Back to School

When Michele first went to the GP to have the pregnancy confirmed, she came away with a folder full of paperwork and leaflets. Forms to fill in for child tax credit and when and where to get the baby registered, that sort of thing.

There were also details about the Ante-Natal classes.

Maybe I've watched too many "Carry On" films, but an AN class, to me, conjours up an image of a room full of pregnant ladies lying on the floor, legs akimbo and all breathing heavily. And somewhere amongst them, there's always a man looking uncomfortably out of place.

It was with this image in mind that I accompanied Michele to the first of two AN classes, held at the hospital.


Time for an interlude...

The Royal Sussex County Hospital sits on Eastern Road in Brighton and has served the county for many, many years. The main building, once the hospital in it's entirety, now acts as a classy entrance to the rest of the site. New blocks and buildings have sprung up and filled just about every nook and cranny on the site (and off...), creating a mini city in which it is all too easy to get lost. As I type, they're building a monumentous hospital within a hospital, which will house what used to be the Royal Alexandra Hospital for Sick Children (presently in Dyke Road, Brighton).

They're moving the kiddies from a lovely old red-brick site to a huge glass and concrete "Ark" (as in Noah). Hopefully centralising everything will save money in the long run, but it's a shame to see the old building go - especially as I have many memories of being there as a patient, but that's a completely different story.

Back to the RSCH site, and to a building I've yet to mention - the tower block. A huge monolith of white concrete and windows, the tower block holds A&E at it's base and all the maternity wards at it's top.

Level 11 is the pre-natal (or ante-natal) ward, and is where pregnant women "check in" when they think that things are beginning to happen. It's made up of small four-bed wards and private rooms, together with ultrasound scanning rooms and the ante-natal clinic.

Once it's established that the baby is indeed on their way, the patient gets transferred to Level 13 - the delivery ward. This is basically a level of private delivery rooms, together with a birthing pool (for those who want to give birth in a bath), and theatres for carrying out C-sections (Ceasarian sections, also known coloquially as "Ceasars") and other emergency procedures.

After the baby gets born, the patient (and child) are transferred to Level 12, the after-care ward. Again, this is made up of four-bed wards and private rooms, and is for the mother to recover/bond with her child/practice breast feeding etc. before being let loose into the outside world again.

I was born on Level 13, and Mum said that you could feel the tower move when there were strong gusts of wind.

Anyway, back to the class, and Michele and I found ourselves riding the lift in the tower one evening, bemoaning the irony of having to "come back to work". Stepping from the lift, we entered the ante-natal clinic, the location of the classes, and I got my first shock.

Far from being the only Dad there, Carry On-Style, the room was filled with couples, all bearing those looks of pride and sheer terror of impending parenthood. The class was held by one of the Hospital's midwives, and she was a real live-wire. At the end of the first class I was eagerly looking forward to the next, having seen a baby doll shoved through a polo-neck jumper as a simulation of childbirth!

The second lesson was just as mad as the first one, and the midwife had the ladies in a circle in the middle of the room, all leaning forward on chairs. They then all rocked or circled their hips as they found comfortable, to simulate movements they could make to help relieve pain durng the various stages of labour.

I never knew a room full of pregnant women could move so erotically, but the icing on the cake for me was when the midwife (who was not unnattractive) demonstrated the "all over" massage technique on one of her young, nubile, midwife students...

We made many friends there, most just "class-room mates", but we also met people that would become friends in the future. I left the last lesson thinking "Well, this is it - no more classes and no more scans until the birth.... Shit!"

I say "last lesson", but Michele had another class on another day - Breastfeeding. Apparently, one of the Dads turned up to that one, the pervert....

Tempus Fugit

With that scare over, Michele and I could settle down to enjoy the rest of the pregnancy. We had been given an Estimated Due Date (of arrival) of May 20th, 2006, and that was our "deadline". Everything we planned was with that date in mind, and we were certain that May 20th was to be our "D-Day".

We were living in a one-bedroom converted flat in Kemptown, Brighton. If you've heard of Kemptown, you may have heard that it's thought of as the center of Brighton's Gay community. What you might not know is that, within such a large city, Kemptown is practically a self-contained village, complete with village atmosphere. People say hello to each other here, and shopkeepers make friends with local customers.

Having lived there for nine years, we have luckily gained the friendship of some lovely people in Kemptown, people who had shown an interest in Michele's pregnancy and who asked after her every time they saw one of us.

It was with a heavy heart that we decided we had to move; we didn't have that much room as we had accumulated over nine years of junk - sorry, possessions - that we had filled the flat with.

Over the course of a few months after January we were involved in the purchase of a two bedroom property in Hove - the "posh end" of Brighton. For several reasons, it fell through and, with time ticking on, we decided to stay where we were. Thing is, we needed to get the flat straight, and that would take a fair bit of work...

It's amazing how much incentive a pregnant wife can provide a man. Within several weeks, we had rearranged the bedroom to make room for a cradle, and cleared one corner of the living room. The "nesting" instinct had begun to kick in, and we were spending our hard earned money on blankets, baskets, baby carriers, changing mats and nappies. Lots of nappies.

With the due date approaching, there was just one more thing to go to, to help us prepare for labour and childbirth - antenatal classes...

It's alive !!!

The very first ultrasound scan had to be repeated, as not all of the internal organs were visible due to the positioning of the baby. Alarm bells should have gone off then, but they didn't.

On Tuesday, 12th January, I went to the "next stage", as far as empathising with my unborn child goes - I felt him/her "kick"!

For Michele, they were strange fluttering sensations in the stomach but, for me, they were full on movements. Placing my hand hard on Michele's stomach, I felt something move, and it was incredible. One of the first thoughts I had, and one that would recur throughout the pregnancy, was of the film "Alien". John Hurt has an alien embryo implanted in him and, during a memorable sequence, the embryo bursts forth out of his chest, spraying the rest of the crew with blood and entrails. Did Michele have one of those too?

Time passed and I had a glimpse of my child's stubborn side. Whenever it moved, Michele would say "Mark, Mark, it's moving! Come and have a feel!" but by the time I got there and had a feel, the little beggar was motionless. And this happened again and again. One of Michele's favourite tricks was to lie down then put her lavender-infused teddy bear (called "Smelly Teddy") on her stomach. When the baby moved, the teddy moved too. Hours of endless fun, eh?

One day, the movements stopped. Michele had got so used to routinely feeling these "flutterings" that their absence was as conspicuous as their first appearance had been. Fearing the worst, but trying to keep a level head, we phoned the ante-natal ward. They said we should come up straight away.

The hospital we work at is in handy walking distance from where we live, so we walked in. As we did, we calmly discussed the "what if"s and "maybe"s of the situation. What if there was something wrong with our child? What if our baby had died?

The staff on Level 11 (the ante natal ward) tried to monitor the heartbeat, but couldn't find it on the portable machine. A Registrar performed an ultrasound scan and, to our immense relief, located the heart - all four chambers were pumping away as they should. Somehow, our baby had moved in the womb so that it's spine faced outwards. Any kicks it made would be towards the center of Michele's body, and therefore we wouldn't feel them. We were reassured that everything was fine, and that we did the right thing by coming in.

Remember those alarm bells I mentioned earlier? If I had remembered that baby was in a funny position for that first ultrasound scan, I could have made the same assumption now.

Even so, it's always better to be safe than to be sorry...

A day trip to London

In the "olden days", women just got pregnant and, nine months later, gave birth in a flurry of hot water and towels. Proud fathers handed out the cigars and supped brandy while the midwife cleared up the mess as the new mothers had a "jolly good rest".

Or something like that.

Point is, nowadays there are loads of tests offered to prospective parents, and we were no exception. The first scan (called the "dating scan") was fine, with no abnormalities detected, and now we were being offered tests to detect Down's Syndrome. Michele could either have a series a blood tests, called the Triple Test, or we could go for a special ultrasound scan.

A friend of Michele's had the special scan at a hospital a bit further up country. It's part of the same NHS trust, but we were unable to have our scan there, which seemed a bit illogical. The "special" scan is an ultrasound scan, but special software is used to calculate the odds of the baby developing Down's Syndrome (DS). The hospital where Michele and I work didn't have a license for the software algorithm, while although the hospital where Michele's friend was scanned did have the algorithm, it didn't cover patients from our area (despite being, as I said, part of the same Trust). The only option was to go King's College hospital for the day for the scan.

London it was.

At the back of the baby's neck, there is a space filled with fluid and depending on how big this space is, the more likely the baby is to have DS. This is called "Nuchal Translucency" (NT) and we were due to have to a NT ultrasound scan.

King's College hospital, like all major London hospitals, has the air of "perpetual motion" - it always seems busy. Not that our hospital doesn't, it's just that there are "quiet periods" in the main buildings. Oh, and the size of the place was a bit daunting. Like so many sites, the original red-brick buildings, once containing the whole hospital, now act only as a front to a mini-city of larger blocks and towers. Eventually locating the flash main entrance, we went up to the ultrasound clinic and took our place in the queue.

The set-up for the scan was the same as in our hospital, but this time a nice (read "very nice"...) Spanish Doctor was performing the scan. On went the jelly and we had a slight repeat of the first scan - baby wasn't in the right position. To my delight, Michele had to raise her bum off the couch and slam it down in an effort to move the foetus around. After several of these, increasingly amusing, motions, Michele was asked to go for a walk and come back. Oh, and to have a Mars Bar and a fizzy drink - to increase the sugar level and get the baby moving.

Yeah right! I think it's just a conspiracy among women where, for once in their lives, they can eat what they want. After all, there is that excuse - "Well, I am eating for two now....".

Anyway it did the trick and we got some lovely pictures of the baby. They calculated the odds to be quite low for our baby to have DS, and we went away relieved and clutching a handful of new pictures. This scan was performed 21 weeks into the pregnancy, and the baby had grown so much since the first scan. You could see jaw lines, spine, fingers etc. - something that looked a lot more human. As I wanted to know the sex, I asked if we could see anything, but the baby had his/her legs together, not giving anything away. Michele was pleased, though, as she wanted it to be a surprise.

And so ended our last day out in London.

Love at first sight?

As we both worked at the hospital the scan was due to be performed at, there was no problem in getting to the appointment, and we turned up nervous and excited. The waiting room was full of toddler's toys and other expectant mothers in various stages of pregnancy were waiting for their scans.

Soon the sonographer called us in and we entered a darkened room and Michele was directed to a large bed. After smearing Michele's belly in jelly, the sonographer placed the probe into position and turned the machine on.

With baited breath I watched the screen and saw the crude real-time image of what was our 16 week old baby. It was exactly as I had seen in the books and on the internet - a rough person-shaped thing with an enlarged head - but it was the first time that I saw my child and realised that this was really happening; I was going to be a parent.

Up till now Michele could have been binging on cream cakes to get that bump, but now there was no doubt - there was a little person inside.

The sonographer printed several images off, telling us that they weren't strong enough to withstand photocopying, and handed them to me.

As I walked back to work, I had a kind of strange fuzzy feeling inside me. Looking at this helpless life forming in Michele's stomach, was I feeling the first stirrings of parental love...?

A New Life...

Several months later, and the news still hadn't really sunk in for me. Michele was positively glowing and could almost feel the first flutterings of a new life, as her insides changed to do what Nature intended.

But what for me? After telling friends, family and work colleagues that we were expecting, I found out something. Michele was about six weeks pregnant and, in my eagerness to spread the news, it hadn't occurred to me that things might not go to plan. Miscarriage was still a possibility with the horrible thought of us waking up one morning in a pool of blood...

We decided that we could do so much and leave the rest to fate, as it were. So, Michele cut back on her alcohol intake, began taking extra nutrients and suppliments, and I vowed to give up Chinese takeaways.

We also started to get as informed as possible and, together with the book on pregnancy that the GP gave us (along with a very comprehensive health pack), we went out and bought Dr Miriam Stoppard's book. It was funny - the lady I remember for her benignly smiling but otherwise expressionless face, and enormous shoulder pads, was now the author of what would become a Pregnancy Travel Guide for us.

It mentioned all sorts of things, and opened up a whole new vocabulary to me. It ran the whole gamut from conception, through pregancy, through birth and then that mysterious time after.

But that kind of pro-active response still left me lacking in one very important aspect in this pregnancy - any kind of sense of involvment beyond basic empathy. Michele could look forward (?) to feeling a new life grow inside her. I could only see her tummy grow. After several weeks, life pretty much returned to normal for me, and there was only so much enthusiam to be garnered from Dr Stoppard's book.

And then something happened which changed me, brought me into the whole experience. For the first time in weeks and weeks, I was given an inkling of the awesome responsibility to come.

We had the first scan, and I saw my baby for the first time.

In the beginning was the word...

... and the word was "Cheltenham".

Michele and I had been trying for a baby for a short while, without much (well, any) success. We decided to go on a small trip away, and for some reason chose a hotel in Cheltenham. What with the relaxing surroundings and Michele having long swims each day, some sort of magic happened.

Fast forward several months and Michele, having just been Godmother at the christening of baby Jack (a good friend's first child), discovers that she is a little "late". I thought this was just luck. When another few weeks went by, it was unnerving. When, one day, she appeared in the doorway with one of those "magic wands" and uttered the words "Mark, I think I'm pregnant", it was terrifying.

I looked at the magic wand and, sure enough, it showed a "+" instead of a "-". The scientist in me kicked in instantly. "Do another test", I said. Everyone knows it's about statistics...

The second one came back with a "+" as well. Oh bugger. Now we'd done it.

Parents were told and red wine was quaffed in celebration of our impending adventure. As the fuzzy effects of the wine kicked in, I sat back and tried to process this piece of news. I was going to be a Dad and Michele, the woman I loved enough to marry, was going to be a Mum...

Welcome to Dimpy's Blog!

So who the heck is Dimpy and why does he/she feel the need to have a blog?

My name is Mark Powell and I live in Brighton, a lovely city on the South Coast of the UK, and I have just had a baby. Well, technically, my lovely wife Michele (yes, only one "l") had the baby, but I was on hand all the way through with words of encouragement and cold sponges, but more on that later.

"Dimpy" is an old school nickname - we'll leave it at there for the moment.

I've just had a baby, and the pregnancy and birth was one of the most terrifying, fantastic, emotional and joyous thing to happen in my 34 years of life. And I wanted to share some of those feelings with you, along with the story of the pregnancy.

More to come...