Qube
10-05-2008, 11:19 AM
18th of January
I woke up just before 4am. I thought it was because your Dad was snoring (which is usually what wakes me up) but then I realized I was having a cramp. I had been having cramps for a few days so I wasn’t too hopeful that it was anything promising. I got up to go to the toilet, took one step and then a huge gush came. I didn’t expect my waters to break before the real contractions start. Most women have to have their waters broken during labour, or the waters rupture after a pattern of contractions had set it. Your Dad woke up long enough to get me a towel and then go back to bed. But after that there was no way I could go back to sleep straight away. I had a shower and played on the computer to pass the time. After an hour I rang the hospital, who said it was ok to go back to bed and to come in to be checked after 9am.
18th June 2007
Ok, I feel strong enough to finish this now, sweetheart. To continue where I left off, we got to the hospital at about 9.30am. I was assigned a midwife that seemed to have trouble understanding me when I said that I was certain that my waters had broken. So she insisted on collecting samples from me and making me wait around on the bed, even though that made the contractions feel far worse. Eventually I said that I wanted to go home, my contractions were about 8 minutes apart still, so there wasn’t much point hanging around the hospital unnecessarily. So after the idiot midwife got a sample that confirmed that my waters had indeed broken and that there was no evidence of muconium I was allowed to go home. Your Daddy drove me home and it was the most bizarre experience. I was wandering around the house, pausing every little while to weather a contraction and then I would resume pottering. I got in the bath tub when the contractions got to around 5 minutes apart. It dawned on me at that time that we were going to meet face to face very soon. While I was in the bath I dropped a mug which I had been using to pour water over my belly, and you jumped. I thought ‘Hello little man, not long now!’. It was the most exciting and exhausting day. I was certain we would meet before the day was out.
I eventually got out of the tub for fear of becoming water logged. Your Dad convinced me to eat something small, but I was too distracted to eat. We watched some TV and I managed to clean up the house a little, and check our hospital bags about a trillion times. When I got to the point that I could not talk between contractions, and I felt like someone was working a knife in my most intimate of areas, we rang the hospital and they said it was probably time to come in. So off we went. I remember sitting in the car, arguing with your Dad over wether we needed the airconditioning on in the car and thinking that this has got to be the most bizarre, surreal and important day of my life. We staggered up the driveway, into the maternity wing, pausing a couple of times for contractions. We got set up in a suite and I wandered around feeling disappointed that this was not moving faster. I got into the bath and by about 8pm the contractions were coming thick and fast. The midwife gave me some gas, which I refused to let go of. The midwife said to me that her shift finished at 7am, and that she thought she would meet my baby before she went home. So in my mind, you were going to be out by 7am! End of story. I don’t think anyone has a fun or an easy labour, and mine was no different. As the minutes ticked by, and your Daddy started to get a little impatient, I thought ‘it must be soon’. At around 2am and the midwife announced that she would check me now. Ok, I thought, I have seen this bit on the documentary channel, they check the woman and then tell her to push. So I was angry with her, with myself and illogically with your Dad when she said I was only 3cm dialated. THREE CENTREMETRES?? WHAT THE HELL DID SHE MEAN, 3 CMS?? I had another SEVEN to go. This is bull****, I thought. I’ve had enough now, how the hell will I make it to 7am (naively still thinking that this was when you were going to get out)?. So I laboured and I laboured. Then to add insult to injury that ridiculous woman, only recently having ruined my life with her THREE CENTRMENTRES, told my husband, the man who impregnated me, the man who despite assisting with the conception had suffered nil through the preceding 9 months, to go to sleep. Outraged I heaved myself onto the double bed where he slept. With every contraction I groaned as loudly as I could in his ear, I pulled on his shirt, and I generally ensured that I was not the only one suffering. After about an hour of these shenanigans I realized that you Dad could sleep through anything, and I was really only annoying myself. So I went back to the shower, then to the bath, then to the shower again. Eventually your Dad finished his nanna nap and graced me with his presence. Admittedly it was about 5.30am, and he had only slept for a few hours. The contractions didn’t seem to end, and there was barely 20 seconds between them. The midwife came in and asked me if I felt like pushing, I considered this for a moment and replied ‘no, I’m ok’. Not quite the response she was expecting. After a pethadine shot the nurse checked me again. This time I was convinced that despite not feeling any urge to push I would be fully dilated. And it was almost 7am, the end of the midwifes shift, your deadline. When that midwife told me that I was 9cm I seriously considered kicking her. I was exhausted, it had been 27 hours since my waters had broken in such promising, dramatic fashion and I felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. The poor midwife who had stayed with me the whole night, rubbing my back, encouraging me through each contraction announced to my snarling face that it would be a few more hours yet. I started to cry. I desperately wanted you to come out. I had wanted a drug free birth, humourous in hindsight, but I wanted you to not have any drugs in your little system. Instead, you had had nearly every drug in the place. I felt that I had failed you, and disappointed Ben. I collapsed on the bed, and I could barely whisper the bitter words I spat at the midwife, at Ben and my ridiculous body which would not do that which it was designed for…. ‘I can’t do anymore’. So they loaded me up into a wheelchair and wheeled me through the hospital corridor to the B side of the maternity wing. The devestation I felt at not being able to achieve this for you, and for Ben and, selfishly, for myself was awful.
So I was shivering and could barely keep my eyes open, when they gave me an epidural. Epidurals are super quick and very effective. So we waited and waited, and as epidurals sometimes do, my labour stalled. By this time it was about 12noon on Friday the 19th. The midwife came back and said they would give me another hour, and if I didn’t want to push by then we would need a c-section. About 10 minutes later, as your Dad and I were chatting, the monitor hooked up to you started beeping. The midwife came flying in, followed by several other people that I hadn’t seen before. They told me that you didn’t have an hour, so we were hurried into theatre, and at 12.40pm, after 32 hours, you were born. That first cry from you was amazing, all this time I had felt you move and grow and finally I could hear you. Your Dad cut the cord and they wrapped you up. The hospital had a monitor set up above the operating table which was connected to a video camera where they put the new babies, so I watched you being wrapped up.
The midwife brought you over to me and the first thing she said was ‘there are some abnormalities’. Instantly the high was over and I was scared. I looked at your precious, beautiful, serious face taking in your surroundings quietly and couldn’t understand what she was talking about, you looked perfect to me. As it turns out, the only reason they thought you might have downs syndrome was because you have a simian crease on your left hand. This means that instead of having two lines across your palm, you have one. Lots of people have this. We would have loved you if you had three heads, just the same. I was worried by the way the hospital staff whispered amongst themselves, and used you for learning doctors in my presence. Never again will I let someone do that to you honey, you are perfect to me, just as you are. They told us when you were a week old that you did not have a disability.
Thanks for reading, I started writing this letter to him and I think it's nearly finished (there is more in it about the pregnancy and his milestones)
I woke up just before 4am. I thought it was because your Dad was snoring (which is usually what wakes me up) but then I realized I was having a cramp. I had been having cramps for a few days so I wasn’t too hopeful that it was anything promising. I got up to go to the toilet, took one step and then a huge gush came. I didn’t expect my waters to break before the real contractions start. Most women have to have their waters broken during labour, or the waters rupture after a pattern of contractions had set it. Your Dad woke up long enough to get me a towel and then go back to bed. But after that there was no way I could go back to sleep straight away. I had a shower and played on the computer to pass the time. After an hour I rang the hospital, who said it was ok to go back to bed and to come in to be checked after 9am.
18th June 2007
Ok, I feel strong enough to finish this now, sweetheart. To continue where I left off, we got to the hospital at about 9.30am. I was assigned a midwife that seemed to have trouble understanding me when I said that I was certain that my waters had broken. So she insisted on collecting samples from me and making me wait around on the bed, even though that made the contractions feel far worse. Eventually I said that I wanted to go home, my contractions were about 8 minutes apart still, so there wasn’t much point hanging around the hospital unnecessarily. So after the idiot midwife got a sample that confirmed that my waters had indeed broken and that there was no evidence of muconium I was allowed to go home. Your Daddy drove me home and it was the most bizarre experience. I was wandering around the house, pausing every little while to weather a contraction and then I would resume pottering. I got in the bath tub when the contractions got to around 5 minutes apart. It dawned on me at that time that we were going to meet face to face very soon. While I was in the bath I dropped a mug which I had been using to pour water over my belly, and you jumped. I thought ‘Hello little man, not long now!’. It was the most exciting and exhausting day. I was certain we would meet before the day was out.
I eventually got out of the tub for fear of becoming water logged. Your Dad convinced me to eat something small, but I was too distracted to eat. We watched some TV and I managed to clean up the house a little, and check our hospital bags about a trillion times. When I got to the point that I could not talk between contractions, and I felt like someone was working a knife in my most intimate of areas, we rang the hospital and they said it was probably time to come in. So off we went. I remember sitting in the car, arguing with your Dad over wether we needed the airconditioning on in the car and thinking that this has got to be the most bizarre, surreal and important day of my life. We staggered up the driveway, into the maternity wing, pausing a couple of times for contractions. We got set up in a suite and I wandered around feeling disappointed that this was not moving faster. I got into the bath and by about 8pm the contractions were coming thick and fast. The midwife gave me some gas, which I refused to let go of. The midwife said to me that her shift finished at 7am, and that she thought she would meet my baby before she went home. So in my mind, you were going to be out by 7am! End of story. I don’t think anyone has a fun or an easy labour, and mine was no different. As the minutes ticked by, and your Daddy started to get a little impatient, I thought ‘it must be soon’. At around 2am and the midwife announced that she would check me now. Ok, I thought, I have seen this bit on the documentary channel, they check the woman and then tell her to push. So I was angry with her, with myself and illogically with your Dad when she said I was only 3cm dialated. THREE CENTREMETRES?? WHAT THE HELL DID SHE MEAN, 3 CMS?? I had another SEVEN to go. This is bull****, I thought. I’ve had enough now, how the hell will I make it to 7am (naively still thinking that this was when you were going to get out)?. So I laboured and I laboured. Then to add insult to injury that ridiculous woman, only recently having ruined my life with her THREE CENTRMENTRES, told my husband, the man who impregnated me, the man who despite assisting with the conception had suffered nil through the preceding 9 months, to go to sleep. Outraged I heaved myself onto the double bed where he slept. With every contraction I groaned as loudly as I could in his ear, I pulled on his shirt, and I generally ensured that I was not the only one suffering. After about an hour of these shenanigans I realized that you Dad could sleep through anything, and I was really only annoying myself. So I went back to the shower, then to the bath, then to the shower again. Eventually your Dad finished his nanna nap and graced me with his presence. Admittedly it was about 5.30am, and he had only slept for a few hours. The contractions didn’t seem to end, and there was barely 20 seconds between them. The midwife came in and asked me if I felt like pushing, I considered this for a moment and replied ‘no, I’m ok’. Not quite the response she was expecting. After a pethadine shot the nurse checked me again. This time I was convinced that despite not feeling any urge to push I would be fully dilated. And it was almost 7am, the end of the midwifes shift, your deadline. When that midwife told me that I was 9cm I seriously considered kicking her. I was exhausted, it had been 27 hours since my waters had broken in such promising, dramatic fashion and I felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. The poor midwife who had stayed with me the whole night, rubbing my back, encouraging me through each contraction announced to my snarling face that it would be a few more hours yet. I started to cry. I desperately wanted you to come out. I had wanted a drug free birth, humourous in hindsight, but I wanted you to not have any drugs in your little system. Instead, you had had nearly every drug in the place. I felt that I had failed you, and disappointed Ben. I collapsed on the bed, and I could barely whisper the bitter words I spat at the midwife, at Ben and my ridiculous body which would not do that which it was designed for…. ‘I can’t do anymore’. So they loaded me up into a wheelchair and wheeled me through the hospital corridor to the B side of the maternity wing. The devestation I felt at not being able to achieve this for you, and for Ben and, selfishly, for myself was awful.
So I was shivering and could barely keep my eyes open, when they gave me an epidural. Epidurals are super quick and very effective. So we waited and waited, and as epidurals sometimes do, my labour stalled. By this time it was about 12noon on Friday the 19th. The midwife came back and said they would give me another hour, and if I didn’t want to push by then we would need a c-section. About 10 minutes later, as your Dad and I were chatting, the monitor hooked up to you started beeping. The midwife came flying in, followed by several other people that I hadn’t seen before. They told me that you didn’t have an hour, so we were hurried into theatre, and at 12.40pm, after 32 hours, you were born. That first cry from you was amazing, all this time I had felt you move and grow and finally I could hear you. Your Dad cut the cord and they wrapped you up. The hospital had a monitor set up above the operating table which was connected to a video camera where they put the new babies, so I watched you being wrapped up.
The midwife brought you over to me and the first thing she said was ‘there are some abnormalities’. Instantly the high was over and I was scared. I looked at your precious, beautiful, serious face taking in your surroundings quietly and couldn’t understand what she was talking about, you looked perfect to me. As it turns out, the only reason they thought you might have downs syndrome was because you have a simian crease on your left hand. This means that instead of having two lines across your palm, you have one. Lots of people have this. We would have loved you if you had three heads, just the same. I was worried by the way the hospital staff whispered amongst themselves, and used you for learning doctors in my presence. Never again will I let someone do that to you honey, you are perfect to me, just as you are. They told us when you were a week old that you did not have a disability.
Thanks for reading, I started writing this letter to him and I think it's nearly finished (there is more in it about the pregnancy and his milestones)