Pregnancy is a mother fucker. It really puts you through wringer mentally and physically. The nausea, the bulging boobs, the swelling tummy, the kicks (oh the kicks) in the ribs that legitimately give you the fear that your baby is going to puncture your lung. And then there's sleepless nights (practise, I was informed, for when the bundle of joy arrives! Ho ho ho), waddling like a drunk penguin and pain in all your joints that inspire new sympathy for the elderly.
But despite all this, you're excited! I couldn't wait to meet my little baby boy, my little Gizmo the womb gremlin. That excitement got me through the days when i felt like my belly entered the room 5 minutes before the rest of me. That same excitement also got me through The Fear.
The Fear was all consuming in those final weeks. This little wrigger, burrowing his way in to my bladder and ribcage simultaneously, was going to have to come out.
I'd been repeatedly told that my little Gizmo was actually not so little and was measuring big. I measured at full term 40 weeks by the time i was 36 weeks pregnant. So it was natural for me to think that he'd be making an early appearance - he was cooked and ready - he'd definitely be popping his not so little head out my foof sooner rather than later. Right?
Wrong. I got to 41 weeks and nothing was happening. No dilating. No effacing. No other puke inducing words that implied imminent vaginal birth. The Fear got worse. I'd be birthing a beast that would tear me open! He'd get stuck and he'd die! I'd bleed too much and die! (Most of The Fear scenarios ended up in someone dying in 1800's birth bloodbath style). But then The Fear changed as i started to think that i might not be able to birth my son...that my most natural, instinctive reason for existence would be deprived from me...
I was born by cesarean section and I have nothing against them - they are amazing, lifesaving surgeries and i applaud the surgeons and patients alike. But elective cesareans were a different matter for me. I hadn't realised how much I had subconciously judged those who had them as being 'too posh to push' until I had to have one myself.
At 41 weeks I had a stretch and sweep by a consultant. It was excruciating and i bled considerably and right away i was sent for a vaginal ultrasound. Afterwards, sitting in his office on a sanitary pad that resembled an adult nappy, he gave me and my husband 3 pieces of information.
1. My cervix was high, tight and closed. He'd torn through it anyway (hence pain that made me nearly throw up - really) but he doubted i would go in to labour naturally.
2. There was something behind my cervix that wasn't the baby. Something that felt like a lump.
3. The lump, likely to be a dermoid cyst (google it if you're brave), was attached to my ovary and was twisting it downwards. I would need surgery to remove the cyst and most probably my ovary.
Stunned, I stared at my husband. I vaguely heard the consultant explain that I could try for a natural birth but that it may damage my ovary, it may burst the cyst causing sepsis, it may end up in emergency c-section because my baby boy could get stuck.
My visions of a waterbirth dissipated. The images of me crying and grunting as i partially fractured my husband's hand whilst our child was delivered by a brusque but lovely Yorkshire midwife disappeared.
There was just no...romance to an elective c-section. But it seemed we had no choice. We were booked for surgery 3 days later...the 25th October 2016. We went home with mixed feelings.
The next day i woke with a new found excitement. How lucky was I that I knew the exact date when my baby would arrive? We could plan for someone to look after Smeagol the beagle, inform family so they could book time off work and make arrangements to travel to visit. To make it even more exciting, we did a C-section announcement as a fun way of telling friends and family without inviting pity or questions.
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| Our C-section announcement |
Ironically, at 3am on the morning of the 25th October, I began to get contractions. I lost my plug and the contractions started getting more frequent and painful. It's true what they say - they are about as unmistakable as having a red hot vice squeezing around your uterus. But i felt so grateful...i got to experience just a little bit of labour. We had the impassioned drive to the hospital with me huffing and puffing, repeatedly saying 'that was the worst one yet!'
Because I was in labour I was prepped for surgery immediately. It was a surprisingly casual affair. I laughed and joked with the nurses and the anaesthetists, my husband took selfies of himself in his blue scrubs, we had a lovely chat whilst the surgeon cut me open.
I wasn't numb exactly but i couldn't feel any pain at all. It was like someone was doing dishes in my tummy and there was a lot of tugging.
C-sections are busy. I had a screen covering me from under my bust (Sweeney Todd type splatters of blood are normal) and there were so many medical people around me. Hubby was right next to my head and my trusty anaesthetist was behind me, continually checking I was ok. My midwife was there, smiling, letting me know exactly what was happening.
And then i heard it. His cry. My baby boy's first long, powerful scream. And it was so full of life. Tears sprang forth so easily that I wondered if I had been crying the whole time. He was placed on my chest, a red, gunky, warm little thing, all tiny hands and feet and squashed face. It wasn't love at first sight - it was awe that this tiny little human had arrived.
It didn't matter how he'd arrived. It didn't matter that i had to be sliced and diced to see him. I'd do anything in the world to see his face...his perfect little face.
Whilst me and my husband, the new mummy and daddy, did skin to skin and helped our little one to the breast, the surgeon continued to operate and removed the cyst. It was the same size as my son's head and accounted for a lot of the apparant 'large' size of my son. At 8lbs 14oz he was big...but not the minimum of 9lbs60z i'd been told to expect.
My ovary was saved, my chance of conceiving again completely unaffected and i was sewn up and whisked away to my warn with other new mummies. We were no different. We all had the same look of love, awe and terror.
And i got my brusque but lovely Yorkshire midwife...
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