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Mum to two
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Almost 6 months ago I had a baby girl. Five weeks and one day earlier than her due date. Honestly, it wasn't a great experience, and at the time I pushed it to the back of my mind, concentrated on getting better and dealing with the baby. Now I've had more time to think about it, and from time to time I find myself dwelling on the what ifs. So I've decided to put it all down on 'paper' so I can get it out of my head. So here is my daughter's birth story.
So, it all started on Thursday afternoon. I had a regularly scheduled weekly prenatal appointment. I was on weekly appointments earlier than usual, because I'd been having high protein and a lot of swelling. Tree trunks for ankles. A blood pressure check showed what they'd been waiting for had happened - it was rising into the danger zone. They suspected I had pre-eclampsia and wanted to monitor it for a few hours. A few hours later it was still high so I was admitted overnight.
The next day they decided to do a growth and dating scan. The risk with PE is that they'll have to induce me early, so they wanted to be sure baby was big enough. I was scheduled for a scan the following Wednesday anyway, to check where the placenta was located. At the 20 week scan it was 'low, but it doesn't look too low. It'll probably move up'. So on Friday I was told baby was around 5lbs, and an internal scan finds that the placenta is fully covering the cervix. The scan tech tells me they'll probably keep me in hosp until the baby is born, and it will defintely be a c-section. I cried. A lot. DH found me then (he'd left work when I told him I was going for the scan) and stuck around to wait for a doctor. The doctor finally tells me that standard procedure at that hospital is to admit placenta previa patients at 36 weeks, and perform a section at 38 weeks. Only because I haven't had any bleeding yet, they'll probably send me home for 2 weeks for bed rest. Presuming of course my BP stays 'borderline' and doesn't get higher. The nice midwife who took my BP after they told me all this came back an hour later and amended it downwards, as that sort of news had a bit of an effect. I hate to admit, I was most upset about being 'committed' to hospital for 2-4 weeks. I'd been preparing myself for the idea of a section for a while, as I'd known it was a possibilty.
Saturday morning arrived, and I sat up, along with several other girls in the room, waiting for rounds to happen and a random doctor to decide if I would be released until 36 weeks. At this point I was 34+2, and an extra 2 weeks of hospitalisation was not appealing. Finally the doctor arrived and told me yes, I could go home. My 24 hour protein test wasn't too high, my BP was staying only borderline, and (critically) I hadn't had any bleeding to date. Yay! Freedom!
I spent Sunday afternoon sitting in the back yard with my feet up. I did wander to a local dept store to buy some shoes that might fit my pudgy feet, and a few things for hospital. I also washed all my hospital bag stuff so I could get that sorted sooner rather than later. At 7pm I went to the bathroom and was greeted with a toilet full of blood. A quick rush around the house to grab a few things, then into the car for a speedy trip to hospital. I will admit I was panicing at this stage. I thought this meant the baby would have to come then and there. I clung to the fact I could still feel movement, it kept me from completely breaking down and turning into a mess.
We got to the hospital, and I ran to the desk and asked where to go for casualty. I ended up waiting for what seemed like forever for someone to admit me. Waiting! For paperwork! While I was bleeding! The admitting nurse even took a phone call, at which I told her 'this is serious' and she said 'so is this, it's a baby being transferring from Galway'. I should have replied that Galway is hours away, but waited, on the edge of panic. While waiting I could feel blood leaking out over the super-duper overnight pad I'd put on before leaving the house. I was afraid my baby was dying.
Eventually she got my file, added a green 'baby' file to it, and brought me to the labour ward. Finally someone did something useful, and I was hooked up to a monitor. Baby was still 'breathing', heart beating normally, all was ok. Around this time the bleeding started to ease. We started to relax. I got moved to the pre-labour insanity ward, where I got to stay the night. Not an ideal place - 14 beds full mostly of women in early labour. After a restless night with little sleep the nurses told me they'd be moving me to a 4 bedded ward. On Thursday. I negotiated with them and got moved back to the room I'd been in previously, with only 6 beds and no one in labour. Several of my old roommates were still there.
I spent the Monday and Tuesday mentally and physically preparing for my incarceration. Each doctor who saw me kindly wrote 'retain' on my chart, and little else. I was in for the long haul. DH organised internet access for me, books, knitting, and whatever else I could think of to keep me sane.
Wednesday morning, at around 1:30, I woke up feeling strange. My stomach felt uncomfortable. Like the baby had had a growth spurt, but my body hadn't stretched along with it. I spent a little time trying to get comfortable, listening to the midwives in with Sue next to me, who was being monitored because her BP had risen yet again. I decided that I'd go to the bathroom, and if I still felt funny I'd talk to the midwife. I nearly passed out in the toilet. Back in the room, there was a midwife who I nearly collapsed on to. She put me back in bed, and calmly grabbed a doppler monitor. She couldn't find baby's heartbeat, so moved up to the trace machine. Still no heartbeat. She calmly paged other staff, and got a portable scanner. Finally the baby's heart was found and heartbeat counted. Even I could see it was way too slow. It was at about 90.
Everyone remained extremely calm as they told me I was going to have to go into surgery now. Two doctors came to get my consent and apologised for not being able to keep me awake for the procedure. I knew this wasn't going well and had no desire to be awake listening to doctors and surgeons try to save my baby. I asked to call my husband, but the midwife took his phone numbers and tried to reach him. No answer. No time to wait. I was put in a chair, brought to surgery and knocked out.
I woke an hour later in the recovery room. I was told I had a baby girl. DH had just arrived and was very excited about the news. He hadn't had the phone in the bedroom and finally woke after the baby had been born. I was happy about that as I didn't want him rushing to hospital thinking everything was going wrong. He went up to visit our daughter in NICU, where she was in an incubator. She was obviously in distress when born, but had recovered quickly and seemed to be doing well.
I was more sedate. I was in a lot of pain, and very tired and emotional. My placenta had seperated and I'd been bleeding interally - 3 litres of blood were lost. Later that morning 2 units (1L) were transfused back into me. DH printed pictures of the baby for me. I wouldn't tell anyone her name until I met her, as I didn't think it would be right. Eventually, at 7 that night one of the midwives brought baby E down to meet me for 5 minutes, as I was still in recovery. She was so tiny. I cried. She'd been alive for 17 hours, and we were only just meeting.
I spent the night in recovery, and the next morning had another 2 units of blood transfused. My iron level was still shockingly low after that, but high enough to let me out. I was moved to a room sometime that morning, I had tea and toast, and then asked to get up and showered. They removed the cathater, helped me up, and brought me to the showers. When I got back to my bed, I asked for a wheelchair and had DH bring me up to see E. She was so small, and fragile, and helpless. I found it incredibly hard to accept that my body hadn't worked as it should. But at the same time glad that we'd got so far, and that she was so healthy.
Healthy, but not healthy enough. She wasn't drinking properly. Apparently that's something learned around 36 weeks gestation. Her feet were turned in and sideways (club foot) probably due to her breech positioning. They did an ultrasound of her brain and found some potential problems. I cried at each piece of news, and blamed myself and my body for everything.
When she was 5 days old she left the hospital for the first time, to go to another hospital. There her feet were assessed, and then she was put in casts from toe to nappy. They would correct the turn of her feet, and had to be replaced once a week as she grew. The same day I was released to go home. I could have left the day before, but felt better staying to be close to my daughter. I was home a few hours before it totally hit me that I'd left her behind, and then I sat down and cried.
When she was 12 days old she started drinking properly. 2 days later I called to check her feeding schedule, and was told to bring her home. She'd spent 14 days in hospital.
On her due date we brought her back to the childrens hospital to do an MRI on her brain and review the areas they were concerned about on the ultrasound. Thankfully everything showed up normal. Another week later, and her last set of casts was removed, and she moved on to the 'boots and bar' stage of her treatment. She now has special shoes that are attached by a bar and will hold her feet in the correct position, like a retainer. She'll wear them for a few years, although soon only for 12 hours at night.
We still have feeding issues, to do with reflux and gas. Some days every mouthful feels like a struggle. But otherwise we have a healthy, happy baby. She is absolutely beautiful, and smiles at everyone. She's learning new things every day, and I love to watch her play. She's my beautiful baby girl.
So, it all started on Thursday afternoon. I had a regularly scheduled weekly prenatal appointment. I was on weekly appointments earlier than usual, because I'd been having high protein and a lot of swelling. Tree trunks for ankles. A blood pressure check showed what they'd been waiting for had happened - it was rising into the danger zone. They suspected I had pre-eclampsia and wanted to monitor it for a few hours. A few hours later it was still high so I was admitted overnight.
The next day they decided to do a growth and dating scan. The risk with PE is that they'll have to induce me early, so they wanted to be sure baby was big enough. I was scheduled for a scan the following Wednesday anyway, to check where the placenta was located. At the 20 week scan it was 'low, but it doesn't look too low. It'll probably move up'. So on Friday I was told baby was around 5lbs, and an internal scan finds that the placenta is fully covering the cervix. The scan tech tells me they'll probably keep me in hosp until the baby is born, and it will defintely be a c-section. I cried. A lot. DH found me then (he'd left work when I told him I was going for the scan) and stuck around to wait for a doctor. The doctor finally tells me that standard procedure at that hospital is to admit placenta previa patients at 36 weeks, and perform a section at 38 weeks. Only because I haven't had any bleeding yet, they'll probably send me home for 2 weeks for bed rest. Presuming of course my BP stays 'borderline' and doesn't get higher. The nice midwife who took my BP after they told me all this came back an hour later and amended it downwards, as that sort of news had a bit of an effect. I hate to admit, I was most upset about being 'committed' to hospital for 2-4 weeks. I'd been preparing myself for the idea of a section for a while, as I'd known it was a possibilty.
Saturday morning arrived, and I sat up, along with several other girls in the room, waiting for rounds to happen and a random doctor to decide if I would be released until 36 weeks. At this point I was 34+2, and an extra 2 weeks of hospitalisation was not appealing. Finally the doctor arrived and told me yes, I could go home. My 24 hour protein test wasn't too high, my BP was staying only borderline, and (critically) I hadn't had any bleeding to date. Yay! Freedom!
I spent Sunday afternoon sitting in the back yard with my feet up. I did wander to a local dept store to buy some shoes that might fit my pudgy feet, and a few things for hospital. I also washed all my hospital bag stuff so I could get that sorted sooner rather than later. At 7pm I went to the bathroom and was greeted with a toilet full of blood. A quick rush around the house to grab a few things, then into the car for a speedy trip to hospital. I will admit I was panicing at this stage. I thought this meant the baby would have to come then and there. I clung to the fact I could still feel movement, it kept me from completely breaking down and turning into a mess.
We got to the hospital, and I ran to the desk and asked where to go for casualty. I ended up waiting for what seemed like forever for someone to admit me. Waiting! For paperwork! While I was bleeding! The admitting nurse even took a phone call, at which I told her 'this is serious' and she said 'so is this, it's a baby being transferring from Galway'. I should have replied that Galway is hours away, but waited, on the edge of panic. While waiting I could feel blood leaking out over the super-duper overnight pad I'd put on before leaving the house. I was afraid my baby was dying.
Eventually she got my file, added a green 'baby' file to it, and brought me to the labour ward. Finally someone did something useful, and I was hooked up to a monitor. Baby was still 'breathing', heart beating normally, all was ok. Around this time the bleeding started to ease. We started to relax. I got moved to the pre-labour insanity ward, where I got to stay the night. Not an ideal place - 14 beds full mostly of women in early labour. After a restless night with little sleep the nurses told me they'd be moving me to a 4 bedded ward. On Thursday. I negotiated with them and got moved back to the room I'd been in previously, with only 6 beds and no one in labour. Several of my old roommates were still there.
I spent the Monday and Tuesday mentally and physically preparing for my incarceration. Each doctor who saw me kindly wrote 'retain' on my chart, and little else. I was in for the long haul. DH organised internet access for me, books, knitting, and whatever else I could think of to keep me sane.
Wednesday morning, at around 1:30, I woke up feeling strange. My stomach felt uncomfortable. Like the baby had had a growth spurt, but my body hadn't stretched along with it. I spent a little time trying to get comfortable, listening to the midwives in with Sue next to me, who was being monitored because her BP had risen yet again. I decided that I'd go to the bathroom, and if I still felt funny I'd talk to the midwife. I nearly passed out in the toilet. Back in the room, there was a midwife who I nearly collapsed on to. She put me back in bed, and calmly grabbed a doppler monitor. She couldn't find baby's heartbeat, so moved up to the trace machine. Still no heartbeat. She calmly paged other staff, and got a portable scanner. Finally the baby's heart was found and heartbeat counted. Even I could see it was way too slow. It was at about 90.
Everyone remained extremely calm as they told me I was going to have to go into surgery now. Two doctors came to get my consent and apologised for not being able to keep me awake for the procedure. I knew this wasn't going well and had no desire to be awake listening to doctors and surgeons try to save my baby. I asked to call my husband, but the midwife took his phone numbers and tried to reach him. No answer. No time to wait. I was put in a chair, brought to surgery and knocked out.
I woke an hour later in the recovery room. I was told I had a baby girl. DH had just arrived and was very excited about the news. He hadn't had the phone in the bedroom and finally woke after the baby had been born. I was happy about that as I didn't want him rushing to hospital thinking everything was going wrong. He went up to visit our daughter in NICU, where she was in an incubator. She was obviously in distress when born, but had recovered quickly and seemed to be doing well.
I was more sedate. I was in a lot of pain, and very tired and emotional. My placenta had seperated and I'd been bleeding interally - 3 litres of blood were lost. Later that morning 2 units (1L) were transfused back into me. DH printed pictures of the baby for me. I wouldn't tell anyone her name until I met her, as I didn't think it would be right. Eventually, at 7 that night one of the midwives brought baby E down to meet me for 5 minutes, as I was still in recovery. She was so tiny. I cried. She'd been alive for 17 hours, and we were only just meeting.
I spent the night in recovery, and the next morning had another 2 units of blood transfused. My iron level was still shockingly low after that, but high enough to let me out. I was moved to a room sometime that morning, I had tea and toast, and then asked to get up and showered. They removed the cathater, helped me up, and brought me to the showers. When I got back to my bed, I asked for a wheelchair and had DH bring me up to see E. She was so small, and fragile, and helpless. I found it incredibly hard to accept that my body hadn't worked as it should. But at the same time glad that we'd got so far, and that she was so healthy.
Healthy, but not healthy enough. She wasn't drinking properly. Apparently that's something learned around 36 weeks gestation. Her feet were turned in and sideways (club foot) probably due to her breech positioning. They did an ultrasound of her brain and found some potential problems. I cried at each piece of news, and blamed myself and my body for everything.
When she was 5 days old she left the hospital for the first time, to go to another hospital. There her feet were assessed, and then she was put in casts from toe to nappy. They would correct the turn of her feet, and had to be replaced once a week as she grew. The same day I was released to go home. I could have left the day before, but felt better staying to be close to my daughter. I was home a few hours before it totally hit me that I'd left her behind, and then I sat down and cried.
When she was 12 days old she started drinking properly. 2 days later I called to check her feeding schedule, and was told to bring her home. She'd spent 14 days in hospital.
On her due date we brought her back to the childrens hospital to do an MRI on her brain and review the areas they were concerned about on the ultrasound. Thankfully everything showed up normal. Another week later, and her last set of casts was removed, and she moved on to the 'boots and bar' stage of her treatment. She now has special shoes that are attached by a bar and will hold her feet in the correct position, like a retainer. She'll wear them for a few years, although soon only for 12 hours at night.
We still have feeding issues, to do with reflux and gas. Some days every mouthful feels like a struggle. But otherwise we have a healthy, happy baby. She is absolutely beautiful, and smiles at everyone. She's learning new things every day, and I love to watch her play. She's my beautiful baby girl.
so sorry for all you both went through but great to see you both came out the other side so well. congratulations on your baby girl. xx
but congratulations on your lil girl, I'm sure she was worth every moment 
