Monday 23 May 2016

Daithí's Birth Story

 To talk about Daithí's birth, like I did Fionn's it's necessary to talk about the months that lead up to it.


I've sat down to write this a number of times, and have had to just keep walking away. I think it is because everything that happened during my pregnancy only really hit me when I came to think about it after the fact. Shane says I needed to stop being a 'hero', saying I'm fine, when in reality, I really wasn't.

The first bad omen, was way back in August at my booking in appointment with my mid-wife. I fainted while having my bloods taken, and it took longer than she would have liked for me to come back round. It was the same midwife who had seen me with Fionn so she knew this was out of the ordinary for me. I was transferred to A&E by ambulance, and after a course of IV fluids I was discharged home to rest. I was dehydrated and exhausted, and only 8 weeks pregnant.

Over the course of the pregnancy I got sick every day, multiple times a day.  At first I thought it was just morning sickness and it would pass. I smiled and politely listened to people tell me about ginger biscuits or dry crackers or whatever worked for them. When I couldn't even hold down water. I would be scolded for feeling down, and reminded that I was lucky to be pregnant, and thousands of women would kill to be in my shoes. I'd be compared to other women who had it so much worse. I think this is why I started to play down how much I was suffering. It was easier to just say I was fine, than have to listen to these stories and suggestions.

It's true I was lucky to be pregnant, and yes some women had it worse. but you know what, I had it pretty fucking bad. Whatever about how physically draining it was, it was the emotional stress that I found worse. Sometimes you just need it to be acknowledged that things aren't going according to plan, and you're aloud struggle with that. There were weeks on end when I didn't have the energy to get up with Fionn, so I'd lie on his bedroom floor and he played around me. I was taken to hospital by ambulance twice, I fainted 3 times, Daithí's heart-rate dropped every time my blood pressure did. At one stage I was rushed to labor ward during a monitoring session because his heart-rate didn't come back up. These are all scary things, and I wasn't able to deal with them at the time, because others were telling me just how fucking lucky I was.

I don't understand why people can't accept that just because something worked for them with their morning sickness, that it wont necessarily work for everyone. and that sometimes morning sickness isn't just an inconvenient part of pregnancy. It's debilitating and potentially dangerous. I started to doubt how bad I was, I was reluctant to report new symptoms in case everyone thought I was just moaning for the sake of it. I'm a strong person, but this was just too much. Had I been more assertive, I know I would have been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum, the medical term given to excessive vomiting during pregnancy. But without that support around you, reassuring you that what you feeling isn't normal, it's easy to just keep plodding along.

Every time I went to hospital, it really made me miss home, It made me feel how isolated we actually are over here. Despite only being a 40 minute flight away, we're still in a different country to all of our family. With the exception of my cousin Niall, who played hero on more than one occasion, including calling an ambulance when I fainted in his house and playing with Fionn while the paramedics looked after me,

I digress. The illness was only part of it. At 36 weeks, it was discovered that Daithí was lying in the transverse position. Which means he was sideways across my tummy, with the cord below him. It was a high risk situation, if my waters broke or I went into spontaneous labor, there was a strong probability the cord would prolapse, I would have to be in surgery within 30 minutes to have him delivered by emergency Cesarean section. I was admitted on the spot, told I could go home and pack a bag, but I would be in hospital from then until he was born.

This was when the stress really started to build. Shane had to come out of work to mind Fionn, which was a eye opener for him. It broke my heart to see Fionn come and visit, and then have to say good bye. But Shane was fantastic at home with him.
There was a slight upside to the hospital admittance from my point of view, I was forced to rest. I had anti-sickness injections daily, and there were IVs available should I get dehydrated again. I had my own room, and the staff made me feel as at home and as comfortable as they possibly could.

My family and Shane's Mam flew over loads to to help and support, but if the weeks I spent in hospital showed me anything, it is the amazing friendships we have built since moving over here. My friends are fantastic, they were genuinely concerned for my well being, and everyone made the effort to come and visit, to spend an hour or two chatting, and distract me from the entire situation. For the first time, it made me feel like this is my home now, and I have a support network of amazing people around me.

The weeks in hospital were frustrating. Every specialist I saw gave me a different opinion, one said I'd be induced at 37 weeks, one said I'd have a c-section at 38, one said I could leave on day release, another said I couldn't leave at all. After about 2 weeks it just hit me and I sat in my room and cried (for the first time in the entire pregnancy) for about 2 hours. It was ridiculous, I felt so stupid but I just couldn't stop it. The flood gates opened and everything just came out.

Eventually, during one of the junior doctor strikes, I saw the same consultant two days in a row. Daithí had turned but was still unstable, I was aloud home for the weekend with an appointment for another scan the following week. Fionn was so excited to get me home, he practically skipped down the hall pulling my suitcase behind him. The scan showed Daithí was doing what he should have been doing, but my cervix wasn't favorable for labor, I had a sweep anyway in the hope it would move things along and he'd be born before he had a chance to turn back. There was still a risk of cord prolapse because of how he had been lying so they wanted to induce me anyway. Out of desperation, (and because my Dad was booked to be over and could mind Fionn) they agreed to induce me that week.
Off to get the baby

Potential TMI warning, this is where it starts to get gritty and gross. (It is a birth story, what else would you expect?!)

That was it then, finally a plan I felt I had a say in. I was finally able to see an end to it all.
Friday morning came, and they were full. I wanted to cry. They were able to get me in at lunchtime. So myself and Shane walked over to the hospital where I was greeted by the midwife who had delivered Fionn. A very different birth this time.  I had an hour of monitoring, and the gel inserted. It was then a waiting game. We walked to halls, and climbed the stairs to pass the time and move things along. I had mixed emotions being back in the hospital, but I knew this time I wouldn't be leaving without a baby.

On the monitoring before the second gel was needed, some contractions were starting to show. I sent Shane home to get some dinner. While he was away is when the fun started. What I thought were my waters went but there was blood. A lot of blood. Me being me tried to keep tidy and clean up, but made a holy mess of the bathroom. The blood came with every contraction. Within about a half hour they went from being manageable to horrendous. Shane got back and tried calming me down. I was determined to have a drug free birth again, but my plan for a water birth went out the window because I had to be monitored constantly. I tried a tens machine, it made everything worse. The contractions were getting stronger, and the blood worse. I wasn't dilated, but the midwives wanted to get me down to labor ward. Of course they were full, just my luck. They were pushing to get me a room, In hindsight, I should have realilsed, that had there not been any issue I could have delivered no problem on recovery ward, but the amount of blood and Daithí's heart-rate had the midwives worried, but they weren't going to let me know that!

The contractions had been full on for what felt like about an hour when I was wheeled down on my bed, straight into a labor suite. Everyone came to introduce themselves, the student mid-wife, the two supervising midwifes, and the consultant. This is when I started to lose my cool. Looking back I wish I had done a refresher antenatal course, to mentally prepare myself for the birth. I'm confident this is why Fionn's went so smoothly. But I couldn't get my head around it all. The months of stress and puking and worry just hit me and I freaked out. I was using that gas and air like there was no oxygen in the room. I hated how it was making me feel, but I couldn't help it, the pain and the blood was just too much. The midwife offered pethidine and I went for it.

Daithí's heart-rate kept dropping off on the monitor with each of my contractions, and it was taking too long to come back up, they would have to monitor him internally. Someone broke my waters (It was only the hind waters that had gone initially), and they got a monitor on his head. While all of this was going on two more midwifes joined the party by the door (Shane later told me they were communicating to the surgical team). I was handed a gown and told they may have to do an emergency section as Daithí's heart rate was so low.

At this stage I was 7cm dilated, and Daithí had other ideas. With the next contraction his head was out in two pushes, then he kinda got stuck. The midwife said she'd have to hold open my cervix which was blocking the birth-canal. Through a contraction I said 'please don't', my pathetic attempt at humor amid the madness. I remember the consultant saying to the midwife that they might have to take him to NICU because of his condition. He was born on the next contraction.

After only 50 minutes of active labor and 7 minutes of pushing and he was put on my chest. cold, and silent and dark blue. Fionn was blue when he was born and took a while to cry, but this was different, it really scared me. Shane cut the cord straight away, while the midwives were vigorously rubbing and shaking him to get a cry. (A detail Shane added after the fact as again, they were trying to keep me as calm as possible.) My first words were 'Is he ok? Why is he so quiet?', He was then taken across to the other side of the room by a midwife with Shane in tow. He was fine thankfully, just a little in shock. He was weighed and put straight back on my chest, where he latched on by himself like a damn pro!


I then got violently sick. Again. Christ as if I hadn't been sick enough. After about two hours of bonding, tea, toast, and calling family, the midwife came back and offered to run a bath. It was bliss, even if I did leave the bathroom looking like a scene from a horror movie.

The one upside from this birth was I didn't need any stitches. I said after the first time, I'd sooner take labor again over the pain of peeing after stitches. I think I deserved this little win.

Shane was sent off home to bed and I wheeled Daithí back up to the recovery ward. I actually spent less time in hospital post birth with Daithí than I did with Fionn. I was home, eating a fillet steak, drinking a Budvar and watching Ireland play Rugby with my 3 boys by 4pm. Now that is bliss.

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