My labour notes
Today I finally made it to the post office to collect a mysterious package that required my signature. It turns out it was my medical records.
Back in September, as I was preparing to leave the hospital after T was born, I asked for my Maternity Antenatal and Labour Record book and was surprised to hear that I wouldn’t automatically receive my notes.
As anyone who’s had a baby here knows, during your pregnancy you are given a book at the start of your antenatal care for all of your test results and notes. From that point on you guard it with your life, as it’s the sole reference point for the progress of your pregnancy. I had assumed my burgeoning book of notes was mine forever, but no. The hospital keeps your records apparently, in case you return for your next baby.
After I was discharged I decided to apply for my own copy. I had been on a bit of a rollercoaster ride with my blood pressure, which meant I had been admitted to hospital for 5 days prior to T’s arrival. Not long after I was discharged I became unwell again and developed pre-eclampsia, which resulted in an induced labour at 37 weeks and a week in hospital after T’s birth.
During that short space of time the notes in my maternity book quadrupled as a result of all of the treatment I received. I really wanted my notes back just in case I needed to refer to what happened and when at some point in the future.
Along the way I’d tried to keep my own notes of what the midwives and doctors had told me and the drugs I was being given (during my time on the wards I was nicknamed “the lady with the notes”) but I knew I hadn’t been able to capture everything. So, in November I made a written request for my notes. It took a while but after 4 months and a payment of £50 they finally arrived.
When I opened the package the sheer volume of paper was startling. I’ve spent an hour or so this evening wading through it. A lot of what I have is barely legible as it’s handwritten by a number of different doctors, nurses and midwives. Some of it is crystal clear. Too clear in fact. I was stopped in my tracks by the note made at 22.35 on September 18 by the obstetrician in charge of me that evening “NO fetal response to stimulation. Cannot reassure myself as to wellbeing of fetus”.
Fortunately I was in really good hands and our baby was fine. Absolutely fine, thank goodness.
Later this evening I talked it over with my husband and told him how reading my notes brought the whole experience back and was quite upsetting. He reminded me we should be thankful and not sad. I had such fantastic care from the medical team at my hospital. I had no idea beforehand that dodgy blood pressure could have such serious implications but my consultants, doctors and midwives didn’t take any chances with me or my baby and we were monitored closely every step of the way from my first antenatal appointment to a follow up hospital visit when T was 4 weeks old.
I’m still on medication and my blood pressure is still occasionally a bit high. I had it checked again at the doctor’s yesterday and I have to go for reviews once a month. I feel fine though and hopefully next time around I won’t develop pre-eclampsia again, but I plan to keep my notes safe, just in case.
New baby!
My sister-in-law gave birth to her fourth daughter this afternoon! I’m so excited. Hoping we’ll be able to visit T’s new cousin sometime this week.
Our beautiful bright-eyed girl
T is six weeks old and she’s so beautiful. Last week I compiled an online photo album of her first four weeks to share with family and close friends and it’s incredible to see how much she’s changed in a short space of time.
When T was born and I saw her for the first time it was a complete and utter shock. She was so tiny, bright red, wriggling and screaming. Those first moments were overwhelming and indescribable. Over the next few hours we started to get to know one another and I marveled the fact I was actually holding our child.
During my pregnancy my husband and I had agreed that we wouldn’t find out the sex of our child but I was convinced I was having a boy. It started with a dream I had early on in my pregnancy – our baby had arrived early and caught us unawares. I was at home bathing the baby and it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t have any baby clothes. I stared at the naked baby in my arms, who was clearly a little boy, and tried to figure out if I could cut one of my husband’s t-shirts down to size.
When I woke up I told my husband I dreamt we had a son, and from that point forward whenever I saw our baby during the many ultrasounds or felt our baby kick, I was convinced we had a little boy. So, at the end of my labour when my husband announced our baby was actually a girl I was shocked.
Just like my dream, T arrived earlier than anticipated but unlike my dream I did actually have some clothing for her. I’d bought some neutral, unisex items which were actually pretty hard to find. Almost everything in the shops was blue or pink and overtly masculine or feminine. It was really tricky to find plain white or cream gender unspecific items for our baby which made me wonder were we in the minority? Did everyone else find out the sex of their baby in advance?
While T did have clothes I was dismayed as they were all too big as she was so tiny! I felt like a bad mother. It seemed all the other Mums on the hospital ward had a never ending stream of perfect outfits for their new arrivals while my baby was drowning in sleepsuits and vests that looked 6 sizes too big. I felt so awful I even dispatched my husband on an emergency shopping trip while I was stuck in hospital for a week to pick up clothing that would fit our baby yet I still ended up in tears when the newly purchased items were still too big.
Now, five weeks later, Baby T is almost bursting out of the numerous sleepsuits and vests her Daddy bought in that first week and I’m bursting with pride at how gorgeous she is.
Baby T is hands down the best thing that has ever happened to me. Our baby is finally here and while we’re still learning the ropes it’s the most incredible feeling. Having a daughter feels amazing and in-between the sleep deprived nights I’ve spent the past 6 weeks doing the following…
* stroking her dark curly hair while she rests on my shoulder
* listening to her coo quietly as I rock her to sleep
* watching her sleep in her favourite position (flat on her back, head to the left and both arms raised)
* rubbing my nose against her supersoft chubby cheeks
* filling with pride at the reactions from strangers when we’re out and about – “oooh, what a lovely baby, how old is she?”; “oooh, she’s gorgeous, look at all that hair!”; “ooh, I have two girls but you forget just how small they were”; “oooh, look at that baby, I want one!”
* enjoying watching her revel in bath time splash time
* laughing incredulously at her eagnerness to eat and eat and eat and eat
* watching her gaze intently at her Daddy while they hang on the sofa
Her face has changed so much over the past six weeks, now her eyes are open pretty much all the time and they’re huge! Big and brown – we call her our bright-eyed girl. She’s stronger too, she can hold her head up and is kicking and moving her arms when she’s awake and alert.
I can’t wait to see what the next few weeks bring.
Baby T’s arrival
The whole thing still seems slightly unreal. It happened so quickly that in the immediate aftermath I felt like I’d cheated somehow. At first I was distraught that I hadn’t “done it properly” but now I just feel happy to be over the other side and to have my beautiful baby daughter.
I’d spent months and months wondering what it would feel like when I went into labour. Like every mother to be I guess I tried to imagine what the onset of contractions would feel like and tried to fathom how I would deal with the pain. I hoped I could cope. I have such a low pain threshold that the idea of getting through labour and coming out the other side seemed almost impossible.
But, I really wanted to meet our baby so I figured going through labour would be the ultimate rite of passage – if I could get through hours and hours of intense pain then I could do pretty much anything.
In my antenatal classes we covered different pain relievers that would be available to help us devise our own birth plans. I was prepared to be flexible with my plan but I hoped I could go along the following route – entenox (gas & air) for sure and if the birthing pool was available I wanted to be in it for as long as possible. My husband was worried that our baby might drown if I was in water but I reassured him that a water birth was perfectly safe for baby and would be the most comforting option for me. I was open to being flexible on proceedings but I knew the one thing I definitely did not want was an epidural.
My labour began when I least expected it. After popping to the hospital on a Friday afternoon for a regular check up at 37 weeks pregnant I was told my blood pressure was high. I was asked to stay for an hour to see if it came down again.
I wasn’t overly concerned as I was diagnosed with high blood pressure in my early twenties and had been on medication ever since to control it. I had to switch medication during my pregnancy and was closely monitored from the get-go as blood pressure normally rises when you’re carrying a baby.
I was doing fine until the last few months of my pregnancy when my blood pressure started to rise. This continued over the period of a few weeks and I ended up being hospitalised for 5 days when I was 8 months pregnant. I hated being in hospital and was so happy when I was finally released. Since my discharge I was visiting the maternity day assessment unit twice a week for check ups and meeting with my consultant every two weeks to monitor my progress.
Well, I should have seen it coming I guess. My blood pressure refused to come back down but at the time I was more focused on the fact I hadn’t eaten lunch. I was so hungry. All I wanted was a sandwich but the midwife at the maternity day assessment unit said I wasn’t allowed to eat.
After a hour or so I was told I wouldn’t be able to go home. Instead, the baby would need to delivered that day as my blood pressure was too high. I was going to be induced.
The shock of hearing my baby was about to arrive eclipsed everything else. I didn’t even absorb the news that I wasn’t very well. It turns out I had developed pre-eclampsia but I wasn’t thinking about that or asking questions about what would happen next. I was busy frantically thinking about the fact the baby was about to come and I wasn’t ready. I still had errands to run, laundry to do, I needed to disinfect our kitchen floor, my husband and I needed to finish discussing names and I hadn’t finished sorting out our spare room where our baby’s things had been gathered. I needed to have everything organised for our baby.
All of sudden things started to move really fast. The midwife made some calls, a doctor arrived and she started shouting instructions to the day assessment team in a loud voice. I was lifted onto a bed, drips were being put in my arms and I was rushed to a labour room. My poor husband, who was at work that afternoon, received a call from the midwife after I couldn’t locate him to ask him to come to the hospital as soon as possible. He called me on my mobile to find out what was happening and ask if he should go home first to get the baby bag. I told him to forget the baby bag and that I just wanted him there with me. I asked him to come as quickly as he could.
When my husband arrived I was being flushed with drugs to try and keep my blood pressure down. I didn’t really know at the time what was going on with me, I just wanted to see him. Weeks later he told me when he arrived I looked awful. My face was completely swollen (one of the symptoms of pre-eclampsia) and my eyes were glazed over.
I didn’t know this, I just knew I was so glad he was there. My husband was with me when the consultants told us that I wouldn’t be able to deliver my baby naturally as my blood pressure was too high. I was given the option of either having an epidural or a c-section.
The last thing I wanted was an epidural but I had no choice. The doctors insisted it was that or surgery. My husband held my hands as the epidural was administered and I clamped my eyes shut.
It didn’t hurt and from that moment on things moved really, really fast. My husband dashed home to get the baby bag and my mother arrived from Birmingham. I was so glad to see her. At first when she called me I’d told her to wait before travelling to see how things go. The consultant who was in the room while I was talking to my mum took my phone off me and told my mum to come straight away telling her that I’d need her support. I’ll never forget those words. It was at that point I realised it was finally happening.
I was in labour and having contractions but I couldn’t feel anything, I felt really woozy. I was also starving but I still wasn’t allowed to eat or drink. I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. I was being denied food in case the doctors needed to operate. My husband came back with the baby bag and my things in time for more news. We were told by the obstetrician that the baby’s heart beat was slowing down and they were concerned. If it didn’t pick up I would need to have an emergency c-section.
The possibility of losing my baby left me cold. It was my worst nightmare and I wasn’t prepared for something to go badly wrong. I could barely bring myself to look at my mum or my husband, I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I wasn’t there and this wasn’t happening. I couldn’t believe my body was letting our baby down. Then, the next thing I heard was “hold on, she’s fully dilated, the baby’s coming!”
Seven hours after my labour was induced it ended with a ventouse delivery. Baby T arrived at 00.53am on September 19, 2009, weighing 5lb 6oz, screaming her heart out. It was over. We had a daughter. I couldn’t believe it.
