Tell me again about the night I was born - Archer's Birth Story

This is a birth story, so if you don't want to read details of a birth, don't read this.

Archer arrived in a style we've become accustomed to in our family, a little unexpectedly, very fast and with a good dose of the absurd.

On Friday morning 14 October at 37 weeks and 6 days, I had a routine check up with Dr Cattanach and I was expecting to schedule an induction for sometime the following week.

It had been a week since he had attempted to remove the stitch in his office. Of course, me being me, this had been complicated by the fact that my cervix had grown over the stitch, making it painful and difficult to remove. Instead, it had been fully removed under anaesthesia on the Tuesday. I had been 4 cm dilated then. On Wednesday night I had experienced irregular contractions of between 4 and 12 minutes apart, but they had disappeared after 2 hours. I was miserable. I had been in pre labour for a long time, which was causing plenty of very uncomfortable aches and pains and I was big and we had been waiting anxiously on Archer's arrival for about 2 months. I sincerely just wanted to evict him.

I expressed all of this to Dr Cattanach. He asked how long I had laboured with Lily and I said about 4 hours. He followed this up by asking how far away I lived. 45 minutes in great traffic.

Well, he said, let's induce you today.

I don't think I have ever been so excited. Dr Cattanach began the induction by doing a membrane stretch and sweep. This involves manually breaking the membranes (not to be confused with the amniotic sac, which is what breaks when your waters do) and stretching the cervix open an extra centimetre or two. He then thought he would call labour and delivery and inform them I was coming. It turned out they were exceptionally busy and I wouldn't be able to get a delivery suite until 2:00pm at the earliest. He asked if it was possible to admit me anyway as I was a "cough and pop". Grudgingly they accepted and I made my way down to the pregnancy assessment unit for the very last time.

After a non stress test confirming that baby was doing well, I was sent up to the ward to wait. Bob arrived and handed Lily over to Mum and Grandma. And we waited.

At almost 2 o'clock on the dot, my midwife came to hand me over to delivery suite. We took one last belly shot and just about ran there. The midwife was very amused, but I was beyond ready to meet our son.

The midwives on the ward weren't quite ready to meet me and the induction didn't begin to 3:00pm. I learned that because of my quick labour before, the fact I had begun to dilate on my own and the baby's head was well and truly engaged, it was quite the surprise I hadn't begun to labour. 

So we progressed to the next step in the induction process, which was to break my waters. This involves hooking the sac with what looks remarkably like a very long crochet hook. As usual, my body didn't think this was the appropriate course of action and it took two midwives several minutes to do this normally simple procedure as my sac was especially tough. I can't say I was in the least bit surprised.

At this point Dr Cattanach arrived and suggested I be started on an IV of Syntocinon, which is a synthetic hormone that hastens labour. He then left, as he still had patients and would return when delivery was closer. By the time the IV was in, I had begun to have contractions. The time was about 3:30pm.

The midwives weren't sure if they really needed to start the IV and decide that 3mg was more than enough to begin with. Within minutes the contractions were strong and hard and about 2 minutes apart. Bob became very "helpful" at this point and would watch the monitor and tell me when each contraction was about to begin. If I'd had a sharp implement, I would have used it. (As a side note, except for this and a very surreal 30 seconds where he sat down to look at his phone, Bob is an excellent, supportive, kind and unflinching labour partner).

A little desperate and panicked, I asked how long I had to wait for an epidural. I had not planned on having an epidural, as contractions with Lily had been more than manageable and I had only had one to cope with the stitch removal. I had not liked being tied to the wheelchair or the indignity of the catheter. But this was a bit different. It was not only painful (obviously) it had come on so hard and fast I was feeling quite scared and just wanted to be relieved.

The midwife said that I could have one now and she would just check how dilated I was and then call Dr Cattanach and the anaesthesiologist. I was 8cm. She said that it was too late for an epidural, I was labouring too fast and it would never be effective in time.

I must have given her a "look" because she hastily said she would call Dr Cattanach and ask him and in the meantime I could try gas. The next contraction I gave a half hearted go with the gas, but I could not imagine anything worse than enduring the contractions AND vomiting so I handed it right back to the midwife.

Dr Cattanach arrived much faster than I had expected and I was SURE he would get my epidural. He said no too. I think I really must have given him a look because he quickly explained that I COULD have one, but it sincerely would not be worth it and I could try a shower. Ever trusting of him, I agreed.

On the way to the shower, I noticed the toilet and thought, "Gee, I'd like to use that." 

Dr Cattanach agreed and said it might help me progress to the pushing stage of labour. He was wrong. Why was he wrong? I was already at the pushing stage of labour.

The very next contraction as soon as my bum hit the toilet I had the overwhelming urge to push down. So I did. Never having lived through this stage of labour without an epidural, I became suddenly very aware of why women cry out during labour. It feels very natural and helps a lot. 

I was now stuck on the toilet and resigned myself to pushing there, at least for a while. On the third push I felt the head. As I stood up, I felt a breaking sensation and the baby slipped free, caught by our midwife as Bob and Dr Cattanach held me steady. If I had not thought to check for the baby's head, he may have been born on the toilet. Archer Robert made his debut at 4:37pm after just an hour of labour.

I panicked immediately. He wasn't crying and was awfully blue. I had not seen Lily at birth, but she had been crying pretty much on her way out. They handed him to me and I asked why he wasn't crying. Dr Cattanach assured me he would and ushered me back to the bed. They divested me of my gown and put him skin to skin. By this stage he had started to blessedly cry out and within moments of being skin to skin, he had relaxed and Bob and I had a long time to just sit and drink him in before the cord was cut. He had black hair, dark skin (which we later learned was bruising from his hurried entrance into the world), and his lips and nose were swollen giving them a broad appearance which surprised us and we laughed that he had embraced his father's Maori heritage. Another thing that struck me was that falling in love with Archer was completely different than it was with Lily. As soon as they had handed Lily to me, it was had been like been punched. My love for her hit so hard and fast, the only way to express it had been to cry. With Archer, I'd describe it as an expanding feeling. As though my love for Lily had to stretch (but not minimise) to accommodate her brother. It was different but just as wonderfully extraordinary.

Bob, ever the comedian, chose this time to say, "Well, that was easy. We should have another one." Despite it being awfully tacky to plan your next child while the newest one still has an umbilical cord, HE wasn't the one that had to experience the "easy" labour in full technicolour, so once again I was looking for that wished for sharp implement.

 

After they cut the cord, I delivered the placenta and had my first degree tear (a souvenir of a speedy, standing delivery) repaired while Bob snapped photos of Archer being weighed, measured and immunised. He was 3.408kg and 52cm long and so, so perfect.

Not realising labour would be so fast, I had not removed my bra, but as soon as I did, Archer was ready for his first feed. He was a champ, latching beautifully and taking long nutritive sucks. 

Bob and I ate a snack which the midwife had ordered for us and then we went to our room. It was now I became very grateful for not having had an epidural as I was able to relax and fully enjoy my son.

It  was a wonderful, happy experience and we cannot thank Dr Cattanach and all the staff at the Mater Mothers' Private Hospital enough for the safe arrival of our beautiful son.

Pregnant woman of the year

Today I am 34 weeks and 5 days pregnant. It has been about 3 weeks since my doctor said he guessed I'd have a week at the most. As uncomfortable as this stage of pregnancy has become for me, I pretty much feel like pregnant woman OF THE YEAR.

However, yesterday afternoon I had some spotting and cramping. Not as all dissimilar to how I felt when I went into labour with Lily.

Needless to say I was NOT in labour. Who writes a blog while in labour? But this is what Dr Cattnach had to say.

Our son has taken up his home right in my pelvis, head down, THANK GOD. My stitch has begun pulling out and I can expect spotting and cramping for the rest of the time I am pregnant, whether it is three days or three weeks. He could remove the stitch now, but he didn't want to. Doing that would either do nothing at all or speed things up. He doesn't want to speed things up, because while our son would indeed be very healthy at this gestation, his best chance of success in school, sport, music and pretty much any pursuit he cares to take on is to be born at 38 weeks+ and at least 3 kilos. He also said that the children who statsically do the best academically and so on are are those born at 40 weeks+ and at least 4 kilos. I wanted to tell him to stick his imaginary giant, over due baby up his butt, academic success and all.

I also wanted to laugh at him when he quickly added this didn't mean there was anything wrong with Lily. I wanted to laugh because my child is probably the clumsiest, most gumby child I have ever met. She must fall over or off something at least once a day. Bob has long since given up any dreams he had of her playing for Australia in women's soccer. She IS smart, pretty and stubborn though, so there's still quite a lot she can do with her life, despite her daddy's disappointment. Bob also begged his unborn son to stay in until 38 weeks so he can be a pro footballer. Yeah, I thought, rugby league. (Just joking. As long as they don't turn out white supremicists or something equally as horrifying, we'll be happy and proud as long as they are happy.)

So, at 37 weeks, my stich will officially be cut and until then, we're still playing the anxious waiting game.

Here's to 9 months of pregnancy!

33 Weeks and 1 Day

Today I am offically one whole week more pregnant than I have ever been!

You'd think I'd be over the moon, but I'm actually feeling a lot like I imagine people of 38 weeks+ must feel.

WHEN is this baby coming?

This slightly selfish insanity is not completely unfounded. At my last appointment with Dt Cattanach, a week ago on this Thursday just gone, he said that, as an educated guess, he'd give me about a week before I went into labour. At the most, he guessed I'd have a baby by 34 weeks. This guess was based on the fact that my stitch has long given up doing it's job and my cervix no longer exists in terms of length. The only reason the baby was still in was that by some twist of engineering in my hopelessly unmaternal body, I was completely undilated.

Seeing as at my 31+1 appointment with Lily, he warned me she wasn't far off as she was engaged and my cervix had seemingtly given up doing it's job, I fully believed my son would be here by today.

And Thursday did not pass uneventfully. After 36 hours of abdominal cramps, losing some stuff that looked like it was probably part of my mucous plug and nausea and dizziness enough to have be curled up in bed, a moaning wreck, Grandma demanded I ring the pregnancy assessment unit at the Mater. They told me to come in. An hour and half after my arrival, when no measurable changes were detected, they sent me home, saying that Dr Cattanach insisted "any day now".

So three days later, I am still anxiously awaiting my son.

His bassinet sits, dressed with freshly washed and ironed linen and complete with AngelCare movement monitor. His clothes, socks, hats and singlets sit neatly folded in size organised piles. He has nappies and dummies. I have sterilized the breast pump and it sits awaiting use in the hospital bag, which has been packed for over a week now. We even have THREE gorgeous premmie outfits, thanks to generous friends, which is three more than we had when we embarked on the scary SCN journey with Lily. We even have a hat, which in prem sizes is like having hen's teeth. Bob keeps clean clothes right beside the bed, ready to leap into action. Today we are getting the bouncy chair and bath from the storage unit so they can be cleaned. We are also buying fresh batteries for the swing.

We are so ready.

SO...... WHEN is this baby coming?

Extended Breastfeeding

I'm not a "lactivist". When it comes to nutrition for babies, I will always give my opinion if it's solicited, but I also don't feel I'm in any position to judge people who've made an informed decision for their child, even if it's not the decision I would make. Although, I will certainly bitch about it to my husband and breastfeeding friends if it's an uninformed or selfish decision. 

Lately, however, as I hang out more on birth boards and have time to read the comments on articles and blog posts I read online, I keep bumping head on into this attitude: There is no need to breastfeed after one and anyone who does it is creepy/ disgusting.

This fires me up like nothing else. I've said before in this blog that I aimed to breastfeed Lily until two. Well, hospital bed rest is an obstacle I hadn't really envisaged. But you can't keep a good breastfeeding mother down, and we're working with it. While my greatest heartbreak as a mother has been that she is now almost exclusively bottle fed (that, and that we never got into cloth nappies. That actually makes me feel shame, but is not the point of this blog), no one in the family has actually given up yet. We all make sure Lily at least tries every time she visits, and I've spoken to a lactation consultant that says if I keep that up she will remember and will probably enjoy tandem feeding when my milk comes back down in earnest after the baby is born. And when I go home in a couple of weeks, we will pick right back up where we left off. The only person not on board with this is Lily. It seems that as my milk supply has dwindled in the face of not feeding her 4 - 6 times a day, my colostrum has taken this as a cue to take over.

 I read many articles about breastfeeding and pregnancy before we made the final decision to begin trying for a second child. I really didn't want anything to interfere with Lily's breastfeeding, and I wanted to make an informed choice about whether falling pregnant while she was still breastfeeding was the best thing for everyone. Well, I read about the challenges, but it seemed most people have an overwhelmingly positive experience, especially once they made it out the other side and were able to tandem feed, which I desperately want to do. And Lily and I were doing great! She hadn't even batted an eyelid at the flavour change, she had adjusted her number of feeds to make up for my low supply, I was ignoring the nipple pain, we were cheerfully ignoring people who were trying to convince us to stop , Dr Cattanach was being very supportive and I wasn't yet big enough to feel uncomfortable. It seemed we would meet this challenge and I would get to fulfil my desire to tandem feed. And then I got put on bed rest. At first Lily loved the special Mummy cuddle, but then she got less interested, having a go, and then looking at me and talking to me and finally, Monday night sealed it. Grandma optimistically didn't bring a bottle with her on Monday night, hoping Lily would take a breastfeed. She had a go and then she just cried and cried. It doesn't matter. She was tired and ready to go home and there are still different things we can try, like feeding her when she gets here so she's not tired, and in two weeks, she and I will go back to working as a team full time to make breastfeeding work. If it doesn't, which it may not as the appearance of colostrum on the scene sometimes spells the end as the flavour is so dramatically different, we will still try and pick it up again after the baby is born. You can't keep a good breastfeeding mother down, after all!

Which is a very roundabout way of getting to my explanation of why it upsets me so badly when people act like breastfeeding after one is either unnecessary or wrong on some level. Like I said at the beginning of the post, I don't feel it's my place to cast judgement on people who have made an informed decision for them and their child. Difficulties with breastfeeding are a very real problem for many and who am I to say what they are doing is wrong? Well, on the flip side, I don't want to be told be anyone that what I am doing is wrong. Especially when it is in no way harmful to my daughter, not by any stretch of the imagination, and there is so much evidence to suggest that what I am doing is exactly the right thing. Not only is the WHO on board with breastfeeding well past one, it seems that western governments are jumping on the bandwagon. Queensland Health is now on board, and recently a friend of mine posted nutrition information for children over one produced by the Canadian government that had breast milk as a food. I'm sure that countries in Europe, and maybe even good old America have similar policies and recommendations. In fact, I have never read any serious medical or nutritional evidence that says that breastfeeding after one is unnecessary. If one is mentioned, it's usually in an "at least" capacity. I certainly don't think I will ever find any evidence that there is something creepy or harmful about breastfeeding a toddler, except, perhaps, for ignorant opinion.

Maybe it's just that I get most of my information from people that where their pro-breastfeeding stance on their sleeve. I don't really think so though. I think the problem is community ignorance, which is a shame, especially as good nutrition for children is such a community issue with rising levels of overweight and obese children. 

In the end, community opinion is not going to sway me. I have made the right choice for my family, in consultation with the only other person that really matters, my husband. Lily and I are going to do our best to keep it up until two, despite what anyone has to say, and I will also be breastfeeding my son for as long. And we'll be cheerfully and proudly doing it in public, too!

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A little bit special

Lily has always done things her own way, no matter how offbeat or out of step with "normal". 

Recently, I have noticed three things about her in particular.

1. While she talks, she doesn't "babble". She talks all day, long "sentences" of gibberish punctuated with "Hi!", "Yeah" and "Mum", but no "dadadadada", no repetitive sounds at all. I don't worry because she definitely talks, but it's different.
2. She is very clever with her hands. Her pincer grip is awesome, you can't look away for a minute, because she can pick things up as fiddly as grass and coarse sand, and in the mouth they go. She can undo her seat belt and pram belt. She is working out her shape sorter. She owned Duplo for a day and was playing with it for maybe 10 minutes before she was busily trying to snap pieces together. She strokes her books because she loves her Usborne "That's not my" series so much, she hopes they are all touchy-feely. There are other things, but if I mention them, she may just stop speaking to me in her teen years.
3. She is totally and utterly gumby from the waist down. A slow roller, and a medium sitter, she is now a slow crawler and stander. She has been bum shuffling for some time, but crawling has, until now, eluded her. She finally worked it out Friday. She sped quickly across the carpet at Grandma's. Backwards.

Darkest Days

It has taken me a very long time to work up the courage to write this post. It's the next in the story of Lily's birth and it still makes my tear up even now. Even more so, now that I'm staring down the barrel of doing it all over again.

So, one deep breath and here we go.

After the honeymoon, my doctor diagnosed me with a short cervix, which does not equal incompetent cervix, but can. So every fortnight from 18+6 weeks, I went to see Maternal Fetal Medicine at the Mater, to check to make sure, though short, my cervix was doing just fine. At 20+6, everything was fine. At 22+6, the bottom fell out of my world. Scratch that. It felt like the entire world had laid itself on me in the manner of a wrecking ball embracing a building.

At 22+6 weeks, my cervix had been found to have shortened by about a centimetre, which meant I was suffering from an incompetent cervix. Having just eaten lunch, I was not eligible to be operated on right then as the plan was to put me to sleep and I would have to wait until the next morning. By this stage, I'd been rushed into Dr Cattanach from MFM, but they had assured me my cervix was closed, and that I didn't need to panic.

Dr Cattanach looked a bit worried and was very upset that I'd eaten so recently. It was then he chose to hit me with the full gravity of the situation. If my baby arrived that night, or anytime in the next week, she would die. Although around 20% of 23 weekers survive, they are often severely disabled and most hospitals opt to keep 23 weekers born breathing comfortable until they pass away rather than working on them. Most are still born.

I was very, very scared. But all through my admission and until Bob left that night, I kept my chin up. Inside I was screaming. Bob left because he had to work the next day and wouldn't be allowed in for the operation anyway. He assured me I could call him at anytime during the night, and I agreed I would if I needed him.

Oddly, I went to sleep quite early. And then I woke up. I can't remember the time now, perhaps 11 o'clock. And fear gripped me. This horrible, intense, overwhelming fear. It hurt my insides and made my head vibrate. It was the most terrible thing I have ever experienced. And then thoughts like no one should ever think filled my head. Sad, scared, lonely thoughts. I was so worried about being given full anaesthetic the next day and desperately wanted to ask for an epidural.

Who would demand my daughter be given oxygen if she was born breathing and fighting? Who would wrap her up and put her hat on? Who would hold her and kiss her? Who would rock her gently to a never waking sleep? Who would take photos of my sleeping angel? Would I be brave enough to hold her and love her if I woke up after she was gone? Would she be cold or would they keep her warm for me? Would I let the nurses take her when it was time? How on earth would I EVER be brave enough to put her in the ground?

I wanted to ring Bob and BEG him to come the next day. He needed to be there for his daughter. I was sure of it. But I didn't. I wasn't sure he'd understand how very important this was.

And these thoughts brought morning to me. And when they wheeled me to the operating theatre, I was too scared to say or do anything or even move. I wanted to beg Dr Cattanach to ask the anaesthesiologist to give me an epidural, but I wasn't brave enough.

But in the end, I didn't need to be. I was too far along to be knocked out. And the anaesthesiologist was the most beautiful lady I have ever met. She and a nurse held my hand and stroked my hair while I cried and cried.

But everything went okay. Even though I had no cervix to speak of by the time Dr Cattanach started the stitch, everything had gone much better than expected. There are so many complications from a stitch. It can make you go into labour, it can give you infection, they can accidentally break the membranes. All of these would have been a death sentence for Lily. But none of them did. But Dr Cattanach, with years of high risk experience wouldn't give me false hope.

He reminded me to do a long list of everything right, he wouldn't give me steroids until 24 weeks and each day from 23 weeks to 24 weeks, he would walk in and ask me about contractions and bleeding and say very little else. But I was doing just fine. On the surface.

After 2 years of tragedy after tragedy, I have learned I am very good at being okay on the surface. Inside is a different story.

I spent every night from 11pm to 1am watching the clock, counting the minutes until the precious next day, and then a little extra, just to make sure. I peed like clockwork at midnight every night, checking for bleeding

The days I spent planning her funeral. This sounds so horrible now, but it's the truth. There would be so many flowers in pink and white the chapel would be unrecognisable. There would be stuffed toys everywhere. I would dress her myself in something beautiful. There would be a slide show of all her beautiful ultrasound images and the photos we took at her birth. The coffin would be white and open so I could kiss her goodbye. When we said goodbye they would play "Baby Mine" sung by Bette Midler. She would be buried with other children around her so she could play.

There was a crucifix on the wall and I would beg Jesus every day to care for my child in a way I was obviously unable to. I would implore my poppy to watch over her.

And they must have, because we made it to 24 weeks. Dr Cattanach shook my hand that day. But 24 weeks is only 50% chance of survival with high chance of disability.

I HATED seeing midwives after their three days off, or the weekend doctor, or the physio because they would always be surprised I was still there. I remember my first weekend doctor looked at my chart and said "You're not planning to give birth this weekend are you?"

But 24 weeks was easier than 23 weeks and I only did my midnight ritual at the 24/ 25 week turn over, although my day time thoughts still strayed down the darkest paths.

Two of my friends had just had beautiful babies, one an amazing little girl, and I was jealous, and angry at myself and sad to look at their photos, unsure I'd ever have ones like that myself. But I never let on, at least, I don't think I did. I definitely didn't look at any pregnancy shots as I wasn't even showing a little bit yet and didn't think I ever would and this was what I had been looking forward to most.

And 25 weeks became 26 weeks. And hope lit a little flame in my chest. I was allowed places in a wheelchair and to craft once a week, had another scan and decided I wanted NICU tour.

The NICU tour was so awful. They showed me a little 26 weaker and she looked so raw. So uncooked and red and not really human at all. There were parents down there admitting their new 24 weaker and I felt so sad for them.

When 26 weeks became 27 Dr Cattanach said I could go home at 28 weeks as long as I promised to be very good. I wanted to dance.

I was so lonely in the hospital. Even though I had visitors every day, and Bob stayed often, I felt like I was going it alone, like no one really knew what I was experiencing. Even Bob didn't really seem to understand the full gravity of what I was going through. And even as hope really started to build, I still worried and thought dark things.

At 28 weeks I got to go home. And the rest of the story is for another post.

But I didn't escaped unscathed from this because my little girl was born beautiful. I am still insanely jealous of pregnant ladies, especially ones with big, beautiful tummies. It is hard for me not to warn people of all the things that can go wrong. I want to rush up to people and tell them to get a cervical length scan. DEMAND IT. I feel annoyed at people that are flippant about bed rest, like it's a choice, or may not work, or they know better than their doctor.

I feel failed as a mother. Failed at being pregnant and it makes me mad. I can't really understand, "Why me?" And being pregnant again feels less like a second chance to have a lovely little full term baby (which, if I'm honest with myself is one of the reasons we went so soon, instead of waiting the planned 12 months), it feels more like I'm endangering another little life by making them premature. I HAD wanted three children, but I can't do this again. This all consuming worry. This checking the toilet paper, this sick feeling at every twinge, this fear.

But right now, there aren't too many dark days, and I am grateful to have left such a dark time in my life behind me and hope that this pregnancy is happy and healthy and brings me a closure I haven't yet found.