July 2017
Those of you who were regular readers of my blog may have wondered why I haven't written a post for nearly 2 years. The obvious answer (and the one I usually give) is that life as a working parent is too busy and I simply don't have time to keep up with the writing. However, that's a complete lie. The real reason is that anything I could have chosen to write about would just sound too smug, and no-one wants to read that. Over the past few years I have come across a lot of amusing blogs and articles about the pitfalls of parenting, the stresses and strains you face and the funny anecdotes of why parenting is so difficult. A lot of these articles have titles along the lines of 'what they never told you about being a mum' or 'the myths of raising a child' etc. But in my experience no-one ever told me it was going to be easy, everyone told me how tiring it was going to be, how my life would change beyond recognition and how I would never have time to pursue my own hobbies. In reality I've had the opposite, hence my lack of posts. No-one wants to read about how I've found being a mum so easy. These sorts of posts are just not relate-able. People want to read things that they can laugh at and feel like they're not the only ones struggling. And in all honesty I enjoy reading those sorts of blogs as well.
So why now, have I chosen to start writing again? Well, we find ourselves on the next part of our journey and we don't yet know where this road will lead. I have always imagined my life with two children in it. Relatively soon after Little Bean was born I started thinking about when we might have another. I have been in no rush (primarily because I couldn't face the thought of having to pay £1500 a month in childcare). In a rather logical and emotionally detached way I did lots of number crunching to work out the most financially viable time to have a second without there being a huge age gap. We agreed to try naturally for six months before going down the IVF route again and I decided that the summer holidays would be the perfect time to go through a cycle. Which is where we are right now.
Again I have been amazed by the efficiency of the Cotswold and Oxford Fertility Units. I was told to get some blood tests completed then book a nurses planning consultation. So two weeks after completing the tests me and DH found ourselves in the familiar nurses room at the CFU having my insides scanned in that oh-so dignified position. Consent forms were signed, and we discussed the need for a drugs assisted frozen embryo transfer. The drugs were delivered within days and at the start of my next cycle I began injecting again. It's all been so quick and even though I've been planning this for well over a year it all seems so sudden. Similarly to the previous IVF cycle I feel somewhat detached from it, as if it is happening to someone else. Being as it is a frozen cycle the process is far simpler and quicker. I completed 1 week of injections, with tablets 3 times a day, then a scan on day 11 to determine the thickness of my uterine lining and it's readiness for an embryo. The clinic phoned me back the same day to book in the embryo transfer for the following week, now just two days away. Obviously there are a lot of 'ifs' and the success rate is still only about 35%. We have two frozen embryos, but there is no guarantee they will even survive the thawing process. I keep trying to prepare myself for it to fail, but that is easier said than done. Due to the ease and success with which it worked last time, both of us can't help feeling that it's just going to work. No matter how much I tell myself that it is likely to fail I can't help thinking about seeing that positive pregnancy test.
We've kept it very private this time. I don't know how I will feel if it is not successful. We would go for the second embryo, but if that also fails, then that's it, game over. We have agreed that we are not prepared to go through a fresh cycle and spend that much money on something that might not work. With our current finances we do not think it would be fair on Little Bean. Not only would it take us years to save up enough for a fresh cycle (by which point I think I'd be too old) but I also only have one ovary now, which means half the harvest of eggs and the chance of success reduced by 50%. When people have asked if we'll have a second, I've suggested that we'd probably have to go for IVF again. The most common response to that is, 'oh well, if it doesn't work at least you already have Austin'. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that response. For whatever reason I have a very strong desire for a second baby. The fact that we have Little Bean, won't lessen the heartache if it fails. It sounds ridiculous, I am beyond grateful that we have Little Bean, so I don't feel that I have the right to feel disappointed if I don't get to have a second. He is incredible, our life is perfect, I have no idea why I want to disrupt that and rock the steady ship we are on. But I do. I want our Little Bean to have a sibling to grow up with, to play with, to be the amazing big brother that I know he would be.
Progress Update:
As I sit here writing this, there is a definite chance of a pregnancy. OFU were ridiculously efficient, and the whole thing was done within about 10 minutes. Soon after being summoned into the little room the embryologist (who we both recognised from our previous treatment - surely a good omen) came in with a broad smile and told us that the embryo had thawed nicely and was looking good. We watched on the monitor again as the catheter was inserted and a brief white explosion signaled the successful transfer of the embryo. So now we just wait, 13 days until I do the pregnancy test, at which point if it is positive I would already be considered as 4 and a half weeks pregnant due to the odd way they calculate it. I'm already finding it difficult not to plan things for a possible baby. I found it hard whilst tidying the house this afternoon to avoid thinking about what furniture we will need and how we would re-organise the bedrooms to create a nursery. I think I really just need to get on as normal, although without the wine.
Progress Update:
The past few days have been a bit of a roller-coaster of emotions. Actually that's somewhat of an exaggeration as I don't get overly emotional, so more like a merry-go-round. A few days after the embryo transfer I started to get some light spotting, which I'd already researched and is not unusual. One line of thought as that it is implantation bleeding, so I saw this as a potentially positive thing. However, yesterday the bleeding got more constant (although still very light). I thought it was the start of menses and burst into tears. We happened to be at a farm park at the time and as I came out of the toilets hiding my tears behind my sunglasses I looked around to see DH and Little Bean having a wail of a time spinning around on a giant ride on duck. This made me cry more. Such a beautiful sight, my heart is so full up of love for these two, why should I be getting upset about something that barely even existed. I felt so stupid, how naive to think that I would be lucky enough for a second cycle to end in a positive outcome. Later that day the bleeding had all but stopped, so I very much began to believe it was not the start of menses. Today I have no idea. It is nothing like my normal periods, incredibly light, but there none-the-less. I have googled myself crazy and this has done me no favours. Ultimately you can always find one forum that says what you want it to. So I am now clutching to those few stories which report identical symptoms to me and a positive result. It's surprisingly easy to ignore the hundreds of others that I've read that say the contrary. The most frustrating thing is just not knowing for sure. There is no point doing a pregnancy test yet as either result could be a false positive or a false negative and I think it would just make me feel worse. I wish I could just believe that it hasn't worked and then be surprised if somehow it has. I have another 6 days to wait and that is quite literally all I can do.
Two days to go:
As each day passes my hopes fade. I have continued to experience light bleeding at the same rate for the past 5 days. I am finding this 2 week wait so much harder than last time. I am breaking down in tears far too easily for my liking. My expectations are higher and my concerns over it failing are far greater. Last time I had a huge safety net of having 2 frozen embryos and the chance of another 2 fresh cycles on the NHS. This time there is only one little ice baby remaining, only one more chance. I just want to know for sure now. I feel like I'm in limbo, my emotions on hold, with this black cloud hanging over me. I'm ready for it to burst, but it's not going to until I see the pregnancy test result. If it does burst I can at least then cry myself out and prepare myself for what is to come.
Test Day:
So above all odds the test amazingly revealed that I am pregnant. As I held the little stick and saw a definite pink line appearing within seconds my hands began shaking. In disbelief I grabbed the second clear blue test I had bought and sure enough it flashed up with the words 'pregnant 2-3 weeks'. I can't believe it. What's with the bleeding I have had, clearly not a period after all. The clinic has booked me in for the '6 week' ultrasound scan, which I remember well from before, the first time I saw Little Bean's beating heart.
Since the positive result I have experienced four days of heavy bleeding, surely not normal. The clinic told me that sometimes women bleed in pregnancy, yet still go on to have a normal healthy pregnancy. I read a piece of research that stated 35% of women bleed during pregnancy and of those 50% miscarry. The nurse was unable to give me any reassurance and said I will just have to wait until the scan to find out exactly what's going on. Another pregnancy test might not be able to confirm anything as the HCG levels could still be present even if I have miscarried. I thought I would be delighted to see that positive pregnancy test result, but I am far from excited. I am emotionally fraught and I am too scared about what the bleeding might mean. Until the scan day I will remain cautiously optimistic, with that same cloud hanging over me, although it does at least have a silver lining now.
Scan Day:
For the past week I have managed not to think too much about this day (apart from the reminders 3 times every day where I have to take the drugs). With the return to work this week after the summer holidays my mind has been occupied with other things, but now it is occupied with nothing else.
The scan revealed my fears and the nurse confirmed that I have had an early miscarriage. The news is not a shock, but the emotions that I've been keeping at bay for the past few weeks are now pouring out, it feels so raw. On my drive home from the clinic I wailed in a way I haven't in years. We've invested so much energy into this. My whole summer has been about this. DH and I just hugged, there's little to say and his touch says all I need right now. I am emotionally drained and exhausted, but I also know I'll bounce back soon enough. I am thankful that this has happened so early, rather than later on in pregnancy. Although there are so many unknowns with miscarriage, the nurse told us that it's because there was something wrong with the embryo and even if the pregnancy had continued it would never have survived. I can't imagine the pain a woman would feel with an established pregnancy. It will be a few months before we can go for our final attempt and I already feel anxious about it. I certainly won't be going into it with the same confidence and complacency that I had this time. Yet I've literally just realised as I'm writing this that I will maintain my positivity. Being positive and optimistic throughout can do no harm. Is pain worse when you're not expecting it as opposed to when you are? I don't think so. It's still the same pain. So what is the point in being pessimistic, in hoping for the best but expecting the worst. There is none. I will hope for the best. I will expect the best.
November 2017 - Here we go again
I have just completed the round of injections for our final attempt at a frozen embryo transfer. It's strange, I've barely thought about this attempt. Life is busy at work and in some ways I feel that it is better going through a cycle during term time as it is refreshing not having to think about it all the time. I have recently taken up a new hobby, which is also keeping me busy. After making the decision to retire from football at the end of last season I have now decided to take up rugby. An odd choice for a slight 5' 4" woman, but I am loving it. I am almost disappointed at the thought that I am not going to be able to play if I get pregnant. I have a scan in two days and I am guessing the transfer will be a week after that. So I'll get to play one more rugby match, then I'll have to invent some believable reason as to why I cannot play for a few weeks (doctors orders after ET, not allowed to do any form of intense exercise, let alone contact sport). I am feeling a lot more level headed and maybe realistic this time around. That's not to say I won't be distraught if it doesn't work, but I do at least know what it feels like not to work and I think I know what head space I will be in if this final attempt does not succeed.
Two days post embryo transfer and I'm feeling good. The embryologist told us that the blastocyst was hatching and expanding nicely. There is now nothing we can do, but wait.
It is now one week post transfer and two days ago I started spotting, in the exact same way as last time. I was doing so well at not thinking about it, but now there's a constant little reminder and my thoughts are heading in the same direction as they were with the previous attempt. Even though I am pretty sure I exhausted all research online with regards to spotting/light bleeding after an embryo transfer I am yet again scouring the internet in the vain hope that I will find that bit of research that explains what the spotting means. A glimmer of hope to latch on to that this cycle will not end in the same fate. The reality, of course, is that nothing I can do can change the outcome of that result, so I just have to accept the wait.
Test Day
For someone trying desperately to conceive I don't think there has ever been anyone less excited to see a positive pregnancy test result. I barely felt anything as the test line turned pink on the first test and the words flashed up pregnant 1-2 weeks on the second test. It's not that I'm consciously trying to dampen my spirits, I just simply can't get excited as I am convinced the same thing is going to happen. I started bleeding more heavily within hours of the positive test. Being as it was the weekend I wasn't able to speak to the clinic so had to wait two days. When I spoke to the nurse and explained the bleeding she instructed me to complete another pregnancy test the following weekend. Although it was not said with words, it was very much implied that this second test was to confirm another early miscarriage and a negative result. It was an awful week, I was off work with flu and had nothing in the tank either mentally or physically. I just wanted the week to be over so I could deal with the emotions of not being pregnant. Saturday morning arrived and I almost absent mindedly completed the test, leaving the pee-stick on the table as me and Little Bean ate breakfast. When I next looked, a clear pink line had appeared in the test region - a positive result. It must be a mistake, I never trust the tests that don't actually say the words. So I took the remaining clear blue digital test and sure enough the words 'pregnant 1-2 weeks' appeared again. How can this be, I've been bleeding for a week, surely I've had a miscarriage. Another agonising two day wait before I could speak to the clinic again and have them confirm what was really going on.
Yesterday I spoke to a nurse from the clinic who basically said if I was testing positive then I am pregnant. She dismissed my thoughts of it being left over HCG (pregnancy hormone) in my body and told me not to take any notice of how pregnant the test said I was, as I had argued that surely the test should now be reading 2-3 weeks. I have been booked in for a scan next week. Seriously, another week before I find out for sure what's going on. How am I meant to feel, how am I meant to act? I guess I've got to act like I am pregnant and continue to avoid alcohol, caffeine and of course contact sports! She ordered me more drugs, five weeks worth as they have to last for the first trimester. I was reluctant to pay the £115 for drugs that I feel I am not going to need. I decided that I would do another test and if it showed up as negative I would cancel the drugs order. Surely if I have miscarried, enough time has now passed for my body to be rid of the HCG hormone. The digital test I completed last night displayed the words 'not pregnant' of course I did a back up one this morning and that read 'pregnant'. I am beyond confused, my hormones and emotions are all over the place and if I allowed myself to be I would probably be a bit of a wreck right now, but I don't have time for that. With Little Bean's birthday less than two weeks away, Christmas just around the corner and a mounting pile of work to do I just need to keep pushing on. What more can I do?
December 11th 2017
It was really no surprise when the scan showed an empty uterus. That is how I feel really. Empty. All that energy, time, effort, science, technology, medical care, work, it's all just vanished instantly in a metaphorical puff of smoke. This process started over four years and now it is all over. I feel guilty about being so upset when in reality my life is incredible. I always say to people how much I love my life, this is not going to stop that. But I do need to accept that I need to give myself time to grieve what could have been. I have hundreds of thoughts swirling in my mind. This isn't just about me not being pregnant right now. It is so much more than that. It is the crushing realisation that Little Bean won't get to be a big brother, that all those scenarios I've played out in my head which included two children will never come to fruition. It's actually surprising how many future realities I had pictured. In these images it was always a daughter we were going to have, we were going to play on the same netball team, I was going to be her role model, she was going to break gender stereotypes, when we camped I was going to sleep in the roof of the campervan with her whilst Little Bean and DH would have a boys night in bottom bed. Is that ridiculous, that I had already planned out a life that didn't even exist?
It's funny, over the past few days I can't help but notice how the media and society portrays families as always having at least two children. Just a simple google image search depicts every family with a boy and a girl. Why is there a natural assumption that every mother will have a second? Why is it that mums of one child can be made to feel they are not validated as a real mum because they 'only have one'. Before we started this final cycle me and DH had discussed what we would do if it didn't work. I told him that I would want to go back on to the depo (contraceptive) injection, which means I am making a conscious decision to stop trying to conceive. I need to take ownership of this decision, if I don't then there is a real danger that my life will feel unfulfilled. I refuse to let that happen. I don't want to be a person who desperately wanted a second child but couldn't have one, I want to be a person who has changed and realised that having one perfect child is everything I could ever want. When people ask (as they always do) "so, when are you having another then?" do I want my answer to be "as much as we want one, we aren't able to" (making that person feel awkward for asking) or do I want my answer to be "actually we're just sticking with one, we're happy"? I'm still raw, so I'm not at this point yet. I'm not quite ready to delete that image of having two children and for that reason I think I need to delay the depo injection for a few months until I've dealt with my emotions. I've spent years of my life trying to get pregnant, I am too familiar with the monthly anguish of wondering whether I've conceived, of obsessing over the fertility app on my phone, even when we've tried to leave things to chance I've still felt this same anguish. There is the slimmest chance that I could get pregnant naturally with my one ovary and damaged Fallopian tube, but I cannot live my life waiting on that chance. I cannot put myself through that pain every month so I know I need to draw a line. I can already see my perspective changing and I know it won't take me too long to reach that line. I look forward to that point as I know it signifies absolute and pure happiness, which is what I see every time I look at our Little Bean.
Tuesday, 19 December 2017
Saturday, 5 September 2015
Winging it as a parent
In my eight short months as a mother I have come to realise something very simple; every baby is unique and as such, every parent has a unique style of parenting. There is a seemingly endless amount of information about how best to raise your child. Since becoming a mum I have discovered that there are experts (or as we often like to refer to them 'police') for everything! There's the breastfeeding police, sleep police, routine police, nap police, weaning police....I could go on. But at the end of the day do we really need all these experts? I think a lot of us a just winging it as first time parents. I know we certainly are. I have no prior experience and DH has always been very baby averse, so we're just figuring out as we go what to do with a rapidly growing and changing baby.
When I was expecting, I asked a lot of friends who were already mothers for their top tip and a frequent one was 'follow your instincts'. I was slightly concerned that I wouldn't have any instincts, but I soon realised that it was relatively easy to just do what we wanted, which is a bit like following your instincts. Although, in the society we live in I think most people's parenting instincts are well informed and researched (I know that sounds like a bit of a contradiction). In my first few months as a mother I'd heard people mention something called weaning...what the hell was that? I genuinely did not have a clue, I clearly had no instincts about it so I had to ask my faithful friend Google. I then found that there were different methods of weaning, so once I'd done my research I chose the method that I thought would best suit me and Little Bean and that's pretty much been the pattern of things over the past eight months.
Although I may scoff at our so called 'parenting police' I have actually found them quite useful. In the early weeks my phone and tablet were an integral part of my being. I spent A LOT of time breastfeeding throughout the night and at 3am in a dark quiet house with a baby dangling off your boob, there's very little else to occupy your mind. So having the delights of Google, Facebook and Whatsapp at my fingertips was a Godsend. With my new found mummy friends all experiencing similar things with their newborn babies, we would keep each other company and ask for advice about everything from how to soothe a crying baby to what nipple cream to use. We'd find useful links to forums and websites and share them with those we thought would find them useful.
Sleep is probably the most widely covered topic of parenting. Everyone has an opinion about sleep! It's usually the first topic of conversation with pretty much anyone. Thankfully Little Bean has always been a fairly good sleeper (although I fear I may be cursing that now by sharing that statement so publicly!), whether that is linked to what we have done or not, I have no idea, like I've said already, we're just winging it. I read an article fairly early on about the pitfalls of getting your baby to sleep and sleeping through and how to avoid them. In the first couple of months I didn't care, he was so little that we just let him fall asleep however and whenever he wanted, which was usually on my boob at around midnight. I would then delicately make the transfer from breast to basket, treating him as if he was a fragile piece of glass that might just shatter if I breathed too hard. I digress, the article said that you should not feed your baby to sleep, but put them down drowsy.....err......now that may work for some babies, but not this one - I think this was the beginning of my epiphany about babies being unique. However the article did make a lot of sense, apparently everyone sleeps in cycles, even adults, and we all wake in the night. Adults being experienced sleepers just fall straight back to sleep and remember nothing of it in the morning. But at around 5 months old babies' sleep patterns change, or habits develop and they wake up fully at the end of the cycle (or something along those lines, you need to remember I was reading this article in the middle of long sleep broken night) . The theory is that if they have only ever been fed to sleep they will think this is the only thing that will get them back to sleep. This made complete sense to me and I am grateful to the friend who sent me the link to this article as it encouraged us to start thinking about instilling some sort of bedtime routine (we prefer the word 'pattern' as routine just sounds far to formal and structured for our lifestyle) to help Little Bean sleep. Until very recently he has always needed some sort of help in getting to sleep. We started a routine but after a few weeks we realised we'd simply replaced feeding him to sleep with cuddling him to sleep. By chance we discovered that the hair-dryer sent him straight to sleep. So for a few months we would follow our pattern, put him in his bed (where he would scream instantly) stick the hair-dryer on and inevitably within 20 seconds he'd be fast asleep. This method lost it's impact after a few months. We then found that letting him suck on a finger had the desired effect, then eventually I resorted back to feeding him to sleep which was the one thing I'd been trying to avoid for the previous 4 months! When I am out and DH has to put him to bed he simply allows Little Bean to fall asleep on him. Doing this has not made a blind bit of difference to his sleep habits, he's been sleeping through since about 4 and a half months and thankfully he still is.
Our approach to parenting has been very much 'do what feels right for us'. So yes, I may follow advice that I've read on-line, but I only chose what I like. In the early days I read a lot about how vital it is to get your baby into a set regular routine with naps and feeds otherwise they will never be able to sleep through and will fail to thrive ......blah, blah, blah. Little Bean has never had two days the same, there is far too much I want us to do with the day to be restricted by when he needs a nap. He has his naps on dog walks, in the car, in the pushchair, on the bus and occasionally in his cot. In fact the same is true of his feeds. Yes, I do sometimes just leave him in his cot with a bottle in his mouth, it's proven a very easy way to get him to sleep (I do go in and remove it soon after). This lack of routine has meant that it has been incredibly easy to take him on camping trips, to the pub and even to Glastonbury.
In your first few days as a new parent it is hard not to follow the advice of everything you read. When Little Bean was only a week old he developed a really bad cold and couldn't sleep on his back as he couldn't breathe. The only way he would sleep was when he was lying mine or DH's chest. For a few nights I enjoyed falling asleep with a baby on my chest, but then read an article on SIDS that stated you should never fall asleep with a baby on your chest. That was it, I took it as gospel and vowed never to allow myself to do it again. So the following night I set an alarm every half an hour from midnight to 8am to ensure I didn't fall asleep! Luckily he got over his cold fairly quickly.
In your first few days as a new parent it is hard not to follow the advice of everything you read. When Little Bean was only a week old he developed a really bad cold and couldn't sleep on his back as he couldn't breathe. The only way he would sleep was when he was lying mine or DH's chest. For a few nights I enjoyed falling asleep with a baby on my chest, but then read an article on SIDS that stated you should never fall asleep with a baby on your chest. That was it, I took it as gospel and vowed never to allow myself to do it again. So the following night I set an alarm every half an hour from midnight to 8am to ensure I didn't fall asleep! Luckily he got over his cold fairly quickly.
I now know a lot of babies and mummies and I don't know of any two that have followed the same patterns or routines. Some babies have moved into their own rooms at 8 weeks and some have co-slept until 8 months, some have done entirely baby led weaning and some have done only purées, some have done controlled crying and some have never been left cry, some have a set routine and some are entirely haphazard - but at the end of the day all these babies and mummies are happy. Despite all the experts out there there is no 'one size fits all'. Every baby responds to things in different ways. Our methods of getting Little Bean to sleep and our laissez faire routine would cause others to have an epic meltdown. Whichever way you decide to do things you will find an expert who advocates it and another who completely opposes it. I think that unless a parent is struggling and asking for help, then no-one else has the right to chip in with their opinion/advice - if it's not a problem for the parent then others should not feel the need to make it their problem. Ultimately there is only one expert for your baby, and that's you.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Fear and doting in mass vagueness - a guest appearance from DH
Hello?...
Hello?...
Is there anyone there?...
Oh, hello, it's you! Good. It's my first time in blog world and I wondered who I might find in here - there are some weird sorts around you know.
So, apparently my name in here is DH. That's not my name. It's not even my initials (although I have been called things with those initials before) but it seems that there is a different language here, with strange acronyms for otherwise simple concepts - seemingly to protect the innocent. I do feel that I should try to speak in the local dialect (and should certainly protect the innocent) but am entirely ignorant as to the correct acronym for the correct innocent - so I'll make up my own as we go.
Still with me? Good.
You're probably wondering when things changed. It's true that things have always changed and will always change (so you could, quite legitimately, pick any point in time as your answer, close this blog and go look at some videos of cats acting suspiciously like they always have, and always will, know more than they're letting on) but some changes are bigger than others, more significant, more unexpected.
This particular change started with a dream - a dream that MOOB (Mother Of Our Baby) had leant over me in the early hours of the morning and told me that her waters had broken. Being a dream, I was somewhat detached from the emotions of such an announcement. I should have felt abject terror and shortness of breath - the sort of panic usually reserved for the split second when you realise that the seat that you're expecting your backside to land on isn't actually there and that a hard, painful crash to the ground is both imminent and inevitable. Instead I just felt a mild sense of confusion, which is a state I am familiar and comfortable with in equal measure.
I awoke from this dream shortly afterwards. MOOB was also awake. She was jibber-jabbering at me. Although the conversation was difficult to pick up due the length of time it takes me to make the journey from sleep to full consciousness, it was clear that she had been jibber-jabbering at me for some time. It wasn't long before she told me that her waters had broken. She wanted to know why I wasn't listening the first time she told me. Thankfully I had just practiced this - mild confusion was the answer, no need for abject terror. Regular readers of her blog might have already worked out that she's pretty chilled out about stuff, so it didn't take us long to agree that labour takes time and that the best thing for everyone concerned was for me to go back to sleep and save my energy for later. The change had begun. The abject terror I had expected and prepared for had been replaced by mild confusion and 'everyone concerned' suddenly meant more than just me and MOOB. Soon there would be an ODBOJ (Our Darling Bundle Of Joy).
I won't go into the details of labour - suffice to say that, from this side of the fence at least, it was relatively painless. It did end in theatre though and, because it ended in theatre, when ODBOJ was born he was thrust into the arms of MOOB for the briefest of moments before being whisked away to be checked by one of the army of blue gown wearing onlookers. As the only remaining parent who still had the use of their legs I was soon summoned over to 'say hello' to ODBOJ. There he was. He was quiet. The initial screams had lasted less than a minute. This is good I thought, not being a fan of screaming.
So, what do you say when you're confronted with your own son for the first time and MOOB, who's supposed to know what to do in these situations, is busy trying to demonstrate the YMCA dance with her legs? I went with something like this...
"Hey, little fella. Welcome to what we call 'The World' - sorry about the entrance. Don't worry, it's not as scary as it looks. I'm called Daddy and I'll be your guardian and your guide."
ODBOJ looked mildly confused. We already had something in common.
As the days and weeks went on, we began to realise that ODBOJ was either the perfect baby (particularly for someone as baby averse as me) or everything everyone had told us about babies was a lie. He rarely cried - and when he did it was quickly remedied by a visit to the boob lady or a brief rendition of the nipple and boob song (the lyrics are very simple). He slept remarkably well, allowing MOOB to maintain her good humour and me to throw my energies into inventing silly songs. He also shunned the concept of pooing, except when absolutely necessary, going for days at a time without creating any undue unpleasantness. It turns out this is quite normal for a breast fed baby. Either way, three of the things I'd been looking forward to the least were not even an issue thanks to ODBOJ.
Then came the smiles. The start of the end of the change (at least this particular change). A full two weeks before he deigned to smile at anyone else (and I mean proper, full on ear-to-ear smiles), he smiled at me. Mildly confused had become extremely happy and I couldn't help being dragged along for the ride. It was infectious. It still is, and he smiles a LOT every day. Fear and worry has become joy and silliness (with a particular emphasis on the silliness). Now a boring trip to a department store is actually a trip to a pram racetrack - complete with chicanes, hairpins and, to the confusion of other shoppers, the odd round-about.
And there you go, that's when things changed. What advice would I give to expectant fathers? Here's my top tips, in no particular order...
- Embrace the silliness. This is actually your chance to act like a child and do stupid stuff whilst onlookers think it's good parenting rather than self indulgent madness.
- Expecting the worst isn't actually a bad thing - you can only be pleasantly surprised.
- Traditional nursery rhymes are evil. They'll infect your brain and slowly eat away at your soul. Check out Rockabye Baby for some nursery rhyme versions of proper music.
- Sing. Sing a lot.
- You still need to do your own thing. The start of a new life isn't the end of yours and no-one's going to thank you when you end up resentful and twisted because you sacrificed all the things that you enjoy.
OK. Right. Well, nice to see you but I've got to run - the tickle monster has an urgent appointment with an ODBOJ :-D
Hello?...
Is there anyone there?...
Oh, hello, it's you! Good. It's my first time in blog world and I wondered who I might find in here - there are some weird sorts around you know.
So, apparently my name in here is DH. That's not my name. It's not even my initials (although I have been called things with those initials before) but it seems that there is a different language here, with strange acronyms for otherwise simple concepts - seemingly to protect the innocent. I do feel that I should try to speak in the local dialect (and should certainly protect the innocent) but am entirely ignorant as to the correct acronym for the correct innocent - so I'll make up my own as we go.
Still with me? Good.
You're probably wondering when things changed. It's true that things have always changed and will always change (so you could, quite legitimately, pick any point in time as your answer, close this blog and go look at some videos of cats acting suspiciously like they always have, and always will, know more than they're letting on) but some changes are bigger than others, more significant, more unexpected.
This particular change started with a dream - a dream that MOOB (Mother Of Our Baby) had leant over me in the early hours of the morning and told me that her waters had broken. Being a dream, I was somewhat detached from the emotions of such an announcement. I should have felt abject terror and shortness of breath - the sort of panic usually reserved for the split second when you realise that the seat that you're expecting your backside to land on isn't actually there and that a hard, painful crash to the ground is both imminent and inevitable. Instead I just felt a mild sense of confusion, which is a state I am familiar and comfortable with in equal measure.
I awoke from this dream shortly afterwards. MOOB was also awake. She was jibber-jabbering at me. Although the conversation was difficult to pick up due the length of time it takes me to make the journey from sleep to full consciousness, it was clear that she had been jibber-jabbering at me for some time. It wasn't long before she told me that her waters had broken. She wanted to know why I wasn't listening the first time she told me. Thankfully I had just practiced this - mild confusion was the answer, no need for abject terror. Regular readers of her blog might have already worked out that she's pretty chilled out about stuff, so it didn't take us long to agree that labour takes time and that the best thing for everyone concerned was for me to go back to sleep and save my energy for later. The change had begun. The abject terror I had expected and prepared for had been replaced by mild confusion and 'everyone concerned' suddenly meant more than just me and MOOB. Soon there would be an ODBOJ (Our Darling Bundle Of Joy).
I won't go into the details of labour - suffice to say that, from this side of the fence at least, it was relatively painless. It did end in theatre though and, because it ended in theatre, when ODBOJ was born he was thrust into the arms of MOOB for the briefest of moments before being whisked away to be checked by one of the army of blue gown wearing onlookers. As the only remaining parent who still had the use of their legs I was soon summoned over to 'say hello' to ODBOJ. There he was. He was quiet. The initial screams had lasted less than a minute. This is good I thought, not being a fan of screaming.
So, what do you say when you're confronted with your own son for the first time and MOOB, who's supposed to know what to do in these situations, is busy trying to demonstrate the YMCA dance with her legs? I went with something like this...
"Hey, little fella. Welcome to what we call 'The World' - sorry about the entrance. Don't worry, it's not as scary as it looks. I'm called Daddy and I'll be your guardian and your guide."
ODBOJ looked mildly confused. We already had something in common.
As the days and weeks went on, we began to realise that ODBOJ was either the perfect baby (particularly for someone as baby averse as me) or everything everyone had told us about babies was a lie. He rarely cried - and when he did it was quickly remedied by a visit to the boob lady or a brief rendition of the nipple and boob song (the lyrics are very simple). He slept remarkably well, allowing MOOB to maintain her good humour and me to throw my energies into inventing silly songs. He also shunned the concept of pooing, except when absolutely necessary, going for days at a time without creating any undue unpleasantness. It turns out this is quite normal for a breast fed baby. Either way, three of the things I'd been looking forward to the least were not even an issue thanks to ODBOJ.
Then came the smiles. The start of the end of the change (at least this particular change). A full two weeks before he deigned to smile at anyone else (and I mean proper, full on ear-to-ear smiles), he smiled at me. Mildly confused had become extremely happy and I couldn't help being dragged along for the ride. It was infectious. It still is, and he smiles a LOT every day. Fear and worry has become joy and silliness (with a particular emphasis on the silliness). Now a boring trip to a department store is actually a trip to a pram racetrack - complete with chicanes, hairpins and, to the confusion of other shoppers, the odd round-about.
And there you go, that's when things changed. What advice would I give to expectant fathers? Here's my top tips, in no particular order...
- Embrace the silliness. This is actually your chance to act like a child and do stupid stuff whilst onlookers think it's good parenting rather than self indulgent madness.
- Expecting the worst isn't actually a bad thing - you can only be pleasantly surprised.
- Traditional nursery rhymes are evil. They'll infect your brain and slowly eat away at your soul. Check out Rockabye Baby for some nursery rhyme versions of proper music.
- Sing. Sing a lot.
- You still need to do your own thing. The start of a new life isn't the end of yours and no-one's going to thank you when you end up resentful and twisted because you sacrificed all the things that you enjoy.
OK. Right. Well, nice to see you but I've got to run - the tickle monster has an urgent appointment with an ODBOJ :-D
Thursday, 29 January 2015
Transition to parenthood
We are now one month in to our new lives as parents and in a nutshell, we love it! There is so much I could write in this blog post, I don't quite know where to begin. I guess a good starting point is how I feel, although anything I write simply wont do that justice. One of my fears before giving birth was how DH would cope with the inevetable 'neglect' due to the amount of time I would be giving to little bean. I suppose I'd always assumed that I have a finite amount of love to give and once little bean arrived I would have to take a chunk of love away from DH and share it. Happily, I was very much mistaken. I never thought it would be possible to love my husband any more, but somehow our little bean has acted like an amplifier of love. The strength of my feelings for my husband and son (and even the dog, when he's not trying to steal food) is so intense, my heart could burst.
The bond that develops between mother and baby is so powerful, I have never known or felt anything like it. It is something that you can only comprehend and understand when you become a parent yourself. I find myself 'wasting' a lot of time staring at my baby in my arms, simply feeling the pure love that envelops us. I say wasting time, but it really isn't. I want to savour and appreciate every moment with my son. If I want to spend hours every day staring and cuddling my baby, then everything else can wait, to me there is nothing more important.
Having entered this new chapter of our lives, clearly a lot has changed, but in all honesty little bean has made the transition easy. I think a combination of the unconditional love I have for him, the fact that he is a pretty chilled out little baby and that it was the Christmas holidays, all contributed to our first month being happy and relatively hassle free. I had thought that Christmas would be really bad timing for a baby, but on the contrary, it was perfect. We had an incredible first few weeks showing off little bean to all of our family and friends and the excitement of Christmas helped keep me on a high and carry me through when by all rights I should have been exhausted. So far little bean only cries when he is hungry and being as I am breastfeeding it is easy for me to just stick him on a boob and hey presto we have a quiet baby. I have been both surprised and amazed at how well my body has adapted to the demands of motherhood and how it has coped with the lack of sleep. I must be sleep deprived, as on average I am surviving off 3-5 hours broken sleep per night, yet somehow I am not really feeling the effects of that. I must be running on hormones.
Apart from the general awesomeness of our little guy, the most overwhelming thing of all has been watching DH become a daddy. He is incredible. He has taken to fatherhood in a way that I never even dared to dream. DH is smitten (it's hard not to be in my biased opinion). Both of us had fears about how DH would react to the reality of having a baby, but any concerns I had melted away the moment little bean was born and I saw DH gazing at him for the first time, He has taken to it so naturally and his confidence as a dad is astounding. He has happily taken little bean off on his own for dog walks and trips to the supermarket, to allow me a bit of respite. Without his support as a husband and father I don't think I would have coped with a newborn baby. I've not yet found motherhood a real strain, and that's down to the fact that DH has been there doing everything I need him to; he makes sure I have time for nice long hot showers, he cooks dinner and cuts it up for me when I'm nursing, he tells me what an amazing mother I am, he brings me drinks and anything else I need when I'm sat on the sofa breastfeeding, he gives me foot massages late in the evening when I'm restless and angsty because little bean has been feeding for the previous 3 hours, but most of all he makes me happy and makes me appreciate the life we are lucky to have.
Monday, 29 December 2014
Giving birth
After many years of wishing, waiting and wanting, I am now the proud mother of a beautiful little boy. I cannot begin to describe the emotions I feel. He is the most precious thing that I have ever laid my eyes on and I am in complete awe of him and the fact that I grew him.
On the lead up to his birth DH and I prepared as much as we possibly could. To compliment my pregnancy yoga I also practised hypnobirthing. At first this sounds somewhat hippyish, but it is actually all about positive thinking, relaxation exercises and developing a belief and trust in your body. One of the exercises from the book was for us to write down all of our fears about labour/birth/having a child. A few days prior to little bean's birth we individually wrote down all of these fears, then spent a few hours discussing them. We found it incredibly worthwhile as we were able to develop a better understanding of how we could best support each other. DH knew exactly how he should support me during my labour, so when my waters broke at 4.10am on December 18th we knew exactly what to do. The contractions started within 10 minutes and we realised we should phone the birthing centre. They told me to get some more sleep if I could and call back about 9am. I told DH to go back to sleep, but there was no way I could as my contractions were already too regular and I was simply too alert. After showering I made myself comfortable in the lounge and with every contraction I leant forward over my birthing ball whilst using the breathing techniques I'd learnt. In between contractions I moved around the lounge using a variety methods I'd learnt at yoga. By 6.30am the contractions had grown in intensity and regularity (every 4-5 minutes), but I was still able breathe easily through them. I decided to get DH up and ready for action. By 10am they were now coming every 3-4 minutes and we decided it was time to make our way to the birthing unit. We arrived there at 10.30am and our midwife led us into the large private room where DH swiftly sorted out the music that I'd asked him to put together for labour. The midwife suggested that I go to the toilet and it was at this point that my contractions suddenly changed and I began making deep primal noises with every contraction that I had absolutely no control over! She asked me about pain relief, but I was quite content with my TENS machine. I told her I'd like to use the pool and she said that would be saved until last. She then asked if she could inspect me and was clearly surprised to see that I was already 8cm dilated, labour was progressing quickly. As soon as the pool was filled I stripped off and jumped in and I felt so relaxed. My contractions were incredibly intense, but I wouldn't describe them as painful. The noises I made were astounding, I had no idea that I had the lung capacity to create such sounds, but I ensured that they were the 'positive type noises' that I'd practised at yoga, that would keep my body relaxed. I was offered gas and air and finally decided to try it but didn't like it whilst in the pool (DH on the other hand took every sly opportunity he could to have a quick go). Being in the water and being able to squeeze DH's finger with every contraction was enough for me. I was feeling confident that a baby would soon be popping out into the water. After about 2 hours in the pool, the midwife told me that she was concerned that I was losing too much blood with my contractions and that she would need to call Gloucester and arrange for me to be transferred there. She was so calm about it that I just took it my stride and knew that it was out of my hands. Once out of the pool I soon realised that I needed the gas and air and TENS machine again. I felt so close to the birth that a small part of me thought I could push him out before the paramedics arrived, but they were very efficient and soon arrived with a trolley to wheel me down to the ambulance.
I did not relish the idea of getting on the trolley and having to lie down. The only positions I was comfortable in was on all fours or squatting. The journey to Gloucester was bumpy and uncomfortable so I zoned out on the gas and air. As soon as we got to the delivery ward the staff started hooking me up to various pieces of equipment. They tried to attach an over the belly monitor for little bean, but it failed so they had to attached it to his scalp. My contractions still felt the same as they had done in Cheltenham, strong and regular. Within 10 minutes DH arrived and it was a relief having him by my side again. At some point an obstetrician came in to examine me. He started talking about all sorts of intervention and offered me an epidural. DH fulfilled his duties well and explained that I didn't want any intervention if it could be avoided. I can't now remember if it was the first or second examination that revealed I had an anterior cervical lip and I was told I was not allowed to push. This was so difficult as every fibre of my body was telling me to push, trying to resist the urge to push was both physically and mentally exhausting. I was told that I'd be examined again in an hour and I remember thinking how could I possibly keep this up for an hour. At the time I didn't fully understand why I couldn't push, but apparently I had to wait for the lip to come away on it's own as pushing was not going to help that, in fact pushing was going to make it swell up making delivery very difficult. After an hour and being inspected again I was told I could push again, so I was straight back on all fours pushing as hard as I could. However after just one contraction I was told 'sorry no pushing for another hour we'll be back to examine you then'. At this point I was starting to get upset as I felt like my labour was going backwards.The best position to control my body's urge to push was on my back, but I felt that was counter-productive to helping the labour progress and encouraging baby to make his way down the birth channel. DH and the midwife did a fantastic job at helping me remain calm and positive. DH reassured me that every contraction was one closer to meeting our baby, so I was able to go with it. By this time my labour had been at the same point for about 6 hours, the same intensity and frequency of contractions and I was truly exhausted.
After just half an hour everything changed. The obstetrician was back, the team had been watching little bean's heart rate (they could do this without even being in the room) and were growing concerned. His heart rate was dropping too much with every contraction. I heard them talking about intervention and I looked at DH and said I was happy to go with anything now if it was for the safety of our baby. The obstetrician explained that they wanted to give me a spinal tap and deliver little bean by forceps, he said it wouldn't take long as baby was so close. Within 5 minutes DH had his scrubs on and I was being wheeled into theatre. The spinal tap went in and as I lost all the sensation in my lower body I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I didn't have to think or concentrate any more and I knew we'd be meeting our baby within minutes. The midwife told me that I was still having contractions but I wouldn't be able to feel them. However they would tell me when a contraction was coming and I had to push just like I had been. This was surreal. I had no idea whether I was actually pushing as I could feel nothing, but after the first contraction his head was out. The cord was wrapped twice around his neck so they had to untangle him. After the next contraction our little bean had become a fully fledged human and had entered the world. He was put on my chest and I cried, laughed and beamed with delight and joy. He was fairly rapidly whisked across to a little table where the paediatrician checked him over, DH went with him and all I could see was him staring at our little baby. We heard a short healthy cry, then he settled straight away. I remained where I was as they had had to give me an episiotomy so I was being stitched up. After a short time DH brought little bean across to me wrapped up in a blanked. We were wheeled into the recovery room where we spent the next few hours just staring at our perfect little baby and enjoying these first special moments as a new family. DH reminded me that we should be skin to skin and I should try him on a breast. I stripped off and he latched on straight away, he did it so naturally and he fed for over an hour. I was so impressed that we managed this without even being shown how to do it. Blissful.
To many people, the labour I went through may have felt like a traumatic ordeal. I've had a few comments of 'you poor thing' 'that must have been so scary' 'oh, how traumatic', but in all honesty it wasn't. I view my labour and birth as a completely positive experience. I really enjoyed my labouring experience in Cheltenham and I am proud of how well I did there, especially how I coped with no pain relief. I had already prepared myself for coping mentally with being transferred to Gloucester, so when it happened it wasn't an issue. There is a lot to be said for the power of positive thought. My natural tendency to put a positive slant on everything and the preparation I did with my yoga and hypnobirthing consolidated the positive mindset that I remained in throughout my whole labouring experience. I need to thank my husband for his wonderful support throughout and of course all of the NHS staff that have helped us to create and deliver this beautiful baby into the world.
Sunday, 16 November 2014
Growing a baby: 35 weeks
It is hard to believe that after waiting for this for such a long time, we only have a month to go until little bean is due. I have chosen not to fixate on the date he is due as he could quite easily arrive a few weeks before or after. However, when I said to DH a few days ago that I would technically be full term in 2 weeks, and he could quite easily be born then, we just looked at each other and said 'no, he can't come that early, we're not ready yet!'
Although I have been preparing in so many different ways, somehow I still don't feel ready. Perhaps you never do. As with many things, I have been looking at a lot of elements of pregnancy, labour, childbirth and raising a child as a sequence of processes and almost forgetting how emotionally connected I am/will be to all of these things. Over the past month we have started investing a lot of time into the preparation for birth. We do at least now know how to change a nappy and how to dress a baby, courtesy of our NCT course.
Until a few months ago I was completely unaware of the options for birthing. When I was asked by friends if I was intending to have a consultant led or midwifery led birth, I had no idea what they were talking about. So I began to research. I had always assumed that I would just go along with whatever the professionals told me, but having looked into my options I soon realised that I had developed a clear idea of the birth I wanted. We have the option of going to Cheltenham or Gloucester. Cheltenham is smaller and is a birthing unit only (the only pain relief they can offer is a birthing pool and gas and air), whereas Gloucester is much bigger with a birthing unit as well as a delivery ward. A few days ago we visited the Cheltenham birthing unit and loved it, I know that is where I want to have my baby. I now have this slightly romanticised image of what giving birth will be like. I want to have a water birth with as little intervention as possible, my heart is already set on the idea. I am trying really hard not to get too fixated on this though. I have to keep telling myself that anything could happen and I may have no say it what happens if medical intervention is necessary. I need to know that I can accept any outcome and if that means being transferred in an ambulance to Gloucester, then so be it.
I went through that short negative thought process of feeling like my body was failing me when I got the rib pain (which by the way is far better than it was due to weekly chiropractic treatment and my positive mindset). I have to be very mindful that I don't do that if I don't have the birth I am hoping for. Knowing how pragmatic I am though, I believe I will be fine. Sometimes I am reminded that the conception of my baby was in no way natural, so why should I assume that the delivery of this baby will be any different? At the end of the day they essential thing is that little bean is delivered safely by whatever means necessary.
Even so, I am doing everything in my power to try and ensure I have the labour and birth I am hoping for. The best thing I have chosen to do antenatally is pregnancy yoga. I began this at 27 weeks and it is wonderful. I had never been to yoga before and didn't really know what to expect from it, but a few friends recommended I try it. I found a class only a mile from where I live (mini moments) but was more attracted to this class because the teacher is not a 'yogi', but is a doula and clearly has a wealth of knowledge about labour and birthing. The teacher somehow manages to teach the class with a perfect balance of humour, emotion, bonding, intimacy, physicality, knowledge and relaxation. She does it in such a way that the group feels surprisingly comfortable and at ease with, not only each other but also ourselves, our own bodies and the amazing process that is happening inside all of us. If I had been told prior to my first session that I would be holding hands with with people I'd never met, repeating mantras aloud and making deep groaning primeval noises, I may have run a mile. But I have never felt more relaxed with people I have only just met. Every session I am learning more and more about how to prepare my body for labour and how to help my labour progress easily. The classes have given me the confidence to believe in my body and my baby. I genuinely have no fear about giving birth and I am actually looking forward to it. As I have mentioned in previous posts I am a strong believer in positive thinking, my pregnancy yoga reaffirms this view and has made feel empowered as I embark on the final stages of pregnancy.
Saturday, 11 October 2014
Growing a baby: 30 weeks
I have dreamt of being pregnant for such a long time and have relished the thought of a baby growing inside me for years. I have always assumed that I would find pregnancy easy and I have often wondered why so many people seem to find it hard. Over the past five or six weeks however I have realised and begun to accept that growing a human is no mean feat. It is clear that what you experience during pregnancy, both physically and mentally, varies hugely from one person to another. My dream of a pain free and easy pregnancy has been somewhat shattered over the past month.
Upon returning to work after the six week summer holidays I was feeling amazing. I loved answering everyone's questions of how was I doing with a 'Yeah, I feel great, I love being pregnant!' Within a week of the term starting I began experiencing an uncomfortable rib pain. Initially I only felt the pain whilst I was in a normal sitting position, which was usually at my desk or driving. Thankfully as a PE teacher being on my feet and moving around seemed to prevent the pain. When I mentioned this to my midwife at my 28 week appointment she was not concerned. It's nothing to worry about she told me, just your uterus expanding and causing tenderness to your ribs. I wasn't worried though, I was in pain, but at that point only around 2-4 hours per day. A few days later as I was reaching for a drink, I felt a twang and it was like I was being stabbed in the chest. I froze for about 10 seconds and the pain eased off. Since then the pain I've been experiencing is almost unbearable. Every day I can feel a definite movement in my ribs, which causes a sharp shooting pain to radiate along the line of the rib around to my back. I would describe it as a white hot pain. Most days I am in pain for about 8-10 hours and it is quite simply horrible. Thankfully at weekends when I can avoid sitting (I lie or sit very reclined on the sofa instead) and driving I don't get much pain at all. I was convinced that this was no longer just a typical pregnancy symptom and must be an injury, I actually thought that I had dislocated a rib.
As a result of all this, last week I had my first wobble of pregnancy. Everyone I mentioned the rib pain to just dismissed it, so I tried to do the same. But I came to a point last week where it just got too much for me. The thoughts and feelings I had been trying to dismiss and ignore came gushing out to DH with a flood of tears too. I have desperately wanted to enjoy every stage of my pregnancy and I realised that I wasn't. I felt like my body was letting me down. I felt like I was failing. I'm not one to moan, in fact I fundamentally disagree with moaning, it achieves nothing. I didn't and don't want sympathy from anyone (I'm the worst person at giving sympathy so I shouldn't expect it from others!), I just want someone to tell me how to fix this problem. Realising that I was not happily enjoying my pregnancy, I became upset with myself. The pain was beginning to affect me mentally now, something which I am not used to. As I've mentioned before I don't tend to get stressed and usually just take things in my stride. I didn't want to have any negative feelings towards my pregnancy, something needed to change. I guess I'm also worried that if I'm finding this stage hard I'm going to find everything hard, I'm not going to breeze through motherhood like I naively expected. The little bubble that I've been floating along in is slowly beginning to deflate.
My midwife told me to complete a referral for physiotherapy, I was impressed with how quickly I received an appointment. So earlier this week I went along for my session, but was slightly disappointed to find it was a group session with other pregnant women who were experiencing a range of ailments. We were shown a variety of sitting and lying positions and exercises that might help us. I wasn't told anything new though, everything we went through I had already learnt at pregnancy yoga. The principle of the group session was good though; they try to get everyone seen early, then if the advice doesn't work you book in for a 1-1 appointment. The pain has been getting worse every day, so yesterday I decided to book in to see my regular chiropractor (rather than wait for a physio appointment), who is fantastic. She has been treating me for a few years for a variety of sports related injuries. After feeling my ribs she confirmed my suspicions that I have an injury. I am suffering from costochondritis, which is essentially inflammation of the joint and cartilage where the ribs attach to the sternum, potentially torn cartilage too which is the movement I can feel. This is not a pregnancy condition, anyone can get it, although for me it has clearly been caused by pregnancy.
Confirmation that I have an injury as opposed to just another pregnancy symptom is making it easier for me to deal with. I can now see the pain as being separate to the pregnancy, which has alleviated the negative feelings I've been having. I'm still in just as much pain and I may just have to put up with that until little bean is born, but I now feel that I can do that without beating myself up. I love my bump and I love the way I look. Little bean is getting more and more active and I cherish that connection I feel when he moves. Despite my wobble, my mindset has not changed, I know I will remain positive throughout the rest of my pregnancy.
Upon returning to work after the six week summer holidays I was feeling amazing. I loved answering everyone's questions of how was I doing with a 'Yeah, I feel great, I love being pregnant!' Within a week of the term starting I began experiencing an uncomfortable rib pain. Initially I only felt the pain whilst I was in a normal sitting position, which was usually at my desk or driving. Thankfully as a PE teacher being on my feet and moving around seemed to prevent the pain. When I mentioned this to my midwife at my 28 week appointment she was not concerned. It's nothing to worry about she told me, just your uterus expanding and causing tenderness to your ribs. I wasn't worried though, I was in pain, but at that point only around 2-4 hours per day. A few days later as I was reaching for a drink, I felt a twang and it was like I was being stabbed in the chest. I froze for about 10 seconds and the pain eased off. Since then the pain I've been experiencing is almost unbearable. Every day I can feel a definite movement in my ribs, which causes a sharp shooting pain to radiate along the line of the rib around to my back. I would describe it as a white hot pain. Most days I am in pain for about 8-10 hours and it is quite simply horrible. Thankfully at weekends when I can avoid sitting (I lie or sit very reclined on the sofa instead) and driving I don't get much pain at all. I was convinced that this was no longer just a typical pregnancy symptom and must be an injury, I actually thought that I had dislocated a rib.
As a result of all this, last week I had my first wobble of pregnancy. Everyone I mentioned the rib pain to just dismissed it, so I tried to do the same. But I came to a point last week where it just got too much for me. The thoughts and feelings I had been trying to dismiss and ignore came gushing out to DH with a flood of tears too. I have desperately wanted to enjoy every stage of my pregnancy and I realised that I wasn't. I felt like my body was letting me down. I felt like I was failing. I'm not one to moan, in fact I fundamentally disagree with moaning, it achieves nothing. I didn't and don't want sympathy from anyone (I'm the worst person at giving sympathy so I shouldn't expect it from others!), I just want someone to tell me how to fix this problem. Realising that I was not happily enjoying my pregnancy, I became upset with myself. The pain was beginning to affect me mentally now, something which I am not used to. As I've mentioned before I don't tend to get stressed and usually just take things in my stride. I didn't want to have any negative feelings towards my pregnancy, something needed to change. I guess I'm also worried that if I'm finding this stage hard I'm going to find everything hard, I'm not going to breeze through motherhood like I naively expected. The little bubble that I've been floating along in is slowly beginning to deflate.
My midwife told me to complete a referral for physiotherapy, I was impressed with how quickly I received an appointment. So earlier this week I went along for my session, but was slightly disappointed to find it was a group session with other pregnant women who were experiencing a range of ailments. We were shown a variety of sitting and lying positions and exercises that might help us. I wasn't told anything new though, everything we went through I had already learnt at pregnancy yoga. The principle of the group session was good though; they try to get everyone seen early, then if the advice doesn't work you book in for a 1-1 appointment. The pain has been getting worse every day, so yesterday I decided to book in to see my regular chiropractor (rather than wait for a physio appointment), who is fantastic. She has been treating me for a few years for a variety of sports related injuries. After feeling my ribs she confirmed my suspicions that I have an injury. I am suffering from costochondritis, which is essentially inflammation of the joint and cartilage where the ribs attach to the sternum, potentially torn cartilage too which is the movement I can feel. This is not a pregnancy condition, anyone can get it, although for me it has clearly been caused by pregnancy.
Confirmation that I have an injury as opposed to just another pregnancy symptom is making it easier for me to deal with. I can now see the pain as being separate to the pregnancy, which has alleviated the negative feelings I've been having. I'm still in just as much pain and I may just have to put up with that until little bean is born, but I now feel that I can do that without beating myself up. I love my bump and I love the way I look. Little bean is getting more and more active and I cherish that connection I feel when he moves. Despite my wobble, my mindset has not changed, I know I will remain positive throughout the rest of my pregnancy.
Thursday, 18 September 2014
Naivety of an expectant mother
At 27 weeks the prospect of becoming a mother is getting closer to a reality. I have realised that I really know nothing about being a parent to a newborn. I don't even know how to change a nappy! At our re-scan at 21 weeks we asked the sonographer if she could write down the gender, for us to then look at later if we wished. She told us she wasn't allowed, although wasn't sure of the reason. Little bean was still being awkward, but she managed to get all the readings she needed. At the end of the scan, DH finally decided that we couldn't not know.The sonographer focused in on the little bean's nether regions and clear as anything we could see a little willy there. Although I genuinely did not have a preference, I was so relieved for DH's sake. A boy. We're going to have a son!
21 weeks and 2 days - a slightly freaky skeletal picture!
Over the past month I have begun wondering what our little boy will be like and what kind of parents we will be. DH and I both have a fairly clear idea about the behaviour we expect in a child and the morals and values we want to bring him up with. It's easy for us at the moment, we're not yet parents. We have this image of a well behaved little boy who is polite, well mannered and a pleasure to be with. Surely that's not so hard to achieve. I'm not going to lie, I know I look at friends, family and strangers with children and I make snap judgements about their parenting methods. I'm sure we all do, but most would never admit to it. DH and I have had lengthy discussions about what we will and won't do, even though so many say how much harder that is to do once you actually are a parent.
I think once our child as it a stage where he understands language and the environment around him, we can start to in-still the discipline and behaviour we expect. I know what I expect a toddler to be like. I imagine the principles of raising children are very similar to those of teaching and training a dog. When I started my career in teaching, I experienced first-hand where taking the easy option, being too soft and failing to follow through with threats leads you, and it's not pretty. It is a mammoth struggle to crawl back to where you need and want to be, I do not want to be in that position with my own child. We have learnt a lot from the mistakes we made with our dog. The poor behaviour he exhibits is down to us. He is a product of us, and although it's taken a while, he has become the most wonderful dog because of us (not perfect, but almost there). At the moment we have it all sussed out, we are the perfect parents. It will be interesting to read this in a year's time and see what I think then.
But before I can apply any of this thinking I will have a newborn baby. Is there really any way of preparing for this? From what I've seen everyone has different experiences and all babies are different. Some find the transition from the womb to the outside world easy, whereas others seem to really struggle with it. Is this down to how the mother is during pregnancy, is it the simple nature and character of that baby, is it the experiences it starts having as soon as it enters the world? How much is nature and how much is nurture? I don't think anyone knows for sure. I for one am happy to look at it all through my rose-tinted glasses. I'm choosing to believe that being relaxed and stress free will help with the birth of my child and the subsequent months, I'm planning to start pregnancy yoga, which I hope will also help. Without meaning to sound arrogant, I find life easy. Some people seem to make an ordeal out of everything and get enveloped in the stress and difficulty of living. I don't. That's not to say I have had an easy life, without stress or trauma, far from it, but I seem to have developed a way of dealing with it where I can remain calm and balanced. I've mentioned before how I live by the slightly clichéd motto of 'everything happens for a reason'. This truly does help me. When my mum died suddenly from a severe brain haemorrhage at the age of 49 (I was 16) I searched for a reason. She had been undergoing treatment for breast cancer at the time, so I found solace in the fact that she died without pain and did not have to suffer a long illness.
I am positive in everything that I do, I seldom feel the signs of mental stress, and I hope this mindset remains once we have our baby. I have been told, many times, how hard being a parent is, how difficult and exhausting those first few months are. But what good is telling me that going to do? Just because you know it will be hard and you will be sleep deprived can't actually make it any easier. I cannot prepare for that, so I am quite content to bimble along in my naive little bubble of what I think motherhood will be, it's a happy place to be.
Over the past month I have begun wondering what our little boy will be like and what kind of parents we will be. DH and I both have a fairly clear idea about the behaviour we expect in a child and the morals and values we want to bring him up with. It's easy for us at the moment, we're not yet parents. We have this image of a well behaved little boy who is polite, well mannered and a pleasure to be with. Surely that's not so hard to achieve. I'm not going to lie, I know I look at friends, family and strangers with children and I make snap judgements about their parenting methods. I'm sure we all do, but most would never admit to it. DH and I have had lengthy discussions about what we will and won't do, even though so many say how much harder that is to do once you actually are a parent.
I think once our child as it a stage where he understands language and the environment around him, we can start to in-still the discipline and behaviour we expect. I know what I expect a toddler to be like. I imagine the principles of raising children are very similar to those of teaching and training a dog. When I started my career in teaching, I experienced first-hand where taking the easy option, being too soft and failing to follow through with threats leads you, and it's not pretty. It is a mammoth struggle to crawl back to where you need and want to be, I do not want to be in that position with my own child. We have learnt a lot from the mistakes we made with our dog. The poor behaviour he exhibits is down to us. He is a product of us, and although it's taken a while, he has become the most wonderful dog because of us (not perfect, but almost there). At the moment we have it all sussed out, we are the perfect parents. It will be interesting to read this in a year's time and see what I think then.
But before I can apply any of this thinking I will have a newborn baby. Is there really any way of preparing for this? From what I've seen everyone has different experiences and all babies are different. Some find the transition from the womb to the outside world easy, whereas others seem to really struggle with it. Is this down to how the mother is during pregnancy, is it the simple nature and character of that baby, is it the experiences it starts having as soon as it enters the world? How much is nature and how much is nurture? I don't think anyone knows for sure. I for one am happy to look at it all through my rose-tinted glasses. I'm choosing to believe that being relaxed and stress free will help with the birth of my child and the subsequent months, I'm planning to start pregnancy yoga, which I hope will also help. Without meaning to sound arrogant, I find life easy. Some people seem to make an ordeal out of everything and get enveloped in the stress and difficulty of living. I don't. That's not to say I have had an easy life, without stress or trauma, far from it, but I seem to have developed a way of dealing with it where I can remain calm and balanced. I've mentioned before how I live by the slightly clichéd motto of 'everything happens for a reason'. This truly does help me. When my mum died suddenly from a severe brain haemorrhage at the age of 49 (I was 16) I searched for a reason. She had been undergoing treatment for breast cancer at the time, so I found solace in the fact that she died without pain and did not have to suffer a long illness.
I am positive in everything that I do, I seldom feel the signs of mental stress, and I hope this mindset remains once we have our baby. I have been told, many times, how hard being a parent is, how difficult and exhausting those first few months are. But what good is telling me that going to do? Just because you know it will be hard and you will be sleep deprived can't actually make it any easier. I cannot prepare for that, so I am quite content to bimble along in my naive little bubble of what I think motherhood will be, it's a happy place to be.
Saturday, 9 August 2014
Growing a baby - 21weeks
Since my 12 week scan the time his simply flown by. I am now 21 weeks and finally have a proper bump, which is recognisable as a baby bump as opposed to the slightly tubby look I had earlier. Over the past week I have begun to feel little bean's movements. I wasn't sure at first if that's what it definitely was, but how else can you explain a strange pulsing within your belly? I regularly stare at my belly and find myself absent mindedly stroking it. People laugh at me when I say I can't wait for it to be a big beach ball, but truly I can't. Despite my 'little' ordeal at 8 weeks I am now having a wonderful pregnancy. The surgery and all the pain it caused seems so long ago now that I almost feel like it happened to someone else. I am perfectly healthy, and it seems that little bean is too. I have not experienced a single pregnancy symptom (aside from constantly needing to pee) and now that I have begun exercising again I feel fantastic. The site of the scar still feels numb and occasionally painful to touch, but it doesn't bother me any longer.
At the 12 week scan the sonographer was unable to complete the nuchal fold test (for Downs' Syndrome) due to little bean being awkward and refusing to get in the right position. Before going in for the scan I explained the purpose of the test to DH and then started wondering if I really wanted to know the results of such a test. To be faced with having to make a decision about your unborn baby's future must be horrendous. The sheer thought of it made me cry. I was given an additional scan at 16 weeks, just for reassurance because of what I had been through. At this appointment I was also given a blood test to test for Down's. The result would be posted within 10 days. When the letter arrived I was scared of opening it, but knew I had to do it. The result of the test showed a 1 in 1775 chance of Down's, so no further investigations. Another relief. DH was unable to make this appointment, so when the sonographer asked if I wanted to know what I was having I was caught off guard. I was surprised that she could tell the gender this early on, but she said it was clear as day. Obviously there was no way I could find out without DH there, but just the fact that it was clear brought a tear my eye. I want to give DH some control over what is happening, so he is going to decide whether we find out or not. I've always thought that I'd want a surprise, but I now seem to be leaning towards finding out. I know DH is more scared of having a baby girl, so part of me thinks that he would benefit from finding out so that he can better prepare himself mentally, if that is even possible! Perhaps he can also start connecting with the baby if he knows whether he is having a son or daughter.
21 weeks
Finally at 18 weeks, 8 weeks after my surgery I was allowed to start exercising again. I'm not stupid enough to try anything that I was doing before, but light CV and weights will be fine. I joined DH for our regular PT session, which was basically a light weights session for me and a heavy weights session for him. It felt so good to feel my muscles working properly again. At 19 weeks we spent 10 days touring in our camper around Scotland and the Lakes, the sort of holiday that will be quite difficult with a baby, so possibly our last chance to do it for a while. I was pleased that I managed the hike to the top of Ben Lomond (974m!), I needed more rests than I usually would, but I still felt fairly fit.
We had our '20 week' scan this morning, although I am actually 21 weeks. After much consideration, DH decided that we would ask the sonographer to write the gender down on a piece of paper and seal it in an envelope, that we way we can decide at a later date if we wish. However, little bean was choosing to be very awkward again. With it's head tucked down and lying face down the sonogrpaher found it difficult to get all the readings she needed. It was impossible to tell the gender. Lots of prodding and tilting the bed up did not succeed in getting the stubborn bean to move. Everything the sonographer did see was fine and she has no concerns about anything, but we will need another scan in the next 2 weeks to complete all the readings and measurements. We didn't get any scan pictures as you couldn't really see all that much. Although I feel slightly disappointed not to see more or get the choice about finding out the gender, I am so grateful that little bean appears to be growing well and looking healthy. What more could I want at this stage.
http://www.twinmummyanddaddy.com/p/binky-linky.html
http://www.twinmummyanddaddy.com/p/binky-linky.html
Thursday, 5 June 2014
2 weeks post op
In the two weeks that have passed since my surgery, I have had two highlights; the scans of our little bean. The positive I have gleaned from my experiences over the past month is the fact that I am seeing so many scans of our little bean. Upon returning home from hospital I was incapable of pretty much anything for the first few days. I soon surrendered and accepted that my family were there to do everything for me, which even included my mother-in-law drying me after a shower and putting my socks on! A week after the surgery I was beginning to get cabin fever and was grateful for my hospital appointment at the early pregnancy unit. When I saw the image of little bean this time I didn't care that the receptionist hadn't signed me in properly and we had ended up waiting for over 2 hours. I didn't care that as the sonographer pressed the scanner into my belly I winced with pain, it was all more than worth it. Our little bean had grown proper arms and legs and I was amazed to see how active it was. It was like a little frog kicking it's legs and arms as it pushed against against the sides of my womb. I laughed and cried at the same time. Little bean had grown a lot and was now measuring 4.8cm.
11 weeks and 1 day
(we're not concerned that little bean looks more like an alien in this picture!)
The next few days I was hit with sheer boredom. I had regained all my energy and didn't need rest during the day, although I was still in too much pain to walk for more then about 10 minutes. So I was in a vicious circle. Desperate to do exercise or some form of physical activity, but pretty much restricted to the confines of our home. The dog didn't seem to understand that I wasn't able to take him for walks, at 35kg there was no way I could risk him tugging me on the lead. As I've mentioned before, sport and exercise are a huge part of my life. It has now been four weeks since I've done any exercise and it is killing me. I always thought that I would remain equally active throughout my pregnancy and I know I'm going to get a shock when I return to training and feel how much fitness I have lost. I decided to weigh myself and was expecting to have gained weight due to the lack of activity. I had lost 10 pounds. Now, a lot of people would be quite happy about this, but for me I know that it is pure muscle I have lost, muscle that I have spent months training to gain to improve my strength and endurance. I for one am gutted about this weight loss. Considering the hospital signed me off for up to 6 weeks, I imagine it will be the same amount of time before I can really do anything active. I know I will need to have low expectations and will have to gradually reintroduce exercise into my life. As a result of all this I am now suffering from insomnia, I'm simply not doing enough to get tired. I've made the decision to learn how to meditate, something I have tried on numerous occasions but never succeeded. I have plenty of time to work on it though.
Today I had my 12 week scan, little bean was measuring 5.8cm. Finally I can breathe a sigh of relief at reaching this stage. I am so excited about sharing our news with all our friends now. It no longer needs to be a secret. We are having a baby! Wow, what an incredibly exciting, life-changing, life affirming and somewhat terrifying prospect!
12 weeks and 1 day
(we're not concerned that little bean looks more like an alien in this picture!)
The next few days I was hit with sheer boredom. I had regained all my energy and didn't need rest during the day, although I was still in too much pain to walk for more then about 10 minutes. So I was in a vicious circle. Desperate to do exercise or some form of physical activity, but pretty much restricted to the confines of our home. The dog didn't seem to understand that I wasn't able to take him for walks, at 35kg there was no way I could risk him tugging me on the lead. As I've mentioned before, sport and exercise are a huge part of my life. It has now been four weeks since I've done any exercise and it is killing me. I always thought that I would remain equally active throughout my pregnancy and I know I'm going to get a shock when I return to training and feel how much fitness I have lost. I decided to weigh myself and was expecting to have gained weight due to the lack of activity. I had lost 10 pounds. Now, a lot of people would be quite happy about this, but for me I know that it is pure muscle I have lost, muscle that I have spent months training to gain to improve my strength and endurance. I for one am gutted about this weight loss. Considering the hospital signed me off for up to 6 weeks, I imagine it will be the same amount of time before I can really do anything active. I know I will need to have low expectations and will have to gradually reintroduce exercise into my life. As a result of all this I am now suffering from insomnia, I'm simply not doing enough to get tired. I've made the decision to learn how to meditate, something I have tried on numerous occasions but never succeeded. I have plenty of time to work on it though.
Today I had my 12 week scan, little bean was measuring 5.8cm. Finally I can breathe a sigh of relief at reaching this stage. I am so excited about sharing our news with all our friends now. It no longer needs to be a secret. We are having a baby! Wow, what an incredibly exciting, life-changing, life affirming and somewhat terrifying prospect!
Tuesday, 27 May 2014
A turbulent time
At 8 weeks I had still not really experienced any morning sickness or other symptoms usually associated with early pregnancy, surely it's going to hit me soon. The following day at work I felt a little ill throughout the day. I had a slight pain in my side and thought that the pregnancy symptoms were beginning to take hold. On my drive home the pain in my side suddenly got worse, so much so that I started screaming out in pain - I got a preview of what I might sound like in labour, it is not a pretty noise! About a mile from home I realised I was going to be sick and had to pull over at the side of the road to throw up. I managed to haul myself back into the car and get home. I ran upstairs where I carried on vomiting, groaning and writhing around with the severe abdominal pains I was experiencing. Whatever was happening was not normal. DH phoned the NHS direct line where they managed to get us a doctors appointment at Cheltenham hospital almost straight away. I could barely talk or walk at this point. In the surgery I continued groaning in pain trying to find the least uncomfortable position, which included going on all fours, curled in a foetal position on the bed and hunched over the chair. Without any warning I vomited all over the floor and it just kept coming. The doctor was clearly concerned. She got on the phone to the gynaecology team at Gloucester Royal Hospital and arranged for me to be admitted there. Unfortunately this meant I would have to endure a 15 minute journey to Gloucester and I had still not been given any pain relief, I just wanted to be put to sleep. I have never been in so much discomfort in my life.
The simple journey to Gloucester became a proper ordeal. We had been instructed to go to A&E (which neither of us had ever been to, so we weren't entirely sure where it was). DH dutifully followed the signs, which just stopped as we got close to the hospital. We ended up at a level crossing for 20 minutes waiting for some unbearably slow trains to trundle past. By this point I was curled up on the back seat. DH was convinced we were in the wrong place, so made the right decision to turn around and eventually we found A&E (when DH checked the next day it turned out the main sign to A&E had been bent and was pointing in the wrong direction!). Luckily we found a wheelchair, as I was now incapable of moving. DH wheeled me in and within 5 minutes we were being tended to by a team of nurses and doctors. The next part is all a bit of a blur, but I know that quite early on an internal examination was done and we were told that I was not having a miscarriage. Somehow I felt intuitively that the baby was OK and hadn't really got too scared about that. I was put on a drip and was pumped full of morphine and anti-sickness drugs, this is where my memory blurs as I became very drowsy and I was able to slip in and out of consciousness. I was vagueley aware of being wheeled to a ward where DH then had to leave and make his way home.
I awoke in the morning feeling much better. The pain was far milder and not constant as it had been. I was very pleased to see the two gynaecologists (Mrs Reddy and Dr Borase) who had done my laparoscopy last year and both worked with the Cotswold Fertility Unit (one was the lead consultant there). They thought that the cyst (that had been spotted in my 6 week scan) was causing problems, potentially twisting my ovary and informed me that an ultrasound scan would reveal what was going on. Later that afternoon I got to see my little bean again, it now measured 19mm and again the heart beat was clear to see. The cyst had grown to 8cm. The sonographer wrote a report that the consultants discussed with me back on the ward. They weren't concerned, although the cyst was big, the blood flow to my ovary was fine and clearly my pain had subsided. They decided to keep me in another night and let me home in the morning.
8 weeks and 2 days
That night however I experienced a lot of side pain again. The next morning a different consultant spoke to me and concluded that the ovary was twisting and untwisting which was why I was getting the pain on and off. "We can operate, but it is up to you. With any surgery at this stage in a pregnancy there will be a risk to the baby. However we cannot quantify this and if you did miscarry we would never know if it was due to the surgery or whether it was going to happen anyway. The operation would not go near the gestational sac, so the risk should be minimal, we just cannot give any guarantees". I hated the pressure of having to make this decision. Eventually I said I would go for it, I knew I couldn't cope with the ongoing pain. The consultant explained that being as it was not a scheduled operation it would be done as an emergency op, however, clearly if there were life threatening emergencies that came in they would take priority. Which is exactly what happened. The decision was taken away from me. Later that evening I was told that they would not be able to fit me in that night so I would be rescheduled for the morning. If it turned out I didn't get pain during the night I would not have to have the operation. I was adamant that I would have a good night. I fought the pain and in my stubborn efforts I barely got any pain during the night. The next morning the consultants were happy to let me home with a small package of painkillers. They were content that the cyst and ovary had righted themselves and weren't causing problems any more.
I was signed off work for the week and by Friday I was feeling normal again. I happily went on a long dog walk on Saturday and had got my appetite back. I was back to work as normal on Monday feeling right as rain! I had a follow up appointment which involved another scan. What a treat, this time at 9 weeks 5 days little bean was starting to look like a baby. The cyst was still as big, but the consultant gynaecologist was happy that it was causing no issues. It will eventually go away on its own she told me. It was all over.
9 weeks and 5 days
The black circle to the left is the edge of the cyst
Except it wasn't all over. After only 2 days back at work the symptoms returned. At 11.30 on Tuesday night I started experiencing the pain in my right-hand side. I was determined that it was not serious. May be I'm just constipated I said to DH. He rallied around me getting me water and laxatives and rubbing my back, but it was clear that he was preparing for a trip to hospital. I on the other hand was resolute that the pain would go if only I could find the right position. The vomiting started at about 12.30am and didn't stop. My stomach was empty and I just kept on retching. At 2am I gave in. DH phoned the direct number to the gynaecology ward, they told us to go straight to A&E. We followed a similar process to the first admission. A drip, lots of morphine, but this time was worse. Despite the amount of morphine being pumped into me the pain was still there and I was wide awake. The ward was full, so I had to stay in A&E. At 5am I told DH to go home, there was nothing more he could do. I continued to throw up bile, groan and writhe around. The nurses were sympathetic, I had maxed out on all the drugs and they couldn't give me anything else.
Mid-morning a bed was freed up and I was taken up to the now familiar gynaecology ward. I was left to rest for a while before the consultant that I'd seen on Monday came and spoke to me. Already the pain was subsiding and I was feeling better. She didn't think it was necessary for another scanned being as I had only had one 2 days previously. She came up with the same conclusion, it must be twisting and untwisting. I was told by a number of consultants that they really didn't want to operate until I was at least 12 weeks due to the risk. Hopefully if I did get pain again I would be able to cope with it until I'd reached the 12 week milestone. Again they decided to keep me overnight and planned to send me home the following day. I slept well that night and woke up feeling very little pain. Although a slightly new and different pain had begun. When the 2 consultants came for a mid-morning chat I explained that I was feeling a completely different type of pain that was sharper and hurt at the point where my belly was prodded. Whereas before it didn't matter where I was prodded the pain was always felt in the same spot. I asked if it was perhaps just muscular pain from all the vomiting I had done the previous day. They were honest and said they weren't sure.
As the day progressed the pain in my belly became more and more severe. Mid-afternoon a senior consultant came for a prod. It hurt so much that I cried (and I pride myself on not being a wuss!). It was obvious something new had happened and the doctors were concerned. They explained that it was more likely that I was suffering from an ovarian torsion and that surgery was likely. I was anxious and started crying at the prospect of an operation. I was taken almost immediately for a scan. The same sonographer that had seen me 2 weeks previously was scanning me again. She focused in on little bean first, every time I see it my heart flutters and I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. She then looked at the cyst. "This is very different to what it was 2 weeks ago, there has been a lot of bleeding". She probed around trying to find evidence of any blood supply to my right ovary, there was none. She also found a lot of blood had leaked around around the ovary. The report was printed and I was wheeled back up to the ward. The consultants were at my bedside within 10 minutes. We don't have any other option now but to operate tonight they explained: It looks like the cyst has caused the right ovary to twist which has cut off the blood supply. If we leave it it will make you very ill, could get infected and will cause a greater risk to your baby then if we operate. You are the main priority they explained, and obviously your baby is the second priority. Hopefully it will just be the cyst we remove, but if the ovary is dead we will have to remove that too. I understood everything they told me. As they walked away I allowed myself to become vulnerable and cried. When DH arrived for visiting hours I cried as soon as he hugged me. I was scared. I was in agony. He was supportive, practical and logical and gave me confidence in what the doctors were doing.
I was taken down to theatre at 9.30pm, DH had already had to leave as visiting hours had closed. The friendly anaesthetists talked me through what they were doing as I stared at the painting on the ceiling, the next thing I knew I was lying in the recovery room. A nurse sat by my side as I tried to make my eyes work. I felt a searing pain in the lower part of my belly. I was surprised at how sore it was. She gave me as much morphine as I was allowed. I felt like I was choking on something. My uvula had been damaged as they had put the breathing tube down my throat and was swollen to about 3 times the size, making it incredibly uncomfortable. The nurse asked me about my pregnancy, "is it OK I asked?" she didn't know, the surgeons would come to see me in the morning and explain what they had done. She told me to try and get some sleep, but I was wide awake. They took me back to my ward at around midnight, where I then spent most of the night wondering what they had done in the operation and whether my baby was OK. Although I knew the surgeons wouldn't actually know if the baby had been affected, only an ultrasound scan would show this.
The next morning a jolly surgeon came to see me along with Dr Borase, who it had turn out had done my operation. They told me that it was a lot worse than they had been expecting. The cyst had twisted the ovary four times, turning it black. There was no chance of saving the it, but they assured me my left ovary was not affected. The 2 inch incision they had made was nowhere near big enough to get the bulging cyst out so they had to extend it to almost 6 inches, no wonder it was so sore! Every slight movement sent the same searing pain through my abdomen. A trip the toilet was a 15 minute ordeal and I dreaded every time I felt the sensation of needing to go. I have never experienced such dependence where you can't even sit up without assistance. I was booked in for a scan with the ultrasound department to check the progress of my baby, hopefully it would be done within a few hours. Ten minutes later Dr Borase returned. The nurse said I was getting special treatment. Dr Borase had finished his shift, but I think he felt so involved with what was happening with me, that he had taken it upon himself to take me straight down to the maternity ward where he could do the scan himself. I tentatively lay down on the bed and as tenderly as possible he moved the ultrasound scanner over my belly. Because he couldn't press hard we couldn't see the image that clearly. I could make out the black circle which contained little bean inside, but I couldn't see it pulsating as I had before. He turned on the microphone and I heard the most beautiful sound of my baby's heart beating. I burst into tears and he gently squeezed my hand. I'm even crying now as a write this. I was overwhelmed to discover how emotionally attached I already was to this little baby bean.
After spending one more night in hospital the staff, myself and DH decided that I was well enough to go home and recover in the comfort of my own surroundings. I have been signed off work for six weeks, but I am seriously hoping I won't take that long to recover. I had forgotten how comfortable our sofa is and how comforting it is having our dog (our other baby) snuggled on the floor next to me resting his head upon my legs and licking my hand affectionately. It has been a testing few weeks, but I am now looking forward to resting and hopefully enjoying the next stages my pregnancy.
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