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.
The post-natal wards
I spent a week in hospital after my induction. I hadn’t anticipated that I would be there for that long and I was miserable.
I cried alot that week. My husband was on paternity leave and I was desperate to go home, but I had to stay because of my pre-eclampsia.
My first few days as a mummy were on the recovery ward. I had to wear a catheter and was on a drip with magnesium to help reduce my blood pressure. It was hard to sleep as my arms and fingers were strapped to machines. I was also starving but I wasn’t allowed to eat for 48 hours which was the hardest thing of all.
There was no privacy whatsoever as my curtain had to be open at all times so the nurses and midwives could see all the patients on the recovery ward, in case they needed immediate assistance. The atmosphere was tense and sometimes upsetting. The staff argued a lot as they were overstretched and there were often emergencies. I felt unable to ask the midwives for help with simple things I couldn’t do as they were just so busy.
T was with me the whole time and in retrospect I was lucky to have midwives close by for that first week to help address all of my new baby concerns. But, I didn’t see it that way at the time, I just wanted to be home.
T was so tiny! At first she just slept and slept and slept and wasn’t really interested in feeding. Learning to breastfeed her was overwhelming at first. I wanted to make sure I was doing it right and I was receiving conflicting advice on how to hold her. In the end T and I figured it out pretty easily but looking back I remember being anxious and upset about it the whole time I was in hospital.
I was also obsessed with my feeding options. I was eventually allowed to eat but the food in hospital was absolutely awful. I was hungry all the time and desperate for something nice to eat. Each day I’d call my husband and ask for food deliveries.
I kept hoping my blood pressure would stabilize so I could go home. Each time the doctors did the rounds I’d keep my fingers crossed that I’d get the all clear but I was disappointed so many times.
Then, I started to get better. Learning I could finally move off the recovery ward onto the regular postnatal ward was the best news I’d had in ages. It felt so much nicer and much more relaxed, plus being there meant I would no longer be hooked up to machines. Unfortunately it didn’t last long, within 12 hours of my move I had a relapse. My blood pressure shot up to 218/180 and I was whisked back to the recovery ward to be flushed with magnesium again and for close monitoring.
I knew it was necessary but I absolutely hated being there. I had canulas in both hands for the drips I needed and they would catch on everything. It made handling T difficult and simple things like trying to take a shower or get dressed became more complex.
I ended up crying about something most days while in hospital but I wasn’t alone. Post natal wards are an emotional cesspit.
During my week in hospital I saw lots of new mummies come and go. Highlights included the cheery young lady who was my first neighbour on the postnatal ward when I moved there for the second time. Her partner worked in TV and was a bit of a knob but she seemed lovely. Their cube was a non-stop party with a constant stream of cards, cupcakes, flowers and visitors, including a daytime TV presenter on one occasion.
On the other side of me was the mummy who became known as The Belcher. My husband’s face was a picture the first time he heard her let rip. They were so loud! I didn’t mind though, it was one of the few things that made me laugh.
The party cube occupants were replaced by quiet wife and pushy dad. When the doctors came round he would answer all the questions without letting his wife get a word in edge ways. One night I heard her sobbing quietly on the phone to him, begging him to take down photos he’d posted on facebook of her labour without her permission.
In between observing the other mummies there wasn’t much else to do. T slept loads and I had nowhere to go and nothing to do. My phone has internet and email fortunately so I could contact people that way. I looked forward to my husband’s visits every afternoon and I hated it when he had to leave us.
I didn’t feel ill but I had to stay put and have lots of tests. It was so frustrating as T was perfectly healthy. I was so annoyed with my body for not co-operating and preventing us from being able to leave. I had to collect urine samples for 24 hour periods and blood samples were taken most days. I was on iron tables and trying various blood pressure drug combinations, I even had my kidneys scanned.
When I was finally discharged I was elated. My husband came to get us and we spent 2 hours in traffic but I didn’t care. T and I were finally going home.
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.
