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