I wrote this about a week after Otis was born:
We had our post dates appointment on the Monday afternoon, bag all packed as we thought I'd be induced then and there. The first registrar I saw was an Asian woman who had small hands, too small to feel whether and to what extent I was dilated! She thought not, and told me that they'd have to use Cervidil on me. However, there was no room at the inn — I was told to come back on Thursday! Thursday seemed so far away... I was sorely disappointed and a bit teary — so, so over being pregnant. Because I'd experienced reduced foetal movements that day, however, she wanted me to have a CTG before going home, just to be safe. The CTG was inexplicably abnormal, and in a matter of minutes, the situation changed — I was to be induced immediately. The registrar — a different one — examined me, and, lo and behold, found me to be 2 cm dilated, so instead of using Cervidil, he went straight in with the hook and broke my waters. I found this uncomfortable, but not at all painful — it felt a little like a pap smear, but the pressure was much stronger. And boy, was there water... Litres and litres! I felt lighter already. I was then hooked up to the Syntocinon, and left to go into labour. Phil and I were in such a daze, it had all happened so fast! So it was about 6:30 pm — I called Mum and Lani, and they headed over. I was having some very mild Braxton Hicks at that point, and was feeling really positive and at ease — I even managed a crossword puzzle! "What's all the fuss about?", I thought.
At about 8:30 pm, things started to change. I was experiencing some intense pain, so I positioned myself on the Fitball, leaning over the side of the bed, and Phil and Mum took turns holding a heat pack on my back and rubbing my shoulders. There was some concern about the baby's heart at one point, so they applied an internal monitor that screwed into bubba's scalp. That put our minds at rest, although made it awkward for me to go to the toilet, which I was doing and regular intervals due to the intensity of the pressure down there. After this, I got stuck into the gas. It made me feel drunk and relaxed, and really took the edge off the ouch. I still felt the pain, but it didn't register in quite the same way. I was really reliant on it, sucking it in as if my life depended on it! I think I mentioned an epidural a couple of times, but my clever sister changed the subject, and I never considered it again. During this stage Phil copped a fair bit of abuse — I told him I’d hate him forever, because he didn’t ever have to go through such pain. I also told him we’d be stopping at one. He just went along with whatever I said… Smart move.
At around midnight, I began to feel an urge to push, but didn't recognise the feeling at first. By the time I mentioned it to the midwives, I was 9.5 cm dilated, and with one more contraction was ready to start. I'd stopped using the gas at this point, as it had started to make me feel really out of it, and I wanted some semblance of control. Pushing was hell on earth. I pushed with all my might, with every ounce of strength I had, but it felt as if I was getting nowhere. Of course, I WAS getting somewhere… Although it took a solid two hours for Otis to be born. I alternated between laying on my back and my side, and sucked on ice chips in between contractions. I was so tired, I could barely even speak. But at 2:25 am on Tuesday 15th January, he arrived — the midwife (the senior, tough one — there was also a lovely trainee, who was so sweet and patient and positive) pulled him out of me, his arm came out with his head! The first thing I saw were these enormous black eyes staring up at me. He was swiftly placed on my chest, and there were lots of tears. Everyone was crying and laughing and happy. I’ll never forget it. I didn’t even know whether he was a he or a she, all I knew was he was out and he was OK… And amazingly, so was I!
About an hour later, after Mum and Lan had gone, I started getting some intense contraction-like pains in my back. I was offered Panadol, but I knew that wouldn’t cut it. Concerned, the midwives checked to see whether my uterus had begun to contract. It hadn’t, and what followed was like something out of a horror movie. They pumped their hands up and down on my belly, and pushed out 750 ml of blood clots. It was pure agony, and there was blood absolutely everywhere. Poor Phil was sitting across the room from me, holding little Otis and crying. Finally, they stopped, and the pain subsided. They then inserted a catheter, which really stung, it was unbearable — I was given the gas, which, again, really saved me. After that, I was stitched up — not too painful, in comparison! I had a second degree tear, not bad for his size and his awkward entry into the world! After all the drama, at 8 am I was finally wheeled up to my room. I lost about 1300 ml of blood in total, so was very weak for some time. Overall, I feel a real sense of achievement when I look back on my labour. I also recall the horror and the pain, and know it will be some time before I can contemplate doing it all again! Phil and I are mad about our little boy, he was definitely worth it, all of it — the morning sickness, the SPD, the pain, the fear… I just love him so!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
My 24 hour waiting room hell...
So... 6 weeks post partum on Wednesday, and my pad was soaked with the brightest, reddest, freshest blood. Lan directed me to go straight to RPA, so as soon as Phil walked in the door we grabbed our stuff and headed there. I was feeling fairly apprehensive, not only about having to have an invasive procedure, but also about keeping the feeding going if I ended up needing a hospital stay. I felt absolutely fine, physically, so it was all a little confusing.
We saw the triage nurse within minutes of our arrival, and then waited for about 2 1/2 hours to be seen by a doctor. I'm not complaining — it was tough, especially with Otis is tow, but it's not like I was dying. Some of the other patients waiting to be seen were in a pretty bad way though. It was heartbreaking to witness a heroin-addicted/affected couple attempt to parent their 3 year old daughter. They were basically comatose, or as close as you can be upright.
Anyway, finally we were taken in to see a doctor. By this time Oti had had enough of the noise and fluorescent lighting, and decided to scream the place down. Poor Phil — whilst I was busy being deflowered by a speculum, he walked the hallways, trying to ignore the glares, and welcoming the kind glances. Eventually, after a little cuddle with Mum, my tired little boy fell fast asleep.
Back to my bleeding. I had bloods done, plus an internal, which I am happy to report wasn't as bad as I had feared, and was told to see my GP and have a scan, to check for any infection and/or what they called "retained product". So that's what I did. All up, I think over a 24 hour period I spent about 8 hours waiting in waiting rooms... As did Phil and Oti. Not nice. Anyway, I was a little shocked that the scan required the use of a dildo-like device! But I lived through it, and, as it turns out, there was no retained product to be seen. There is, however, a thickening of the endometrium, which Dr Hsu suggests signals an infection. I'm to continue with antibiotics for 2 weeks. If I'm still bleeding then, I'll have to have a repeat scan, and, possibly, a D&C. Gulp. It's not so much the procedure that scares me — although it does, just a little — but the small possibility that it will lead to scarring, which could then inhibit my future fertility. This is particularly upsetting given that I've just realised I could do, easily, happily, do this all again tomorrow! It's not rational, and I can't explain it, but I suddenly have an intense urge to get pregnant again. But I'd have to have sex first...
Earlier on Wednesday morning Oti had his 6 week check-up. He is such a big boy! He looks so much older than he is — which is a little sad, I guess — and weighs 5.2 kg already! He is 59 cm long and his head is goddamned huge — 42 cm around. Lots of room for a big brainiac brain! His appointment at the Early Childhood Health Centre went well, although, as is often the case when it comes to obstetric/maternal care, I found the nurse a little patronising. I'd hurried to feed and change him so as to get there on time, and in my haste had forgotten to point his penis down, resulting in a soaking wet Easysuit. The nurse spoke to me as if I were a 5 year old, chastening me for neglecting to point his "willy" down. Oh, the joy that is being-spoken-down-to-by-medical-professionals-who-think-you're-stupid-because-you're-young-and-a-public-patient.
We saw the triage nurse within minutes of our arrival, and then waited for about 2 1/2 hours to be seen by a doctor. I'm not complaining — it was tough, especially with Otis is tow, but it's not like I was dying. Some of the other patients waiting to be seen were in a pretty bad way though. It was heartbreaking to witness a heroin-addicted/affected couple attempt to parent their 3 year old daughter. They were basically comatose, or as close as you can be upright.
Anyway, finally we were taken in to see a doctor. By this time Oti had had enough of the noise and fluorescent lighting, and decided to scream the place down. Poor Phil — whilst I was busy being deflowered by a speculum, he walked the hallways, trying to ignore the glares, and welcoming the kind glances. Eventually, after a little cuddle with Mum, my tired little boy fell fast asleep.
Back to my bleeding. I had bloods done, plus an internal, which I am happy to report wasn't as bad as I had feared, and was told to see my GP and have a scan, to check for any infection and/or what they called "retained product". So that's what I did. All up, I think over a 24 hour period I spent about 8 hours waiting in waiting rooms... As did Phil and Oti. Not nice. Anyway, I was a little shocked that the scan required the use of a dildo-like device! But I lived through it, and, as it turns out, there was no retained product to be seen. There is, however, a thickening of the endometrium, which Dr Hsu suggests signals an infection. I'm to continue with antibiotics for 2 weeks. If I'm still bleeding then, I'll have to have a repeat scan, and, possibly, a D&C. Gulp. It's not so much the procedure that scares me — although it does, just a little — but the small possibility that it will lead to scarring, which could then inhibit my future fertility. This is particularly upsetting given that I've just realised I could do, easily, happily, do this all again tomorrow! It's not rational, and I can't explain it, but I suddenly have an intense urge to get pregnant again. But I'd have to have sex first...
Earlier on Wednesday morning Oti had his 6 week check-up. He is such a big boy! He looks so much older than he is — which is a little sad, I guess — and weighs 5.2 kg already! He is 59 cm long and his head is goddamned huge — 42 cm around. Lots of room for a big brainiac brain! His appointment at the Early Childhood Health Centre went well, although, as is often the case when it comes to obstetric/maternal care, I found the nurse a little patronising. I'd hurried to feed and change him so as to get there on time, and in my haste had forgotten to point his penis down, resulting in a soaking wet Easysuit. The nurse spoke to me as if I were a 5 year old, chastening me for neglecting to point his "willy" down. Oh, the joy that is being-spoken-down-to-by-medical-professionals-who-think-you're-stupid-because-you're-young-and-a-public-patient.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Sleeping
OK. I've gone off the controlled crying idea. I've realised that I don't actually have to follow my Mum's advice in every instance! It just tears me up, to hear him scream, to see the tears flowing and the reddened face. Instead I am slowly changing things. This week, I am making sure I put him down during the day whenever he falls asleep. Right now he's in his bassinette. I am going to be very strict about this for the rest of the week, and then I'll start trying to put him down as he's falling asleep, rather than once he's already dead-to-the-world.
He sleeps well at night, snuggled in next to me. His first sleep is his lengthiest and deepest, lasting about 5, 5 1/2 hours. He then sleeps 2 or 3 hours at a time. Because he sleeps with us, he rarely gets to the point where he is screaming. He just moans and squirms, and then I either take him for a nappy change, or put him on the breast. During the day he has a few naps, each lasting between 1 and 3 hours long.
He sleeps well at night, snuggled in next to me. His first sleep is his lengthiest and deepest, lasting about 5, 5 1/2 hours. He then sleeps 2 or 3 hours at a time. Because he sleeps with us, he rarely gets to the point where he is screaming. He just moans and squirms, and then I either take him for a nappy change, or put him on the breast. During the day he has a few naps, each lasting between 1 and 3 hours long.
Feeding Otis
I thought babies instinctively knew how to suck on a nipple. I thought they just jumped on, unaided. That it was easy! I was so wrong.
They say babies have a 2 hour window after birth in which they need to feed, so as to help establish breastfeeding. Because of the dramas that took place shortly after his arrival — I had a massive post-partum bleed — he missed this window. He was put on the breast about 4 hours after birth, and he was very sleepy and unable to properly latch on. I wasn't too worried at that point.
That day the midwives tried numerous times to latch him on, without any success. The nipple would just slip out of his mouth. So I was expressed by hand, and he was fed from a syringe. This continued for the next two days, and was possibly the most frustrating experience of my entire life. Not only did I feel like a failure, I also worried that there was something wrong with him, some sort of mental deficiency that was preventing him from knowing what to do. At about midnight on the second night I'd had enough, and got really teary. There seemed no end in sight, and I was afraid I'd have to feed him formula. A lovely midwife reassured me that it would get better, but, ever the pessimist, I didn't really believe her.
The lactation consultant Mandy was wonderful. I attended the breastfeeding class on day 2 and 3, and she took a real interest in Otis and I, and came to visit us a few times and have a go at latching him on. She encouraged lots of skin-to-skin contact — which meant I spent much of my days in hospital completely topless — and did manage to get him on properly for a minute or two, but he'd always slip off. Sensing my frustration, she suggested I go home on the Early Discharge Program. I am so glad I did!
For 5 days a midwife — the same one every time — came to visit us, and each time she assisted me in getting him on the boob. She introduced a nipple shield, which worked wonders. It allowed me to feed him stress-free! Lan was also very, very helpful, she was so patient with me and so positive. There were many tears shed, but one day, a few days after I'd started using the shield, I managed to latch him on the left boob without the shield! I cried tears of relief. I was so very proud of him at that moment. And of myself! And about a week ago today I finally rid myself of the shield altogether. Now there is no stopping him! He barely needs any assistance latching on, and is ravenous. I am so pleased I perservered, even though it was incredibly trying.
They say babies have a 2 hour window after birth in which they need to feed, so as to help establish breastfeeding. Because of the dramas that took place shortly after his arrival — I had a massive post-partum bleed — he missed this window. He was put on the breast about 4 hours after birth, and he was very sleepy and unable to properly latch on. I wasn't too worried at that point.
That day the midwives tried numerous times to latch him on, without any success. The nipple would just slip out of his mouth. So I was expressed by hand, and he was fed from a syringe. This continued for the next two days, and was possibly the most frustrating experience of my entire life. Not only did I feel like a failure, I also worried that there was something wrong with him, some sort of mental deficiency that was preventing him from knowing what to do. At about midnight on the second night I'd had enough, and got really teary. There seemed no end in sight, and I was afraid I'd have to feed him formula. A lovely midwife reassured me that it would get better, but, ever the pessimist, I didn't really believe her.
The lactation consultant Mandy was wonderful. I attended the breastfeeding class on day 2 and 3, and she took a real interest in Otis and I, and came to visit us a few times and have a go at latching him on. She encouraged lots of skin-to-skin contact — which meant I spent much of my days in hospital completely topless — and did manage to get him on properly for a minute or two, but he'd always slip off. Sensing my frustration, she suggested I go home on the Early Discharge Program. I am so glad I did!
For 5 days a midwife — the same one every time — came to visit us, and each time she assisted me in getting him on the boob. She introduced a nipple shield, which worked wonders. It allowed me to feed him stress-free! Lan was also very, very helpful, she was so patient with me and so positive. There were many tears shed, but one day, a few days after I'd started using the shield, I managed to latch him on the left boob without the shield! I cried tears of relief. I was so very proud of him at that moment. And of myself! And about a week ago today I finally rid myself of the shield altogether. Now there is no stopping him! He barely needs any assistance latching on, and is ravenous. I am so pleased I perservered, even though it was incredibly trying.
Things I love about Oti...
His smell. As Bart said, that's how new cars should smell...
His big, blue, staring eyes. They are intelligent eyes. I love it when he makes eye contact with me. It only happens every now and then, as he is still learning to focus.
His smile. It's big and gummy, and his lip curls up on one side. He can go from a sad, teary grimace to a grin in seconds flat.
The way he talks to himself when left alone for a few minutes. I love to imagine what it is he is trying to say!
The ways his big, soft, perfectly formed hands hold my boob when he feeds. Precious. Priceless!
The fact that sometimes all he needs is a cuddle from Mum to stop the tears. As Phil said, I'm his favourite person in the whole world. It's an amazing feeling!
His dummy face! He looks so serious when he sucks his dummy.
The fact that he smiles most when his nappy is off, and his bum is being wiped clean. I'll remind him of that in 20 years!
That he sleeps in my arms, in my bed. I love it!
The fact that Phil and I created him! I still can't get over that. I probably never will...
His big, blue, staring eyes. They are intelligent eyes. I love it when he makes eye contact with me. It only happens every now and then, as he is still learning to focus.
His smile. It's big and gummy, and his lip curls up on one side. He can go from a sad, teary grimace to a grin in seconds flat.
The way he talks to himself when left alone for a few minutes. I love to imagine what it is he is trying to say!
The ways his big, soft, perfectly formed hands hold my boob when he feeds. Precious. Priceless!
The fact that sometimes all he needs is a cuddle from Mum to stop the tears. As Phil said, I'm his favourite person in the whole world. It's an amazing feeling!
His dummy face! He looks so serious when he sucks his dummy.
The fact that he smiles most when his nappy is off, and his bum is being wiped clean. I'll remind him of that in 20 years!
That he sleeps in my arms, in my bed. I love it!
The fact that Phil and I created him! I still can't get over that. I probably never will...
Monday, February 18, 2008
It really is a rollercoaster...
I am hiding in my study with the door closed so that I can't hear Otis cry. My days used to be filled with analysing texts and solving theoretical dilemmas, now they're filled with learning to eat one-handed, and trying to teach a baby to self-settle. Lifa as Mama is much tougher, trust me!!!
I have a lot to fill in here — I want to use this blog to diarise these early days, to document his milestones, the highest of highs and the black lows. But it will be a slow process, because I am run off my feet, and should really be spending my "spare" moments doing chores and cactching up on sleep.
Otis is 5 weeks old tomorrow, and I figured it was about time he learned to fall asleep himself, rather than needing to be cuddled to sleep. He sleeps with us at night, but during the day I'd like him in his own, gorgeously-decorated room, in his own painted-by-Dad cot. It remains to be seen whether he'll co-operate. I am ridden with guilt, as "they" say that controlled crying can be harmful to an infant's mental health. But I see no other option.
OK. He's actually asleep! It went something like this:
1:00 Cuddle, wrap, dummy in, music on, kiss goodnight
1:00-1:05 Screaming
1:05 Cuddle, wrap, dummy in, kiss goodnight
1:05-1:15 Screaming
1:15-1:18 Cuddle, wrap, dummy in, kiss goodnight, pat
1:30 Nervously open the door... Not a sound to be heard!
So I still had to pat him to sleep, but it's an improvement, right?
I am kinda wishing I did this from the word go, but the feelings of lethargy, fear and frustration with the feeding issues were too much for me/us, and we did what was "easiest" for all three parties. He just loves to be cuddled, and definitely sleeps sufficiently, but only after being cuddled and cajoled. I have to get tougher!
He has been wonderful the past couple of days. He started smiling, proper, big, wide-open-mouthed smiles, about a week ago. I love them so! All weekend he basically slept, fed, and smiled. It was great, such a reprieve after a few rough, unsettled, unhappy days.
The biggest hurdle for me was definitely his early failure to latch. But that's another post!
I have a lot to fill in here — I want to use this blog to diarise these early days, to document his milestones, the highest of highs and the black lows. But it will be a slow process, because I am run off my feet, and should really be spending my "spare" moments doing chores and cactching up on sleep.
Otis is 5 weeks old tomorrow, and I figured it was about time he learned to fall asleep himself, rather than needing to be cuddled to sleep. He sleeps with us at night, but during the day I'd like him in his own, gorgeously-decorated room, in his own painted-by-Dad cot. It remains to be seen whether he'll co-operate. I am ridden with guilt, as "they" say that controlled crying can be harmful to an infant's mental health. But I see no other option.
OK. He's actually asleep! It went something like this:
1:00 Cuddle, wrap, dummy in, music on, kiss goodnight
1:00-1:05 Screaming
1:05 Cuddle, wrap, dummy in, kiss goodnight
1:05-1:15 Screaming
1:15-1:18 Cuddle, wrap, dummy in, kiss goodnight, pat
1:30 Nervously open the door... Not a sound to be heard!
So I still had to pat him to sleep, but it's an improvement, right?
I am kinda wishing I did this from the word go, but the feelings of lethargy, fear and frustration with the feeding issues were too much for me/us, and we did what was "easiest" for all three parties. He just loves to be cuddled, and definitely sleeps sufficiently, but only after being cuddled and cajoled. I have to get tougher!
He has been wonderful the past couple of days. He started smiling, proper, big, wide-open-mouthed smiles, about a week ago. I love them so! All weekend he basically slept, fed, and smiled. It was great, such a reprieve after a few rough, unsettled, unhappy days.
The biggest hurdle for me was definitely his early failure to latch. But that's another post!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
