Birth Story

I share regularly on a lovely birth and parenting forum, and it is customary to share your birth story, once you get home from hospital and have some "free" time.

I never really did this. I posted an "oh my god, I've got my baby and I'm traumatised" story, but not my proper birth story. So a year on from the dramatic story of Joseph's arrival here goes.

Wednesday 6th May

After having a good morning and reading week 27 of the Rough Guide to Pregnancy and Birth by Kaz Cooke (the rather diluted English version of Up the Duff), I started feeling rough in the afternoon. Naff. Headachy. Tired. Cue afternoon nap. I awoke (to a bird trapped underneath our bath but that's another story), and still felt naff. I got up, dealt with bird, made tea, Corey came home, and went to bed. But I couldn't sleep. This headache was troubling me. My midwife, the registrar at hospital, and my GP had all said watch out for the headache. Could this be pre-eclampsia? No flashing lights, no swelling, no feeling dizzy?

I decided, along with my husband, that it was better to go to hospital and look like a div. So at three in the morning on Thursday, off we toddled.

Thursday 6th May

We got to the delivery suite, and Michelle, a lovely midwife, was there to meet us. She took me into a large room, and got me settled. She ran some bloods, did some urine tests and did my BP. She said she'd reserve judgement, but that I might have pre-eclampsia.

My husband decided that he'd go to work (pre-eclampsia, of course, being the pregnant ladies man flu) and leave me to it. I still, at this point, thought I was neurotic.

Soon after he left, people start filing into the room. The final person was a beautiful, tiny woman, a doctor. She gently said "Mrs Hodges, you have severe early onset pre eclampsia. It's extremely serious." My eyes filled with tears "No no no, you have it all wrong, I'm neurotic, depressed, out of my tree, I don't have pre eclampsia, I'm fine, I'm just fat with essential hypertension". One of the midwives nearly laughed! This poor doctor just looked at me "you are not neurotic, your ill, and we have to work fast. We have to deliver the baby, probably next week." Then I remembered the last sentence I read before my headache got the better of me. "27 weeks, if your baby is born this week, he/she has a very very very good chance of survival"

I was admitted and taken up to ante natal ward. A series of case conferences would be held during the day. I sent my husband a text, he rang the ward, and decided it might be a good idea if he came back!

I met my consutlant who sent me for an emergency scan. This was the worst 30 minutes of my life. The sonographer, who I'd met twice before for my routine scans, said "I am so so sorry". I thought the baby was dead. She tried to explain what was going on, but it all sounded like rubbish. My baby was dying, and there was nothing I could do about it.

We got back to the ward and I couldn't stop crying. The consultant came in, put his arm around me and said "what's all this?", I said to him "your lying, this baby is not going to make it, the baby has gone". He looked at me and said "no the baby is alive. He is poorly, but so are you, we have to deliver him at 9 o'clock tomorrow, but I tell you this now, I am delivering a live baby, and you must be strong and believe in this baby and yourself">

He proceeded to try and give me options (being the NHS and all....patient choice etc etc), but it was clear, there were none. He was more concerned that I would die at this point, and said I was around six hours away from death.

After this meeting, I met with the doctor who would be one of Joseph's paediatricians, and one of the special care nurses. They explained how it would all work, and what the next 13 weeks would be like as they finished off growing my baby.

After calming down, my husband and I had our evening meal in the room and then we went for a walk. Past special care, to the chapel. I wrote a prayer in the book, and had a weep, and we went back to the ward, ready for me to have a good night's sleep.

Wrong. My latest bloods had come back. 9am Friday morning seemed a long 13 hours away, and I was in serious trouble. I was taken back to delivery suite in a wheelchair and they started working on me. I had lines in, catheters, monitors hooked up to me, I was so terrified. I was to be monitored every 15 minutes, and ecgs done every 2 hours. I was not permitted to sleep.

Corey decided to go home and sleep, ready for Friday. I proceeded to sing, talk and pray with my baby. I tried to read, but the headache wouldn't let me. There was no tv or radio allowed, it was just me and my thoughts, and a couple of machines for company.

It was a long night, and my hubby came back at 4 in the morning. I was prepped for surgery, had discussions with anaethetists, and then the time had come to take me to theatre. The consultant took my husband away to prep for theatre, and I decided to walk into theatre with my head held high.

The anaethetist, who I have spoken about before on my blog, was so kind, and he got the spinal in. I felt strange, cold, nauseated and numb as the block started to take effect.

I lay down, and my husband returned. The screen went up over my belly, and we started to talk about our honeymoon. Shortly after I heard a screech, and a baby crying. I was so cross. I'd had to lie in delivery all night listening to labouring women, and now this. The whole mood of the theatre changed, I could see smiling eyes behind masks. This wasn't any old baby. This was MY baby! And he was alive.

Corey was taken at this point to see our baby, we still didn't know the gender. He accompanied the baby to special care, as I went into recovery.

About an hour later it was confirmed, we had a lovely, beautiful and incredibly tiny baby boy.

Joseph.

I spent the day having more monitoring, and more drugs. I couldn't think about anything other than seeing my baby. I cried for him. Charlie, one of the assistant doctors, came to see me.

"What is wrong", said the biggest, most beautiful Ghanian chap I had ever seen!

"Ignore me, hormones, post op blues, I will be fine".

"No" he said "No, you have to see your baby."

I sobbed "I'm not allowed, our unit is too small for a trolley, I can't sit in a wheelchair, I can't see him today"

Charlie looked at me and said "I will carry you in there myself if I have to" (he's the only man I have ever met who possibly could have done it!!!)

So it was arranged I would see my baby. Charlie said to me "Joseph is a warrior name in my village, he will be strong, he will be ok"

The first time I saw Joseph, I just loved him. Pure, unadulterated love. No fear, no revulsion of this tiny creature, just love.

And a feeling that one day, however long it seemed at that moment. We would be together as mother and son.

Strange Coincidence

A bit of an adjunct to my last post. I was looking at my Bruce Dawe anthology when I just came across this - Katrina. I shall type it here in full.

Katrina

Katrina, you are now suspended between earth and sky.
Tubes feed you glucose intravenously. Naked you lie.
In your special room in Ward Fifteen. Is your life
Opening again or closing finally? We do not know, but fear
The telephone call from a nurse whose distant sympathy
Will be a measure of our helplessness. Your twin brother's
Two month old vigour hurts us, remembering
Thin straws of sunlight on your bowed legs kicking
In defiance of your skickness, you body's wasting.
Against the black velvet of death threatening
You life shines like a jewel, each relapse a flash of light
The more endearing. Your mother greaves already, so do I.
Miracles do not tempt us. We are getting in early.
Although we know there is no conditiong process which can counter
The karate blow when it comes,
No way we can arrange the date-pad to conceal
The page tornoff, crumpled, thrown away.
Katrina I had in mind a prayer, but only this came,
And you are still naked between earth and sky.
Transfusion-wounds in your heels, your dummy taped in your mouth.


As far as I can determine Katrina was not premature, she and her brother were well babies, however when living in Malaysia, Katrina contracted malaria at 2 months old, and this is about her illness.

Katrina is now a mother herself!

Happiness is the Art of Being Broken

My favourite poet is Bruce Dawe, his anthology "Sometimes Gladness" is my go-to book, particualrly when I am sad, or reflecting on life.

Today I am sad. Through this journey my family have been on with Joseph, we have met some amazing people, both in real life, and also on line.

Yesterday many of us supported a mummy who had a baby at 26 weeks. She was born yesterday, and then, sadly, she died. We say many things "grew wings", "crossed the rainbow bridge", "flew away", but it all means, tragically, the same thing. This little baby died.

And I feel sad. I feel sad for all the babies I have been involved with who have not made it, and for the parents who are devastated, broken, bleeding from the inside.

Yesterday I learned of another sadness, a dear webby friend who has been "missing" for a few weeks. I was hoping she was so much in love with her dear son, she didn't have time for the internet. No, she has been in a psychiatric unit for 5 weeks suffering from puerperal psychosis.

Chemistry can be evil. Brain chemistry, body chemistry.....we can research, we can learn, we can study, but sometimes we just can't stop the chemistry.

I feel the weight of sadness today. I never stop being grateful that Joseph is here and well, but I can't help feeling survivior guilt.

"Thank you for love, no matter what its outcome
that leads us to the window in the dark,
that adds another otherness to others
that holds out stars as if they were first diamonds..."

Definition of Loving
Bruce Dawe

Anzac Day

For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

There's No Place Like Home

We've done! We've moved! Moving day was very odd, serene is not a word you would associate with the chaos that comes with house moving, but the day was full of peace and serenity. The movers arrived at 8.15, grinning with delight when they saw the one bedroom, living room, and lack of boxes (that we had packed and moved into storage to facilitate an easy move) They proceeded to get everything into the truck, and were done by 9.30! They were expecting a long wait in their truck, as settlement usually doesn't go through till mid-late afternoon on a Friday.

At 11.30, as we were busily cleaning the flat, the call came, completion had gone through, and we could collect the keys at around 1pm! By 12.30 we had the keys, and the guys had us all moved by 2pm! We sat for a minute looking at each other, thinking right then! Now what?

The only things left to do were to pick Atticus up from the flat, and Joseph from our lovely friend Rebecca.

The new house is amazing. Its quiet, its huge (for us) has a lovely plain back garden ready for me to attack, and is a very tranquil place to be. (Apart from the 12 year old next door who listens to an hour of dreadful music after school, but I can live with that!)

To be posted seperately, my new house resolutions!

Place without a Postcard

Today, whilst procrastinating, I am watching the Jeremy Kyle show, which for a change is not a shoutfest of dysfunctional families throwing accusations at one another. Its about living with disability. And it inspired me to write this.

I haven't really mentioned my husband much in my blog, but he's (please don't tell him we need to get his head out the door on moving day) amazing. He was born with a complex disability, arthrogryposis multiplex congenita.

It basically means hooked joints, affecting multiple limbs, and its from birth, but thankfully most cases are not genetic. Corey has fused joints, his ankles and wrists are worst affected, but his knees are affected too. There isn't much he can't do, because he was brought up to just get on with it.

Having a child with a disability is like being put in a town that isn't on the map, a place without a postcard. The books you might buy in pregnancy or shortly after bringing your baby home are useless. People don't know what to say. Doctors don't know what to do, particularly if its a rare disability that affects each child very differently.

I also chose Place with a Postcard for another reason. It was the title of a Midnight Oil album released in 1981 (and contains the song "I don't want to be the one") which was the International Year of the Disabled Person. I was nine, and just beginning to become more aware of the world, and the people in it.

I had to attend an assessment centre (well it was a special school really) every week when I was 7, and I met loads of children with a variety of disabilities. Later my school used to host children with disabilities once a year. I was always amazed by these kids, despite one of my teachers (quite unbelievably) telling us these kids were very different from us, and would steal our toys, I always found them incredibly normal, and fun loving. They taught me how to play in different ways, to do things just that little bit differently.

I had a little friend, a few years younger than me, who had down's syndrome. I never realised it was a disabilty, I thought she was just amazing and funny, and clever! Her older sister was my sister's age, and this little girl, Melissa, was younger again. I played with her, so my sister could play with her sister.

Some years later I was in a youth orchestra and we played at Melissa's special school. She ran straight up to me and sat on my knee. One of the pieces I put my violin down, and played the triangle, I let Melissa do it, much to the horror of Jane Himmelhoch-Mutton our conductor (fab name!). But I knew Melissa could keep perfect time!

To me disability is just difference, its not necessarily bad, it's society that makes disability difficult. It still makes me angry sometimes when people assume Corey is drunk because he can't walk properly (we almost got refused entry into a club because they thought he was drunk!)

It made me angry when I was pregnant when people asked me if I would terminate if our baby had Corey's condition.

And it makes me angry when people automatically assume Joseph will be disabled because he was premature.

Not that I would be bothered, he would still be Joseph.

But it makes me wonder, have we really moved much beyond 1981.

Good Friday Outing

Today we had a lovely break from packing and organising for the big house move and we took a day trip to Hebden Bridge, a lovely town just on the other side of the Pennines from our lovely town. Hebden Bridge is a bustling town, full of artists, cafes and shops.

Hebden Bridge is one of the first places Corey and I went when we found out we were expecting. We went to a beautiful shop where I tried a sling with a bear brandishing a cutlass (strange but true!), and had a spooky conversation with the owner about premature babies (very odd)

And when Joseph was in hospital it was the first place we went on a Saturday afternoon after spending time with him, for an outing. We went to another lovely shop and bought some premmie clothes, and of course, got our sling, which I used for the first time in hospital to carry Joseph from the sleep over room into the ward.

It's such a magical place, the sort of place you would love to live in, but then you wouldn't be able to escape their at weekends!

And today was lovely. Joseph sat in a highchair and ate parsnip and ginger soup, hoummus, the biggest most bitter green olive you have ever seen, and tortilla crisps.

And, best of all, an old man next to us guessed Joseph's age......10 months (ok he is nearly 11) but that trip today kind of marked for me the ending of our journey with a premature baby.

Joseph isn't the teeny premature baby anymore, he's a little boy, full of fun, energy and promise!

And that's fantastic.