Mis-sold Motherhood

SUNDAY 10th January 2016.

I remember lying on a bed and hearing a baby cry, “Is that my baby?” Someone replied and said, yes. They told me it was a boy.  I remember opening my eyes and seeing the blurry shape of Dan holding a baby, which must have been our baby. Our baby boy. “Is it William?” “Yes - he’s William.” 

William Harry Robinson was born on Sunday 10th January 2016 at 1:01am, weighing 9.6lb. 

I don’t know if Dan brought him over for me to see - I don’t remember. I know Dan fed him. Then I know I was sick. I felt awful. 

I remember being taken to a ward and having William on the bed with me. Although, I don’t think I took much notice of him. I know I looked at him. But I don’t think I took anything in. I remember being very sick, again. I remember Dan being told he had to leave. I remember William stirring/crying in a cot next to me, but being unable to do anything about it. 

I remember opening my eyes to see a nurse or midwife feeding my son. Why was she doing it? Why wasn’t I feeding him? Obviously because I was incapable - but I didn’t like it. I felt useless. I felt like I had failed at labour/birth and now I was a failure of a mother. I hadn't even held my son. And now, someone else was feeding him. I was supposed to do that. I was supposed to have had the first cuddle, the first look, to know first if he was a boy or a girl. I was supposed to look at him for the first time, with Dan, and decide on his name - together. I hadn’t even seen him when he was named. All these things I’d dreamed and fantasised about happening since finding out we were pregnant had been stripped away from me. It was all being done for me by someone else. What had I actually done? At this point - nothing. 

Then this person who fed him was concerned about William’s breathing so called for a doctor. A doctor came, who was concerned, so within minutes he was taken to ICU and that was the last I saw of him until 5pm (it was about 4am). I remember crying and needing Dan. I remember a midwife coming to sit with me to console me - and one of them offered to call Dan for me, as I know I’d have just told him gobbledygook.

Eventually, Dan came back to the hospital - he looked after me a little but spent most of his day up in ICU feeding and changing William. It was nice that he got that bonding time with him, and I’m glad that our boy wasn’t on his own the whole time. I was eventually moved to a private room; Dan helped me shower and I was taken up to see our son. 

That first cuddle with him made me smile like a crazy person. I was happy to finally be able to hold him, and Dan was happy that his family was finally together. It was a special moment. But a short-lived one. I had to get back to my room.

TUESDAY 5th January 2016

Today I experienced standard period pains - all day. Then in the early hours of Wednesday morning, from nowhere, they got stronger and more painful. My husband, Dan, and I thought, “Finally! This is it! He’s going to come!” We were incredibly excited, and started to get ready to go to hospital. I called my sister to come over to come with us, as she was going to be my second birth partner. On calling the hospital, they weren’t convinced but after an hour we made the 40 minute journey and went in anyway.

On arrival, still believing that this was it, I got in the big bath and was fed various amounts of food. The warm water of the bath felt nice and eased the pains nicely. The pain was bearable - I believed I was doing very well and this labour malarky would be a breeze and I would easily follow through with my desire to deliver with no pain relief. 

An hour or two later a midwife came to examine me - one centimetre. The disappointment that took over me, and probably everyone else, was immense. I was informed I was not in established labour, this was just the latent phase and could continue for a while - so we were sent home. 

WEDNESDAY 6th January 2016

We had timed the contractions ALL day - they were irregular but slowly getting closer together. So in the early hours of the following morning, Dan and I decided to go back as I felt like I couldn’t cope anymore. We both thought that this now must be it. We didn’t call Becki, my sister, this time - just in case it was another wasted journey. 

It was. This midwife was much less pleasant. As soon as she saw me she wanted me to leave. She was rude and didn’t listen to me. “No, still one centimetre. It’s still not real labour. Go home.” Was she for real? It felt like real labour. I was in agony. I tried reasoning with her; I pleaded for help; I insisted that I could not cope any more.  Her response was that it was tough, “Go home.”

So again, defeated, we went home. 

THURSDAY 7th January 2016

The third day of irregular, but very painful, contractions and Dan has lost ALL patience with me. No longer is he trying to be supportive and holding my hand through each pain. No longer is he offering drinks and asking what he can do to help. He’s now ignoring me and staying out of the way. 

That night, he slept on the sofa. He could no longer put up with my moaning and wailing and blowing the pain away in his face. It was understandable, though. I couldn’t sleep through it but, as we were told in the Expectant Parent Classes we had attended, he needed his rest so that he could be supportive when I really needed him. 

In the early hours of the next morning, I experienced a bloodier show than I had seen before. We had been told that if anything changed or any heavier bleeding occurred to call the hospital. We called. We went back. Again. 

It was nothing. Just more of a show. Go home.

It was approximately 3am on Friday morning at this point - I was scheduled to be induced the next day. I begged and pleaded for them to let me stay and just get it sorted now - but no. Apparently they were too busy. Rubbish. Sent home again. It was then that we made the decision that we would just wait until Saturday now. 

SATURDAY 9th January 2016

The pain of the contractions was now becoming only just bearable. Dan spent another night on the sofa. At 7am, my waters went slightly. We called the hospital, to be told to call back at 10am. I was, also, told that I was very lucky my waters had gone because they couldn’t fit me in for induction because they were too busy. I didn’t feel particularly lucky.

Dan went back to sleep on the sofa for a while, whilst I went back to our bed where the pain of the contractions continued to develop and worsen - but we still felt like we shouldn’t bother timing them as we would still probably be told that they weren’t real. 

At around 9:30 my sister arrived and doted on me - as Dan was still annoyed and uninterested and ignorant or my suffering. She got a cold flannel for my head; got me drinks; made me eat some toast, a yoghurt and banana. She helped pack things for me ready to go. By the time it came to go to the hospital, I was beyond caring about my appearance - I must have looked a state. I had on Dan’s joggers, my new Ugg boots, one of Dan’s vests and my parka. Whilst we stood on the doorstep waiting for Dan to bring the car closer (I live on a one way street with on-the-road parking where you’re lucky to park close to your house), I still had my flannel on my forehead and must have been huffing and puffing and wailing something rotten. Through my daze, I caught glimpses of people walking down the street and I remember saying to Becki, “I must look like such a twat.”  I remember her laughing and telling me that this was true but it didn’t matter - which it didn’t. 

In the car on the way to hospital, my waters went a further two times. It wasn’t just a little dribble like before. I felt like I had done two big wees, in MY car, on MY seat, and there was nothing I could do about it. It was warm to begin with but quickly went cold and massively uncomfortable. I felt and looked a mess. I remember Becki helping me out of the car, as all the drop-off spaces were taken so Dan had to go and find somewhere to park, and telling me I looked fine and you couldn’t tell I was wet - until I stood up and turned around. “Oh, yeah, you’re soaked.” “You’re seat’s soaked as well.” Dan chirped up.  “Well it will have to be valeted - what if it smells?” I panicked.

Becki and I then started to slowly make our way up to MAU - on our very slow walk into the building a lovely lady commented that I was in no state to walk up there and that it wouldn’t be long for me until I had my baby. “Thanks! I bloody hope not!” I thought to myself as she kindly grabbed a wheelchair and helped Becki with doors getting me to MAU.  I’ll always be grateful to that lady.  Just as we got to reception, Dan appeared - it must have taken us bloody ages, or he maybe he ran? I was wheeled over to a bed but before anything else happened my waters went again - loads. I remember lifting up my right leg and, to my horror, seeing it pouring out of the bottom of my joggers: “Get my Uggs off! Get my Uggs off! Tell me they're not ruined!” Becki howled with laughter as Dan whipped off my boots, “They’re fine babe - they’re fine.” One of the midwives then called over, “How far apart did you say her contractions were?” “Oh, every 5-6 minutes.” Dan replied casually. “Hmm, they sound a little closer than that. Let’s get her into a room, out of these wet clothes and examine her.” I was wheeled into a private room. I remember holding onto Dan while Becki attempted to remove my wet clothes. I remember struggling onto the bed and lying down. I remember hearing a woman tell me what she was going to do and squeezing someone’s hand like crazy as I was examined. “Okay, you’ve done incredibly well - you’re definitely 6, probably 7, centimetres. Get her the gas!” I barely processed this information as she continued to firk around inside me, which got too much all of a sudden. The tears came and flooded out, “Get out! Get out now, please! Please get out!”  Then Dan decided I wasn't being a melodramatic drama queen after all and started telling me how well I was doing blah blah blah. 

I was quickly whisked to another ward (I can’t remember where). I remember being asked to try and do a wee and sitting on the toilet, and refusing to move from there. I remember being given some gas and air in the toilet and not liking it - I remember not liking the feeling that my head was spinning like I was drunk - but refused to give it up. 

I don’t remember a lot more of this part of my labour. Becki and Dan told me that I kept telling people off. Apparently I called a student a silly goose. I asked a very experienced midwife if she was rubbish, as she couldn’t put a cannula in my wrist herself (it turns out I have shite veins and only anaesthetists can do them on me!). According to Becki, I was hilarious and it was like ‘drunk Nicola’. I do remember Dan kept putting a hand on me or grabbing my hand and I kept telling him to get off for being too hot. Bless him for trying and wanting to be there for me - and normally I would have loved nothing more than for him to be touching me, holding me and supporting me but he was, as usual, just too hot. 

I recall that I got to 8 centimetres and asked for an epidural. I remember it being a faff having it done - but I remember feeling much better after. It’s weird - lots of what I can remember is sounds and hearing people say things but I can’t visualise much; did I have my eyes closed the entire time? 

A while later I was told I’d got to 10cm - but baby’s head was still quite high so waited a further 2 hours for it to come down. I remember being told it was time to try pushing - Dan said this part was like a huge anti-climax as he was expecting it to be more exciting and rushed, but it was quite chill. Not that I’m aware.  I remember pushing and asking if he was coming and if anything was actually happening with each push. I couldn’t feel anything moving or happening. Baby’s feet or knees or something was pushing on my ribs the whole time! 

Then my worst fears started to come to light. A doctor was called to see what was going on, after pushing for an hour and nothing happening. The decision was made that I would be taken through to theatre for them to try with forceps and, if they were unsuccessful, I would face a caesarian. I signed the form. In my head, I was devastated and terrified. This was what I had been crying about and telling Dan that I was frightened about since my induction date was booked. From the moment my bed started moving my eyes were closed and I refused to open them again. I didn’t want to see anything of where I was going. I was heartbroken that this was what was happening. As I was being wheeled, I remember hearing Becki ask, almost plead, “Can I not come any further? Can I not come and wait with Dan? 

[Just writing about this experience, right now, 3 weeks on, I’m crying as I relive it.]

SO I’m restarting this blog, but first I need to explain a few things.

1. I’m a teacher. I work in a Stoke-on-Trent Secondary school as an English teacher. It’s bloody hard work - takes over my life. I’m currently an RQT and this is my second year.

2. In July 2014, I met Dan - my world. I won’t share the story of how we met now, but let’s just say we met and have been inseparable ever since.

3. In April 2015, I moved in with Dan.

4. The same month, we found out we were pregnant. It was scary. It was a shock - but we were both happy.

5. In August 2015, Dan proposed.

6. On 5th September 2015 we got married.

I thought I had everything. I did have everything. Love. Home. Him. A kiss broke us. A kiss broke me. I lost him. I lost my home. I lost love. I lost me and I’m still gone.

Solid. Happy. Ready for life. Ready for everything. Shattered, with a kiss. The pain, The tears, The anger, It was too much. I got lost in a blur of emotion.