The Longest Day - Part One
In cases where the baby is late, the birth sometimes has to be "induced", which is artificially kick-starting the chemical processes which get the early stages of labour going. As the due date came and went without any signs of movement down below, it seemed like induction would be the only option.
When the midwife last came round to see Michele, she discussed induction and it was decided that an appointment should be made. If we needed it, at least we'd have a slot; if something happened sooner, then all well and good.
For some reason, we had thought that we were to go in "next Thursday", which was the 1st June. Our actual appointment was on Tuesday 30th May. Ooops. Despite the misunderstanding, it all worked out in the end.
On the 30th, I decided that I wanted the next day off as annual leave before we went in to have the baby induced. Saying my goodbyes, I went home that evening and flicked idly through Michele's notes. When we saw the appointment date, we exchanged a look of "Oh bugger" and Michele immediately phoned Level 11. They were very understanding, and booked us in for 11.00 am the next day. Luckily, I had decided to take the right day off!
That night was spent making sure our bag was packed and that we had everything we'd need. It wasn't just a case of taking toothpaste and a spare nightie, oh no. We had to pack nappies and clothes for the baby, various toiletries and a whole range of "support" items - electric fans, sponges and the like, all of which would be used. You see, as I had learned in the ante-natal class, I wasn't just there to lend emotional support. As the "birth partner", I had my duties, which included keeping Michele cool, hydrated, and as relaxed as possible.
I wasn't just going along for the ride - I'd have my work to do too.
That night was a strange one for both of us. We had been caught off guard with the change of appointment, and it was now suddenly very real and scary - we were going to hospital to have a baby - tomorrow!! We let our families know what was happening, and both agreed not to contact them again until we had some news. I thought it a bad idea for Michele to contact anyone when labour began - I was there for her and it would only mean other family members waiting around. No, we'd phone them when it was all over, either way.
Yes, I say either way because that small nagging voice in the back of my head returned - "What if it goes wrong...?" - and I had a specific worry. I am epileptic, the first in my family to have this condition, and I was afraid that I'd pass it on to my child. It would be heartbreaking if my little baby had fits, knowing that I had probably been responsible. Michele and I talked about this, and agreed that although the chances of it happening were very small, if the baby did have epilepsy, it wouldn't be my fault and - most importantly - we wouldn't love it any less.
After reassuring each other that everything would be ok and, if it wasn't, we would be there for each other, we gradually fell asleep. Michele has always been able to fall asleep within minutes of hitting the pillow; I always took much longer, and tonight was no different.
Taking no chances, several alarm clocks ensured we were awake and up in good time. When packed and ready, we called a taxi. I decided to leave the buggy at home for now, as we lived so close it would be easy for me to pop home and get it when the time came. I did take the car seat with me, just in case.
Michele was understandably nervous and I could feel her anxiety as the taxi wound it's way through the streets to the hospital. Outside, people carried on their lives as normal, totally unware that we were about to go through a life-changing experience.
We arrived at the hospital's Accident and Emergency department and paid the driver. Hauling the bag from the boot, I cast one last wistful look at the outside world before heading into the hospital with Michele. This had all been so different to how we had imagined it. There was no sudden breaking of waters (something the Michele became so paranoid about that she refused to go to any supermarkets in case it happened), no sudden waking in the night to find Michele having the pains of early labour. It had all been so... organised. Almost like a routine appointment.
We found the lift and made our way to Level 11. Approaching the front desk of the ward, we got our first pleasant surprise.
Working in a hospital can be like being part of a huge family, especially if you work in clinical areas. Nurses swap wards and jobs as they progress through their careers to a point where they know, or have worked with, a lot of people. And so it was nice to see a young midwife smiling at us as we entered the ward.
"I thought it was you on the phone!" she said, as she saw Michele. "Let's get you straight into a private room". The midwife, Anna, had done some of her nurse training on the ward where Michele worked, and remembered her well. She had obviously decided to change jobs from nursing into midwifery, a change in direction which wasn't uncommon. Michele had the choice of being attended by Anna or a male midwife who was also on duty. She chose Anna.
We were shown into an east-facing room, complete with en-suite toilet and shower. Michele got comfy on the bed while being hooked up to a machine that monitors the foetal heartbeat and contractions (via abdominal surface tension).
Things were left like this for half an hour, to make sure the baby was happy. Then, at 11.45am, Anna ushered me out of the room - she was going to administer the Prostaglandin pessary that would hopefully trigger the chemical processes to make the cervix soften, thus allowing the contractions to begin.
The game was on.
When the midwife last came round to see Michele, she discussed induction and it was decided that an appointment should be made. If we needed it, at least we'd have a slot; if something happened sooner, then all well and good.
For some reason, we had thought that we were to go in "next Thursday", which was the 1st June. Our actual appointment was on Tuesday 30th May. Ooops. Despite the misunderstanding, it all worked out in the end.
On the 30th, I decided that I wanted the next day off as annual leave before we went in to have the baby induced. Saying my goodbyes, I went home that evening and flicked idly through Michele's notes. When we saw the appointment date, we exchanged a look of "Oh bugger" and Michele immediately phoned Level 11. They were very understanding, and booked us in for 11.00 am the next day. Luckily, I had decided to take the right day off!
That night was spent making sure our bag was packed and that we had everything we'd need. It wasn't just a case of taking toothpaste and a spare nightie, oh no. We had to pack nappies and clothes for the baby, various toiletries and a whole range of "support" items - electric fans, sponges and the like, all of which would be used. You see, as I had learned in the ante-natal class, I wasn't just there to lend emotional support. As the "birth partner", I had my duties, which included keeping Michele cool, hydrated, and as relaxed as possible.
I wasn't just going along for the ride - I'd have my work to do too.
That night was a strange one for both of us. We had been caught off guard with the change of appointment, and it was now suddenly very real and scary - we were going to hospital to have a baby - tomorrow!! We let our families know what was happening, and both agreed not to contact them again until we had some news. I thought it a bad idea for Michele to contact anyone when labour began - I was there for her and it would only mean other family members waiting around. No, we'd phone them when it was all over, either way.
Yes, I say either way because that small nagging voice in the back of my head returned - "What if it goes wrong...?" - and I had a specific worry. I am epileptic, the first in my family to have this condition, and I was afraid that I'd pass it on to my child. It would be heartbreaking if my little baby had fits, knowing that I had probably been responsible. Michele and I talked about this, and agreed that although the chances of it happening were very small, if the baby did have epilepsy, it wouldn't be my fault and - most importantly - we wouldn't love it any less.
After reassuring each other that everything would be ok and, if it wasn't, we would be there for each other, we gradually fell asleep. Michele has always been able to fall asleep within minutes of hitting the pillow; I always took much longer, and tonight was no different.
Taking no chances, several alarm clocks ensured we were awake and up in good time. When packed and ready, we called a taxi. I decided to leave the buggy at home for now, as we lived so close it would be easy for me to pop home and get it when the time came. I did take the car seat with me, just in case.
Michele was understandably nervous and I could feel her anxiety as the taxi wound it's way through the streets to the hospital. Outside, people carried on their lives as normal, totally unware that we were about to go through a life-changing experience.
We arrived at the hospital's Accident and Emergency department and paid the driver. Hauling the bag from the boot, I cast one last wistful look at the outside world before heading into the hospital with Michele. This had all been so different to how we had imagined it. There was no sudden breaking of waters (something the Michele became so paranoid about that she refused to go to any supermarkets in case it happened), no sudden waking in the night to find Michele having the pains of early labour. It had all been so... organised. Almost like a routine appointment.
We found the lift and made our way to Level 11. Approaching the front desk of the ward, we got our first pleasant surprise.
Working in a hospital can be like being part of a huge family, especially if you work in clinical areas. Nurses swap wards and jobs as they progress through their careers to a point where they know, or have worked with, a lot of people. And so it was nice to see a young midwife smiling at us as we entered the ward.
"I thought it was you on the phone!" she said, as she saw Michele. "Let's get you straight into a private room". The midwife, Anna, had done some of her nurse training on the ward where Michele worked, and remembered her well. She had obviously decided to change jobs from nursing into midwifery, a change in direction which wasn't uncommon. Michele had the choice of being attended by Anna or a male midwife who was also on duty. She chose Anna.
We were shown into an east-facing room, complete with en-suite toilet and shower. Michele got comfy on the bed while being hooked up to a machine that monitors the foetal heartbeat and contractions (via abdominal surface tension).
Things were left like this for half an hour, to make sure the baby was happy. Then, at 11.45am, Anna ushered me out of the room - she was going to administer the Prostaglandin pessary that would hopefully trigger the chemical processes to make the cervix soften, thus allowing the contractions to begin.
The game was on.
posted by Mark Powell | 11:45 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home