Emptiness

This is going to be hard to write so soon, but it seems to be therapeutic for me. I hope it doesn't offend anyone. 

Yesterday, I became a statistic. and it broke my heart. 

Did you know, 1 out of every 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage? I was that one. 

This will be an emotional post, as it is so raw but I am struggling with my emotions and everything and want to curl up and cry. 

I cant do that. 

I have a 14 month old son to look after, as well as myself.

We found out only last week that we were expecting our second child together. We had mixed emotions and lots of heart-to-heart talks as Jack is still so young, and we were looking to expand our family in around 6 months, not quite yet, but nonetheless we were both happy with the news. We had just got our heads around it, and the logistics. We hadn't told our families yet, although I had told a few close friends, despite how early it was in the trimester. 

I knew I was pregnant before I did the tests (plural!) as had the same symptoms as I had with Jack early on. Nauseous, exhaustion and dizziness. I was also late on my period, but they have been so random and sporadic anyway since having Jack.

Silly things made me panic - "ahh I will need a double buggy, Jack wont quite be two." Then the whole emotional aspects of pregnancy, birth and recovery came flooding back. I don't want the same recovery again! Paul was insistent that I would have a C/S this time after what happened before, and we would also try another hospital for this baby. 

Things were panning out, and I was looking forward to breastfeeding again, but with all the knowledge I now have of things like latch, tongue tie and the whole range of things you don't know the first time. 

The days went on and I was feeling very rough and tired. I wasn't sure how I would cope with two under two! But we would. 

Paul was very chilled and supportive. As always.

However, on Saturday (it is now Tuesday) I had some light spotting. No biggie, I had this with Jack - lots. I didn't panic, and didn't go to the doctors. I went to work and all was well, but I was still bleeding. which was a bit uneasy for me. I did another pregnancy test to ease my mind. Still preggo. Yay! 

That night I had cramps like period pain and more bleeding. This wasn't going away. I woke up Sunday very tearful as I was hungry and didn't feel sick at all. I had no appetite previously and was super nauseous so I knew something wasn't right. 

I also knew that it was a Sunday and nothing can be done if you got to A&E or hospital with bleeding as there scans are not in use on a Sunday. We had been there, done that with Jack. I rode it out, all the while hoping it would be ok and our little bean would be fine. I knew deep down it was more than spotting. 

I asked Paul to take Monday morning off work and come to the EPU at St George's in Tooting. They have a fantastic morning walk-in clinic that is open 08:30 - 11:00 for pregnant women. You can go and self refer and don't need a letter from your GP, and in all honesty, your GP will just send you there anyway. They are lovely there and you wait to be seen and have an internal ultrasound. 

Paul was always saying it would be ok, it would be Nothing, it's the Same As We Had Before. I knew it wasn't.

After around 1 hour of waiting, I got called into have my scan. They poked around and then I knew it wasn't ok as she never said all is good, here is your baby. She called another specialist in. She then said I am sorry there is no pregnancy in the womb. we need to check around to see if we can see anything else. I burst out crying, as did Paul and he held my hand. I lay there sobbing, with Paul stroking my head, knowing things were about to turn to shit whilst they scanned internally, poking and asking where it hurt. My bowels were obscuring their view and they needed to do a blood test to see if I had an ectopic pregnancy. This is when the egg attaches in the fallopian tube, which, if left untreated can be fatal. 

I can honestly say, this was the worst time of my life. I was so glad Paul was with me, although I wanted to comfort him too. 

I had my blood test as they explained what had happened, and yes, I had lost the baby. I was approx 6 weeks pregnant, so thankfully it wasn't too far into the pregnancy, but still I mourned over what would have been. I know at this early stage, the baby is tiny. about the size of a lentil. I have found out that although it was this tiny, it had early features - a head, dark spots where eyes and nostrils will form, ears are marked and buds are formed that will grow into the arms and legs...still tiny but growing.  

This still does not take away that we were already looking forward to having another and both scared and excited about it. Whilst we waited for the blood tests results (approx 1 hour) Paul rang my mum to tell her. We hadn't even told her (or Paul's family) that I was pregnant yet. And he had to call her to not only tell her I was pregnant, but had a miscarriage. 

I got the blood tests back and was told "great news it's not ectopic!" she then apologised, for saying great news. But I understood from a medical point of view what she meant. She then handed me a leaflet on 'Early Pregnancy Loss'. From a huge stack of them in her office. That made me really sad, that they had such a large stack, and clearly had to hand them out quite often. I was reminded of becoming a statistic as she told me it wasn't my fault, 1/4 end this way, and why. I just wanted to get out of there. We went to the pub and had a drink. I had two nice G&Ts and we tried to think positive. Although it was really shit.

I already hate the term "lost the baby" - it implies I dropped it, I lost it, it was my fault. I have been struggling ever since to be honest,  and every sympathetic hug, or look or "are you ok?" sends me spinning. 

I came home to my lovely little boy, who came walking over exclaiming "mamma!" and giving me a huge kiss. I am forever grateful for having him, and we still hope to have another child. Although I will be such a paranoid mum-to-be next time, about any bleeding and cramping. 

I have the doctors this afternoon, this appointment was already booked for me to discuss my antenatal care. Now I have to tell her what happened instead. That I am no longer with child. That I am now just crying and in pain. And don't know what to do or say.

The nurses at St George's said I would bleed for around 2 weeks probably and to take painkillers for the cramping. This is the worst part for me. I am bleeding a lot. Every toilet trip I see more blood and cry again. I don't want to see this. A cruel reminder as to what happened. As are the cramps. Every twinge I think I hate you. Please stop hurting me. I want to feel ok, be ok. I don't want sympathy. I just want this to stop. 

My birth story

So, we all know that everyone's birth is different and not everyone wants to hear about other people's labour and birth. Equally this may not be to everybody's taste - i.e. I will hold nothing back. Except photos. Don't have any of 'those' shots.

However, I am partly writing this for myself, to look back if/when the time comes to have sprog numero 2. I had a horrible recovery, for which I will blog about another time, and suffered with post traumatic stress disorder, so have huge mixed feelings about having another baby. Lots happened that sent me in a downward pit. Pregnancy sucked too, did not enjoy that. I know I should be thankful that I had a 'successful' pregnancy, and a wonderful little boy - and I am, believe me! But that doesn't mean it was not hard. 

So... my pregnancy was horrid. I am one of those people that HATES being ill. I therefore of course suffered with literally every sodding 'side effect' of pregnancy. Oh joy. (also a post for another day! Lucky you.)

I was asleep when my contractions started, and it was 4 days prior to my 'due date' I was glad as had Had Enough By This Point Thank You Very Much. I felt a weird pain, unlike any Braxton Hicks, or tummy aches and instantly knew the difference. Oh those smug people that tell you this, and it's true. 

I staggered to the toilet and thought my waters broke, quite a large patch of wet was on my floor - I later learned that possibly this was my hind waters (did not know there were two!) as the midwife broke my waters in hospital and it GUSHED out. No mistaking THAT.

I went to the toilet and some mucus plug came out. Oh right, better call my other half home from work! EEK! THIS.IS.IT. 

Paul rushed home from work as my contractions were consistently five minutes apart. 

I had my mahoosive maternity bag (suitcase) packed for ages. So off we went, and shoved the inflated gym ball in the car.

Hooray, our son will come today! Yay!

I was surprised that I could manage the contractions and I definitely had worse period pains (my periods also sucked, much like pregnancy) seeing as I am a pain wuss.

We got to CUH (previously Mayday) and I was examined by a midwife. She told me I Was Not Dilated Enough and to go home until my contractions were 3 minutes apart and lasting 1 minute each. GREAT. JOY. What an anticlimax. 

We went home and I pottered around for ages up and down, bouncing on the ball, on all fours, Paul rubbing my back, taking paracetamol (whoop!) and deciding I wanted a bath then not wanting it once in it. The usual labour stuff. Indecisive and agitated.

I Skyped my older brother who was living in another country at the time and he couldn't grasp that I was home but in labour, he thought it would all be blood, screaming and pushing in hospital.

I went to bed that night, still the contractions were 5 minutes apart. ALL FRIGGING DAY. By 1am I woke Paul (how dare he sleep!) and said I was too tired and wanted some gas and air. We went back to the hospital and we called my mum as both her and Paul were going to be at the birth. 

The midwife examined me and said I could stay (yay!) I wanted a natural, water birth and so asked for the pool and birthing centre. 

I had written out a lovely birth plan, don't you know!? 

I was big-fat-DENIED a birth pool. I wailed. A lot. Why not?! I hated the thought of being in a bed, I wanted the water. My star sign is the Crab. I was destined to be in the water! Apparently if you ever go in during the 9 months to be monitored for any reason, you are not allowed. Forbidden. I was never told this during the 9 months and now was not the time to tell me I could not. Panic set in. Nooo. I woefully walked to the labour ward, in tears. 

We were lucky the time that Jack was born, there were hardly any others giving birth, so it was quiet and we had plenty of staff. I even had the ward to myself after he was born. Nice touch. 

I digress. 

I walked into the labour room and was pleasantly surprised. I was bought a birthing ball by a midwife (where was mine? in the car still!) and encouraged to walk around, bounce etc. and try not to lie down. I had some gas and air and it was horrid. Vile. Ok so that wasn't going to happen. Eau-naturel then it is.I kept going for a while. By now, time eluded me, literally no idea from going in at 1am (after labour starting at 9am the previous morning) until Jack was born the next day at 6.33pm (To Be Precise).

I managed for a while then caved and felt very tired, I just wanted to lie down and sleep, I had a sleepless night the night before my contractions started too. YAWN. I had packed some Very Helpful Things in my hospital bag such as lucozade and gummy bears but couldn't bare to eat a thing except water. 

I asked for pain relief and was offered Pethidine. It made me throw up but then when it kicked in, it was BLISS. I managed to doze and get some sleep. It (too quickly) wore off and I was advised against more due to the side effects it can possibly have on baby if you're near delivery time. 

I was strongly advised to have an epidural as was considered Too Tired To Push. I was told it was either that or Jack would be born via C/Section or forceps etc. I reluctantly agreed and the surgeon and anaesthetist came in. I have a history of back problems and saw a specialist whilst pregnant who assessed me and looked at my previous MRI scans and said I would be OK if I wanted one during labour. "Oh ho no thank you." I said. Yet here I was. 

The process of the epidural, for me, was traumatic to say the least. I was exhausted and god knows how long it had been going on by now. Paul had to hold me so I didn't move and I chugged on that gas and air during the procedure as it hurt like a MoFo. 

Because my back is stupid, it took them a number of attempts (possibly 6?) and I was in a right old state it really hurt. I used that gas and air so much I was dizzy and a bit out of it. 

They finally got it in and it was heavenly. Paul broke down crying and had to leave the room to get some air. He said he could see blood keep spurting out my back as they tried over and over to get it in, and I was clearly in agony, but he stayed super calm during for me. I love him. 

Once it was in, my contractions started S-L-O-W-I-N-G-D-O-W-N. Goody. They then had to put in the drip to speed me and Jack up. That didn't work, even at the highest settings. 

I was determined not to have a C/S and willed Jack out. 

Jack had a clip attached to his head to monitor his heart rate. This scared me. 

I then (despite the epidural) could feel the urge to push and knew and could feel how to. This. Was. IT. really really this time! 

I cant remember how many pushes it took, but it didn't feel like many. Mum was at the bottom end and Paul was at my head end, but when Jack was coming out, he moved down to see Jack being born. They both cried and exclaimed how amazing it was. At last he arrived and we had a snuggle and a nice booby feed for him. 

I was delighted and amazed and quite shocked to be honest. I was immediately starving and the midwives bought me tea and toast (how British!)

I said on my BIRTH PLAN - which apparently means bugger all - that I wanted a natural birth, drug free and in the water. That didn't happen - although I did push my son out which was just wonderful. 

We also agreed that Paul would cut the cord, and under no circumstances did I want an episiotomy. I heard so many horror stories about it. So imagine my surprise when the midwife called someone in to "stitch me up" - I asked them what happened, did I tear? But was told that no, they had to cut me slightly as Jack's heart-rate was dropping every time he was trying to come out. Glad he was out safely, but at that moment I was in tears. I do not remember being asked for my permission.

Paul also did not get to cut the cord as the Dr that delivered Jack (who I saw weekly afterwards at the 'fanny repair clinic' and was lovely) cut it immediately. Sigh.

I was stitched up and stayed in the room for a while, and my father and sister came to see us all. 

We named our son Jack Ewen - his middle name after my dad. He cried when we told him this, as no-one knew we had planned to call him this, except my mother. 

A few hours later I went up to the ward and was alone as no-one else gave birth that night apparently. Weird. But lovely. Had midwives to assist me and check Jack's latch and breastfeeding went off to a fine start. I did not sleep that night as kept staring at this wonderful little thing next to me. Jack slept fairly soundly, waking for a feed every few hours.

All in all, it was long but I would 100% do it again. The recovery however is another story and I will post that one day, I am sure it will be healing for me and perhaps for others who have had a similar recovery from what basically was episiotomy(s) gone wrong - yes plural. 

So on the 16th November, three days prior to his due date, my little miracle arrived into the world, safely, with his Nana and Daddy in the room too. He weighed a lovely 8lb 1oz and I can honestly say my life has never been the same again. I love him with all my heart and he makes everybody we meet laugh and smile. Paul and I are so proud of our little man. 

Jack - if you ever read this (which I doubt as you probably wont want to believe you ever came out of 'there') just know that we love you - always and forever. xxx

When Daddy met Jack

Jack and his Mummy