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

When can I go home?

There is honestly no weirder feeling than being an in patient in a high risk hospital ward and feeling absolutely fine.

In some ways it could be seen as a bit of a luxury. I mean there wasn’t a spa I could pop down too or someone to give me a much needed pedicure. But I was told to just relax and rest, read a book, watch the tv. Nice eh!? 

Nope!

I’m a hard worker, I strive to be really good at what I do and just switching off from my everyday life of work and home was really difficult. I had meetings planned, I wasn’t due to finish work for another month and my handover wasn’t finished. I was in the middle of email conversations with contacts that I felt I should be replying too, so to literally shut down was a massive challenge.

It has to be said my work were absolutely brilliant, and for every message I sent with something that I remembered needed doing, a message was sent back telling me to stop thinking about work.

I was given a sick note for a month, my first sick note ever, and after a while I started to accept I wasn’t at work and my laptop was collected.

Quite a few days went by, I still felt totally fine and was waiting to be told I could go home. I was tired but remember thinking, the less you do, the more tired you become. 

I genuinely thought every day when they did the hospital rounds was the day they’d say get yourself home. 

I got in to a little routine of making my breakfast in the morning, being hooked on to a machine to monitor the baby for an hour or so, and then just lying there waiting for my observations to be done. Sometimes I’d go for a little walk if I was allowed and then visitors came in the afternoon and evening. As fine as that sounds, it was hard and I wanted to go home.

The staff were great, and I got on really well with the majority of them. 

One of them was going on holiday, so I was wishing her a good time and in conversation said that hopefully I’d be home when she was back, and perhaps I’d see her in the New Year when I came in to have the baby. 

That was when I found out I was in for the long haul when she told me I wasn’t going anywhere until I’d had the baby. 

But this is November and she’s not due until the end of January?

I’ve got to stay in over Christmas!? 

I had it confirmed from another midwife, and she pretty much said once you’re in with preeclampsia you don’t go home. 

Why did no one tell me that? 

Why did I not realise that? Admitted in to hospital, baby being monitored every day, my checks being done every few hours because my blood pressure was through the roof. Bloods being taken all the time. 

Even though I felt fine, I clearly wasn’t, so why on earth would they send me home!? 

And then it dawned on me. When I was first admitted and the Nurse said it would be monitored daily, it wasn’t to send me home. It was to decide about delivering the baby. She could come any day!

Pre-eclampsia? Is that bad?

You know when you just have one of those days. 

I can’t even remember what the problem was, but whatever happened made me very emotional when I watched David Ginola on Sky Sports Monday Night Football, as he reminisced about his days at Newcastle United.

Maybe it was just the tiredness. My fabulous mam and sister had thrown me a great baby shower the day before and the stuff we got from that was pretty overwhelming.

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones making me super sentimental?

Or maybe it was because I was quite poorly, but just had no idea.

It was a Tuesday and I had a routine midwife appointment so was due to head to work afterwards. In my job we have two particularly busy times of the year, and I was in the midst of one of them so I knew I had a list as long as my arm to get through when I did get logged on after the appointment.

I still haven’t been back to work.

My midwife did all the usual checks and then towards the end of the appointment, as casual as you’d say ‘what you having for tea?’ said she needed me to go to hospital. In an equally casual response I asked ‘when?’

‘Now, I’m ringing them now to tell them you’re on the way.'

I sat back in the chair at her desk while she made the call and then she explained my blood pressure was high and there was protein in my wee.

Still I don’t think I thought there was anything really wrong. I felt totally fine.

She asked if I had any swelling anywhere, in my hands or feet?

The week before I’d had to buy a size bigger shoe than normal, so that was a yes!

Then me and the student in the room looked at my fingers, then looked back at each other in unified agreement that they were also probably a bit on the large side.

I had the rest of the day in the hospital with scans, blood tests and urine tests before being allowed home. I had to return  in two days for more checks and have complete rest in between.

It was Thursday now and I was told tests would take an hour or so, so told my boss I’d be in about 11ish.

But there was a good six hour stint there while more bloods were taken. My appointment started on time at 10am, at it was about 4.30pm when I was told I was being admitted. 

I remember it as clear as day. I knew I was being admitted because everyone in the unit could hear the discussion from the nurses work station, so we all knew each other’s situation, which wasn’t ideal!

When the midwife did come and speak to me she was very loud, and although I was on my own at that moment, I kind of wasn’t because again, everyone there knew what was happening.

I was being admitted with pre-eclampsia and it would be monitored daily by the doctors.

By this point I was crying, I didn’t want to be admitted to hospital, who does? The midwife did try to reassure me it would all be ok, but I didn’t really know what was going on. 

Was it serious? Should I be worried? Is the baby ok? 

I called my boyfriend and told him to bring an overnight bag with him and then I was taken to the ward, shown my bay and was given those god awful socks to wear.

I honestly thought I’d be in a day or two and be allowed home by the weekend. I thought the daily monitoring was to see when I could be discharged. At 32 weeks gestation, delivery wasn’t an option at all for me. And I don’t even think it was through denial or stubbornness or panic on my part. It was my lack of knowledge of pre-eclampsia and how serious it is. Along with the fact,

I felt totally fine!

What is pre-eclampsia

Before it turned scary!

Where to start with my story? 

When I had the baby? When I was admitted to hospital? 

I’ll quickly go further back, to the day I found out I was pregnant. I remember it well, mainly I’m sure, because I found out I was pregnant after god knows how many negative tests, yet it was still a huge surprise.

But also it was Harry and Megan’s wedding day, FA Cup Final day and I had two parties that day where the fizz was flowing! So straight away the phrase ‘ah I don’t think I will drink’ became routine.

Rewind 24 hours and as a couple we were oblivious to our position,‬ sat in our garden until it was dark enjoying probably more than one bottle of white wine.

On that ‪Saturday lunch time‬ something made me do a test. Whether it was the unexpected emotion of the Royal Wedding or the irrational response to how my boyfriend had hung a mirror, I don’t know. I also mistook the smell of coffee for corned beef in the office the day before, so maybe I should have drawn something from that?

But all of those things, combined with a wonder of when my last period actually was, meant I took myself upstairs to pee on a stick and minutes later the word ‘pregnant’ popped up.

I had a fairly normal pregnancy for a while. Didn’t suffer morning sickness but the tiredness was something I had never experienced before.

I had to have regular scans because I’d been to Costa Rica within six months prior to being pregnant. While there were no real reasons to be concerned, the guidelines were for me to have regular check ups to make sure all was OK due to the Zika virus. It was fine by us as it meant we got to see baby every 4-6 weeks on the monitor. 

I felt OK in general, had a fairly neat bump and was enjoying being pregnant and looking forward to the adventure of motherhood. We’d found out we were having a girl and were over the moon.

Our parents were equally delighted! His Mam and Dad clapped their hands with genuine glee at the prospect of becoming Grandparents for a fourth time.

Mine were absolutely buzzing too and ended up having far too much to drink on the night they found out they were going to get a grandchild. 

I’ll never forget that night, shortly before last orders, a very drunken Grandad-to-be raised both his arms in the air and professed with utter pride “I’m going to be a Grandad!"

                                                     The night before we found out!

Maternity Mammy

What is Maternity Mammy? 

I guess it’s me opening up. 

Or it will be, at some point.

‘I don’t think you have any idea how poorly you’ve been.’ That was one of the last things the nurse said to me before I was discharged from hospital after having my daughter. 

She was six weeks premature, born in rather dramatic fashion and would remain in the Special Care Baby Unit while I went home.

She also said it will hit me at some point. 

It hasn’t yet.

So I guess this is pre-empting something that might happen, and as "it's good to talk" I thought it might help.

I do talk openly about our situation in everyday life. In short I had severe pre eclampsia and HELLP Syndrome. But chatting about it is a different ball game to writing it down, penning how you remember things unfolding. 

As well, I’d like to try and raise awareness of the two conditions. What I knew about them I could write on the back of a stamp before I had them. 

So slowly I’ll relay back the story of when I became a Maternity Mammy, and see how it goes. 

Happy reading x