N slept on til 7am, as I lay thinking about the day to come. Thinking and leaking all at the same time. Incontinence is a very odd feeling – I’m sure the novelty of it wears off at some point....probably the point where you end up buying incontinence pads and forgo leaving the house, but for the meantime, I’m fascinated by the waters seeping from below! The waters are clear, and clean and there’s no odour at all. And, it just keeps coming. I’m so glad we bought the mattress protector.
After four Shredded Wheat (and thumbing my nose to Ian Botham, a three-a-day man) we leave the flat with the hospital bag and another mattress protector for the car seat. N is very keen to keep the new car a dry-zone.
A quick fifteen minute drive to the hospital and we’re there. I walk through the hospital doors knowing that this could be the start of the biggest day of my life.
We’re escorted into a room in the Midwife Led Unit (MLU) and another pregnant midwife comes in to check that the waters really have broken. There must be something they’re putting in the midwives waters as she’s the fourth pregnant one I’ve seen so far.
The midwife has a feel of my belly;
‘Oooh,’ she says, ‘mmmm’.
‘mmm?’
‘I think that’s a bottom up there,’ she says, feeling the top of my belly; ‘the baby may be breach. I’ll have to check’
With that she leaves the room to get the scanning machine for what will be our sixth scan.
A quick scan of the belly shows that, no, that Nipper’s head down. But this confusion over whether Nipper is breach or not leaves me wondering whether or not
Nipper has a very large head and a small bottom.
‘Well, Vikki, your waters have definitely broken, but the monitor shows no contractions as yet. We’d like you to go home and rest up, walk about and just wait for the contractions to start’.
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Then you have to come back in tomorrow morning at 9am to be induced’ advises the pregnant midwife.
We pack up our stuff and leave the hospital. It’s a false start, but I’m still excited and I feel like we’re off on an exciting holiday.
N worked from home and I spent the morning surfing the net and replying to the letters I’d received in response to my rant about the school-mums. My letter to the editor had been featured centre page in the Sevenoaks Chronicle. The letter had caused quite a stir. I had villagers coming out of the wood-work claiming to have had near misses on the pavements with 4 by 4 crazed school mums mounting the sidewalks along the high street. The inability of the school mums to drive their over-sized pimp mobiles safely through the village, and their ineptitude at parking was doing nothing for the fabled ‘women-drivers’ tag, that most of us feel is disingenuous!
I’d received an email from the headmaster thanking me for my concern but claiming that things had got better. I also received an email from the local Parish Council who assured me that they’d been looking in to the problem for some time. They asked if I could come in to the council later on to tell them of my concerns. I said I’d love to but that I was a bit tied up as my waters had broken. The clerk seemed quite taken aback. She told me to rest up and concentrate on myself. Perhaps she had a point, but nothing was happening and I needed to occupy myself. My ‘labour plan’ had been to occupy myself with ironing. The DVD in the hospital had promoted the idea with gusto – along with short walks with your partner and deep breathing. N was busy on the computer, so I walked down by the river on my own, and there was no ironing to be done as N had finished it all at the weekend. Why wasn’t anything happening?
We took a walk down the road to Mum and Dads. As we passed the butchers Norman rushed out;
‘Any news? Anything happening?’ he beamed.
‘No’ we chorused. ‘We’ll let you know’
Norman looked really disappointed. I felt a bit bad not telling him that things had ‘started’, but much as I love Norman; it didn’t feel quite right to tell him that I was trickling my way down the street.
We passed a couple of hours with mum and dad, drinking tea and eating garibaldi’s, but the round trip to their house at the other end of the village failed to bring on the contractions. After dinner I decided to try a hot bath and an early night.
10pm. Sort of period pains. No other way to describe it. A low, dull ache in my ovary-area. Although god knows where my ovaries were now. Apparently everything has moved down there. My liver’s somewhere near my neck and my bowel’s been squashed into oblivion. My abdomen has split apart, and I have a ‘linea nigra’ – a brown line, arcing down my belly. I turn on the night light and have a look at my belly. There’s definitely movement there – a fist in the belly button and a foot kicking my ribs. I gaze down and savour the feeling. This could be the last night that I feel Nipper dancing inside of me. Pregnancy hasn’t been easy. It’s been emotional (as Vinnie would say) it’s been long, and at times it’s been really hard. But lying here, waiting for Nipper to arrive, I feel as calm as Buddha himself, and also sad that this is the end of our time joined together.
N climbs in to bed beside me and we fall asleep in spoons.
I wake ten minutes later. Yep. Definitely period pains.
I grab my phone. I need to time these.
‘That’s ten minutes’ I say in to the darkness of the night.
‘Mm’ N replies, half asleep.
‘That’s fifteen minutes and 30 seconds’
‘Mm’
‘Twenty minutes’
No response.
I spend the whole of Tuesday night timing my period pains as N slumbers beside me.
8am can’t come soon enough for me. So when the alarm goes, I half sprint out of the bed – not easy with two sanitary pads taped to my knickers and a belly the size of Jockey Wilsons in front of me.
We arrive at delivery suite bang on 9am. After buzzing several times we’re directed to Cedar Ward, the post natal ward. They will be looking after us as delivery suite is rather busy at the moment.
We’re given a bed in Cedar Ward and left to our own devices. We’re told that someone will be in from delivery suite in a minute to ‘start me off’. A minute turns in to an hour, and into two and then three. The period pains are still there but there’s no pattern to them. Eventually a midwife from delivery comes in and gets me to spread my legs. She quickly inserts a tube, syringes some jelly up my vagina and leaves. No ‘hello?’ no ‘how are you?’, just spread your legs, jelly then leave. I feel rather cheap!
‘So that’s induction then?’ I say. ‘That was pretty swift’.
I have to admit to feeling a little concerned that no one talked to us about the procedure. We weren’t given any time to discuss ‘options’. Which seemed odd as the ante natal classes had spoken endlessly about discussing our options. Clearly there was a lack of time today.
Marion, a friendly blonde midwife came in to our cubicle and offered some paracetmol.
‘What happens now Marion?’ I asked
‘Well, delivery suite are very busy today, so you’ll be here, for a while and we’ll see if the prostin (the jelly) works to get the contractions going. If there’s no movement, then we’ll give you an oxytocin drip at 6pm’.
We passed a long six hours waiting for the contractions to come. The tea lady came round, lunch and then dinner arrived, but no one from delivery suite. 6pm came and went and as the night drew closer I knew that we’d been left to our own devices. I also knew that once 9pm came, N would have to go. The thought of being in hospital on my own filled me with dread. I started to try and think of ways to hide him in the cubicle. At 6 foot three he was too big to hide under the bed.
9pm came and the midwives told us that N would have to go.
‘Nothing will happen tonight now – we’ll re-try the induction tomorrow morning’
I cried when N left. I cried a bit more when the bed next to me was filled with a new mum and her crying baby.
10pm. Period pains? No, I think they’re contractions. They definitely hurt. In fact they take my breath away. I get up and wander around the corridor for an hour or two, trying to remember how to breath. I can’t believe it. It’s started and I’m alone. I can’t shift the fear that the baby will come while N is at home.
I return to bed and wire myself up with the TENS machine. Every time I feel a contraction I hit the ‘boost’ button on the TENS and savour the odd feeling of light electrocution. I’m not sure what it does for the pain of the contractions, but the intense buzz from the machine sort of takes your mind off the contraction itself.
‘Are you ok?’ asks a voice from the darkness.
‘Hi. Yes, I’m fine’
‘I’m Anna’ says the voice.
‘I’m not imagining you am I?’ I ask, slightly concerned that I’ve been sent a guardian angel.
A giggle comes back from the dark – ‘no, I’m in the bed opposite you. I heard you heavy breathing just now and wondered whether you were ok’
‘I think I’m having contractions’
‘Do you want to call the midwife?’
‘No, I’m fine’ I reply.
‘You’re very calm’ she says.
‘I feel ok, I’ve got the TENS machine on and I’m going to sit here and time them. I’m really sorry in advance if I keep you awake with my heavy breathing’.
‘Don’t be silly – I can’t sleep anyway’.
We chat for a while – Anna comes from Dartford. She’s 32 weeks pregnant and last night went in to premature labour. She had full on contractions every four minutes, but the DR’s stopped her labour with drugs and injected her with steroids in order to strengthen her baby’s lungs. She’s funny and strong and doesn’t seem at all fazed by the fact that he nearly had her baby girl early last night. In fact, if anything, she’s disappointed not to meet her.
‘I know she’s a girl. What are you having?’
‘We don’t know – we decided to wait’
‘Oh – I just couldn’t – I was too excited. This is what I’ve wanted all my life.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty four, but I’ve wanted a baby for as long as I can remember. I can’t wait to hold her and cuddle her. Have you waited a long time to have a baby?’
‘Well, I’m a geriatric mum - and I guess you could see that I’m not spring chicken – but I don’t actually feel that old, even though I’ve been reminded of it a lot through the pregnancy.’
‘Did you try for a long time?’
Erm. I decided against telling Anna that Nipper was unplanned. She didn’t need to know about the efficacy of the cap! Apparently Anna had tried for two years without contraception before falling pregnant. We’d managed it against the odds, and with a barrier in place! Anna told me that she’d split up with ‘the dad’ six weeks into the pregnancy.
‘I just couldn’t stand him.’ She said decisively, ‘I hated him. At one point I tried to drown him in the bath – he made me sick.’
‘Blimey’ I laughed.
‘No really – he made me physically sick. As soon as I moved out, the morning sickness stopped and I began to feel good’.
I had to take my hat off to her – but only in between the contractions, which were coming harder and faster as we spoke.
Three hours later and the contractions were coming every four minutes. The pain literally took my breath away. I spent the night timing the contractions and doing the Lightning Process – a blend of hypnotherapy, coaching and osteopathy. The Lightning Process really helped – as soon as the contraction was upon me, I’d focus on the technique I’d been taught by Phil Parker .
6am. Wednesday morning. The contractions have stopped.
9am. On the dot. N arrives. We wait for ages and still no one from delivery suite comes. It seems ages since my waters broke, late Monday night, early Tuesday morning. One of the midwives mutters something about antibiotics and infection, but no one comes to administer them.
We’ve been told that I’ll be induced with a drip.....as soon as they ‘have time’. I decide to try to bring the contractions back on. I begin walking round and round in circles – round the bed and back and forth across the floor. N reads the papers. He’s bought them all; he believes that Nipper will come today, and wants to keep the papers as souvenirs.
Three hours later and my contractions have reappeared. 4 minutes apart. 3 minutes apart. 2 minutes apart. It’s now impossible not to double over in pain when they come upon me. N holds my hand and we get through each contraction as best we can, minus any pain relief. N asks if we can at least have some gas and air, but we’re told that’s not allowed on the ward. How much longer til we’re seen?
‘They’re very busy in delivery suite’ we’re told again.
‘We can give you some paracetamol though – if you want’.
‘Paracetamol?’ holy shit.
In between the contractions we laugh and chat- but as soon as it comes upon me, I’m doubled up instantly in pain. It’s intense – the most intense pain I’ve ever felt. The pressure of the baby, bearing down is unbelievable.
‘I’m going to have this baby here ‘ I tell N. ‘I can feel it – Nipper’s not going to wait for delivery. I really want the epidural. And now!’
The contractions are coming 2 minutes apart now and there’s literally no time to breath in between.
‘This isn’t going the way we planned’ I say
‘There was no plan’ laughs N. ‘
We’re offered pethidine and we take it.
The next two hours are spent in a daze. The contractions come and the pain when they come is as intense as before. It’s just the ‘in between time’ that feels spacey.
‘Oranges. Yes, oranges’
‘Sorry?’ says N.
‘Huh?’
‘You just mentioned oranges?’
‘Did I? This pethidine’s making me feel very odd’.
5pm. Contractions 30 seconds apart.
‘The baby’s coming – I can feel it’.
N goes to find a midwife and forces the issue. After an internal examination, the midwife tells us that I’m 3 cms dilated, but it feels to her like the rest of the cervix is about to go; ‘it’s very thin, but they’re very busy in delivery suite though’
‘We’ve been told that since Tuesday and it’s now Thursday night. I want an epidural, and I want it now. I don’t want to wait til it’s too late. My contractions are 30 seconds apart’.
She puts me in a wheelchair and finally N and I are rushed through to delivery suite.
After the nonchalance of Cedar Ward, the attention in delivery suite is mind blowing. Someone cares about us. They’re around us and asking us questions. I let them know that I want an epidural. I’m so scared that it’s too late. The contractions are so strong at 30 seconds apart. Becca, our new midwife in delivery suite shows me how to use the gas and air.
‘Oh my god – this feels like the strongest weed I’ve ever smoked’ I say, as my head lolls about on my shoulders.
‘Breath it in as the contractions come’ Becca advises.
I suck and inhale the gas. The pain remains, but the gas nearly knocks me out. I can’t think. I can’t see anything apart from N. He’s in front of me. Holding my hand and talking to me. But god only knows what he’s saying; this is like the strongest weed I’ve ever tried (obviously that was YEARS and YEARS ago mum, before I became a responsible adult.....!)
The anaesthetist is in the room. I continue to suck on the gas. I’m inhaling deeply, but the contractions still knock the wind out of me.
She asks me to sign a form, and then I’m bent over on the bed as she puts the epidural into my back. We have to keep stopping every 30 seconds for the contractions. I have to stay as still as I can – not easy when you can feel the contractions coming. An epidural is a form of ‘regional anesthesia’ administered by an injection of drugs through a catheter placed into the epidural space – a part of the spine. It blocks the transmission of signals through the nerves around the spinal cord. A catheter is also placed up my uretha and into my bladder.
Thankfully, the epidural procedure is quick and the drug begins to numb everything from the waist down. The contractions diminish in intensity so that I can just feel a tightening in my tummy. This is bliss. I feel in control and able to carry on.
N is with me, holding my hand all the time. He’s perilously close to the knee area though, and with my legs up and the midwife’s hand up my fanny, I’m worried that he’ll see too much.
‘Come up this way’ I beckon.
He laughs – ‘it’s nothing we haven’t seen before’.
‘You’re four centimetres dilated’ says Becca. ‘It’s change of shift time, and I’m off now though, Natalie will look after you.’
Becca dims the lights as Natalie enters the room. Natalie is very calm and quiet and works away – hooking me up to an automatic blood pressure machine and filling out paper work at the end of the bed.’
The time spins by. An hour passes in what feels like five minutes. And before I know it, Natalie is having a feel inside my fanny. It’s open house down there.
‘Ok – that’s great – you’re 10 centimetres dilated and we’re ready.’
‘Really? SO quickly’
The epidural has relaxed me to such an extent, and the cervix has gone. Nipper is ready to come.
‘We usually leave you for an hour now, to give the baby time to get ready to descend. So we’ll start pushing in an hour. Is that ok?’
‘Yes – that’s fine’ I say, feeling as calm as anything.
The next hour passes even quicker than the last. Natalie fills out more forms at the end of the bed, while N and I wait quietly and patiently for the main event.
‘Okay’ Natalie say; ‘We’re ready to push now. I’ll talk you through it. Let’s look at the monitor – every time you see a contraction I want you to push down hard as if you’re going for a poo.’
‘I’m a little worried that I might actually do that’ I say
‘Don’t worry’ she replies. ‘We’ve seen it all before’.
‘I’m more worried about N seeing it! ‘
‘Don’t worry sweetheart’ N says smiling . He’s so calm. Natalie’s so calm and I feel serenely calm – it’s bizarre. I’d expected to feel exhausted, worried, scared, fearful at this point, but all I feel is calm and ready. We’re going to meet Nipper.
The numbers on the monitor begins the climb as a contraction comes.
‘Okay’ says Natalie ‘Breath in, hold it and push down now. Great – good pushing, keep going. And take another rbreath, and push down, keep going, keep pushing’
I push with all my might. It’s an odd sensation as I can’t feel very much below my waist. I push and push imagining I’m pushing from my bottom.
Every time the numbers on the monitor climb, we repeat the process: deep breath, hold, push, breathe. Deep breath in, hold, push and breathe out.
‘That’s great Vikki, I can see the head.’
‘Really? – Can you see?’ I ask N
He’s transfixed, standing beside my knee looking down.
‘Yes I can see it’ he replied. ‘It’s coming.’
Knowing that N can see the head spurs me on to push as hard as I can. The numbers on the monitor climb again and I push again. Time passes very quickly and it feels like we’ve only been pushing for a few minutes. Natalie asks me to hold on. The monitor has lost Nipper’s heartbeat. Natalie quickly moves the sensor around on my lower abdomen but she fails to find Nipper’s heartbeat.
‘I’m going to have to cut you’ she says, expertly reaching for the large scissors, which look pretty similar to my mum’s large sewing scissors. She cuts quickly through my perineum. The sound makes me feel a little sick.
‘Ok I need you to push on the next contraction’ says Natalie calmly, getting her fingers in place ready to pull.
The contraction comes and I push and Natalie pulls at the head and Nipper spontaneously arrives into the world. There’s silence for a second and then Nipper cries. It’s the best sound in the world.
Natalie holds Nipper up; ‘What is it N?’
‘It’s a girl’.
She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s covered in funny white stuff and her hair is dark and crinkly and her eyes are enormous and blue. She looks so perfect. So fully formed. She has long fingers and enormous feet. Just like her dad.
I spend a blissful hour and ten minutes with my legs up in stirrups begin stitched up while Nipper lies on my chest, enjoying ‘skin to skin’ contact. N, stands at my knee watching the stitches go in. He’s seen absolutely everything now. Every side of my character, every bit of my anatomy and we’ve shared the most intimate and natural experience in the world. He’s been beside my side throughout the nine long months of pregnancy and now here we are, a family, together side by side with our little girl. I can’t get over the fact that we have ‘a little girl’. It’s slightly overwhelming, but it’s also the most amazing feeling in the world.
We text everyone we know to let them know that at 22:37 on the 19th March 2009 Zoe Emily Grace arrived in the world weighing a tiny 5lbs 14oz. Nipper is here, and now the real adventure begins.
copyright (C) Vikki Rimmer 2009
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Week 40: Tuesday
Tuesday
Awoke at 4.30 am this morning thinking I'd pee-ed the bed. I rolled out of bed and trickled my way to the bathroom. I was leaking from below, and it felt odd.
'I think my waters have broken' I said, coming back in to the bedroom wearing a towel that I'd fashioned into a nappy.
N turned the light on; 'Is it coming, my dear? or were you hav ing a wet dream...again?' At least, I think that's what he said, but I can't be sure - I felt hot and confused.
'What do we do? I've forgotten everything! Do we ring the hospital?'
'No not until we get contractions 4 minutes apart'
'Are you sure -??? I think I remember them saying something about waters breaking and ringing...?'
'You can ring them if you like.'
I took the phone back to the bathroom with me. Leaving a long trickle of water in my wake as my nappy failed to stem the flowing tide.
'Hello MLU' Said the kindly voice at the end of the phone.
'Hi - I'm a bit early to ring, but my waters have broken and I can't remember what to do'.
'That's fine, my love, when did they break?'
'Ten minutes ago, and they're stil trickling now'
'Are they clear? NO red, green or brown discharge?'
'They're clear.....I think'
'Great. It's bedlam in here - so if you could go back to bed for a bit then come in to the hospital at 8am, we'll check that it is your waters that have gone'
'I hope it is - either that or I'm now incontinent!'
'Put some maternity pads on and try and get some rest and we'll see you at 8am'.
I hung up the phone and broke open the maternity pads. I fixed them to my knickers and waddled back to bed.
'We're to stay here til 8, then go in to the hospital'.
'Ok - let's get some sleep' said N, as he promptly rolled over and recommenced heavy breathing.
Sleep? I'm way too excited. There's no pain at all. No contractions - just a seeping from below, but it is a 'start' isn't it? This is really happening........
Awoke at 4.30 am this morning thinking I'd pee-ed the bed. I rolled out of bed and trickled my way to the bathroom. I was leaking from below, and it felt odd.
'I think my waters have broken' I said, coming back in to the bedroom wearing a towel that I'd fashioned into a nappy.
N turned the light on; 'Is it coming, my dear? or were you hav ing a wet dream...again?' At least, I think that's what he said, but I can't be sure - I felt hot and confused.
'What do we do? I've forgotten everything! Do we ring the hospital?'
'No not until we get contractions 4 minutes apart'
'Are you sure -??? I think I remember them saying something about waters breaking and ringing...?'
'You can ring them if you like.'
I took the phone back to the bathroom with me. Leaving a long trickle of water in my wake as my nappy failed to stem the flowing tide.
'Hello MLU' Said the kindly voice at the end of the phone.
'Hi - I'm a bit early to ring, but my waters have broken and I can't remember what to do'.
'That's fine, my love, when did they break?'
'Ten minutes ago, and they're stil trickling now'
'Are they clear? NO red, green or brown discharge?'
'They're clear.....I think'
'Great. It's bedlam in here - so if you could go back to bed for a bit then come in to the hospital at 8am, we'll check that it is your waters that have gone'
'I hope it is - either that or I'm now incontinent!'
'Put some maternity pads on and try and get some rest and we'll see you at 8am'.
I hung up the phone and broke open the maternity pads. I fixed them to my knickers and waddled back to bed.
'We're to stay here til 8, then go in to the hospital'.
'Ok - let's get some sleep' said N, as he promptly rolled over and recommenced heavy breathing.
Sleep? I'm way too excited. There's no pain at all. No contractions - just a seeping from below, but it is a 'start' isn't it? This is really happening........
Week 40: Monday
Monday
'They're mental. All of them'
'Anyone in particular?' asked N
'Pregnant women. They're all mental. Or they go that way'.
'How so?'
'Well, take this article for example: 'Cutting the cord - essential or unnatural?' I then proceeded to regale N with the practise of 'lotus birthing';
'Apparently, a Lotus birth is when the umbilical cord is not cut but left to fall off naturally. Advocates say it is reassuring for new borns.........'
I proceeded to read on about the practice which means that the baby remains attached to its placenta until the cord naturally separates at the belly button.
'So, you have to carry the smelly placenta around - typically weighing about one and a half pounds for between 3 to 10 days!' I gasped.
'Some woman got her midwife to sew her placenta into a velvet bag so that she could carry it around with her. Bloody mental.'
N looked a bit green around the gills.
'Her husband wasn't grossed out by it (or so he said), appraently whenever he was in the same room as the bagged-up placenta, he felt calm.'
'I bet it's some NCT shit he's been brain washed into believing' said N, clearly unconvinced by the bizarre practise.
I scanned the rest of the article, and sure enough, there it was - a quote from an NCT ante natal teacher; 'the cord separating naturally is nature's design and a normal, physiological process'.........
So wandering around with a placenta in your velvet handbag is apparently really normal?
Looking at the pictures in the magazines, the placenta resembles a generous top side of beef or a large joint of meat. And like uncooked meat, the placenta could also act as a breeding ground for bacteria. A spokesperson from the Royal College of Obstetricians says Lotus births could pose health problems because once the baby and placenta are born, circulation through the umbilical cord stops within minutes. The placenta is the dead tissue, with blood in it - a good medium for bacteria to grow.
.............
My desire to clean and cook has racheted up another gear. I am now a 1920's housewife; Today, I washed the floors on my knees and I scrubbed he backstep, and if I'd had a mangle, I'm sure I would have used it with vigour.
In a nod to the 21st century, I hoovered out the car. Joan-next-door says it's a 'sign'.
I've done some 'batch cooking', which friends tell me is essential, as when the sleep deprivation hits, neither N or I will remember where the kitchen is. Have made large vat of chili, four dinners of lentil and sweet potato curry and a ton of bolognaise.
Nipper has been moving around like a 'good 'un today - at one point I'm sure Nipper did a somersault.
'They're mental. All of them'
'Anyone in particular?' asked N
'Pregnant women. They're all mental. Or they go that way'.
'How so?'
'Well, take this article for example: 'Cutting the cord - essential or unnatural?' I then proceeded to regale N with the practise of 'lotus birthing';
'Apparently, a Lotus birth is when the umbilical cord is not cut but left to fall off naturally. Advocates say it is reassuring for new borns.........'
I proceeded to read on about the practice which means that the baby remains attached to its placenta until the cord naturally separates at the belly button.
'So, you have to carry the smelly placenta around - typically weighing about one and a half pounds for between 3 to 10 days!' I gasped.
'Some woman got her midwife to sew her placenta into a velvet bag so that she could carry it around with her. Bloody mental.'
N looked a bit green around the gills.
'Her husband wasn't grossed out by it (or so he said), appraently whenever he was in the same room as the bagged-up placenta, he felt calm.'
'I bet it's some NCT shit he's been brain washed into believing' said N, clearly unconvinced by the bizarre practise.
I scanned the rest of the article, and sure enough, there it was - a quote from an NCT ante natal teacher; 'the cord separating naturally is nature's design and a normal, physiological process'.........
So wandering around with a placenta in your velvet handbag is apparently really normal?
Looking at the pictures in the magazines, the placenta resembles a generous top side of beef or a large joint of meat. And like uncooked meat, the placenta could also act as a breeding ground for bacteria. A spokesperson from the Royal College of Obstetricians says Lotus births could pose health problems because once the baby and placenta are born, circulation through the umbilical cord stops within minutes. The placenta is the dead tissue, with blood in it - a good medium for bacteria to grow.
.............
My desire to clean and cook has racheted up another gear. I am now a 1920's housewife; Today, I washed the floors on my knees and I scrubbed he backstep, and if I'd had a mangle, I'm sure I would have used it with vigour.
In a nod to the 21st century, I hoovered out the car. Joan-next-door says it's a 'sign'.
I've done some 'batch cooking', which friends tell me is essential, as when the sleep deprivation hits, neither N or I will remember where the kitchen is. Have made large vat of chili, four dinners of lentil and sweet potato curry and a ton of bolognaise.
Nipper has been moving around like a 'good 'un today - at one point I'm sure Nipper did a somersault.
Week 40: Sunday
Sunday
'Scorpio, you are in a very exciting phase, where almost everything in your life is changing for the better. It will take a few more months before you will be able to fully enjoy your new way of life, but you've made a good start, and the year is still so new.' so says Susan Miller, astrological guru. Sue sems to have her shit in order when it comes to astrology. N says it's nonsense. Susan seems to think Nipper will come on the 19th - that's when I'm going to meet 'someone new' and go on a short trip: the hospital is only a 15 minute drive. N says 'it's Pony', but then he is a Capricorn.
Have looked at the astrological situation in general in March, and I'm now hoping that Nipper hangs on til the 21st - the equinox and the start of Aries.
I don't actually think we'll meet Nipper until April 1st - there's no signs of anything happening - Nipper seems more than happy to kick away and carry on stretching my tummy.
I have bought maternity mattress protectors though - and i'll try to remember to put them under the sheet tonight, in order to save the mattress should my waters break. I can't imagine what that feels like - or how much 'water' there will be. According to the books and magazines, the waters break in only 25% of labouring women at the start - 3/4 s of labouring women have to have the amniotic sack pricked by a midwife with a long hook - not unlike Little Bo Peeps' crook - to get the waters to 'break'. However, 1 in 4 is good enough odds to spend a fiver on mattress protectors. N says we need to put them in the new car too! That or a towel for me to sit on. Starting to feel like an incontinent old woman, what with the constant trips to the bathroom to pee and the prospect of losing all control of my waters. Have to also admit that when I sneeze a little bit of wee comes out now....not good. Have made another silent promise to myself to start pelvic floor exercises (starting right now)....don't want to become a 'Tena lady'.
Better get off the bed and get myself ready. N says we're 'missing the best part of the day'.
.........
Spent a lovely day in the spring sun taking photographs of daffodils at Emmett's Garden, near Sevenoaks. N is keen to get the National Trust family card and 'go National Tursting'. He thinks the annual membership is a 'bargain'. Tickets to Glastonbury would usually be more his thing. Perhaps he's gone pregnancy mental too.
'Not long to go' he said, several times in the car on the way home.
'It's nearly over' I replied.
Then we looked at each other and said in unison; 'but it ain't over til the fat lady..screams!'
We both laughed out loud. N laughed a bit harder and a bit longer than me. Afterall, I AM the fat lady, and I'll be the one screaming.......
'Scorpio, you are in a very exciting phase, where almost everything in your life is changing for the better. It will take a few more months before you will be able to fully enjoy your new way of life, but you've made a good start, and the year is still so new.' so says Susan Miller, astrological guru. Sue sems to have her shit in order when it comes to astrology. N says it's nonsense. Susan seems to think Nipper will come on the 19th - that's when I'm going to meet 'someone new' and go on a short trip: the hospital is only a 15 minute drive. N says 'it's Pony', but then he is a Capricorn.
Have looked at the astrological situation in general in March, and I'm now hoping that Nipper hangs on til the 21st - the equinox and the start of Aries.
I don't actually think we'll meet Nipper until April 1st - there's no signs of anything happening - Nipper seems more than happy to kick away and carry on stretching my tummy.
I have bought maternity mattress protectors though - and i'll try to remember to put them under the sheet tonight, in order to save the mattress should my waters break. I can't imagine what that feels like - or how much 'water' there will be. According to the books and magazines, the waters break in only 25% of labouring women at the start - 3/4 s of labouring women have to have the amniotic sack pricked by a midwife with a long hook - not unlike Little Bo Peeps' crook - to get the waters to 'break'. However, 1 in 4 is good enough odds to spend a fiver on mattress protectors. N says we need to put them in the new car too! That or a towel for me to sit on. Starting to feel like an incontinent old woman, what with the constant trips to the bathroom to pee and the prospect of losing all control of my waters. Have to also admit that when I sneeze a little bit of wee comes out now....not good. Have made another silent promise to myself to start pelvic floor exercises (starting right now)....don't want to become a 'Tena lady'.
Better get off the bed and get myself ready. N says we're 'missing the best part of the day'.
.........
Spent a lovely day in the spring sun taking photographs of daffodils at Emmett's Garden, near Sevenoaks. N is keen to get the National Trust family card and 'go National Tursting'. He thinks the annual membership is a 'bargain'. Tickets to Glastonbury would usually be more his thing. Perhaps he's gone pregnancy mental too.
'Not long to go' he said, several times in the car on the way home.
'It's nearly over' I replied.
Then we looked at each other and said in unison; 'but it ain't over til the fat lady..screams!'
We both laughed out loud. N laughed a bit harder and a bit longer than me. Afterall, I AM the fat lady, and I'll be the one screaming.......
Week 40: Really??? Already?? Are you sure??
Saturday
N thinks inducement on Wednesday/Thursday is academic because Nipper is IMMINENT! He keeps singing; 'We ARE famileeee......' (never had him down as a Sister Sledge fan before)and the other day he double-punched the air and said; 'Get it out....come on.....' Not so keen on the 'getting it out', thinking it might be best if Nipper stays where they are for a while - I'm oscillating between extreme fear at the prospect of birth, and Earth-mother calm. Part of me wants to bring it on - with curries and hot sex, or is that hot curries and sex? And the other half is in denial and still planning outings etc for the coming days.
Mum has finished the Pooh-bear quilt and I've laid it ceremonially in the new nursery, on top of the tiny bath and next to the Pooh-bear mobile. The buggy is up, and the car seat is fixed, the little green and yellow chest of drawers is crammed full of tiny vests, pink dresses and sleep suits. The Moses Basket is made up, with tiny sheets and wholey blankets, nappies are in the nappy stacker and the changing box is full of creams, lotions and potions. Everything's ready for Nipper......except me. Hope this feeling is normal.
We met up with friends this evening for a 'last supper' kind of thing at the Curry house in Farningham. Was great to see my friends, even if there was some random behaviour. Tom turned up with a can of 'round-up'/weed killer, which he stowed in a neighbour's garden for the duration of the curry. My friend Tibby, who works in public health, was concerned about the prospect of a environmental catastrophe due to Tom's carelessness. N was concerned that there would be an anti-terrorism bust on the curry house due to the bomb-making equipment stowed outside. Will assured us it would be ok as there was no bag of sugar. 'Chick' wanted my mini skirts - N says she might as well have them as they won't fit again! Tom also regaled us with tales of his love-life, which included a fire-starter incident with a Colombian woman; 'as I bent her over the candle, her hair went up - WHOOSH - in flames. She was rather keen for me to leave after that'. He then spent some time discussing my 'new boobs'. He wanted to confirm that they had indeed grown, and he wanted to know if they felt 'harder'. I told him they were bigger and harder and that I'd bought a breast pump..... that shut him up for a few minutes.
N thinks inducement on Wednesday/Thursday is academic because Nipper is IMMINENT! He keeps singing; 'We ARE famileeee......' (never had him down as a Sister Sledge fan before)and the other day he double-punched the air and said; 'Get it out....come on.....' Not so keen on the 'getting it out', thinking it might be best if Nipper stays where they are for a while - I'm oscillating between extreme fear at the prospect of birth, and Earth-mother calm. Part of me wants to bring it on - with curries and hot sex, or is that hot curries and sex? And the other half is in denial and still planning outings etc for the coming days.
Mum has finished the Pooh-bear quilt and I've laid it ceremonially in the new nursery, on top of the tiny bath and next to the Pooh-bear mobile. The buggy is up, and the car seat is fixed, the little green and yellow chest of drawers is crammed full of tiny vests, pink dresses and sleep suits. The Moses Basket is made up, with tiny sheets and wholey blankets, nappies are in the nappy stacker and the changing box is full of creams, lotions and potions. Everything's ready for Nipper......except me. Hope this feeling is normal.
We met up with friends this evening for a 'last supper' kind of thing at the Curry house in Farningham. Was great to see my friends, even if there was some random behaviour. Tom turned up with a can of 'round-up'/weed killer, which he stowed in a neighbour's garden for the duration of the curry. My friend Tibby, who works in public health, was concerned about the prospect of a environmental catastrophe due to Tom's carelessness. N was concerned that there would be an anti-terrorism bust on the curry house due to the bomb-making equipment stowed outside. Will assured us it would be ok as there was no bag of sugar. 'Chick' wanted my mini skirts - N says she might as well have them as they won't fit again! Tom also regaled us with tales of his love-life, which included a fire-starter incident with a Colombian woman; 'as I bent her over the candle, her hair went up - WHOOSH - in flames. She was rather keen for me to leave after that'. He then spent some time discussing my 'new boobs'. He wanted to confirm that they had indeed grown, and he wanted to know if they felt 'harder'. I told him they were bigger and harder and that I'd bought a breast pump..... that shut him up for a few minutes.
Week 39
Monday
Spent £9.95 on nipple cream. Still having nightmares about my old school friend's blistered nipples. But thankfully no reappearance of the purple dildo.
Tuesday
Nesting has gone up a gear. Have been washing curtains and skirting boards. Double-washing. Put the same curtains through the machine twice. Then tackled Nipper's new room. I pulled out all the furniture and hoovered the skirting boards, and hoovered the walls. Then I disinfected all surface areas (including skirting board and walls), then I mixed up a Milton solution and washed said walls and skirting boards again. You could eat your dinner off my skirting boards (as long as you were lying down) - they're so bloody clean!
Strangely, I enjoyed wearing the yellow rubber gloves so much, I kept them on as I wandered about the flat looking for new areas to clean. Found several.
Turned my attention to the oven and cleaned that thoroughly. I don't think I've ever cleaned an oven before.
Wednesday
Am terrible Auntie. Have made excuses not to go to my nephew's 5th birthday party. My brother informed me that 30 children would be going, along with a magician and a ton of bubble wrap. The new party game is jumping on bubble wrap. Whatever happened to musical chairs?
Actually, would love to go to Teddy's Birthday party, but we've decided to stay close to home as we're getting very near the due date now, and I am having twinges...........
Thursday
Been meeting up with friends. Seeing as many people as possible before Nipper arrives. Met up with H and M today - really good friends from Tunbridge Wells. H said that he did start reading he blog, but the 'conception' bit at the beginning had scared him too much to return. His partner M has a stronger stomach and has read a little more of the blog, but made me promise that I wouldn't give birth during lunch.
Saw the midwife today. She checked my blood pressure - that's fine. She checked my wee - not so good. Have got sugar in my wee, necessitating a glucose intolerance test next Wednesday. I'm all booked in to have my blood tested. It seems that if I am glucose intolerant then they will induce me next week. If I'm induced then the water-birth is off.
Spent £9.95 on nipple cream. Still having nightmares about my old school friend's blistered nipples. But thankfully no reappearance of the purple dildo.
Tuesday
Nesting has gone up a gear. Have been washing curtains and skirting boards. Double-washing. Put the same curtains through the machine twice. Then tackled Nipper's new room. I pulled out all the furniture and hoovered the skirting boards, and hoovered the walls. Then I disinfected all surface areas (including skirting board and walls), then I mixed up a Milton solution and washed said walls and skirting boards again. You could eat your dinner off my skirting boards (as long as you were lying down) - they're so bloody clean!
Strangely, I enjoyed wearing the yellow rubber gloves so much, I kept them on as I wandered about the flat looking for new areas to clean. Found several.
Turned my attention to the oven and cleaned that thoroughly. I don't think I've ever cleaned an oven before.
Wednesday
Am terrible Auntie. Have made excuses not to go to my nephew's 5th birthday party. My brother informed me that 30 children would be going, along with a magician and a ton of bubble wrap. The new party game is jumping on bubble wrap. Whatever happened to musical chairs?
Actually, would love to go to Teddy's Birthday party, but we've decided to stay close to home as we're getting very near the due date now, and I am having twinges...........
Thursday
Been meeting up with friends. Seeing as many people as possible before Nipper arrives. Met up with H and M today - really good friends from Tunbridge Wells. H said that he did start reading he blog, but the 'conception' bit at the beginning had scared him too much to return. His partner M has a stronger stomach and has read a little more of the blog, but made me promise that I wouldn't give birth during lunch.
Saw the midwife today. She checked my blood pressure - that's fine. She checked my wee - not so good. Have got sugar in my wee, necessitating a glucose intolerance test next Wednesday. I'm all booked in to have my blood tested. It seems that if I am glucose intolerant then they will induce me next week. If I'm induced then the water-birth is off.
Week 38: Friday
Been snoring a lot.
Dreams getting weirder. Last night I was chased by a man with a 10 inch purple dildo. Told N. He had a question: 'How do you know it was 10 inches.....are you familiar with 10 inch dildo's???'
I decided to change the subject back to my current obsession: the water birth.
'I'm worried about being in the nude - Katie said that water births are done in the nude, and well, my boobs are really unattractive now, and they sit there, resting on my belly. I think I'm going to pack my bikini top to keep them 'in line - just the top. I won't wear the bottoms'.
'If you want to wear your bikini top that's fine.'
Dreams getting weirder. Last night I was chased by a man with a 10 inch purple dildo. Told N. He had a question: 'How do you know it was 10 inches.....are you familiar with 10 inch dildo's???'
I decided to change the subject back to my current obsession: the water birth.
'I'm worried about being in the nude - Katie said that water births are done in the nude, and well, my boobs are really unattractive now, and they sit there, resting on my belly. I think I'm going to pack my bikini top to keep them 'in line - just the top. I won't wear the bottoms'.
'If you want to wear your bikini top that's fine.'
Week 38: Thursday
A very sad day today. Mo and Lou moved house. I packed their little bag, bowls and litter tray and Mum and I transported them half a mile down the road to their new home - Mum and Dad's place. To give them their due, they took it pretty well.....maybe too well, they seemed excited by the extensive play-run they'd acquired. The conservatory was also a boon - a kind of outdor indoor place - a place where all the birds could be viewed from the comfort of armchairs and indoor heating.
Mo and Lou will return, but they're just taking an extended holiday so that we can have some extra space in our 'bijou' pad.
Mo and Lou will return, but they're just taking an extended holiday so that we can have some extra space in our 'bijou' pad.
Week 38 : Wednesday
Am proper housewife now. Have just finished writing a letter to the local paper. Have more time on my hands than I need. Subject of the letter: selfish mums who park outside the school gates blocking our route through the village. A controversial subject. Have called for the liberal use of 'yellow lines' throughout the village. CC'd the letter to the Parish Council, the District Councillor, the school, the man in charge of yellow lines at Sevenoaks council and the local church magazine. Mum says she's backing me all the way.
Am proper lady of leisure. Just as well as I'm not sleeping too well at night. A combination of sore hips and bad dreams. Last night I dreamt about 'floaters' in the pool. They kept popping up from below and I swear they weren't coming from me.
Am proper lady of leisure. Just as well as I'm not sleeping too well at night. A combination of sore hips and bad dreams. Last night I dreamt about 'floaters' in the pool. They kept popping up from below and I swear they weren't coming from me.
Week 38 : Tuesday
Tuesday
We attended our final ante natal class this evening. Before we left the flat, I made a silent pledge to myself not to cry. Again.
I have to say that we could probably drive the route to the hospital with our eyes closed now. Between us, we've been to the hospital every other week for the past few months. We're experts with the ticketed parking system and we know our way around A&E and the maternity wings. I therefore thought that my request to stay in and veg on the sofa instead of going to ante natal, was quite a sensible one:
'We don't NEED a tour of the hospital' I wined 'we know every nook and cranny!'
'We're going' he replied.
'But we've SEEN it all'
'We're going'.
The numbers in the group were definitely thinner on the ground this week. Perhaps I wasn't the only one not keen to have a 'tour'.
Katie-the-midwife opened the session with another quiz. We were paired with the slackers at the back again, but this time, all four of us were keener to do better. I took charge of the pen. Couldn't have Gary as our scribe this time around.
The quiz: the pro's and cons of breast feeding. We were given the 'cons'.
Having just seen a new-mum, old school friend of mine in the week, I was in full possession of the facts of breast feeding. I don't think my friend will mind me sharing this info - but apparently breast feeding can hurt. Quite a lot. She tried hard to do it, and really persevered, to the point where her nipples were bleeding and blistered and the GP had to suck the pus out with a needle for fear that her nipples might fall off.
I opened with; 'Breast feeding can hurt a bit'
'Yes, I've heard it can be uncomfortable' said Charlotte. I decided to keep my friends blister story to myself.
'It also needs perseverance' said Charlotte. Again I decided to keep my friends story to myself - no point in giving Charlotte nightmares.
'It's sometimes frowned upon in public' added Gary.
'MMMmmmmmm'. I had a vision of whopping my udders out on the bus and trying to feed Nipper while an old boy in a flat cap frowned at me. An unlikely scenario, I know, as I don't 'do' public transport, but it did make me think.....I'm going to have to get my baps out in public....maybe even in front of my dad.........
We managed to add a couple of extra points to the list and I was happy that we'd done better than with our pain relief quiz the other week.
Katie read out our answers and concentrated on the 'breast feeding in public' question;
'It's much more acceptable now-a-days, and there are even places set aside for you to breast-feed. It's not so frowned upon'. Yeah, right, tell it to my Dad, I thought.....
After the quiz, we were taken on a tour of the delivery suite. N and I exchanged glances; 'we are pro's at this...we know this place' we said non-verbally. Then as we rounded the corner we were stopped in our tracks as the bright white strip lightning of the operating theatre glared at us. If we thought there were a lot of machines in delivery suite, then we were slightly overwhelmed by the kit and kaboodle in the theatre.
'This is where 25% of you will end up' said Katie. 'The UK has a 25% c section rate - that's one in four of you'.
That piece of information actually shocked me. This was real. I could end up pushing with all my might and still wind up in the operating theatre having Nipper cut from my belly.
After theatre, we made it to the safety of the MLU - the Midwife Led Unit - a place that smelled of lavender and burkenstocks. This is the place for 'low dependency' births. This is where you come if you want an aromatherapy massage and a water birth. This is the place you come if you shop in Boden and are intent on no pain relief.
We were shown the birthing pools - basically, they're very deep paddling pools which take an age to fill with water - so you have to give the MLU plenty of warning that you're coming so that they can put the hose in the paddling pool. Apparently the rooms with the paddling pools get really hot; 'it's like a Turkish bath in here' said Katie.
'Mmmmm'. I thought; Turkish bath, that sounds more like it.
'Water is great for pain relief' said Katie.
I'd also heard that it was good for preventing tearing - a subject that had given me nightmares since our last ante natal lesson.
'Would you like to do it in here?' whispered N.
'Mmmm, I think so'
'Well, providing there are no complications, we could start off in here'
'Really? but I thought you were dead set on having as many machines as possible around us?'
'If you want to do it here my sweet, then we can try - let's have a word with the midwives afterwards, I just want to check a couple of things'.
We waited around until the last of our class had left and we collared Sharon and Katie;
'Thanks for the lessons, they've been very helpful....and enjoyable' I lied.
'We'd like to ask you a couple of questions about the MLU' said N.
'Fire away'.
'Well, Vikki would quite like to have a water birth, but we were initially thinking of going to the Delivery suite - we've been there before and the staff were fantastic. And they have all the machines and doctors'.
'Yes they do' agreed Katie 'but if there's a problem here, the delivery suite is only across the hall and we can transfer you straight over'.
'We're just a little worried about the choices we have to make. Vikki is well now, but she was ill for a long time and well....'
I took up the baton; 'I was unable to walk for years and I don't have a lot of core strength from all the time I spent lying in bed and well, we're a bit worried that I might not have the stamina to give birth'.
I could feel the tears beginning to prick my eyes.
'You'd be surprised' said Katie; 'stamina is a funny thing, you might find that you have more than enough'
'I have been worrying about it' I admitted aloud for the first time; 'I'm worried I'll be crap and won't be able to do it'. The tears that had been threatening to come over-spilled from my eyes and before I knew it I was crying again. Damn it.
'I'm sorry' I said, 'I find it quite hard talking about this'.
'Come on' said Katie ; 'this is a happy event - everything will be ok - and if we find that you can't cope, then we'll take you across the hall to delivery suite.'
On the way home in the car N and I talked about a birth plan
'You'd better write it up on a postcard....or postage stamp' said N
'Well, all we know is- water birth and gas and air....'
'That's ok - we'll take it from there'
'I do have a couple of worries'
'Yes', he replied kindly 'what are they my sweet?'
'Well, I've heard that when you get to the pushing stage, you often push out a poo....by accident, so to speak.....'
Silence.
'I've spoken to Tash about it - she did it. '
More silence.
'Right in front of Jim! And I asked John. He said he couldn't remember, but that the midwives had seen it all before.'
'John's right - they've sen everything'.
'It's not THEM I'm worried about.................I don't want to do it in front of you....'
'Don't worry about it sweetheart.'
Silence.
'And well now I have a whole new dimension on the subject.....'
'Yeeeeesss???' he asked tentatively.
' now I'm worried about having a floater in the pool........'
Silence.
'I mean it' I said 'I'm really worried'.
N started to laugh - 'In the grand scheme of things, I think we've probably got more pressing things to worry about than a floater in the paddling pool'.
We attended our final ante natal class this evening. Before we left the flat, I made a silent pledge to myself not to cry. Again.
I have to say that we could probably drive the route to the hospital with our eyes closed now. Between us, we've been to the hospital every other week for the past few months. We're experts with the ticketed parking system and we know our way around A&E and the maternity wings. I therefore thought that my request to stay in and veg on the sofa instead of going to ante natal, was quite a sensible one:
'We don't NEED a tour of the hospital' I wined 'we know every nook and cranny!'
'We're going' he replied.
'But we've SEEN it all'
'We're going'.
The numbers in the group were definitely thinner on the ground this week. Perhaps I wasn't the only one not keen to have a 'tour'.
Katie-the-midwife opened the session with another quiz. We were paired with the slackers at the back again, but this time, all four of us were keener to do better. I took charge of the pen. Couldn't have Gary as our scribe this time around.
The quiz: the pro's and cons of breast feeding. We were given the 'cons'.
Having just seen a new-mum, old school friend of mine in the week, I was in full possession of the facts of breast feeding. I don't think my friend will mind me sharing this info - but apparently breast feeding can hurt. Quite a lot. She tried hard to do it, and really persevered, to the point where her nipples were bleeding and blistered and the GP had to suck the pus out with a needle for fear that her nipples might fall off.
I opened with; 'Breast feeding can hurt a bit'
'Yes, I've heard it can be uncomfortable' said Charlotte. I decided to keep my friends blister story to myself.
'It also needs perseverance' said Charlotte. Again I decided to keep my friends story to myself - no point in giving Charlotte nightmares.
'It's sometimes frowned upon in public' added Gary.
'MMMmmmmmm'. I had a vision of whopping my udders out on the bus and trying to feed Nipper while an old boy in a flat cap frowned at me. An unlikely scenario, I know, as I don't 'do' public transport, but it did make me think.....I'm going to have to get my baps out in public....maybe even in front of my dad.........
We managed to add a couple of extra points to the list and I was happy that we'd done better than with our pain relief quiz the other week.
Katie read out our answers and concentrated on the 'breast feeding in public' question;
'It's much more acceptable now-a-days, and there are even places set aside for you to breast-feed. It's not so frowned upon'. Yeah, right, tell it to my Dad, I thought.....
After the quiz, we were taken on a tour of the delivery suite. N and I exchanged glances; 'we are pro's at this...we know this place' we said non-verbally. Then as we rounded the corner we were stopped in our tracks as the bright white strip lightning of the operating theatre glared at us. If we thought there were a lot of machines in delivery suite, then we were slightly overwhelmed by the kit and kaboodle in the theatre.
'This is where 25% of you will end up' said Katie. 'The UK has a 25% c section rate - that's one in four of you'.
That piece of information actually shocked me. This was real. I could end up pushing with all my might and still wind up in the operating theatre having Nipper cut from my belly.
After theatre, we made it to the safety of the MLU - the Midwife Led Unit - a place that smelled of lavender and burkenstocks. This is the place for 'low dependency' births. This is where you come if you want an aromatherapy massage and a water birth. This is the place you come if you shop in Boden and are intent on no pain relief.
We were shown the birthing pools - basically, they're very deep paddling pools which take an age to fill with water - so you have to give the MLU plenty of warning that you're coming so that they can put the hose in the paddling pool. Apparently the rooms with the paddling pools get really hot; 'it's like a Turkish bath in here' said Katie.
'Mmmmm'. I thought; Turkish bath, that sounds more like it.
'Water is great for pain relief' said Katie.
I'd also heard that it was good for preventing tearing - a subject that had given me nightmares since our last ante natal lesson.
'Would you like to do it in here?' whispered N.
'Mmmm, I think so'
'Well, providing there are no complications, we could start off in here'
'Really? but I thought you were dead set on having as many machines as possible around us?'
'If you want to do it here my sweet, then we can try - let's have a word with the midwives afterwards, I just want to check a couple of things'.
We waited around until the last of our class had left and we collared Sharon and Katie;
'Thanks for the lessons, they've been very helpful....and enjoyable' I lied.
'We'd like to ask you a couple of questions about the MLU' said N.
'Fire away'.
'Well, Vikki would quite like to have a water birth, but we were initially thinking of going to the Delivery suite - we've been there before and the staff were fantastic. And they have all the machines and doctors'.
'Yes they do' agreed Katie 'but if there's a problem here, the delivery suite is only across the hall and we can transfer you straight over'.
'We're just a little worried about the choices we have to make. Vikki is well now, but she was ill for a long time and well....'
I took up the baton; 'I was unable to walk for years and I don't have a lot of core strength from all the time I spent lying in bed and well, we're a bit worried that I might not have the stamina to give birth'.
I could feel the tears beginning to prick my eyes.
'You'd be surprised' said Katie; 'stamina is a funny thing, you might find that you have more than enough'
'I have been worrying about it' I admitted aloud for the first time; 'I'm worried I'll be crap and won't be able to do it'. The tears that had been threatening to come over-spilled from my eyes and before I knew it I was crying again. Damn it.
'I'm sorry' I said, 'I find it quite hard talking about this'.
'Come on' said Katie ; 'this is a happy event - everything will be ok - and if we find that you can't cope, then we'll take you across the hall to delivery suite.'
On the way home in the car N and I talked about a birth plan
'You'd better write it up on a postcard....or postage stamp' said N
'Well, all we know is- water birth and gas and air....'
'That's ok - we'll take it from there'
'I do have a couple of worries'
'Yes', he replied kindly 'what are they my sweet?'
'Well, I've heard that when you get to the pushing stage, you often push out a poo....by accident, so to speak.....'
Silence.
'I've spoken to Tash about it - she did it. '
More silence.
'Right in front of Jim! And I asked John. He said he couldn't remember, but that the midwives had seen it all before.'
'John's right - they've sen everything'.
'It's not THEM I'm worried about.................I don't want to do it in front of you....'
'Don't worry about it sweetheart.'
Silence.
'And well now I have a whole new dimension on the subject.....'
'Yeeeeesss???' he asked tentatively.
' now I'm worried about having a floater in the pool........'
Silence.
'I mean it' I said 'I'm really worried'.
N started to laugh - 'In the grand scheme of things, I think we've probably got more pressing things to worry about than a floater in the paddling pool'.
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Week 37 : me, a Brazilian and a breach party
Monday
N ended up in hospital last week, undergoing key-hole surgery to have his appendix removed. Apparently your 'appendix' are pointless. They're only needed if you are a prolific 'grass eater'.
We spent the weekend at his flat in London seeing friends and administering the drugs the hospital gave us. Fifteen antibiotics a day and a tons of painkillers. He has to be careful and he's not allowed to lift anything or do exercise for 6 weeks. Sex is apparently out for two weeks (minimum) too. He's adamant that I can't have 'Nipper' yet. I agree - he's yet to lift the hospital bag, and it weighs a ton. I've been adding 'essentials' over the past week including 'snacks'. Well, the ante natal class scared the be-jesus out of me last week with their tales of 36 hour labours etc.
We heard great news from Scotland on Sunday - friends of ours who married last year are 14 weeks pregnant. The Aussie/Scots combo will produce a fantastic baby, we're sure of that. I have to give a 'big shout out' (George Lamb/Cockney-mockney styley) to my pregnant 'sister' in Scotland who's experiencing hideous morning sickness - Don't worry 'H' - it will go soon. Promise. And if anyone suggests 'ginger biscuits' feel free to strangle them and blame it on rampant hormones.
Tuesday
It's ante natal day again. I've been trying my best to get out of it.
'I don't think you're well enough to go. We don't have to go you know.....'
'We're going' replied N. 'Stop your nonsense madam - you're not getting out of it'
Being marginally the more mobile of the two of us, I was designated driver. I have to admit though - that my concentration is not the best at the moment. I found myself drifting off a couple of times as we made our way through the backstreets of Dartford.
We made it on time and found our seats at the back of the class.
'You'll get a better view of the video here', he said, patting the seat to his right.
'Thanks', I replied sulkily. 'Great - can't wait'.
We were regaled with 'birth' this week.
Basically there's a lot of pushing and a lot of energy expended at this stage. The American couple on the video were frightening. The guy had a beard that you could lose a sandwich in and the woman seemed confused over what was happening to her; as the baby's head crowned and exited her vagina she called out; 'does it look like a baby?' Much sniggering in the class.
I have to say though - the head didn't really look like a head - it looked not dissimilar to a round waxy white cheese or a cauliflower.
Her husband got in close, then loomed in over her and gave her a full on beardy-snog. And for a moment I thought my morning sickness had returned.
After the head crowned, she gave a push and the rest of the baby slipped out - just like an eel.
Katie, the midwife, clicked the remote and asked; 'Any questions?'
Silence.
The pushing and the full on view of an American fanny had clearly knocked the stuffing out of the class.
'OK,' said Katie, trying to rally the troops, 'let's go through it and we'll talk about what can happen during the pushing phase'.
Apparently after 'early labour' and 'transition' a pregnant woman will feel the urge to push. It's something that 'can't be described' said Katie, 'other than to liken it to using the same muscles you use when you're constipated and you need to poo'.
Nice. Couldn't shift the image of the ten of us (in the room) straining to poo out our babies.
'We will encourage you to push with every contraction. And, instead of dreading the contractions, as in early labour, you'll be waiting and willing them on, as it's your chance to get the baby out. Then as the baby's head is about to crown, we'll be really cruel and ask you to stop. You'll feel a stinging sensation and a huge desire to push but we won't let you. We do this for your own good. We don't want you to tear as the baby leaves your vagina'.
Katie then produced a pair of enormous salad-servers. These were apparently used in 'assisted deliveries' where the baby gets stuck and the head doesn't crown. They were enormous big bastards, at least a foot long, made of cold looking steel. She handed them over to the class and our fellow students began to pass them around.
'Oh my god' i whimpered
'Calm down' N said; 'just calm down'
'I don't want to hold them - I don't!' I replied, with tears stinging my eyes. I decided that if I wanted to preserve any dignity remaining, I'd better hot foot it out of the class and head for the loo. I needed to dry my eyes and regain my composure.
I stayed in the loo for some time. Dried my eyes and pulled myself together. I returned to my seat - by now occupied by the huge salad servers - my fellow students, and N had 'saved the forceps for me' so that I could have a look. Great.
'Now' cooed Katie 'we should talk about tearing and stitches'.
'Oh god, please no'
'There are three types of tearing - first degree, second degree and third degree. Midwives will stitch first degree tears - the surface odd rip or tear, and we also repair second degree tears - which include muscular tears. However, if you have third degree tears and rip from your anus to your clitoris then we call a DR to stitch you up as we want to make sure that you retain both holes.'
N suggested to me that while the needle and thread is out we should get them to stitch me up completely - that way we won't be getting pregnant again.
My morning sickness had returned. I could taste the vomit in my mouth. I just wanted to go home. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one in the room who wanted to go home.
Sensing the fear, Katie suggested we move on to some brighter topics and move away from 'things that can go wrong'.
'Let's get the baby out and have a play',
'We can do that?' I found myself thinking???
Katie produced a plastic baby with a flourish that a magician would have ben proud of.
'Now then' she started again, balancing Tiny-Tears on her lap, 'when baby is delivered we do some checks. We suction their mouths and noses and we check that they have ten fingers and ten toes. We then check their genitals, because sometimes boys come out looking like girls and girls like boys.'
'Really?' I found myself thinking - surely, it's pretty bloody obvious what gender they are?
Apparently not.
'Sometimes a girls clitoris can be swollen and look like a penis and sometimes the boys penis hasn't dropped, so we take them to surgery to have a better look. In some cases we have to perform surgery on the genitals if we can't work out which sex they are'.
This wasn't sounding too positive to me. I thought we were doing 'positives' Katie........
'Personally I think that this gender alignment is often responsible for men and women later in life feeling gender confusion'.
Ante natal classes are great - you learn A LOT.
Thanks to Katie's positive spin on things I learned ; I'm going to have a baby I might not be able to squeeze out. A baby that may be delivered with salad servers who could split me in two, then end up in surgery assigned the wrong sexual organs.
Not before time, the clock struck nine and this swollen footed Cinderella was allowed to leave the party after having had 'a ball'.
Wednesday
My heart burst out of my chest this evening, but Nipper stayed put thankfully, as I was announced 'Freelance PR of the Year 2008' at the Xchangeteam awards, Covent Garden.
N wasn't well enough to come as his tummy's still pretty sore. However, I took my Mum and had a great evening. It was fantastic to have Mum there - I wouldn't be here (literally - obviously!) without her and Dad. They supported me through years of illness and never gave up on me. Others gave up, but Mum, Dad and my brother John never did. They always believed in me. I could never do their love justice, and it's pointless trying in print. They know what it took to get through it, and I know what they gave. The award is for them - they deserve it far more than me for putting so much of their lives on hold in order to support me.
Thursday
I've been busy having a tidy up today - but I think the best term for it would be 'de-nesting'......I’ve taken the plunge and booked an appointment with the waxers.
‘Call the fashion police Joan, I’m wearing a tracksuit’ I shouted as I entered Barclays Bank in Farningham.
‘My goodness,’ Joan replied ‘so you are!’
‘Yep. I’m on my way to Swanley so I think I’ll blend in quite well, and I decided to go with ‘comfort’ and as I’m going up to the waxers I thought it best to have something that wouldn’t cling afterwards’
‘Why on earth are you bothering?’ Joan asked
‘Well Joan, I’m hairier than my cat and it’s not right. I might be pregnant, but there are certain standards to keep up’
‘I keep expecting you to come in pushing a pram, hurry up and have that baby’
‘Well, I’m 37 weeks now Joan so it can come at any time’
‘Well, let’s hurry up and sort your account out then as I don’t want to deliver a baby today!’ Joan said as she expertly drew my card through the machine and counted out the waxing cash.
I’d booked myself in to a small beauty salon next to the chippy in Swanley. I arrived in reception puffing like Ivor the engine after climbing the three flights of stairs to the ‘salon’. I was greeted by a sparkly lashed lady called Claire with a friendly smile.
I gritted my teeth as Claire, the expert waxer, removed my hair. We had a chat about it and both decided that the Brazilian would be best - a Hollywood might be a bit shocking for the midwives and possibly too much for any junior doctor on hand.
Claire worked quickly and fairly painlessly, and as she progressed with the wax she regaled me with stories of birth and labour. I have to say she was far better than the ante natal classes. She was a bit shocked that we'd been handed the forceps the other night....
'Well you don't need that do you?' she exclaimed. 'You only need to see them if and when they're required!'
Quite right Claire.
She was a wealth of knowledge on pain relief and taught me some breathing techniques, which I explained, the hospital no longer give as they feel it's not helpful to do in ante natal.
'What do you mean not helpful? That's what ante natal's all about!!!'
'Nope' I replied, 'apparently there's no point in learning techniques until you go in to labour'
'Bollocks' said Claire. 'This is what you need to know; when you get a contraction, you'll feel like swearing and grabbing your tummy and holding your breath - this just increases the pain of the contraction itself. You need to relax into it and breath and open your arms and say; 'i'm enjoying this'.
The 'I'm enjoying this' bit seemed a comment too far, but otherwise her advice was sound.
After a quick lunch with N, who was still off work due to his sore belly and missing appendix, we made our way to our bi-weekly midwife appointment. We were going to see Carol - I would be seeing her for the second time, but it was a first for N.
After checking my wee and taking my blood pressure, Carol talked us through the delivery options. I expressed a desire to have a 'water-birth' but in the specialist unit surrounded by doctors and nurses. She explained that water births were generally taken in the low dependency midwifery unit rather than in the higher dependency delivery suite.
'But N is keen for me to have as many machines around me as possible - and all the machines are in the delivery suite.' I said. 'I did spot a water pool in the delivery unit when we were admitted for pains the other week.'
Carol agreed that there was one there; 'but having a water birth Vikki, is actually dependent on having the right midwives with the right 'water birth' training on duty - You'll have more chance of this on the midwifery unit than the delivery suite.'
Carol then popped me up on the bed to have a feel of my belly. I pulled up my top and gave a little shriek; 'Oh my god - what's that.....I don't believe it - it's a stretch mark isn't it?????'
Two short parallel red lines had scored my belly - snaking across to my belly button like two horrible garden worms. Shit. I knew I hadn't been applying the cream nearly enough.
Carol and N just laughed. They weren’t taking this seriously enough.
'I'm sorry, but my hands are a little cold' Carol said as she pressed gently on my belly. She expertly kneaded my belly, then stopped.
'Ummmmmm' she said.
'Ummmmmm?????' I replied.
'It would seem that baby has moved - I think that's a bottom down there and not a head.'
'Is the baby - breach?' I asked.
'Could be - you're going to need to go up to the hospital now for a scan to check'
'Oooooooh,' I exclaimed 'that means an elective caesarean' I beamed.
'What is she like', Carol asked, turning to N, 'two minutes ago she was having a natural water birth and now she wants a c section!!!'
.....
‘So this makes scan number five’ N said as he took my hand and we left the midwife to her growing group of plump-bellied customers huddled outside her door.
‘Yep’ I replied, ‘I think that it’s the blog’s fault.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, it’s perverse the AMOUNT of things that have happened to us – it’s like we’re being exposed to every conceivable thing that could happen in pregnancy – and here we go again; this week we’re investigating breach births and c sections!’
After an interminable wait at the hospital we were ushered into the scan room.
‘WE don’t know the sex yet’ N warned the sonographer loudly
‘It’s ok – I’m not THAT good’ she laughed.
Then she had a feel of my belly.
‘Nope – that baby’s fine, it’s head down. ‘
‘It’s not breach?’ I whimpered.
‘No – baby is fine’.
Well, that put an end to my elective c section musings. It looks like I’m not too posh to push after all.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
N ended up in hospital last week, undergoing key-hole surgery to have his appendix removed. Apparently your 'appendix' are pointless. They're only needed if you are a prolific 'grass eater'.
We spent the weekend at his flat in London seeing friends and administering the drugs the hospital gave us. Fifteen antibiotics a day and a tons of painkillers. He has to be careful and he's not allowed to lift anything or do exercise for 6 weeks. Sex is apparently out for two weeks (minimum) too. He's adamant that I can't have 'Nipper' yet. I agree - he's yet to lift the hospital bag, and it weighs a ton. I've been adding 'essentials' over the past week including 'snacks'. Well, the ante natal class scared the be-jesus out of me last week with their tales of 36 hour labours etc.
We heard great news from Scotland on Sunday - friends of ours who married last year are 14 weeks pregnant. The Aussie/Scots combo will produce a fantastic baby, we're sure of that. I have to give a 'big shout out' (George Lamb/Cockney-mockney styley) to my pregnant 'sister' in Scotland who's experiencing hideous morning sickness - Don't worry 'H' - it will go soon. Promise. And if anyone suggests 'ginger biscuits' feel free to strangle them and blame it on rampant hormones.
Tuesday
It's ante natal day again. I've been trying my best to get out of it.
'I don't think you're well enough to go. We don't have to go you know.....'
'We're going' replied N. 'Stop your nonsense madam - you're not getting out of it'
Being marginally the more mobile of the two of us, I was designated driver. I have to admit though - that my concentration is not the best at the moment. I found myself drifting off a couple of times as we made our way through the backstreets of Dartford.
We made it on time and found our seats at the back of the class.
'You'll get a better view of the video here', he said, patting the seat to his right.
'Thanks', I replied sulkily. 'Great - can't wait'.
We were regaled with 'birth' this week.
Basically there's a lot of pushing and a lot of energy expended at this stage. The American couple on the video were frightening. The guy had a beard that you could lose a sandwich in and the woman seemed confused over what was happening to her; as the baby's head crowned and exited her vagina she called out; 'does it look like a baby?' Much sniggering in the class.
I have to say though - the head didn't really look like a head - it looked not dissimilar to a round waxy white cheese or a cauliflower.
Her husband got in close, then loomed in over her and gave her a full on beardy-snog. And for a moment I thought my morning sickness had returned.
After the head crowned, she gave a push and the rest of the baby slipped out - just like an eel.
Katie, the midwife, clicked the remote and asked; 'Any questions?'
Silence.
The pushing and the full on view of an American fanny had clearly knocked the stuffing out of the class.
'OK,' said Katie, trying to rally the troops, 'let's go through it and we'll talk about what can happen during the pushing phase'.
Apparently after 'early labour' and 'transition' a pregnant woman will feel the urge to push. It's something that 'can't be described' said Katie, 'other than to liken it to using the same muscles you use when you're constipated and you need to poo'.
Nice. Couldn't shift the image of the ten of us (in the room) straining to poo out our babies.
'We will encourage you to push with every contraction. And, instead of dreading the contractions, as in early labour, you'll be waiting and willing them on, as it's your chance to get the baby out. Then as the baby's head is about to crown, we'll be really cruel and ask you to stop. You'll feel a stinging sensation and a huge desire to push but we won't let you. We do this for your own good. We don't want you to tear as the baby leaves your vagina'.
Katie then produced a pair of enormous salad-servers. These were apparently used in 'assisted deliveries' where the baby gets stuck and the head doesn't crown. They were enormous big bastards, at least a foot long, made of cold looking steel. She handed them over to the class and our fellow students began to pass them around.
'Oh my god' i whimpered
'Calm down' N said; 'just calm down'
'I don't want to hold them - I don't!' I replied, with tears stinging my eyes. I decided that if I wanted to preserve any dignity remaining, I'd better hot foot it out of the class and head for the loo. I needed to dry my eyes and regain my composure.
I stayed in the loo for some time. Dried my eyes and pulled myself together. I returned to my seat - by now occupied by the huge salad servers - my fellow students, and N had 'saved the forceps for me' so that I could have a look. Great.
'Now' cooed Katie 'we should talk about tearing and stitches'.
'Oh god, please no'
'There are three types of tearing - first degree, second degree and third degree. Midwives will stitch first degree tears - the surface odd rip or tear, and we also repair second degree tears - which include muscular tears. However, if you have third degree tears and rip from your anus to your clitoris then we call a DR to stitch you up as we want to make sure that you retain both holes.'
N suggested to me that while the needle and thread is out we should get them to stitch me up completely - that way we won't be getting pregnant again.
My morning sickness had returned. I could taste the vomit in my mouth. I just wanted to go home. I'm pretty sure I wasn't the only one in the room who wanted to go home.
Sensing the fear, Katie suggested we move on to some brighter topics and move away from 'things that can go wrong'.
'Let's get the baby out and have a play',
'We can do that?' I found myself thinking???
Katie produced a plastic baby with a flourish that a magician would have ben proud of.
'Now then' she started again, balancing Tiny-Tears on her lap, 'when baby is delivered we do some checks. We suction their mouths and noses and we check that they have ten fingers and ten toes. We then check their genitals, because sometimes boys come out looking like girls and girls like boys.'
'Really?' I found myself thinking - surely, it's pretty bloody obvious what gender they are?
Apparently not.
'Sometimes a girls clitoris can be swollen and look like a penis and sometimes the boys penis hasn't dropped, so we take them to surgery to have a better look. In some cases we have to perform surgery on the genitals if we can't work out which sex they are'.
This wasn't sounding too positive to me. I thought we were doing 'positives' Katie........
'Personally I think that this gender alignment is often responsible for men and women later in life feeling gender confusion'.
Ante natal classes are great - you learn A LOT.
Thanks to Katie's positive spin on things I learned ; I'm going to have a baby I might not be able to squeeze out. A baby that may be delivered with salad servers who could split me in two, then end up in surgery assigned the wrong sexual organs.
Not before time, the clock struck nine and this swollen footed Cinderella was allowed to leave the party after having had 'a ball'.
Wednesday
My heart burst out of my chest this evening, but Nipper stayed put thankfully, as I was announced 'Freelance PR of the Year 2008' at the Xchangeteam awards, Covent Garden.
N wasn't well enough to come as his tummy's still pretty sore. However, I took my Mum and had a great evening. It was fantastic to have Mum there - I wouldn't be here (literally - obviously!) without her and Dad. They supported me through years of illness and never gave up on me. Others gave up, but Mum, Dad and my brother John never did. They always believed in me. I could never do their love justice, and it's pointless trying in print. They know what it took to get through it, and I know what they gave. The award is for them - they deserve it far more than me for putting so much of their lives on hold in order to support me.
Thursday
I've been busy having a tidy up today - but I think the best term for it would be 'de-nesting'......I’ve taken the plunge and booked an appointment with the waxers.
‘Call the fashion police Joan, I’m wearing a tracksuit’ I shouted as I entered Barclays Bank in Farningham.
‘My goodness,’ Joan replied ‘so you are!’
‘Yep. I’m on my way to Swanley so I think I’ll blend in quite well, and I decided to go with ‘comfort’ and as I’m going up to the waxers I thought it best to have something that wouldn’t cling afterwards’
‘Why on earth are you bothering?’ Joan asked
‘Well Joan, I’m hairier than my cat and it’s not right. I might be pregnant, but there are certain standards to keep up’
‘I keep expecting you to come in pushing a pram, hurry up and have that baby’
‘Well, I’m 37 weeks now Joan so it can come at any time’
‘Well, let’s hurry up and sort your account out then as I don’t want to deliver a baby today!’ Joan said as she expertly drew my card through the machine and counted out the waxing cash.
I’d booked myself in to a small beauty salon next to the chippy in Swanley. I arrived in reception puffing like Ivor the engine after climbing the three flights of stairs to the ‘salon’. I was greeted by a sparkly lashed lady called Claire with a friendly smile.
I gritted my teeth as Claire, the expert waxer, removed my hair. We had a chat about it and both decided that the Brazilian would be best - a Hollywood might be a bit shocking for the midwives and possibly too much for any junior doctor on hand.
Claire worked quickly and fairly painlessly, and as she progressed with the wax she regaled me with stories of birth and labour. I have to say she was far better than the ante natal classes. She was a bit shocked that we'd been handed the forceps the other night....
'Well you don't need that do you?' she exclaimed. 'You only need to see them if and when they're required!'
Quite right Claire.
She was a wealth of knowledge on pain relief and taught me some breathing techniques, which I explained, the hospital no longer give as they feel it's not helpful to do in ante natal.
'What do you mean not helpful? That's what ante natal's all about!!!'
'Nope' I replied, 'apparently there's no point in learning techniques until you go in to labour'
'Bollocks' said Claire. 'This is what you need to know; when you get a contraction, you'll feel like swearing and grabbing your tummy and holding your breath - this just increases the pain of the contraction itself. You need to relax into it and breath and open your arms and say; 'i'm enjoying this'.
The 'I'm enjoying this' bit seemed a comment too far, but otherwise her advice was sound.
After a quick lunch with N, who was still off work due to his sore belly and missing appendix, we made our way to our bi-weekly midwife appointment. We were going to see Carol - I would be seeing her for the second time, but it was a first for N.
After checking my wee and taking my blood pressure, Carol talked us through the delivery options. I expressed a desire to have a 'water-birth' but in the specialist unit surrounded by doctors and nurses. She explained that water births were generally taken in the low dependency midwifery unit rather than in the higher dependency delivery suite.
'But N is keen for me to have as many machines around me as possible - and all the machines are in the delivery suite.' I said. 'I did spot a water pool in the delivery unit when we were admitted for pains the other week.'
Carol agreed that there was one there; 'but having a water birth Vikki, is actually dependent on having the right midwives with the right 'water birth' training on duty - You'll have more chance of this on the midwifery unit than the delivery suite.'
Carol then popped me up on the bed to have a feel of my belly. I pulled up my top and gave a little shriek; 'Oh my god - what's that.....I don't believe it - it's a stretch mark isn't it?????'
Two short parallel red lines had scored my belly - snaking across to my belly button like two horrible garden worms. Shit. I knew I hadn't been applying the cream nearly enough.
Carol and N just laughed. They weren’t taking this seriously enough.
'I'm sorry, but my hands are a little cold' Carol said as she pressed gently on my belly. She expertly kneaded my belly, then stopped.
'Ummmmmm' she said.
'Ummmmmm?????' I replied.
'It would seem that baby has moved - I think that's a bottom down there and not a head.'
'Is the baby - breach?' I asked.
'Could be - you're going to need to go up to the hospital now for a scan to check'
'Oooooooh,' I exclaimed 'that means an elective caesarean' I beamed.
'What is she like', Carol asked, turning to N, 'two minutes ago she was having a natural water birth and now she wants a c section!!!'
.....
‘So this makes scan number five’ N said as he took my hand and we left the midwife to her growing group of plump-bellied customers huddled outside her door.
‘Yep’ I replied, ‘I think that it’s the blog’s fault.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, it’s perverse the AMOUNT of things that have happened to us – it’s like we’re being exposed to every conceivable thing that could happen in pregnancy – and here we go again; this week we’re investigating breach births and c sections!’
After an interminable wait at the hospital we were ushered into the scan room.
‘WE don’t know the sex yet’ N warned the sonographer loudly
‘It’s ok – I’m not THAT good’ she laughed.
Then she had a feel of my belly.
‘Nope – that baby’s fine, it’s head down. ‘
‘It’s not breach?’ I whimpered.
‘No – baby is fine’.
Well, that put an end to my elective c section musings. It looks like I’m not too posh to push after all.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 36
Monday
N returned from his skiing trip today. In Austria he'd experienced powdery snow up to his waist, drifts and ice. When he got home he was privvy to a melt down. An avalanche of emotions. A hormonal, pregnant woman.
Last night I'd been really excited at the prospect of seeing him after five days apart. I couldn't wait. I was smiley and enthusiastic about life. This morning I awoke to horrible pregnancy tiredness. Nipper had kept me awake sporadically in the night and my trips to the loo seemed hourly. By 10 am this morning I was a tearful mess. 'I'm just so tired' I wailed to my mum on the phone, then to my friend Ali, then to N when he called. 'Get some rest' everyone said. 'You need to rest up now before the baby comes'.
I did spend a lot of the day chilling and trying to clear the tiredness in preparation for N’s return. Tiredness is a funny thing though, it makes you feel vulnerable and arsey at the same time. So when N came in and I dished up the dinner, I was more than a little pissed off that he decided to clear out the fridge instead of sitting straight down with me to sample the culinary delights I'd prepared (ok, the butternut squash was still hard in the middle and I had made a chili without chili powder, but I'd TRIED!). The clearing of the fridge was taken by me as a clear sign that; 'yes i'm crap - and I can't be trusted to maintain day-to-day cleanliness in his absence'.
I snapped at him. Then felt bad. Then tried hard to eat the (very hard) butternut squash.
After dinner we chatted a bit about his trip, but I couldn't get much info from him. I decided instead to bombard him with my 'info'. I explained how vulnerable I felt, how I'd been worried I'd go into labour when he was in Austria. How I hated the fact that I was co-dependent on someone. I hated the fact that I was going to lose my career, my income, my independence. Oh yes, and I hated the fact that I'd only actually had 7 months of health and feeling good - in between the ME going and the pregnancy starting. I cried. And I cried big.
None of the above meant that I didn't want Nipper.
'I so want the baby - our baby. And more than anything in the world I want Nipper to be healthy. I'm really worried that thinking these thoughts will jinx that.' I carried on crying for a bit longer then I said;
'I do love you, and I do want to marry you someday.......a long way off in the future, but I do want to....'
'Do you now' he said.
I saw two tears roll down his cheeks and I felt really ashamed. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel bad. Perhaps it was the thought of marriage - signalling the end of his life as he knew it or perhaps it was because I was crying so much and he couldn't help it - but whatever it was, I felt bad that I'd made him feel bad. I made a promise to myself not to do it again.
Tuesday
We attended our first ante natal class this evening where we learned all about 'labour' and the three stages.
We'd ignored our friends pleas to do NCT and had opted instead for the freebie classes at Darenth Valley Hospital in Dartford.
And without a beanbag or a name tag in sight, we joined twelve other pregnant women and twelve other nervous looking birthing partners for our journey in to labour.
I'd rushed N to the back of the class as I didn't want to be near the front in case the midwife in charge asked questions.
I have to admit that I spent the first half an hour checking out the birthing partners expressions and checking out the ring fingers of the pregnant women. Most of them in there seemed married or engaged, which shocked me a bit as I was looking forward to a room full of Dartford chavs and single mums. Clearly the influence of my neighbour's Daily Mail had soaked through our paper thin walls and done more damage than I'd thought!
A lot of the men in the room seemed very prepared and clued up on the 'terminology'. But there was one man at the front who was frankly rather scary. From the off, I had him marked out as 'the man who knew too much'. The man who had read FAR too much on the internet, and whose toilet reading material had migrated from the Haines manual to 'Pregnancy - and everything you ever needed to know'.
He asked questions on induction. Questions on specific drugs - using full on latin names. He asked about general anaesthetics. He asked about c-sections and he even asked about induction pre-full term. God only knows what he had planned for his VERY silent wife, who just sat there meekly as he questioned our midwife.
Our midwife Katie seemed pretty nervous at the start of the class.
'You'll have to excuse me', she said 'but this is the first class I've given in years'.
She seemed more nervous than the birthing partners in the room, who'd just been told we were about to watch a video on the three stages of labour.
The video was hideous. It was American. It was shot badly and it made me snigger throughout. The birthing partners were particularly smug. One man said; 'labour was a great experience for myself and my wife' . 'Yeah right, buddy' I muttered under my breath 'that'll be because you weren't the one pushing a bowling ball out of your fanny!'
Another yank explained how important 'communication' between husband and wife were during labour. He said; 'I stayed no more than three inches away from my wife's face throughout the entire labour process'. I turned to N and said; 'If you do that - I'll punch you IN the bloody face!'
We did learn some interesting and useful stuff from the video. Apparently the 'early labour' is split in to three stages:
Early Stage
Active Stage
Transition
The early phase is also called the latent period. It's when your uterus starts to contract and tightens regularly. The 'contractions' develop a rhythm and pace of labour. Some people apparently aren't aware of the very early contractions and are several centimetres dilated before they realise they're in labour. (I'm pretty sure I won't be one of these, as I know I'll notice my cervix opening - it sounds like the kind of thing that's hard to ignore!) Your cervix begins to get thinner too.
Katie told us that during this phase we should take warm baths and paracetamol every four hours. Apparently we'll be able to potter about, go for walks and do the ironing. N raised an eyebrow at this remark. He was the one who introduced the concept of ironing into the house when he moved in with his iron and ironing board. I don't think I've actually ironed anything for years...... But, if it's what I'm supposed to do in 'early labour' then, I'll give it a go.
For added pain relief we can also use a TENS machine.
The active phase begins when your cervix has dilated and opened to 3 or 4 centimetres and your contractions are more frequent and stronger. They should get to four minutes apart lasting 60 -90 seconds each during this time. If you're at home and you're planning a hospital birth, now's the time to pop your stuff in the car and go!
Once you hit the hospital you can go for gas and air or pethidine to take the edge off the contractions. Or if you've a mind too (or no mind at all!) then by all means have an aromatherapy massage or pop some herbal remedies......but I can't really see how a waft of lavender or a pile of dried up leaves can kill this kind of pain.
Birthing pools, warm showers and baths are all useful for pain relief at this point.
If you find you can't hack the pain any longer then you can go for an epidural - a pain killing injection that goes in to the small of your back, and is administered by an anaesthetist. It numbs the pelvic area and tops of your legs.
During the transition phase, your cervix apparently gets the dilation bug and can go from eight to ten centimetres. Contractions last longer - up to 1 and a half minutes in duration and come every two or three minutes - meaning there's not much time to breath in between. So just keep breathing during the contractions! This phase is considered to be very intense.
You apparently need to just 'hang in there' - whether you're hanging around your Ns neck or you're down on all fours, you need to make the most of the time in between contractions to rest and relax.
At the end of the video we were split in to groups of four for a 'pain killing quiz'. Having gone straight for the back row, we were teamed up with the other two slackers who'd bagsied the back. We were given the topic 'the pro's of pethidine'. Charlotte and Gary seemed really nice. We let Gary hold the pen and write down our answers.
'Erm...........' There wasn't an awful lot of knowledge between the four of us on the subject of pethidine. I found myself wishing we'd sat with 'Mr know-it-all' down the front. He'd definitely know all about pethidine.
'Well,' I said, opening the gambit; 'I know it's an opiate - so that's got to be good'.
Gary scribbled away.
'Erm.........' we all looked at each other again. Silence.
'It's good for pain, apparently' added Charlotte. Gary scribbled some more.
'Erm.........'
I had a brain-wave; 'it's also free!'
With that, we'd exhausted our communal knowledge of the drug pethidine, and so we sat back and discussed the mad pregnancy that had hit the headlines this week - 'American woman has octuplets'. Apparently she's got a total brood of 14 children now.
'Why would anyone do that 14 times??????????' I asked incredulously; 'The video's put me off of doing it again - that's for sure!'
Our answers were gathered in and Katie began to read them out. It would seem that all the others in the class were 'swots'. They'd all decided to answer more than they'd been asked, and had jotted down both pro's and cons to epidurals, gas and air and pethidine. But as we were the 'official' pethidine group - our answers were read out first.
'Oh dear' said Katie, 'The group at the back are revealing a little more about Dartford than we'd like: Pethidine's an opiate which = good. It's a pain killer and it's free'.
Being the competitive type, and semi-professional compers in our spare time, N and I have decided to pair up with 'Mr know-it-all' and his silent wife next week if there's another quiz.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
N returned from his skiing trip today. In Austria he'd experienced powdery snow up to his waist, drifts and ice. When he got home he was privvy to a melt down. An avalanche of emotions. A hormonal, pregnant woman.
Last night I'd been really excited at the prospect of seeing him after five days apart. I couldn't wait. I was smiley and enthusiastic about life. This morning I awoke to horrible pregnancy tiredness. Nipper had kept me awake sporadically in the night and my trips to the loo seemed hourly. By 10 am this morning I was a tearful mess. 'I'm just so tired' I wailed to my mum on the phone, then to my friend Ali, then to N when he called. 'Get some rest' everyone said. 'You need to rest up now before the baby comes'.
I did spend a lot of the day chilling and trying to clear the tiredness in preparation for N’s return. Tiredness is a funny thing though, it makes you feel vulnerable and arsey at the same time. So when N came in and I dished up the dinner, I was more than a little pissed off that he decided to clear out the fridge instead of sitting straight down with me to sample the culinary delights I'd prepared (ok, the butternut squash was still hard in the middle and I had made a chili without chili powder, but I'd TRIED!). The clearing of the fridge was taken by me as a clear sign that; 'yes i'm crap - and I can't be trusted to maintain day-to-day cleanliness in his absence'.
I snapped at him. Then felt bad. Then tried hard to eat the (very hard) butternut squash.
After dinner we chatted a bit about his trip, but I couldn't get much info from him. I decided instead to bombard him with my 'info'. I explained how vulnerable I felt, how I'd been worried I'd go into labour when he was in Austria. How I hated the fact that I was co-dependent on someone. I hated the fact that I was going to lose my career, my income, my independence. Oh yes, and I hated the fact that I'd only actually had 7 months of health and feeling good - in between the ME going and the pregnancy starting. I cried. And I cried big.
None of the above meant that I didn't want Nipper.
'I so want the baby - our baby. And more than anything in the world I want Nipper to be healthy. I'm really worried that thinking these thoughts will jinx that.' I carried on crying for a bit longer then I said;
'I do love you, and I do want to marry you someday.......a long way off in the future, but I do want to....'
'Do you now' he said.
I saw two tears roll down his cheeks and I felt really ashamed. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel bad. Perhaps it was the thought of marriage - signalling the end of his life as he knew it or perhaps it was because I was crying so much and he couldn't help it - but whatever it was, I felt bad that I'd made him feel bad. I made a promise to myself not to do it again.
Tuesday
We attended our first ante natal class this evening where we learned all about 'labour' and the three stages.
We'd ignored our friends pleas to do NCT and had opted instead for the freebie classes at Darenth Valley Hospital in Dartford.
And without a beanbag or a name tag in sight, we joined twelve other pregnant women and twelve other nervous looking birthing partners for our journey in to labour.
I'd rushed N to the back of the class as I didn't want to be near the front in case the midwife in charge asked questions.
I have to admit that I spent the first half an hour checking out the birthing partners expressions and checking out the ring fingers of the pregnant women. Most of them in there seemed married or engaged, which shocked me a bit as I was looking forward to a room full of Dartford chavs and single mums. Clearly the influence of my neighbour's Daily Mail had soaked through our paper thin walls and done more damage than I'd thought!
A lot of the men in the room seemed very prepared and clued up on the 'terminology'. But there was one man at the front who was frankly rather scary. From the off, I had him marked out as 'the man who knew too much'. The man who had read FAR too much on the internet, and whose toilet reading material had migrated from the Haines manual to 'Pregnancy - and everything you ever needed to know'.
He asked questions on induction. Questions on specific drugs - using full on latin names. He asked about general anaesthetics. He asked about c-sections and he even asked about induction pre-full term. God only knows what he had planned for his VERY silent wife, who just sat there meekly as he questioned our midwife.
Our midwife Katie seemed pretty nervous at the start of the class.
'You'll have to excuse me', she said 'but this is the first class I've given in years'.
She seemed more nervous than the birthing partners in the room, who'd just been told we were about to watch a video on the three stages of labour.
The video was hideous. It was American. It was shot badly and it made me snigger throughout. The birthing partners were particularly smug. One man said; 'labour was a great experience for myself and my wife' . 'Yeah right, buddy' I muttered under my breath 'that'll be because you weren't the one pushing a bowling ball out of your fanny!'
Another yank explained how important 'communication' between husband and wife were during labour. He said; 'I stayed no more than three inches away from my wife's face throughout the entire labour process'. I turned to N and said; 'If you do that - I'll punch you IN the bloody face!'
We did learn some interesting and useful stuff from the video. Apparently the 'early labour' is split in to three stages:
Early Stage
Active Stage
Transition
The early phase is also called the latent period. It's when your uterus starts to contract and tightens regularly. The 'contractions' develop a rhythm and pace of labour. Some people apparently aren't aware of the very early contractions and are several centimetres dilated before they realise they're in labour. (I'm pretty sure I won't be one of these, as I know I'll notice my cervix opening - it sounds like the kind of thing that's hard to ignore!) Your cervix begins to get thinner too.
Katie told us that during this phase we should take warm baths and paracetamol every four hours. Apparently we'll be able to potter about, go for walks and do the ironing. N raised an eyebrow at this remark. He was the one who introduced the concept of ironing into the house when he moved in with his iron and ironing board. I don't think I've actually ironed anything for years...... But, if it's what I'm supposed to do in 'early labour' then, I'll give it a go.
For added pain relief we can also use a TENS machine.
The active phase begins when your cervix has dilated and opened to 3 or 4 centimetres and your contractions are more frequent and stronger. They should get to four minutes apart lasting 60 -90 seconds each during this time. If you're at home and you're planning a hospital birth, now's the time to pop your stuff in the car and go!
Once you hit the hospital you can go for gas and air or pethidine to take the edge off the contractions. Or if you've a mind too (or no mind at all!) then by all means have an aromatherapy massage or pop some herbal remedies......but I can't really see how a waft of lavender or a pile of dried up leaves can kill this kind of pain.
Birthing pools, warm showers and baths are all useful for pain relief at this point.
If you find you can't hack the pain any longer then you can go for an epidural - a pain killing injection that goes in to the small of your back, and is administered by an anaesthetist. It numbs the pelvic area and tops of your legs.
During the transition phase, your cervix apparently gets the dilation bug and can go from eight to ten centimetres. Contractions last longer - up to 1 and a half minutes in duration and come every two or three minutes - meaning there's not much time to breath in between. So just keep breathing during the contractions! This phase is considered to be very intense.
You apparently need to just 'hang in there' - whether you're hanging around your Ns neck or you're down on all fours, you need to make the most of the time in between contractions to rest and relax.
At the end of the video we were split in to groups of four for a 'pain killing quiz'. Having gone straight for the back row, we were teamed up with the other two slackers who'd bagsied the back. We were given the topic 'the pro's of pethidine'. Charlotte and Gary seemed really nice. We let Gary hold the pen and write down our answers.
'Erm...........' There wasn't an awful lot of knowledge between the four of us on the subject of pethidine. I found myself wishing we'd sat with 'Mr know-it-all' down the front. He'd definitely know all about pethidine.
'Well,' I said, opening the gambit; 'I know it's an opiate - so that's got to be good'.
Gary scribbled away.
'Erm.........' we all looked at each other again. Silence.
'It's good for pain, apparently' added Charlotte. Gary scribbled some more.
'Erm.........'
I had a brain-wave; 'it's also free!'
With that, we'd exhausted our communal knowledge of the drug pethidine, and so we sat back and discussed the mad pregnancy that had hit the headlines this week - 'American woman has octuplets'. Apparently she's got a total brood of 14 children now.
'Why would anyone do that 14 times??????????' I asked incredulously; 'The video's put me off of doing it again - that's for sure!'
Our answers were gathered in and Katie began to read them out. It would seem that all the others in the class were 'swots'. They'd all decided to answer more than they'd been asked, and had jotted down both pro's and cons to epidurals, gas and air and pethidine. But as we were the 'official' pethidine group - our answers were read out first.
'Oh dear' said Katie, 'The group at the back are revealing a little more about Dartford than we'd like: Pethidine's an opiate which = good. It's a pain killer and it's free'.
Being the competitive type, and semi-professional compers in our spare time, N and I have decided to pair up with 'Mr know-it-all' and his silent wife next week if there's another quiz.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 35
Monday:
My Elle McPherson bras are fab, but there's no way I'm going to be able to wear the matching thongs after the baby's born. I've been shown 'maternity pads' and they're bigger than the biggest surf-board knicker pads I've ever seen. Monstrous. Apparently there's a lot of blood after the birth and you need to change the pads in your knickers every hour. If possible it's also good to get some disposable pants. Hold on. Hang on a minute. Not only do I have to wear incontinence pads, but I have to wear plastic pants on top too????? This is really going to ruin the McPherson look.........
Took mum with me to the hospital this afternoon for the foetal growth scan ordered by Norma the other week. Mum had never seen a scan before and she admitted that she couldn't 'make head nor tail of it either'. I said that the tail had gone now.
Baby absolutely fine - the right size for 34 weeks and 4 days. Happy, moving around, Using my stomach for a punch bag and generally A OK.
We saw the lady in charge of 'foetal abnormalities' in the hallway as we left
'Hello - what are you doing here?' she asked
'Another scan' I grimaced
'Oh my god - the woman who hates scans - how many have you had now?' she laughed good naturedly
'I don't know - but it's a bloody breeze now' I laughed, Mum and I linked arms and left the building. We had to break the movie moment though and unlink our arms as we reached the parking lot - Dartford was under attack by sideways rain and we needed both hands to keep the umbrella from folding in on us.
Tuesday:
The disposable pants arrived today. They're disgusting. I decided upon a new tack. I'd buy some really cheap big pants and just dispose of them. They could be my 'disposables'. So I took myself off to Asda.
Asda's bloody amazing! You can get a five pack of knickers (spotty pink ones) for £2.50. and a ten pack for £4. I've never bought a singular pair under a fiver before. I went a little bit mad. Bought three styles - briefs, shorts and apple-catchers. Decided to get them all in a size 12 so that if they stay in the packet, unused, I can give them to mum.
Showed them to N tonight and he loved them. Wanted me to put hem on. Perv. I pulled them out of the packet and well, the apple-catchers are the size of board shorts.....(handy I guess, as they'll be carrying a surfboard)...but unless I put ten pounds on my arse in the next four weeks, I'm going to have to change them.
I'm up for an award for my PR work with the Spelling Society in two weeks time. Freelance of the Year. Bit of a panic though as nothing fits me apart from my neighbours sweat pants and my dressing gown. Trawled the net and found a black maternity dress that will do, and purchased it.
'I've bought a dress for the 'do', I said, as I cut up the cucumber for our nightly salad.
'Did you get it in Asda?' he asked.
Took all the reserves I had to keep the knife on the cutting board!
'No I bloody didn't - it's just the pants ok? ok??????'
He giggled.
Wednesday:
The midwife cancelled today. She's not well. I'm not very happy. It's been four weeks since I've seen someone. She couldn't see me last week because of the snow. I'd explained then that the hospital had urged me to see a midwife after the pains. I also explained that they'd booked me in for a scan as they felt the baby was small. The midwife said that there was no point in her seeing me then til after the scan and that she'd come next Wednesday. Today. So to be told she wasn't coming and that she'd be away on annual leave next week, did upset me a tad. I've had the hospital visit, and I'm breathless and I'm.........well, I'm old. I need some time with a midwife.
She told me to ring my Dr's surgery and try and book in with another one. This was the final straw..why was I the one sorting out cover for a sick midwife? I rifled through my papers and found the number for the hospital. I was going to complain.
It was about time.
I rang the hospital.
'Can I help you?'
'Yes - I've rung to make a complaint'
I could hear the woman's lungs audibly deflate. 'Thank you madam'.
She took my details and said someone would call me.
I took myself off to Mum and Dad’s for the day. I ate two big pies - a turkey one and then an apple and blackberry one. it was the nicest day I'd had in ages.
In the last hour I received a phone call from the head of the community midwifery department at the hospital.
'Vikki? or is it Victoria?'
'I don't mind - whatever you like' I replied
'Vikki, we want this experience to be a nurturing one for you. This is the most creative moment of your life and you should feel nurtured.'
'Well, I'm afraid I feel very far from nurtured at the moment' I then took her through the last 30 weeks and my experiences with the four different community midwives.
She was very kind, but kept saying; 'we want this experience to be a nurturing one for you'.
'Yes, yes' I replied 'I just want some practical help. I only found out this week that I didn't have to pay for the prescriptions I've been taking. I also found out today that I should have been given a MATB1 form at 20 weeks for me to apply for maternity allowance, and my N to apply for paternity leave. The forms and the prescription advice were never given'
'That's not very nurturing' she agreed
'No, it's effing not!' I wanted to say, but instead answered; 'nope - it's also cost me money'.
I then went on to explain that I'd not been told when to sign up for parent classes and that when I'd rang the hospital to do so last week they'd been shocked that my midwife hadn't explained that I needed to do this at 30 weeks, not 34. They did some juggling and added me and my N to the 24 strong class, but admonished me for not ringing sooner.
'That's not very nurturing' she muttered.
'I'm not a natural complainer', I explained, 'I'm usually very perky. I'm also very strong. I run my own business which I set up myself when I was ill'.
'Do you have any pre-existing conditions' she asked
'No, but I had M.E for 15 years'.
'ahhhhh........' she replied. 'We do need to nurture you'.
'No, I replied. 'I'm quite well now - I don't have M.E anymore. I just want some practical help and advice. And the thing is - I'm now worried, that this inconsistency of care that I've experienced to date will extend to after the baby is born. I'm worried that I'll come home with nipper and the midwife won't turn up, or if she does she'll forget to tell me some vital information, or she just won't care about me or nipper'.
'Well let's take this forward and make this nurturing for you'.
I don't know if she could hear my teeth grind every time she said 'nurture', but she then said;
'I want you to know that I wear two hats' (only two????? my mind wandered off for a moment....i have at least forty)
'I also provide counselling. Get a pen Vikki and a piece of paper.....................'
Long long pause.
'Are you still there Vikki?'
'Yes, '
'Oh sorry I thought you were still getting a pen'
'Nope'. Grind. Grind.
'Here's my extension number. I want you to call me and book in some time with me. I'm writing a paper on mental health in pregnancy. I'm a psycho-analyst and will be able to provide you with post natal help, and with help for anxiety. And this is important with the M.E'.
'No, I think you misunderstand......'
''I can provide the nurturing you need'
'I don't need nurturing. I don't have M.E. I just need to see a midwife when I'm supposed to and I need some practical help'
'Yes I understand that, but I also want you to know that I would like to nurture you. You can call me anytime and come in and see me. I would be very interested for the paper I'm writing.........................'
I managed to get off the phone after accepting another two or three offers of 'nurture'. But screw that. What has a woman to do in this town (ok village) to see someone sensible for maternity advice? And why oh why is it, when you mention 'M.E' to a health professional they treat you as if you've admitted to a mental health complaint? The condition is a neurological illness classified as such by the World Health Organisation. I refuse to get bogged down in it or dragged back to the treatment of the bad old days. All I want is some sensible practical advise in my 35th week of pregnancy. And maybe a urine test and for someone to test my blood pressure to make sure nipper is ok. I sure as hell don't need counselling.......or bloody nurturing.......... okay, I'll admit that maybe a bit of anger management wouldn't go astray today :)
Thursday
I've been reading about the birth. My friend Chris tells me; 'Don't do it - it'll only worry you', but as I said to Chris; 'I can't really stick my head in the sand about this - I've got to get something out of a tiny hole and I don't know how to do it...................'
Apparently, according to the books, it 'just happens' and your body does amazing things like releasing hormones which soften stuff down there and make the passage of the baby easier. I still can't get my head around the fact that I'm going to have to pass a bowling ball.
I've read quite a bit about the delivery and it would appear that quite a lot of people will be checking out my below stairs, downstairs, the 'lady-garden' area. And to be frank, the lady-garden is in need of some horticultural attention. The old thorny issue of what to do - immac or wax the nether regions has been at the forefront o f my mind today. Under normal circumstances - ie. minus a baby bump, I'm absolutely fastidious about waxing - I go every six weeks without fail. I wear a lot of mini skirts and it's imperative to keep the legs fuzz free.
However, since the bump has grown to gigantic proportions, when I look down the most I can see is the top of my toes. I know I have legs and nether regions, but I can't see them, or get to them. Putting on socks is bloody hard - I have to contort my body and sit in a strange position in order to kind of 'flick' the sock onto my big toe - it's like fishing - I hope that the toe will catch hold of the sock and then I can pull, sideways and manoeuvre them on. I'd never realised before, how immovable 'the bump ' is - it's very hard, and if you bend over - or attempt to bend over - it sort of 'winds' you as it crushes your lungs. So, bending over to shave my legs has become a thing of the past. N stroked my legs the other day and said ;'Ahhhh' in much the same way he does when he strokes the cats.
‘It's bad isn't it?' I asked
'No it's fine sweetheart' he replied.
What's wrong with him? He'd never have let me get away with this kind of thing pre-pregnancy!
I've asked my baby-mother friends what they did in order to 'prepare' for the birth. Most of them have come back with tales of packing hospital bags and reading up on breathing techniques and aromatherapy. But they're all missing the point, I need to know answers to the vital question: do I remove it all? Or do I have a 'landing strip' (seems kind of relevant) or do I go au naturelle, in order not to startle the midwives?
My no-nonsense friend Tash tells me; 'the bloody midwife won't care what's going on down there - she's seen it all'.
Saturday
I'm one day and one week away from my maternity leave starting - hurrah! Can't wait. Not sure what I'm going to do with myself for four weeks, but I know that the first thing I'm going to need to do is give N my purse and ask him to hide my debit and credit card. I'm like a woman possessed at the moment - possessed by some mad hormone that's telling me; 'spend, Vikki, spend...it's your last chance. In a week or so, you'll have no income and you won't be able to buy those pants with the cherries on, or that essential pair of totes toasties that you've never ever wanted before but really really need now that you're about to become a mother..........' Well, the inner conversation goes something like that. It's scary. Where has this come from?
My friend Sara, who lives upstairs, tells me that I've always been able to do damage with money, but that today I was just plain scary. Sara and I went to the shops to pick up a suit she'd ordered earlier - we literally 'just nipped out' and in the space of an hour I managed to buy: a black lace Basque (really practical and necessary at he moment) a red 100% silk chemise, some 3/4 Jaspar Conran PJ bottoms and a pair of totes toasties........ I couldn't get the shoes I tried - red leather snakeskin with 4 inch heel and double mary jane strap (again a practical choice for the coming months of buggy pushing) on as my feet have swollen. Again.
In my defence, N is away skiing and he's probably spending quite a lot - I'm sure he's not scrimping on the beers, and why should he? But as Sara said; 'it looks like you're trying to outdo him - you're trying to spend as much as he has on the skiing weekend!'
I have to admit that the above purchases were not the only ones to hit my card this weekend.....well, it is boring being at home alone, with no energy and nothing to do and internet shopping's SO easy........ I've also bought:
3 pairs of trainers (2 pink, one red), a bobble hat, a pair of fluffy flip flops (they're slippers ok?) and a black dress. Oh yeah, and a pink hoodie, cos, as Sara said; 'yep - you really need one of those Vik'. She's right - I need ONE. At the last count I was up to seven........bloody shameful.
I've just googled: 'pregnancy spending hormone' but nothing's come up. I'm sure that this is a vital research area that's been overlooked. Scientists!!!! Where are you? This is a hormonal issue - something that's beyond human control - it needs your brains and analysis!
It definitely feels like I'm out of control with this - so I'm blaming hormones. I'm also blaming the fast approaching life change which will see me go from an independent, fairly solvent business-woman to a PJ wearing, dependent-on-N-for-money (agh!!!!), mother of one. I feel like I'm one step away from leaving the last chance saloon. I know I have to wave goodbye to the irresponsible purchases and step across the threshold to say 'hello' to the 'essentials' and to Tesco's rather than Ocado, butI still have a week of work to go - so I've rationalised the problem and have come up with my excuse: I'm preparing for the future. I'm not going to be able to buy another piece of clothing until I start work again, so I need those trainers for the summer, I need that bobble hat for my walks with Nipper, I need that Basque and chemise for my planed fantasty weekends away and I need the totes toasties........for.............erm.....I need them for............nope, sorry, can't find a reason for the totes toasties.....answers/suggestions to: vikki@presscontact.co.uk But be quick, as the auto reply announcing my maternity leave, and the end of my spending spree, goes up in one day and one weeks time........................
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
My Elle McPherson bras are fab, but there's no way I'm going to be able to wear the matching thongs after the baby's born. I've been shown 'maternity pads' and they're bigger than the biggest surf-board knicker pads I've ever seen. Monstrous. Apparently there's a lot of blood after the birth and you need to change the pads in your knickers every hour. If possible it's also good to get some disposable pants. Hold on. Hang on a minute. Not only do I have to wear incontinence pads, but I have to wear plastic pants on top too????? This is really going to ruin the McPherson look.........
Took mum with me to the hospital this afternoon for the foetal growth scan ordered by Norma the other week. Mum had never seen a scan before and she admitted that she couldn't 'make head nor tail of it either'. I said that the tail had gone now.
Baby absolutely fine - the right size for 34 weeks and 4 days. Happy, moving around, Using my stomach for a punch bag and generally A OK.
We saw the lady in charge of 'foetal abnormalities' in the hallway as we left
'Hello - what are you doing here?' she asked
'Another scan' I grimaced
'Oh my god - the woman who hates scans - how many have you had now?' she laughed good naturedly
'I don't know - but it's a bloody breeze now' I laughed, Mum and I linked arms and left the building. We had to break the movie moment though and unlink our arms as we reached the parking lot - Dartford was under attack by sideways rain and we needed both hands to keep the umbrella from folding in on us.
Tuesday:
The disposable pants arrived today. They're disgusting. I decided upon a new tack. I'd buy some really cheap big pants and just dispose of them. They could be my 'disposables'. So I took myself off to Asda.
Asda's bloody amazing! You can get a five pack of knickers (spotty pink ones) for £2.50. and a ten pack for £4. I've never bought a singular pair under a fiver before. I went a little bit mad. Bought three styles - briefs, shorts and apple-catchers. Decided to get them all in a size 12 so that if they stay in the packet, unused, I can give them to mum.
Showed them to N tonight and he loved them. Wanted me to put hem on. Perv. I pulled them out of the packet and well, the apple-catchers are the size of board shorts.....(handy I guess, as they'll be carrying a surfboard)...but unless I put ten pounds on my arse in the next four weeks, I'm going to have to change them.
I'm up for an award for my PR work with the Spelling Society in two weeks time. Freelance of the Year. Bit of a panic though as nothing fits me apart from my neighbours sweat pants and my dressing gown. Trawled the net and found a black maternity dress that will do, and purchased it.
'I've bought a dress for the 'do', I said, as I cut up the cucumber for our nightly salad.
'Did you get it in Asda?' he asked.
Took all the reserves I had to keep the knife on the cutting board!
'No I bloody didn't - it's just the pants ok? ok??????'
He giggled.
Wednesday:
The midwife cancelled today. She's not well. I'm not very happy. It's been four weeks since I've seen someone. She couldn't see me last week because of the snow. I'd explained then that the hospital had urged me to see a midwife after the pains. I also explained that they'd booked me in for a scan as they felt the baby was small. The midwife said that there was no point in her seeing me then til after the scan and that she'd come next Wednesday. Today. So to be told she wasn't coming and that she'd be away on annual leave next week, did upset me a tad. I've had the hospital visit, and I'm breathless and I'm.........well, I'm old. I need some time with a midwife.
She told me to ring my Dr's surgery and try and book in with another one. This was the final straw..why was I the one sorting out cover for a sick midwife? I rifled through my papers and found the number for the hospital. I was going to complain.
It was about time.
I rang the hospital.
'Can I help you?'
'Yes - I've rung to make a complaint'
I could hear the woman's lungs audibly deflate. 'Thank you madam'.
She took my details and said someone would call me.
I took myself off to Mum and Dad’s for the day. I ate two big pies - a turkey one and then an apple and blackberry one. it was the nicest day I'd had in ages.
In the last hour I received a phone call from the head of the community midwifery department at the hospital.
'Vikki? or is it Victoria?'
'I don't mind - whatever you like' I replied
'Vikki, we want this experience to be a nurturing one for you. This is the most creative moment of your life and you should feel nurtured.'
'Well, I'm afraid I feel very far from nurtured at the moment' I then took her through the last 30 weeks and my experiences with the four different community midwives.
She was very kind, but kept saying; 'we want this experience to be a nurturing one for you'.
'Yes, yes' I replied 'I just want some practical help. I only found out this week that I didn't have to pay for the prescriptions I've been taking. I also found out today that I should have been given a MATB1 form at 20 weeks for me to apply for maternity allowance, and my N to apply for paternity leave. The forms and the prescription advice were never given'
'That's not very nurturing' she agreed
'No, it's effing not!' I wanted to say, but instead answered; 'nope - it's also cost me money'.
I then went on to explain that I'd not been told when to sign up for parent classes and that when I'd rang the hospital to do so last week they'd been shocked that my midwife hadn't explained that I needed to do this at 30 weeks, not 34. They did some juggling and added me and my N to the 24 strong class, but admonished me for not ringing sooner.
'That's not very nurturing' she muttered.
'I'm not a natural complainer', I explained, 'I'm usually very perky. I'm also very strong. I run my own business which I set up myself when I was ill'.
'Do you have any pre-existing conditions' she asked
'No, but I had M.E for 15 years'.
'ahhhhh........' she replied. 'We do need to nurture you'.
'No, I replied. 'I'm quite well now - I don't have M.E anymore. I just want some practical help and advice. And the thing is - I'm now worried, that this inconsistency of care that I've experienced to date will extend to after the baby is born. I'm worried that I'll come home with nipper and the midwife won't turn up, or if she does she'll forget to tell me some vital information, or she just won't care about me or nipper'.
'Well let's take this forward and make this nurturing for you'.
I don't know if she could hear my teeth grind every time she said 'nurture', but she then said;
'I want you to know that I wear two hats' (only two????? my mind wandered off for a moment....i have at least forty)
'I also provide counselling. Get a pen Vikki and a piece of paper.....................'
Long long pause.
'Are you still there Vikki?'
'Yes, '
'Oh sorry I thought you were still getting a pen'
'Nope'. Grind. Grind.
'Here's my extension number. I want you to call me and book in some time with me. I'm writing a paper on mental health in pregnancy. I'm a psycho-analyst and will be able to provide you with post natal help, and with help for anxiety. And this is important with the M.E'.
'No, I think you misunderstand......'
''I can provide the nurturing you need'
'I don't need nurturing. I don't have M.E. I just need to see a midwife when I'm supposed to and I need some practical help'
'Yes I understand that, but I also want you to know that I would like to nurture you. You can call me anytime and come in and see me. I would be very interested for the paper I'm writing.........................'
I managed to get off the phone after accepting another two or three offers of 'nurture'. But screw that. What has a woman to do in this town (ok village) to see someone sensible for maternity advice? And why oh why is it, when you mention 'M.E' to a health professional they treat you as if you've admitted to a mental health complaint? The condition is a neurological illness classified as such by the World Health Organisation. I refuse to get bogged down in it or dragged back to the treatment of the bad old days. All I want is some sensible practical advise in my 35th week of pregnancy. And maybe a urine test and for someone to test my blood pressure to make sure nipper is ok. I sure as hell don't need counselling.......or bloody nurturing.......... okay, I'll admit that maybe a bit of anger management wouldn't go astray today :)
Thursday
I've been reading about the birth. My friend Chris tells me; 'Don't do it - it'll only worry you', but as I said to Chris; 'I can't really stick my head in the sand about this - I've got to get something out of a tiny hole and I don't know how to do it...................'
Apparently, according to the books, it 'just happens' and your body does amazing things like releasing hormones which soften stuff down there and make the passage of the baby easier. I still can't get my head around the fact that I'm going to have to pass a bowling ball.
I've read quite a bit about the delivery and it would appear that quite a lot of people will be checking out my below stairs, downstairs, the 'lady-garden' area. And to be frank, the lady-garden is in need of some horticultural attention. The old thorny issue of what to do - immac or wax the nether regions has been at the forefront o f my mind today. Under normal circumstances - ie. minus a baby bump, I'm absolutely fastidious about waxing - I go every six weeks without fail. I wear a lot of mini skirts and it's imperative to keep the legs fuzz free.
However, since the bump has grown to gigantic proportions, when I look down the most I can see is the top of my toes. I know I have legs and nether regions, but I can't see them, or get to them. Putting on socks is bloody hard - I have to contort my body and sit in a strange position in order to kind of 'flick' the sock onto my big toe - it's like fishing - I hope that the toe will catch hold of the sock and then I can pull, sideways and manoeuvre them on. I'd never realised before, how immovable 'the bump ' is - it's very hard, and if you bend over - or attempt to bend over - it sort of 'winds' you as it crushes your lungs. So, bending over to shave my legs has become a thing of the past. N stroked my legs the other day and said ;'Ahhhh' in much the same way he does when he strokes the cats.
‘It's bad isn't it?' I asked
'No it's fine sweetheart' he replied.
What's wrong with him? He'd never have let me get away with this kind of thing pre-pregnancy!
I've asked my baby-mother friends what they did in order to 'prepare' for the birth. Most of them have come back with tales of packing hospital bags and reading up on breathing techniques and aromatherapy. But they're all missing the point, I need to know answers to the vital question: do I remove it all? Or do I have a 'landing strip' (seems kind of relevant) or do I go au naturelle, in order not to startle the midwives?
My no-nonsense friend Tash tells me; 'the bloody midwife won't care what's going on down there - she's seen it all'.
Saturday
I'm one day and one week away from my maternity leave starting - hurrah! Can't wait. Not sure what I'm going to do with myself for four weeks, but I know that the first thing I'm going to need to do is give N my purse and ask him to hide my debit and credit card. I'm like a woman possessed at the moment - possessed by some mad hormone that's telling me; 'spend, Vikki, spend...it's your last chance. In a week or so, you'll have no income and you won't be able to buy those pants with the cherries on, or that essential pair of totes toasties that you've never ever wanted before but really really need now that you're about to become a mother..........' Well, the inner conversation goes something like that. It's scary. Where has this come from?
My friend Sara, who lives upstairs, tells me that I've always been able to do damage with money, but that today I was just plain scary. Sara and I went to the shops to pick up a suit she'd ordered earlier - we literally 'just nipped out' and in the space of an hour I managed to buy: a black lace Basque (really practical and necessary at he moment) a red 100% silk chemise, some 3/4 Jaspar Conran PJ bottoms and a pair of totes toasties........ I couldn't get the shoes I tried - red leather snakeskin with 4 inch heel and double mary jane strap (again a practical choice for the coming months of buggy pushing) on as my feet have swollen. Again.
In my defence, N is away skiing and he's probably spending quite a lot - I'm sure he's not scrimping on the beers, and why should he? But as Sara said; 'it looks like you're trying to outdo him - you're trying to spend as much as he has on the skiing weekend!'
I have to admit that the above purchases were not the only ones to hit my card this weekend.....well, it is boring being at home alone, with no energy and nothing to do and internet shopping's SO easy........ I've also bought:
3 pairs of trainers (2 pink, one red), a bobble hat, a pair of fluffy flip flops (they're slippers ok?) and a black dress. Oh yeah, and a pink hoodie, cos, as Sara said; 'yep - you really need one of those Vik'. She's right - I need ONE. At the last count I was up to seven........bloody shameful.
I've just googled: 'pregnancy spending hormone' but nothing's come up. I'm sure that this is a vital research area that's been overlooked. Scientists!!!! Where are you? This is a hormonal issue - something that's beyond human control - it needs your brains and analysis!
It definitely feels like I'm out of control with this - so I'm blaming hormones. I'm also blaming the fast approaching life change which will see me go from an independent, fairly solvent business-woman to a PJ wearing, dependent-on-N-for-money (agh!!!!), mother of one. I feel like I'm one step away from leaving the last chance saloon. I know I have to wave goodbye to the irresponsible purchases and step across the threshold to say 'hello' to the 'essentials' and to Tesco's rather than Ocado, butI still have a week of work to go - so I've rationalised the problem and have come up with my excuse: I'm preparing for the future. I'm not going to be able to buy another piece of clothing until I start work again, so I need those trainers for the summer, I need that bobble hat for my walks with Nipper, I need that Basque and chemise for my planed fantasty weekends away and I need the totes toasties........for.............erm.....I need them for............nope, sorry, can't find a reason for the totes toasties.....answers/suggestions to: vikki@presscontact.co.uk But be quick, as the auto reply announcing my maternity leave, and the end of my spending spree, goes up in one day and one weeks time........................
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 34
I've packed my hospital bag. Mum says I have the most glamorous hospital bag she's ever seen. I' ve bought maternity bras by Elle Mc Pherson - pretty lacey pink ones and pretty brown and pink ones. I've also got some glittery slippers and a pair of silk pyjamas for after the birth.....they'll be going on a long time after the 'after birth' though as they cost a fortune! I've packed little suits for nipper, teeny tiny pampers, wash stuff and a teddy.
The snow fell today in a way it's not fallen for 18 years. The weathermen are apoplectic with delight. The BBC News channel is rolling out weather forecasters quicker than the snowploughs can roll round the M25. Boris has taken all the buses off the road in London and 6 million people are skiving off work to take part in the biggest snow ball fight and snowman making competition seen in years. We've got three snowmen already stationed outside the flat.
N's working from home alongside me as I coordinate my MORI poll and make press lists for America. He's impressed by my empire, even if I am running it from the sofa in my dressing gown and slippers.
He's really great. Good in a crisis, calm and steady and just bloody gorgeous. He's brought me back to life and I owe him so much. When we met 20 months ago I was still struggling with M.E. He took me on and said 'he'd walk alongside me'.
M.E was like a slow death, it robbed me of so many years. Seven of them spent housebound and reliant on carers. After moving home to Kent in 2001, I began a slow recovery of sorts. I was able to go to Bluewater with the folks, as long as I went in a wheelchair. I was also able to write and begin my PR business from home. I'd work from my laptop in bed and I dedicated a lot of my time to my friend Tom's project. His enthusiasm and my new diet helped to get me out of bed and down to Tom's garden - the World Garden at Lullingstone - where I gradually took on more responsibility. I worked alongside Tom as he took part in two BBC series. We started to take on the media and we found ourselves in places we'd only previously dreamt of! It was a blast. However, my legs were weak, my body was crap and I never had energy. Tom was great though, he'd put me in the car and do things at my pace.
Then in the summer of 2007 everything changed. I met N at Wendy and Simon's wedding at Whitstable Castle. He was there as an usher. He was actually the first person we saw. I'd gone with my best friend Chris, and he was manning the gate. Chris pulled up to the gate of the Castle and he popped his head in the window and greeted us; 'hello ladies' he said. I liked that. No one had called me a lady for a long time! He showed us where to park and we pulled away;
'What about him????' Chris asked.
'What? No! I'm not looking for a man. I can't go through all that again. Just park up!'
After the ceremony the friendly gate-attendant came and found us in the grounds. It was now his job to round everyone up for photos. However, he seemed to shirk his responsibilities somewhat and spent the rest of the afternoon talking to me and Chris. I was sure he fancied Chris - he spent more time talking to her than me, and she is the most beautiful woman in the world too! I kept drifting off and leaving them alone. I wandered back and forth to the clown (yes there was a clown at the wedding) bringing back balloon dogs and balloon rabbits to show Chris and the gate-attendant!
A beautiful day passed, and he treated us both like ladies.
On the way home I said to Chris; 'I really hope we see him again'.
The following day Wendy texted to say that he'd asked for my number and that she'd given it to him. I replied; 'no - you fool - he wanted Chris's number!'
'No,' she replied 'he wanted yours'.
I'd hidden the M.E all day on Saturday and then paid for it for three days - when you pay for it, it's as if someone pulls the plug and drains your life force out of you. I spent the following three days in bed. I have to admit to being worried about him calling too. What would I say? I'd have to tell him about he M.E - there was no way around it. Bugger it.
He emailed me two days after the wedding. He sent through some lovely photos of me and Chris, and he did seem interested. He also admitted to googling me and finding an article I'd written for the BBC about M.E. He said it was a bit of a shock. He also said he didn't know what to say other than it must have been terrible for me and my family. He said he'd like me in his life and he'd 'walk alongside me and see what happened'. I agreed to go and meet him for a drink. It was the most nerve wracking thing I'd done in ages. We met on the steps of St Paul's and we went for drinks and then a meal. He was so engaging, so interested in me and my life and my work. He also had the most beautiful blue eyes. I knew that I liked him and wanted to see more of him.
It was so difficult though. He lived in North London and I was bound to our sleepy village in Kent. The travelling wasn't easy and my work suffered as I spent days in bed getting over his visits. The adrenalin I was living on was doing me in. That's when it struck me - perhaps there was a link between adrenalin and M.E. I did seem to be able to do things 'on adrenalin' - there was a finite amount of it, but it could sometimes get me through things. I googled 'adrenalin/m.e' and it threw up 'the Lightning Process' a training program in Crouch End. I rang the chap behind it - Mr Phil Parker - and he spoke to me about my illness in a way that no one had done before. He was reasonable, sound and caring, and also seemed to have a 'handle' on it. I signed up and joined the waiting list.
Five months later I enrolled on the Lightning Process in Crouch End and got my life back. The M.E became a thing of the past and we began to live the life we should have lived. We did things every weekend - mad stuff, great stuff, exciting stuff. I shot guns, walked Paris in a day and fell in love.
My friend Tom says it's a 'fairytale'. And with the snow on the ground and the UK snow-blind, it does feel like a fairytale today.
I owe him everything. If I'd not met him, I wouldn't have found out about the Lightning Process and I wouldn't have got better. I wouldn't be pregnant with Nipper and my life would be a shadow of what it is today. I very nearly didn't go and meet him for our first date. I'm so glad I did.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
The snow fell today in a way it's not fallen for 18 years. The weathermen are apoplectic with delight. The BBC News channel is rolling out weather forecasters quicker than the snowploughs can roll round the M25. Boris has taken all the buses off the road in London and 6 million people are skiving off work to take part in the biggest snow ball fight and snowman making competition seen in years. We've got three snowmen already stationed outside the flat.
N's working from home alongside me as I coordinate my MORI poll and make press lists for America. He's impressed by my empire, even if I am running it from the sofa in my dressing gown and slippers.
He's really great. Good in a crisis, calm and steady and just bloody gorgeous. He's brought me back to life and I owe him so much. When we met 20 months ago I was still struggling with M.E. He took me on and said 'he'd walk alongside me'.
M.E was like a slow death, it robbed me of so many years. Seven of them spent housebound and reliant on carers. After moving home to Kent in 2001, I began a slow recovery of sorts. I was able to go to Bluewater with the folks, as long as I went in a wheelchair. I was also able to write and begin my PR business from home. I'd work from my laptop in bed and I dedicated a lot of my time to my friend Tom's project. His enthusiasm and my new diet helped to get me out of bed and down to Tom's garden - the World Garden at Lullingstone - where I gradually took on more responsibility. I worked alongside Tom as he took part in two BBC series. We started to take on the media and we found ourselves in places we'd only previously dreamt of! It was a blast. However, my legs were weak, my body was crap and I never had energy. Tom was great though, he'd put me in the car and do things at my pace.
Then in the summer of 2007 everything changed. I met N at Wendy and Simon's wedding at Whitstable Castle. He was there as an usher. He was actually the first person we saw. I'd gone with my best friend Chris, and he was manning the gate. Chris pulled up to the gate of the Castle and he popped his head in the window and greeted us; 'hello ladies' he said. I liked that. No one had called me a lady for a long time! He showed us where to park and we pulled away;
'What about him????' Chris asked.
'What? No! I'm not looking for a man. I can't go through all that again. Just park up!'
After the ceremony the friendly gate-attendant came and found us in the grounds. It was now his job to round everyone up for photos. However, he seemed to shirk his responsibilities somewhat and spent the rest of the afternoon talking to me and Chris. I was sure he fancied Chris - he spent more time talking to her than me, and she is the most beautiful woman in the world too! I kept drifting off and leaving them alone. I wandered back and forth to the clown (yes there was a clown at the wedding) bringing back balloon dogs and balloon rabbits to show Chris and the gate-attendant!
A beautiful day passed, and he treated us both like ladies.
On the way home I said to Chris; 'I really hope we see him again'.
The following day Wendy texted to say that he'd asked for my number and that she'd given it to him. I replied; 'no - you fool - he wanted Chris's number!'
'No,' she replied 'he wanted yours'.
I'd hidden the M.E all day on Saturday and then paid for it for three days - when you pay for it, it's as if someone pulls the plug and drains your life force out of you. I spent the following three days in bed. I have to admit to being worried about him calling too. What would I say? I'd have to tell him about he M.E - there was no way around it. Bugger it.
He emailed me two days after the wedding. He sent through some lovely photos of me and Chris, and he did seem interested. He also admitted to googling me and finding an article I'd written for the BBC about M.E. He said it was a bit of a shock. He also said he didn't know what to say other than it must have been terrible for me and my family. He said he'd like me in his life and he'd 'walk alongside me and see what happened'. I agreed to go and meet him for a drink. It was the most nerve wracking thing I'd done in ages. We met on the steps of St Paul's and we went for drinks and then a meal. He was so engaging, so interested in me and my life and my work. He also had the most beautiful blue eyes. I knew that I liked him and wanted to see more of him.
It was so difficult though. He lived in North London and I was bound to our sleepy village in Kent. The travelling wasn't easy and my work suffered as I spent days in bed getting over his visits. The adrenalin I was living on was doing me in. That's when it struck me - perhaps there was a link between adrenalin and M.E. I did seem to be able to do things 'on adrenalin' - there was a finite amount of it, but it could sometimes get me through things. I googled 'adrenalin/m.e' and it threw up 'the Lightning Process' a training program in Crouch End. I rang the chap behind it - Mr Phil Parker - and he spoke to me about my illness in a way that no one had done before. He was reasonable, sound and caring, and also seemed to have a 'handle' on it. I signed up and joined the waiting list.
Five months later I enrolled on the Lightning Process in Crouch End and got my life back. The M.E became a thing of the past and we began to live the life we should have lived. We did things every weekend - mad stuff, great stuff, exciting stuff. I shot guns, walked Paris in a day and fell in love.
My friend Tom says it's a 'fairytale'. And with the snow on the ground and the UK snow-blind, it does feel like a fairytale today.
I owe him everything. If I'd not met him, I wouldn't have found out about the Lightning Process and I wouldn't have got better. I wouldn't be pregnant with Nipper and my life would be a shadow of what it is today. I very nearly didn't go and meet him for our first date. I'm so glad I did.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 33
It all started when I bent over to pull Ns pants out of the dryer. God knows what had possessed me to start cleaning the kitchen at 10 at night, or to begin laundering someone else’s smalls in the first place. Definitely out of character. But for some reason it seemed imperative to clean the kitchen, and clena it good before I retired to my bed.
I bent to pull at his pants (at any other time, minus the 'nesting' context, this sentence might actually start to sound interesting) which had got caught in a ménage a tois with a pair of my tights and one of his socks. The pain caught me unawares and knocked the wind out of me. And for the first time in my life I can legitimately use the description - 'doubled-up'.
'ooooooo.....bloody hell'
'You ok in there' he called from the sofa.
'yes just pulling your pants out of the dryer' I replied, not wanting to worry him.
'I thought you were going to bed....'
'I am'. And with that, I took myself off to the bedroom and curled up with my nursing pillow tucked between my legs.
There then followed a painful three hours as the cramps in my stomach increased in intensity. I was groaning and moaning like a pig. In the end I had to get up and come in to the lounge. I couldn't stand up straight, all I could do was crawl on the floor. I tried the 'downward facing dog' but this made no difference, it just meant I had to roll, rather ungainly on to my side, in a sideways-falling-hippopotamus in order to stop the blood from rushing to my head.
I managed to open the laptop from my sideways-facing-hippo and found the number for NHS Direct.
'Hello - can you help me'
'Yes madam, can I take some details first'
After giving my name, address, telephone number and shoe size, I explained that I was 33 weeks pregnant and in pain. The operator put me straight through to a nurse who told me that she'd find my duty Dr and he could decide what to do.
N roused himself from sleep and came into the lounge to find me on the phone.
'What are you doing? who are you speaking to?'
'The Dr'
'Oh'
Dr came on the line.
'You must go to the labour ward Ms Rimmer as soon as you can. Does it feel like a contraction?'
'I don't know - I've never had one before.'
'Does it come and go regularly'
'No it's just there, like a tight vice in my lower abdomen - it's not going away at all'.
'Please go to the labour ward Ms Rimmer'.
N had gone back to bed, so I crawled in next to him. I was in so much pain though,
I didn't know what to do with myself. Apart from groan. I can't be in labour? Can I??? It's way too early. Nipper's too small.
'I don't know what to do' I moaned
'What do you want to do?'
'Dr says to go to the hospital but I'm scared we'll go and they'll laugh at me and tell me its wind'
'What do you want to do?'
That bloody question again. What I really wanted was for someone to take charge and to stop the pain.
'I don't know'.
I waited another half an hour before I gave in and we got up at 3am to drive to the hospital in Dartford.
The labour ward or 'delivery suite' as it's called, buzzed us in, and Norma the midwife hurried us into a delivery rom. 'Norma' was fantastic. She had me wired up quicker than a quick-fit fitter can fit you up. She had a monitor on the baby and one on me. I was in so much pain now, that I couldn't stop moving my legs. Or my legs couldn't stop moving themselves - it felt involuntary. The pain was awful.
'You're not in labour' Norma said. 'They're not contractions.'
A consultant came in to see us and prodded my belly a bit. I explained that I'd felt less breathless today than I had in weeks, and that maybe the baby had dropped down. They had a good feel and said that yes, baby was engaged.
The Dr decided that an internal examination with the 'smear gear' would be in order. I wasn't sure. I threw up.
N was stationed in a chair beside my legs looking worried. When the Dr reached for the speculum I decided that my N needed to move.
'You can't sit there' I said
'Why?' he asked
'Because you'll see everything from there - it's not nice'
'It's nothing I've not seen before' he laughed
'Yes but you've not seen it under strip lighting!'
He refused to move and so with N, a nurse and a Dr watching, I gingerly raised my legs and let them have a good old look inside.
Apparently everything was ok in there. Everything was still 'in tact' and baby was staying put.
Baby was doing well on the monitor, it was just me who was in pain.
Norma suggested I stay in for the rest of the night, but I didn't want to stay. Norma also said that she thought the baby appeared small for the dates, so she ordered a fetal growth scan. I accepted the pain killers on offer and asked my N to bring me home. We got in just after 6am.
We managed a little bit of sleep before he had to go for the train. I then promised I'd stay in bed.
The morning passed in pain, and by the afternoon I decided I'd better go back to the delivery room.
Norma wasn't there - she was probably asleep at home. A new midwife called Steph took me through the same tests I'd had the night before. I was sick again.
Another consultant came to see me and after some prodding decided I either had a bowel spasm from the baby resting on it or I had constipation. She prescribed laxatives and suppositories and sent me home.
At least it wasn't wind.
Two days passed and the pain eased, and I struggled twice to keep a suppository where the sun don't shine. But it just didn't seem natural to keep anything up there for longer than ten minutes, so I failed drastically with the suppositories. And to be honest, I wasn't constipated. The pain just seemed to ease and go away. It felt more as if the baby had moved off the bowel and it had stopped its spasms.
Life began to return to normal and I began to stand upright again.
It was time I tackled the two work projects that loomed over me. I had a film to complete and a campaign in the USA and the UK to launch on spelling. I'd commissioned a MORI poll on the subject of spelling in the USA for my client the Spelling Society. The data had come in as I'd gone in to hospital. it was all sitting waiting for me and the bump to peruse. I opened the file - 46 spreadsheets greeted me. I decided to go back to bed. Just for an hour you understand...........................
A week of graph making, data analysis and fighting with PR Newswire followed before I could release the news: yep, America's as shit at us at spelling.......
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
I bent to pull at his pants (at any other time, minus the 'nesting' context, this sentence might actually start to sound interesting) which had got caught in a ménage a tois with a pair of my tights and one of his socks. The pain caught me unawares and knocked the wind out of me. And for the first time in my life I can legitimately use the description - 'doubled-up'.
'ooooooo.....bloody hell'
'You ok in there' he called from the sofa.
'yes just pulling your pants out of the dryer' I replied, not wanting to worry him.
'I thought you were going to bed....'
'I am'. And with that, I took myself off to the bedroom and curled up with my nursing pillow tucked between my legs.
There then followed a painful three hours as the cramps in my stomach increased in intensity. I was groaning and moaning like a pig. In the end I had to get up and come in to the lounge. I couldn't stand up straight, all I could do was crawl on the floor. I tried the 'downward facing dog' but this made no difference, it just meant I had to roll, rather ungainly on to my side, in a sideways-falling-hippopotamus in order to stop the blood from rushing to my head.
I managed to open the laptop from my sideways-facing-hippo and found the number for NHS Direct.
'Hello - can you help me'
'Yes madam, can I take some details first'
After giving my name, address, telephone number and shoe size, I explained that I was 33 weeks pregnant and in pain. The operator put me straight through to a nurse who told me that she'd find my duty Dr and he could decide what to do.
N roused himself from sleep and came into the lounge to find me on the phone.
'What are you doing? who are you speaking to?'
'The Dr'
'Oh'
Dr came on the line.
'You must go to the labour ward Ms Rimmer as soon as you can. Does it feel like a contraction?'
'I don't know - I've never had one before.'
'Does it come and go regularly'
'No it's just there, like a tight vice in my lower abdomen - it's not going away at all'.
'Please go to the labour ward Ms Rimmer'.
N had gone back to bed, so I crawled in next to him. I was in so much pain though,
I didn't know what to do with myself. Apart from groan. I can't be in labour? Can I??? It's way too early. Nipper's too small.
'I don't know what to do' I moaned
'What do you want to do?'
'Dr says to go to the hospital but I'm scared we'll go and they'll laugh at me and tell me its wind'
'What do you want to do?'
That bloody question again. What I really wanted was for someone to take charge and to stop the pain.
'I don't know'.
I waited another half an hour before I gave in and we got up at 3am to drive to the hospital in Dartford.
The labour ward or 'delivery suite' as it's called, buzzed us in, and Norma the midwife hurried us into a delivery rom. 'Norma' was fantastic. She had me wired up quicker than a quick-fit fitter can fit you up. She had a monitor on the baby and one on me. I was in so much pain now, that I couldn't stop moving my legs. Or my legs couldn't stop moving themselves - it felt involuntary. The pain was awful.
'You're not in labour' Norma said. 'They're not contractions.'
A consultant came in to see us and prodded my belly a bit. I explained that I'd felt less breathless today than I had in weeks, and that maybe the baby had dropped down. They had a good feel and said that yes, baby was engaged.
The Dr decided that an internal examination with the 'smear gear' would be in order. I wasn't sure. I threw up.
N was stationed in a chair beside my legs looking worried. When the Dr reached for the speculum I decided that my N needed to move.
'You can't sit there' I said
'Why?' he asked
'Because you'll see everything from there - it's not nice'
'It's nothing I've not seen before' he laughed
'Yes but you've not seen it under strip lighting!'
He refused to move and so with N, a nurse and a Dr watching, I gingerly raised my legs and let them have a good old look inside.
Apparently everything was ok in there. Everything was still 'in tact' and baby was staying put.
Baby was doing well on the monitor, it was just me who was in pain.
Norma suggested I stay in for the rest of the night, but I didn't want to stay. Norma also said that she thought the baby appeared small for the dates, so she ordered a fetal growth scan. I accepted the pain killers on offer and asked my N to bring me home. We got in just after 6am.
We managed a little bit of sleep before he had to go for the train. I then promised I'd stay in bed.
The morning passed in pain, and by the afternoon I decided I'd better go back to the delivery room.
Norma wasn't there - she was probably asleep at home. A new midwife called Steph took me through the same tests I'd had the night before. I was sick again.
Another consultant came to see me and after some prodding decided I either had a bowel spasm from the baby resting on it or I had constipation. She prescribed laxatives and suppositories and sent me home.
At least it wasn't wind.
Two days passed and the pain eased, and I struggled twice to keep a suppository where the sun don't shine. But it just didn't seem natural to keep anything up there for longer than ten minutes, so I failed drastically with the suppositories. And to be honest, I wasn't constipated. The pain just seemed to ease and go away. It felt more as if the baby had moved off the bowel and it had stopped its spasms.
Life began to return to normal and I began to stand upright again.
It was time I tackled the two work projects that loomed over me. I had a film to complete and a campaign in the USA and the UK to launch on spelling. I'd commissioned a MORI poll on the subject of spelling in the USA for my client the Spelling Society. The data had come in as I'd gone in to hospital. it was all sitting waiting for me and the bump to peruse. I opened the file - 46 spreadsheets greeted me. I decided to go back to bed. Just for an hour you understand...........................
A week of graph making, data analysis and fighting with PR Newswire followed before I could release the news: yep, America's as shit at us at spelling.......
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 32
Got very hormonal the other day (a horrible sentence, and one I hoped I'd never write, but....) and got upset with N. I'd been mooching around his flat looking for a DVD to chill out to. My cold seemed to be going nowhere, so I thought - make the most of it girl, put your feet up, everyone's telling you that you won't get the chance to do 'feet up ever again.....I started sifting through the DVD's on the shelf. Quite a few boysy ones there - Jack Ass, Lock Stock etc., and then I came across a VERY boysy one. Let's just say that the pictures on the back had my eyes out on stalks. Interesting. But not interesting enough to actually make it into the DVD player. Failing to find anything of meritto watch, I decided to fixate on the 'interesting' one. Then I got upset. It sort of came from nowhere. I remembered him saying that he'd bought it with his ex-girlfriend. This in itself wasn't upsetting. It was the fact that he hadn't shown an interest in doing the same with me.
When he came home from work I decided to ask some strategic and subtle questions. Do a little bit of female probing (and not the kind shown on said DVD).
Conversation went something like this.....
'I'm fat aren't I?'
'No sweetheart, you're lovely'
'Nope, I'm fat. I've got a big bump protruding forth'
'You're pregnant sweetheart. It's normal'.
'I don't feel normal. And I don't feel sexy. Do you still find me sexy?'
'Yes sweetheart'.
'Well', (I think this is where I started to cry) 'why have you never tried to buy a porn film with ME then?????'
Much laughter from N.
'Erm................... where has this come from?'
'I just want to know that you still find me attractive. I don't feel it. I'm fat'
N made all the right noises, even if he giggled a bit in between making them. Apparently the DVD was just a laugh.
Well, all I can say is, he got his money's worth as he's still laughing........ and keeps asking if I've put it on the blog yet.
I may have the last laugh though as Mum's asked if she can read the blog and I've sent her the link. She's definitely going to look at him in a different way now.........
-----
Been a busy week - I've managed to alienate all midwives in Dartford. Went in to the local DR's surgery for my bi-weekly check up and to meet yet another midwife. This one is supposed to be with me now through the rest of the pregnancy and birth. The preferred system here is that you have one midwife to take you through from week one to birth and after. I'm on my fourth now. No fault of my own. I did explain to the new one that I thought the midwifery service was a pile of crap, shit and poo. She seemed quite taken aback. I explained that things hadn't been particularly smooth up until this point and that it would have been nice to have had some support. Would have been nice to have had someone take the severe morning sickness seriously before they did. It would have been nice to have had someone talk us through the echogenic bowel trauma at the surgery rather than meet with 'we’ll have to wait and see' grimaces from the midwife and lectures about flight socks. It would also have been really nice if they'd spotted the anaemia from the breathlessness and tiredness that I'd been complaining about for weeks.
The new midwife spent a lot of time rifling through my notes while I character assassinated her predecessor. She seemed a bit flustered and didn't know what to do with me. She also seemed surprised that my blood pressure was normal - as I appeared to have steam coming out of my ears.
'Let's take it again' she said, five minutes later. I'm not sure if she'd forgotten that she'd already taken it, or whether she just wanted to double check I wasn't about to implode in the surgery.
She was actually really nice and I felt a bit bad about venting my spleen. But then, hey every other bloody organ has become involved in this pregnancy malarky, so why not give my spleen a chance to join in.
I have made a pledge to be nicer next time I see her.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
When he came home from work I decided to ask some strategic and subtle questions. Do a little bit of female probing (and not the kind shown on said DVD).
Conversation went something like this.....
'I'm fat aren't I?'
'No sweetheart, you're lovely'
'Nope, I'm fat. I've got a big bump protruding forth'
'You're pregnant sweetheart. It's normal'.
'I don't feel normal. And I don't feel sexy. Do you still find me sexy?'
'Yes sweetheart'.
'Well', (I think this is where I started to cry) 'why have you never tried to buy a porn film with ME then?????'
Much laughter from N.
'Erm................... where has this come from?'
'I just want to know that you still find me attractive. I don't feel it. I'm fat'
N made all the right noises, even if he giggled a bit in between making them. Apparently the DVD was just a laugh.
Well, all I can say is, he got his money's worth as he's still laughing........ and keeps asking if I've put it on the blog yet.
I may have the last laugh though as Mum's asked if she can read the blog and I've sent her the link. She's definitely going to look at him in a different way now.........
-----
Been a busy week - I've managed to alienate all midwives in Dartford. Went in to the local DR's surgery for my bi-weekly check up and to meet yet another midwife. This one is supposed to be with me now through the rest of the pregnancy and birth. The preferred system here is that you have one midwife to take you through from week one to birth and after. I'm on my fourth now. No fault of my own. I did explain to the new one that I thought the midwifery service was a pile of crap, shit and poo. She seemed quite taken aback. I explained that things hadn't been particularly smooth up until this point and that it would have been nice to have had some support. Would have been nice to have had someone take the severe morning sickness seriously before they did. It would have been nice to have had someone talk us through the echogenic bowel trauma at the surgery rather than meet with 'we’ll have to wait and see' grimaces from the midwife and lectures about flight socks. It would also have been really nice if they'd spotted the anaemia from the breathlessness and tiredness that I'd been complaining about for weeks.
The new midwife spent a lot of time rifling through my notes while I character assassinated her predecessor. She seemed a bit flustered and didn't know what to do with me. She also seemed surprised that my blood pressure was normal - as I appeared to have steam coming out of my ears.
'Let's take it again' she said, five minutes later. I'm not sure if she'd forgotten that she'd already taken it, or whether she just wanted to double check I wasn't about to implode in the surgery.
She was actually really nice and I felt a bit bad about venting my spleen. But then, hey every other bloody organ has become involved in this pregnancy malarky, so why not give my spleen a chance to join in.
I have made a pledge to be nicer next time I see her.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 31
My cold has lingered on and has now moved to the chest making breathing even more difficult. I'm so tired it's scary. All I want to do is sleep.
I went back to the Dr's today and it would appear that I am anaemic. This is the reason for the breathlessness and raised pulse. I have to admit to being more than a little bit pissed off as I'd asked the midwife whether or not I was anaemic 6 weeks ago and she'd said everything was fine. I've since found out that if you have extreme morning sickness then you're very likely to develop anaemia in the later stages of pregnancy. Unless she had her eyes closed and ignored my sick visits, the midwife should have been able to put two and two together and make - anaemia as a reasonable diagnosis for my raised pulse and breathlessness. I feel as though I've been climbing a sodding mountain for the past 6 weeks and I needn't have. Now also developing irrational hatred for silly cow midwife. Glad she's going on maternity leave this week.
Dr has given me some big iron tabs - 100mgs and I'm to take them everyday up until two months after the birth.
Cold still shows no sign of shifting as we near the end of the 31st week. Baby books all say that it's miserable having a cold when you're pregnant as you can't take anything. It also mentions the 'lowered immune system' of the pregnant lady -necessitated so that the body does not reject the baby or 'alien' :)
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
I went back to the Dr's today and it would appear that I am anaemic. This is the reason for the breathlessness and raised pulse. I have to admit to being more than a little bit pissed off as I'd asked the midwife whether or not I was anaemic 6 weeks ago and she'd said everything was fine. I've since found out that if you have extreme morning sickness then you're very likely to develop anaemia in the later stages of pregnancy. Unless she had her eyes closed and ignored my sick visits, the midwife should have been able to put two and two together and make - anaemia as a reasonable diagnosis for my raised pulse and breathlessness. I feel as though I've been climbing a sodding mountain for the past 6 weeks and I needn't have. Now also developing irrational hatred for silly cow midwife. Glad she's going on maternity leave this week.
Dr has given me some big iron tabs - 100mgs and I'm to take them everyday up until two months after the birth.
Cold still shows no sign of shifting as we near the end of the 31st week. Baby books all say that it's miserable having a cold when you're pregnant as you can't take anything. It also mentions the 'lowered immune system' of the pregnant lady -necessitated so that the body does not reject the baby or 'alien' :)
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 30
I had my ECG this morning. Very weird experience. I was wired up like something out of 'Flatliners'. I had electrodes all around my nipples and down my sides and two on my feet - I think they were placed on my toes, but I can't be sure as the bump was in the way. The reading was taken and I was told to return in a week for the results.
I asked the nurse if breathlessness and raised pulse were common in pregnancy. She said that it had started a little early for me and did seem a bit extreme, but that most women felt breathless towards the end.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
I asked the nurse if breathlessness and raised pulse were common in pregnancy. She said that it had started a little early for me and did seem a bit extreme, but that most women felt breathless towards the end.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
New Year's Eve
I awoke to face the day and the scan with a rotten cold. My throat's as rough as a badgers arse and my nose is streaming. It's a comedy cold: sneezing, wheezing and snot.
N drove to the hospital as I didn't really feel up to it. We waited for a short time and then were ushered in to the same room where we'd had our previous scan. The cold jelly went on and the screen in front of us jumped in to life. Nipper looked a LOT bigger. Not surprising really, but it still took my breath away (not difficult at the moment). The sonographer expertly worked her way around y abdomen and found the baby's bowel. 'All clear - all looks ok' she said matter of fact.
'Really? That's excellent' said N. I said nothing. I didn't know what to say.
'Are you sure everything's ok?' he asked
'Looks ok' she replied.
Cleaning the jelly off my bump we were allowed out of the room and allowed home. I think that the combination of cold-flu and not wanting to tempt fate would lead some observers to think that my reaction was 'cool' or 'calm in the extreme'. But really, I didn't think it appropriate to jump for joy. I just wanted to take my time before I let the confidence fill my body and the relief sooth the worries built up over the last 8 weeks.
We were due to go to Wendy and Simon's tonight but my cold and breathlessness meant that I just didn't have the energy to get out of bed - so New Year's Eve was celebrated in quiet style with an early night and some silent thanks.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
N drove to the hospital as I didn't really feel up to it. We waited for a short time and then were ushered in to the same room where we'd had our previous scan. The cold jelly went on and the screen in front of us jumped in to life. Nipper looked a LOT bigger. Not surprising really, but it still took my breath away (not difficult at the moment). The sonographer expertly worked her way around y abdomen and found the baby's bowel. 'All clear - all looks ok' she said matter of fact.
'Really? That's excellent' said N. I said nothing. I didn't know what to say.
'Are you sure everything's ok?' he asked
'Looks ok' she replied.
Cleaning the jelly off my bump we were allowed out of the room and allowed home. I think that the combination of cold-flu and not wanting to tempt fate would lead some observers to think that my reaction was 'cool' or 'calm in the extreme'. But really, I didn't think it appropriate to jump for joy. I just wanted to take my time before I let the confidence fill my body and the relief sooth the worries built up over the last 8 weeks.
We were due to go to Wendy and Simon's tonight but my cold and breathlessness meant that I just didn't have the energy to get out of bed - so New Year's Eve was celebrated in quiet style with an early night and some silent thanks.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
Week 29
Christmas passed easily, with Mum doing pretty much everything while I sat on the sofa with my feet up ordering my dad to throw more logs on the fire. On Boxing Day we walked to the next village to see the bike rally - over 200 motorbikes parked all the way down the tiny street.
My breathlessness is just silly - it's so extreme, necessitating long rests and boring 'feet-ups'.
New Year's Eve is just around the corner and I've decided to work up to the day. NYE for us means - scan. Repeat scan to see if the baby still has an echogenic bowel. Every time I think about it I feel nervous and start to run 'scenarios' in my head, so I've decided to do an ostrich and just stick my head in the sand until the day.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
My breathlessness is just silly - it's so extreme, necessitating long rests and boring 'feet-ups'.
New Year's Eve is just around the corner and I've decided to work up to the day. NYE for us means - scan. Repeat scan to see if the baby still has an echogenic bowel. Every time I think about it I feel nervous and start to run 'scenarios' in my head, so I've decided to do an ostrich and just stick my head in the sand until the day.
copyright©Vikki Rimmer 2009 vikki@presscontact.co.uk
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