this? The blog is to raise awareness about preeclampsia and the cure to that is getting the baby out? So am I not fine? I can stop now.

That’s right, and I am fine, and I could stop.

But I learned more this week in a birth reflections session at the RVI about how pre-eclampsia impacted on my physical recovery after childbirth, and was the reason why we had to go down a certain route. I hadn't realised, despite being cured of it, it still had consequences as a Mam, which I hadn’t been aware of, and so for now will continue to tell my story.

Ahhh! So this is why I was in hospital!

When I was first admitted in to hospital with pre eclampsia I was never totally worried that something was wrong, or that something bad would happen. 

You could put it down to denial, down to confidence in the NHS. Lack of knowledge about pre eclampsia or a positive attitude? It was probably all of the above. 

There’s a saying in our family when things happen, ‘you’ve got to box on’. My dads granny used to say it apparently. And I think there was an element of that too. 

It was my first pregnancy so I didn’t know any different. This was our normal and we did just get on with it.

It was annoying being in hospital, as lovely as everyone was, I wanted to be home. But suddenly something happened and my god am I grateful I was there.

I’ve said previously I was pretty independent in hospital. I’d get up and make my own breakfast, often a cuppa and some toast and take it back to my bay. 

It was a Wednesday morning and as far as I was concerned normal service would resume for the day, so off I went along the ward go get brekkie. But I couldn’t do it. The coffee was in sachets and I couldn’t open the sachet, that little tear that you have to make was impossible, even though it’s already half ripped for you. 

I had no strength and suddenly could barely lift my arms and the ache that came across my shoulders was horrendous. I felt unwell, and felt like I could just drop to the floor. I managed to get to the corridor of the ward and remember pathetically crying out for a midwife while I leant on the wall trying to stay up. 

She heard me, thankfully, and ran over and despite being a petite little thing managed to prop me up and almost carry me to my bed. I felt like crap and it was the first time I felt genuinely poorly despite being diagnosed with pre eclampsia weeks ago. The midwife said I was grey.

I lay down, had some toast and started to feel better. While in hospital my BP had been through the roof, but for whatever reason that morning, it had dropped massively. 

I was hooked on to monitors, drips, had canulars in and more blood tests taken and at least two members of staff in my bay for the majority of the time. 

Now I know why I was getting wrong for all the Christmas stuff I’d accumulated, there really wasn't room for it all!

Shortly after a doctor came in and explained my baby needed to come out. They had wanted to get to 37 weeks, which is classed as full term, but for my well being they needed to get that placenta out of me, and obviously with that comes the baby. 

They explained because she was going to be six weeks early she would need to be in a Special Care Baby Unit, but there was no room at the hospital I was in. 

Our second choice was full too and eventually we got the nod to say there was a bed available for our daughter at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Gateshead, and so I had to be transferred there for delivery. 

They managed to stabilise me and so I was waiting for transport to take me. I couldn’t just go in the car, I had to be in an ambulance and have a midwife with me at all times. 

By this point my boyfriend was with me, and so we just sat and waited. I felt much better than I had in the morning and was desperate for a shower but didn’t want to have one incase my transport arrived. 

Then they came for me and as I was wheeled off I cried my eyes out. I didn’t want to go. I’d got to know this team, got used to them and they knew me. I wanted to stay there.

I cried again when I got the QE. There was nothing particularly wrong with it but it just wasn’t the RVI and that was enough to make me cry. 

The ward was smaller and darker than what I was used too. There were two other women in the bay and I was put in the last of the three beds there.

As I was getting in to bed, the other two women were arguing with someone about the fact they couldn’t bring kebabs on to the ward. 

Get me back to the RVI, please! 

The nurse didn’t need to ask twice when she asked if I wanted the curtain open or shut. 

SHUT! 

My boyfriend had to go home and I was told I’d be given an induction pessary in the early hours, which I had.

It didn’t work. 

I had another one on the Thursday night. It didn’t work. 

Friday morning came and I had another one before a doctor manually broke my waters. 

If you’ve ever had that done you’ll know how surreal that procedure is, as the doctor chats away with your legs either side of him before he confirms, yep I’ve done it, and you then feel that sensation of your waters breaking. WEIRD! 

And so labour began and it was nothing like I’d planned. 

I thought I’d walk around, bounce on a ball, eat. I’d pretty much ordered a full on buffet to graze on but I wasn’t allowed a thing. I had to just sit there, as water continued to dribble out of me with none of my favourite food and any drinks of water had to me measured. 

As time went on the contractions started. I didn’t even know that’s what they were, I thought the bed was just uncomfortable but the midwife knew best and confirmed it wasn’t the mattress on the bed causing the pain in my back! 

I wasn’t allowed an epidural because of how poorly I was, so it was paracetamol and gas and air. 

I love gas and air, and I told anyone who came in the delivery room that day I loved it. Told them they were on to a good thing, they should sell it in bars. WTF!? 

Who cares if I was talking rubbish though, it was taking the pain away. 

I got to a point where actually I felt like I needed to go to the loo. I had been reluctant to say because going to the toilet when you’re hooked on to god knows what is a mission but the more time went on I thought I better go, rather than literally shit the bed. 

But it turns out that feeling was actually the desire to push. And that’s when things escalated. 

I never did push. 

A few people came in and out and before I knew it after 14 hours of labour I was getting prepped for an emergency c section and getting changed in to a gown. 

A doctor came and sat by me and explained what they needed to do. In between sucking the gas and air I agreed. I agreed to a blood transfusion if necessary and agreed to a hysterectomy if necessary. 

I wasn’t allowed an epidural so I had to be given general anaesthetic, which comes with its own risks for mam and baby, but I told them to just do what they needed to do. 

I was absolutely bricking it. 

I know the heart rate had slowed right down but I don’t know if it was mine or the baby. 

My boyfriend was told he should ring someone to be with him, and so he called my mam and dad and they came, but I didn’t get to see them, I was already on my way to theatre when they arrived.

I was wheeled along the corridor and just started taking deep breaths. Slow deep breaths, I needed to stay calm. I didn’t open my eyes once, and I continued to breath. Panic did set in again just before I was knocked out. I heard a woman’s voice, she came in to theatre and was clearly the boss of a number of people. 

Even with my eyes closed I could hear she commanded respect off her staff as it went quiet and they listened intently as she give her instructions of what they needed to do me. And then I had a mask fitted and counted from ten down.

Our gorgeous daughter was born at 10.12pm on December 14th weighing 4lb 4oz.

Daddy got to have a cuddle before she was taken to SCBU and I came round from the anaesthetic about an hour later in a recovery room with my boyfriend, mam and dad looking over me. 

I was told she was fine, and the hospital printed off a few pictures of her. I couldn’t see her or hold her for the time being but those photos did not leave my sight. 

I had questions, was she ok? Was I ok? Did they do a hysterectomy? I kept repeating those questions until it sunk in that this had had a positive ending.

We were both fine and I didn’t need an hysterectomy in the end. Her time in SCBU was going to be to just give her a helping hand, there was nothing to be majorly concerned about.

Had I not have been to my midwife appointments, had I not have been in hospital with my funny turn, it could have been a very different outcome. 

Definitely not how I expected it, definitely not how I wanted it, but on reflection the best thing that could have happened. Thank god for our NHS!

I was a mam! Wow!!

What a difference a day makes!

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said that throughout the majority of my pregnancy, I felt fine.

And getting out of hospital for a few hours, inhaling some north east fresh air made me feel even better!

So imagine my confusion that 24 hours on from my ‘mini break’ I was told there was a possibility of delivery that night.

It was a Monday, about 4.30pm and it was just starting to get dark outside, the sky that navy blue colour. I could sense it was freezing outside but it was roasting on the ward. 

I was sitting on the bed, my dad in the visitors seat and we were just chatting away. I was probably eating. 

Out of nowhere a doctor or consultant, someone in blue scrubs anyway, came up to my bed and whisked the curtain closed behind him. 

He explained the results of my blood tests that day weren’t what they’d like and they were looking at inducing me. 

Errr ok. But it’s December and she’s not due until the end of January?? And I feel fine! Keep her in!

He explained they wanted to run more tests, and if my bloods were a certain level then I’d be induced. He then went on to explain what happens during induction, details of how they’ll insert the pessary and how many I could have etc. **

Probably an uncomfortable listen for my dad, but he handled it well.

Then before I knew it he disappeared again behind the curtain and sent someone in to take more bloods.

I think I laughed. I don’t remember freaking out or anything. I knew my partner was on his way so I didn’t want to ring him and have him hear that news over a crackly hands free line. Me and dad decided it was best to just tell him when he arrived. 

I’m glad we did, he demonstrated more than enough shock for both of us and quickly needed to take a seat and register what he’d just been told.

It was a waiting game for an hour or two but then I was told my bloods had improved and they wouldn’t be inducing me. 

Great news, we wanted her kept inside me as long as possible. 

But that mad couple of hours confirmed for us both that this could all change in a flash.

She really could come any day and we needed to get our heads around that, whether we liked it or not! 

**If you, like me, didn't really know much about Labour Induction there is more information here

The day I went to the pub!

The title of this post is 100 % accurate. They let me out of hospital and I went to the pub. I’ll get to that in a minute.

Remembering when they said I could leave the hospital for the day is getting me excited even now, and I am typing far too fast and correcting lots of mistakes as I write!

To put it in perspective my residence in Ward 34 was pretty mundane. I had observations every couple of hours, spent an hour or so on a machine monitoring the movement of the baby and then would wait for visitors. And of course, wrap a few presents. Go to sleep. Repeat.

Sometimes when I did get in to a deep sleep, the nurse would try and gently wake me up, but I often got a fright and jumped. Which made her jump. Then we’d both be in fits of laughter and have to wait a few minutes to do the test. 
That was the height of the entertainment during my stay! 

I was always asked if I had any headaches, blurred vision, pains in my abdomen. Other than a few headaches, I never really did but it always highlighted to me how weird this whole thing was. As fine as I felt, something inside was going seriously wrong and I honestly had no idea the scale of it. That’s the thing with preeclampsia, it’s so easy to overlook because of how you feel.

37 weeks was still the target for delivery and that was always the focus when the doctors did their rounds. On Sunday December 9, I was around 33 weeks, and the Doctor asked if I’d like to go out for the day. Looking back I can’t remember exactly, but I am pretty sure I would have cried when he asked that. Yes! Yes I’d like to go out.

As long as all my obs were ok, I could leave for a few hours and get back for my next set of obs. Now I know the world wasn’t exactly my oyster, but this was BIG!

I had to get through the blood pressure test. I was so bloody excited I was worried my BP was going to sky rocket and they’d say I couldn’t go, but I remained optimistic and made the call for my boyfriend to bring me a coat and some proper shoes.

A few calming deep breaths, and my BP was OK and I was good to go. I ran to the loo and put some mascara on and walked, very slowly, out of the hospital with my boyfriend. I think it was expected that I’d be going home, but I didn’t. My boyfriend was going to the Newcastle match and meeting my dad and some friends in the pub.

I could have easily said I wanted to go home and he would have cancelled his plans, but for the all the excitement of getting out, I just wanted normality for a few hours. And a normal match day was him going to the match and me being in town.

I've already mentioned how hard I think it was for my family, and so going to the match for my boyfriend was probably a bit of escape from the reality of it all for him too, and I wasn't going to take that away from him.

So I went with him to the pub. Ahh my dads face when I walked in to the pub was priceless and I enjoyed a full fat coke with the boys.

While they enjoyed some pre match pints I met my mam and sister and headed in to town where the Christmas Markets were on. I actually surprised my mam at the bus stop when she got to Newcastle and it was a mixture of being pleased to see me, and wondering what on earth I was doing there!?

It was a brilliant afternoon, the smells, the feeling of the cold winter air, the bustle of a city centre. I loved it. I remember nipping to the loo when I was out and catching myself in the mirror. I looked rough and my ability to put makeup on had clearly gone, but who cared!? NOT ME!

We went to Zizzi’s for a pizza, and I remember comparing it to when the celebrities leave the jungle. Just those different tastes compared to the hospital food were lovely and I absolutely demolished my pizza before heading back to hospital with some chocolates for the staff. 

Maybe if I bribe them they’ll let me out again? It was worth a shot.

The boys came back to visit after the match, Newcastle lost but we didn’t care. It was a great day and made such a difference to how I was feeling. The doctor knew it would do that, that it would perk me up. They really do know what they are doing and I am so grateful for that!

All about me

So it became clear my time in hospital wasn’t just going to be a flying visit.

Communication improved and I was told the aim was to get me to 37 weeks, which would take me to just after New Year. I was admitted at 32 weeks so that was looking like a five week stint over Christmas. 

I was gutted.

I knew it was the best place for me, and that I needed to be there. But I hated it. I hated just sitting around doing nothing. 

In a building of thousands of people, hospital can be a lonely old place. I had visitors every day, but most of the day was spent just lying in the bed. 

I didn’t like not being in control and I didn’t really like the fuss over me. It wasn’t something that I was used too and it didn’t sit comfortably. 

My family were amazing but they were worried about me, and I do think it was just as hard, if not harder for them. I felt bad for that. 
My partner still had to go to work every day, then he’d come after work to visit. He wasn’t getting home until late, having his tea and then bed. Probably sometimes wasn’t even having tea.
That routine every day was physically and mentally exhausting and I felt bad. 

If I was allowed to leave the ward with visitors we’d go to Costa, but I was rarely allowed to buy a drink, someone would always buy me one. I felt bad for that. 
I decided I didn’t want to mope and needed to keep my mind occupied. You need to take a mortgage out to watch TV in hospital so I decided to crack on with Christmas preparations. 

My family brought in my cards and I wrote them out so they could be posted. That then escalated to presents being brought in to wrap, and before you knew it my bay was covered in scissors, sellotape, wrapping paper and ribbon. 

It went down like a lead balloon with some staff who told me off for being messy. 
But I needed to do it, and most accepted that it was probably a good thing that I was keeping myself as busy as I could. 

Slowly I turned my bay in to a little grotto to get in to some sort of Christmas cheer. I had an advent calendar, some decorations and even a mini tree. 

If I was in for Christmas, the most wonderful time of the year, I was going to make it as bearable as possible.

The window in my hospital bay