SHE! I have a daughter, and good God, what AN EXPERIENCE!
Just a warning, this post isn't particularly funny, or good. I just had to get it out. And I probably don't really want to talk about it much again for a while.
I think I knew that something was up on Tuesday. In the morning I lost most of my mucus plug. It wasn't bloody, or nasty, just lots of clear discharge (god I fucking hate that word!) and there was lots of it. I had a midwife appointment and refused a stretch and sweep as had a feeling baby would be here by the end of the week.
On the way home I stopped in at Coles and bought some chilli tuna. I just really felt like tuna pasta and we'd had mac and cheese the night before so thought why not add the chilli? Can't hurt.
I felt puffy, and tired. And to be honest I was scared. I didn't really believe that I could do the whole labour thing again, not really. I took this photo and posted to facebook, because I can't help but share my whole life online, and then lay down to have a sleep.
The boys got home around 5 and we had chilli con carne for dinner, yep, more chilli. I put Max to bed and attempted to go to bed early. I'd been up half the night on Monday baking as I couldn't sleep, so I was well over tired and we had Captain Active in the morning.
At some point over the course of the evening, I started getting mild contractions. Nothing consistent, just a lot of tightening with no rhyme and reason. This was probably around 9.30 - 10pm. I tried to get comfortable and go to sleep but couldn't. I tossed and turned for a while and then really couldn't ignore the fact that I was probably in pre-labour. I'd also emptied my bowels about three times, which is surefire sign. I think I was just in denial.
Things ramped up after midnight. I downloaded an app and started timing the contractions. I told Juffin to get some sleep, but not sure that he was able to as I was huffing and puffing my way through each contraction now. I was most comfortable bent over the bed rotating my hips but it was feeling at lot scarier and hurting a lot more than I had with Mushroom.
I decided to hang the washing out.
Yes, you read that right, I hung out washing.
I then got back to the bedroom and decided to get back into the shower. I lit my vanilla candle and moaned and groaned my way through another half hour of contractions.
I got back in the shower and woke Juffin up properly in the process, and he started timing for me as I was feeling really bloody awful at this point. When I got out, there was blood on my towel and I was feeling increasingly scared. The pain was so intense. So much worse than I remembered with Mushroom. I didn't feel like I could go on.
I called my Mum and Justin had to speak. She said to come to her place with Mushroom and as she lives around the corner from the hospital, and we thought this was a good idea. I just didn't want to wait any longer as didn't want my son to see me screaming in pain, which wasn't far away.
I called my midwife and she said she would see us after they assessed us at Birth Suite but good luck!
Juffin put our bags in the car, and packed up the rest of Max's thing and put him in the car. I put some clothes on and stumbled out the door. This part had been total agony when I had laboured with Mushroom so I wasn't looking forward to the drive. Especially trying to keep it together for my owl eyed son in the back seat who was looking pretty scared and worried. I tried to keep it together for the drive and the drop off but he was close to tears when we left Mum's place. So was I if I'm honest.
I made Juffin park so we could walk in. I just wanted to keep mobile. I think it was the longest carpark walk in history and being 3am we got a really good carpark. When we got to birth suite to be assessed, I heard the worst words in the World.
You're only 1cm.
1 fucking centimetre. The little confidence that I had left crumbled. I burst into tears. I couldn't fucking believe it. Where had I gone so wrong?
They laid it down for me, we could go home, or continue to labour there but my midwife wouldn't be coming in until I was 5cm. Baby was posterior, so obviously immeasurably painful, but we could stay if we wanted to. There was no way I was leaving and doing that drive again. I looked at Justin and he spoke for me, we're not leaving.
I took the meds they offered, panadol, then turned the lights off and wandered back and forth and commenced more bed hugging. Despite having music ready, I didn't want to listen to anything. I just wanted to focus on my breathing. And trying not to die.
Here is where I'll say that my man is fucking amazing. He supported me. He held me. He wiped my sweat away. He whispered encouraging words into my ear for hours. He is truly the best and there is no way on earth that I could have done any of this without him.
The birth suite midwife came back in and encouraged me to use the shower. I was so hot and uncomfortable so this seemed like a bad idea but Juffin thought I should so he set it all up for me.
The pain was coming thick and fast now, and not just in my back, but all over. So much pressure. I can't even describe it properly. Words fail. I felt like my entire insides were inside a vice and I was being squished and squashed at the same time. It was beyond awful.
By this stage I was screaming. Like actually screaming. Like an enraged animal.
The birth suite midwife came back and said let's have a look so I stumbled out of the shower and put my dress back on.
Laying on your back during posterior labour and contracting is the worst thing ever. I mean, aside from being in labour and baby being posterior anyway... fark me.
Huzzah, grand news, I am over 5cm! But FARK, still only halfway!
I start crying all over again and tell Juffin for the millionth time that I cannot do this.
The midwife then strongly suggested some morphine as clearly not coping at all. She calls my midwife to make her way in and then comes back with a fetal scalp monitor, advises that she'll also break my waters and administer the injection. I start sucking on gas.
Only five centimetres. Only five centimetres. I just can't stop dwelling on how bad it is.
I can't even talk. I can't think of anything except that white hot pain. I start thinking that something is very wrong. I feel like pushing. Already. And I shouldn't be feeling like that should I? I mean who the fuck knows what people are supposed to be feeling during labour? How can pain be the same for two people? I've been told that I must have a high pain threshold as I had an ectopic pregnancy and barely broke a sweat, however, I am screaming and dying a thousand deaths with every contraction.
This is where things get very fucking real, very fucking fast.
Juffin is gripping my hand as I scream through another contraction and we hear our babies heartbeat falter and dip off.
I start freaking out. The two midwives are not happy. An Obstetrician appears. As does the heartbeat but it's not consistent.
Obstetrician is like, right, you need a caesarean. Now.
I am crying. Juffin is whitefaced.
Another contraction and the heartbeat does the same thing, except it doesn't seem to come back.
Panic stations. In less than 3 minutes they manage to get a catheter and a cannula in me at the same time. I sign something. Juffin is gripping my hand as I scream down the hallway to the operating theatre. They take Juffin away to put some scrubs on and he whispers in my ear how much he loves me.
I am screaming in the operating theatre table that I don't want a general. I just want a spinal, please no general. The anaesthetist says of course we can do a spinal, but then there's lots of talking in the background and I'm screaming my way through another contraction and there's no time for a spinal. The anaesthetist apologises to me and says it's not possible, there's just no time, we have to get the baby out. I am bawling my eyes out and screaming and terrified. A mask is put on my face and I feel like I'm going to die. And then nothing.
I wake up and see people wandering around in the recovery room. A wonderful male nurse looks at me and says welcome back. I pull the mask off my face and try to speak. Where's my baby, where's my baby? What happened to my baby?
Another nurse says she's doing just fine. And it takes me a moment to register. She. We have a baby girl? A girl?! I ask if she's ok, is she ok, please tell me she's ok. Yes, she's ok. She's doing just fine.
Two beautiful angel nurses give me the details. Baby girl was born at 7.04am, it's now about 8.45am, she had to be resuscitated and is now being monitored in NICU for low blood sugar. She was 2891gms (6p 6oz) and 47.5cm long.
I have a daughter.
Like a magical unicorn Juffin appears before me. I am crying. Again. He says that Molly is beautiful.
Molly. I am still stuck on Violet or Greta but Juffin just says wait until you see her.
We have a baby girl. Neither of us can quite believe it.
My midwife appears and apologises for missing the whole thing but obviously things went a little pear shaped, no shit!
She explains that she was able to express some colostrum whilst I was in recovery and Juffin approved this and she hopes that this is ok.
Am I concerned that someone pumped my breasts whilst I was unconscious? No! My baby didn't need to have formula as a result and whilst hardly the same as breastfeeding, it did help us along the way to breastfeed.
And then she's there. And she is Molly. She latches straight away and we're together and I love her.
I haven't thought about the birth since. I'm trying not to. I don't want to think about how close we came to losing her. What if I had gone home to continue labour? What if they weren't able to revive her? Why don't babies like coming out of my vjayjay?
I'm sore, that much is true. The bruising on my scar is a testament to how quickly they tried to get her out of me.
But we're breastfeeding. We're both healthy and well and in one piece.
And I'm never, ever, EVER, doing that again!!
So introducing Molly Lynette. My beautiful daughter.
My girl likes to make an entrance!