Tuesday 10 September 2019

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!!

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