Day three! Things are going well.
When we brought Little O home, some of his... ahem... presents... were left behind so the lab could run some tests. In the event we had further problems at home and would need to bring Little O back for more IV fluids, the lab would already be one step ahead and we would have a clearer picture of what we were dealing with. Well, it turned out that my son actually DID have something else wrong with him: C. Difficile. AGAIN. Jeysus. C. Difficile lives in your gut normally, but is a superbug that is resistant to most antibiotics. If, like Little O, you have been on antibiotics for some other reason (he'd had bronchitis in January), then that can kill a lot of the good bacteria in your system as well as the bad. Because C. Difficile is resistant, however, and the good bacteria is being removed, it has the opportunity to grow quite rapidly and essentially take over the entire gut south of the stomach. This means the good bacteria cannot get back in once the antibiotic treatment has finished, and you get stomach cramps, diarrhea, a fever, etc. If left untreated you can potentially get very, very ill, and it can even kill you.
So, we had to go back to Little O's regular doc and get ANOTHER presciption... which has been successful and we have seen no further signs of illness or diarrhea. At that appointment he also checked Little O's arm and told me how disgusted he was at how it happened. I told him I had very strong feelings about it, but that I was going to be polite and keep my language clean. He suggested I complain to CHOW's Patient Care line, and I told him I already had... :) In fact, after I brought Little O home from the hospital and made sure all of us got a good night's sleep, it was the first thing I did on Thursday morning. I spoke to a very nice chap who listened carefully to my concerns, and then started apologising and apologising, over and over again. I told him that I needed to know that the staff who had treated my son were going to be spoken to, and that this would not happen to another child, and he promised me that all the staff concerned would indeed be "interviewed". Because this might take a while I might not hear back for several weeks, but I have already had a letter at home telling me the investigation is ongoing and that I will be contacted when it is resolved.
Result! Malpractice lawsuit not withstanding, that's basically the best outcome I could hope for. I wanted someone to take my concern seriously, and for the staff at CHOW to know that their neglect (for that is what it was, essentially) did have consequences. It's not as though I could get my money back, or coupons off my next visit (although that would be SWEET, given the cost of healthcare in this country), so making everyone aware that they need to do a better job listening to parents and paying attention to the cries of tiny children in pain is all that matters. Job done.
Little O's arm is now almost healed, two weeks after the incident. We kept applying that magic stuff, Vaseline, to the sore to create a barrier without using cotton wool or gauze (the threads could have gotten stuck to the wound and caused an infection), and it seems to have worked. The swelling took about three days to go down completely, but the scabs fell off earlier this week and we now only have some pinkish scars in the crook of his arm to remind us of that awful day. We also haven't seen any more diarrhea or signs of other gut problems... but we have been giving him more water than usual to help things heal faster anyway. The only problem we have now is that his ear has been draining what looks like green snot... and that isn't a great surprise, seeing as he has a minor cold and ear tubes helping his ear canals keep clear of infection. But it's still REALLY DISGUSTING, and I do gag when it's my turn to clean things up. I can't help it! Blood, poo, wee and vomit I'm fine with. Bogies from the nose, eyes and ears are HORRIBLE and they make me retch. Gah! I'm turning green just thinking about it.
I need to lie down.
Tina.
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pain. Show all posts
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
2. B is for Baby Steps
Okay... day two!
So, we left off with Little O being admitted to CHOW for dehydration following a Rotavirus diagnosis at a different hospital. Well, we finally got settled in our room at about 8pm, which is usually Little O's bedtime, but, as anyone who's ever been admitted to hospital knows, getting through the barrage of tests, questions, medical history and other assorted interruptions, means that it's another several hours before you're left in peace. Finally at around midnight we were left alone for a while, and I managed to get the pull-out couch set up so I could also sleep. However, during the night we were constantly being woken up by nurses and other medical professionals who needed more blood drawn, or vitals taken, or even just medical students 'taking a look' at 4am. It was absolutely absurd, and by 5am I'd given up and got up for the day. I'd had about three hours of sleep, and Little O had had about five.
Because he was so tired and ill, my son was also GRUMPY! I therefore made an executive decision to instruct all medical staff and other busy-bodies to leave us the hell alone after 12pm so we could both nap. Little O was getting sleepy around 12.30pm, but he was finding it hard to drop off and just wanted to roll around and tug on the number of tubes and devices attached to his body. At 1pm he finally succeeded in ripping off the splint that was keeping his arm straight so the IV would stay put, and before I could run over to his bed and stop him, he'd already begun playing with the IV itself. Convinced he'd done some more damage than I could see (with my medically-untrained eyes), I pushed the call button for the nurse and held Little O's hands still until we could fix the bandages, splint and IV. After about 20 mins a different nurse came in from our usual one, took a cursory look at the IV, and announced that she saw nothing wrong with it. I protested, and explained that Little O had definitely been playing with it, but she flushed it a few times and stuck to her guns. Then she wrapped the splint back on his arm so tightly I couldn't see any skin from armpit to fingertip.
Feeling unsure but relieved, I tried to get Little O to sleep again, but he started cycling through patterns of sleeping for about 15 mins, then waking up screaming and being restless. Then he'd tire himself out from screaming so hard he'd fall asleep, and 15 mins later the pattern would start all over again. I was really upset. I was so, so tired, and getting frustrated and worried. I called a nurse in (our usual one, this time) to look at him and she said she'd get a doctor, who never came. Then twice I called for a doctor myself, even going out into the hallway to physically bring one back with me. Doctors are not gods, and no matter how much respect I have for their knowledge, profession, or time, I felt as though I needed to start making a fuss so someone would help me with my son.
At about 2pm I called my husband away from his work and he arrived just after 3pm. The first thing he said when he entered the room was: "Little O is in pain". At around 4.30pm we managed to get some more doctors and med students in to take another look, and both my husband and I told them explicitly that we felt Little O's IV was bothering him, and that he was in pain. Finally one of them agreed to give him Tylenol (paracetamol) and a nurse was sent off to complete the order. At 5pm she came back in to administer the meds, and while she was in the room she checked his IV, for the first time since 1pm. Immediately she said, "This has to come out" and pulled off the gauze, tape and splint to reveal a very swollen little arm. She ripped out the IV and ran out of the room to get some help.
I approached the bed to see what the problem was, and to my horror Little O's arm was so swollen that he could not physically move his fingers. His arm was about three times the size it normally is, and he was SCREAMING in agony. His whole arm, from fingertip to shoulderblade, was absolutely massive. It looked like someone had inflated it with a bicycle pump. When the nurse had taken off the adhesive, the skin underneath had been stretched so thin that the tape had taken several layers off with it and left a gaping, weeping wound in the crook of his arm. There were also blisters and burns, and the whole thing was very painful to touch. The IV must have infiltrated about four hours prior, when he'd been playing with it, and the fluid meant to rehydrate him had instead been slowly pooling under the skin, swelling the arm and causing a lot of pain.
Well, I just lost it. I scooped Little O up and started sobbing and sobbing. I disconnected his feeding pump and took him over to the couch for cuddles and kisses, while both us got drenched in tears. My husband began the practical stuff, by getting us pillows and blankets, and applying the warm compresses the nurse had brought in to soothe the pain and start to relieve the swelling. I was able to calm down enough to tell my husband I wanted to take Little O home, because I felt he was being harmed more than healed under CHOW's care, and he immediately agreed with me. We told the nurse our intentions and she got a doctor in to try and talk us out of it. We didn't listen, and prepared to go home.
Before we left, Little O's regular GI doctor stopped by to see us, and recommended getting some stool samples to test on while we were heading home. As it was non-invasive (Little O kindly prepared a "sample" during the discussion), we said it was okay and then left at about 7.30pm.
More on the results of those tests tomorrow... But just one last thought for today: I called this post "Baby Steps" for a reason. One, because Little O is finally learning to walk, and two, because learning how to be an advocate for your child can take you to places you never thought you'd go. Having a nurse ignore your pleas for four hours, and for medical professionals to cause harm by thinking they know your child's patterns of behaviour better than you do, well, it really made me take a few baby steps in a new direction. I have been forced to face up to the fact that I may be seen (or unseen) to be invisible, and for my instincts to be ignored. This has never happened to me before, because most doctors my son sees defer to me on how to take care of him in the best way. However, I am certain, more than ever, that I am the best advocate for my son, and I am certain that I will not take no for an answer next time. I will do better and will be stronger, so that there is never, ever, a "next time" anyway.
Baby steps, baby steps.
Tina.
So, we left off with Little O being admitted to CHOW for dehydration following a Rotavirus diagnosis at a different hospital. Well, we finally got settled in our room at about 8pm, which is usually Little O's bedtime, but, as anyone who's ever been admitted to hospital knows, getting through the barrage of tests, questions, medical history and other assorted interruptions, means that it's another several hours before you're left in peace. Finally at around midnight we were left alone for a while, and I managed to get the pull-out couch set up so I could also sleep. However, during the night we were constantly being woken up by nurses and other medical professionals who needed more blood drawn, or vitals taken, or even just medical students 'taking a look' at 4am. It was absolutely absurd, and by 5am I'd given up and got up for the day. I'd had about three hours of sleep, and Little O had had about five.
Because he was so tired and ill, my son was also GRUMPY! I therefore made an executive decision to instruct all medical staff and other busy-bodies to leave us the hell alone after 12pm so we could both nap. Little O was getting sleepy around 12.30pm, but he was finding it hard to drop off and just wanted to roll around and tug on the number of tubes and devices attached to his body. At 1pm he finally succeeded in ripping off the splint that was keeping his arm straight so the IV would stay put, and before I could run over to his bed and stop him, he'd already begun playing with the IV itself. Convinced he'd done some more damage than I could see (with my medically-untrained eyes), I pushed the call button for the nurse and held Little O's hands still until we could fix the bandages, splint and IV. After about 20 mins a different nurse came in from our usual one, took a cursory look at the IV, and announced that she saw nothing wrong with it. I protested, and explained that Little O had definitely been playing with it, but she flushed it a few times and stuck to her guns. Then she wrapped the splint back on his arm so tightly I couldn't see any skin from armpit to fingertip.
Feeling unsure but relieved, I tried to get Little O to sleep again, but he started cycling through patterns of sleeping for about 15 mins, then waking up screaming and being restless. Then he'd tire himself out from screaming so hard he'd fall asleep, and 15 mins later the pattern would start all over again. I was really upset. I was so, so tired, and getting frustrated and worried. I called a nurse in (our usual one, this time) to look at him and she said she'd get a doctor, who never came. Then twice I called for a doctor myself, even going out into the hallway to physically bring one back with me. Doctors are not gods, and no matter how much respect I have for their knowledge, profession, or time, I felt as though I needed to start making a fuss so someone would help me with my son.
At about 2pm I called my husband away from his work and he arrived just after 3pm. The first thing he said when he entered the room was: "Little O is in pain". At around 4.30pm we managed to get some more doctors and med students in to take another look, and both my husband and I told them explicitly that we felt Little O's IV was bothering him, and that he was in pain. Finally one of them agreed to give him Tylenol (paracetamol) and a nurse was sent off to complete the order. At 5pm she came back in to administer the meds, and while she was in the room she checked his IV, for the first time since 1pm. Immediately she said, "This has to come out" and pulled off the gauze, tape and splint to reveal a very swollen little arm. She ripped out the IV and ran out of the room to get some help.
I approached the bed to see what the problem was, and to my horror Little O's arm was so swollen that he could not physically move his fingers. His arm was about three times the size it normally is, and he was SCREAMING in agony. His whole arm, from fingertip to shoulderblade, was absolutely massive. It looked like someone had inflated it with a bicycle pump. When the nurse had taken off the adhesive, the skin underneath had been stretched so thin that the tape had taken several layers off with it and left a gaping, weeping wound in the crook of his arm. There were also blisters and burns, and the whole thing was very painful to touch. The IV must have infiltrated about four hours prior, when he'd been playing with it, and the fluid meant to rehydrate him had instead been slowly pooling under the skin, swelling the arm and causing a lot of pain.
Well, I just lost it. I scooped Little O up and started sobbing and sobbing. I disconnected his feeding pump and took him over to the couch for cuddles and kisses, while both us got drenched in tears. My husband began the practical stuff, by getting us pillows and blankets, and applying the warm compresses the nurse had brought in to soothe the pain and start to relieve the swelling. I was able to calm down enough to tell my husband I wanted to take Little O home, because I felt he was being harmed more than healed under CHOW's care, and he immediately agreed with me. We told the nurse our intentions and she got a doctor in to try and talk us out of it. We didn't listen, and prepared to go home.
Before we left, Little O's regular GI doctor stopped by to see us, and recommended getting some stool samples to test on while we were heading home. As it was non-invasive (Little O kindly prepared a "sample" during the discussion), we said it was okay and then left at about 7.30pm.
More on the results of those tests tomorrow... But just one last thought for today: I called this post "Baby Steps" for a reason. One, because Little O is finally learning to walk, and two, because learning how to be an advocate for your child can take you to places you never thought you'd go. Having a nurse ignore your pleas for four hours, and for medical professionals to cause harm by thinking they know your child's patterns of behaviour better than you do, well, it really made me take a few baby steps in a new direction. I have been forced to face up to the fact that I may be seen (or unseen) to be invisible, and for my instincts to be ignored. This has never happened to me before, because most doctors my son sees defer to me on how to take care of him in the best way. However, I am certain, more than ever, that I am the best advocate for my son, and I am certain that I will not take no for an answer next time. I will do better and will be stronger, so that there is never, ever, a "next time" anyway.
Baby steps, baby steps.
Tina.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
From good to bad to worse
Yeah, so I started today out feeling better about the 'situation' and even got as far as to write a post about the good news. Then the rest of my day took over and now I feel desperately unhappy again.
I'm just not getting a good grip on Little O's feeds. I've been trying for so long to adapt and persevere, but it seems like there's a constant wall up ahead that I can't climb over. Since he came home from the hospital on June 10th, 2009, my husband and I have battled and battled to make sure Little O has been fed properly and makes gains in his growth and development. We've tried so hard to offer him a variety of foods; changed formulas three times (four if you include breastmilk); worked with gravity feeds, pump feeds, bottle feeds, spoon feeds, safety-feeder feeds; and all along we've had experts in our ears telling us to 'switch this', or 'stick with that'.
I'm exhausted, and I've spent a great deal of today in tears. Last week we weighed Little O on our home scales and were dismayed to see he still hasn't gained any weight since April. April! I took him to Seattle in April.... it seems a very long time ago. After noticing this problem I called his nutritionist and suggested to her we try feeding him his PediaSure when he's asleep ONLY. He's generally a very good sleeper and will sleep for about 11 or 12 hours at night and another three or four in the afternoon, so the idea of slowly pump-feeding him while he naps seems like a good solution. The theory is that he'll not only stop throwing up (because the rate is so slow on the pump), but it will also free up large portions of the day to concentrate on oral feeds. If I'm not having to force liquid nutrition into him while also forcing a spoon into his mouth, it means he's less likely to throw up solids, AND he'll hopefully enjoy oral feeds more. And then, the more oral intake he has, the less liquid nutrition he needs.
IMAGINE! Imagine this glorious world where your baby boy doesn't live in constant pain. Imagine packing the burp cloths and wipe-up rags into storage because you don't have to mop up sick five times a day. Imagine feeding your child like any other family, where dinner time isn't battle-time and you don't have to mentally and physically gear yourself up for war. Imagine putting your child to bed knowing they've felt no discomfort all day and that they can look forward to a tomorrow where eating is a nice, enjoyable activity. Just imagine...
Today I can't imagine this world. This world seems very far away. My baby boy is nearly 15-months-old and his reflux is still the hardest challenge he faces. He woke up several times in the night to throw up or just scream, and even when I went in at 7.30am, the pump still had nearly 100ml left to go. I don't know what to do. I can't set the pump to go any faster because he'll just throw it up, and I can't leave the food in the bag because he needs the nutrition to grow. I can't run the pump for longer because he needs to be asleep, and I can't let him sleep for longer because then he won't nap in the afternoon...
Yesterday I was so pleased that Little O went down for his nap at 12pm and slept right through until 3.30pm. I was pleased, because it meant he got all his PediaSure and I didn't have to worry about a thing. That was, until I went to wake him up and saw that the med-port on his extension tube (the tube that clicks into his stomach) had popped open during his nap, and he was laying in a large, wet pool of pink PediaSure. So after three and a half hours of pump operation, Little O had digested exactly nothing. Nada. Zilch. And this morning I went in at 7.30am because he was yelling his head off, only to discover that he'd thrown up a large volume of goo, and was now laying in a large, wet pool of chocolate PediaSure. And that brown stuff STAINS. So, for the second time in two days I had to change his bedclothes, comfort a soaking wet little boy, and fret about the fact he's not getting enough food digested.
I am just SO DONE WITH REFLUX! I cannot, cannot keep fighting this battle. I just can't do it. I don't have the patience. I certainly don't have the energy. I cannot keep explaining to experts how horrific our lives have become only to have them dismiss my words. I'm so sad and angry and frustrated. I need for this to go away; I need a Fairy Godmother to come and visit my house and whisk us all away to that lovely other world where Little O doesn't cry out in pain in the middle of the night and where bedsheets aren't stained to the point of embarrasment. I need for someone else to take care of us. I need to be able to focus on something, anything else but whether my son is growing and eating and comfortable. I need a break. A real, honest break.
I need to see to my sister. I really miss her. I miss both my sisters, but sometimes you just need a hug from your big sister and you get the energy back to fight another day.
God, I need some help. And I need to stop crying.
Tina.
I'm just not getting a good grip on Little O's feeds. I've been trying for so long to adapt and persevere, but it seems like there's a constant wall up ahead that I can't climb over. Since he came home from the hospital on June 10th, 2009, my husband and I have battled and battled to make sure Little O has been fed properly and makes gains in his growth and development. We've tried so hard to offer him a variety of foods; changed formulas three times (four if you include breastmilk); worked with gravity feeds, pump feeds, bottle feeds, spoon feeds, safety-feeder feeds; and all along we've had experts in our ears telling us to 'switch this', or 'stick with that'.
I'm exhausted, and I've spent a great deal of today in tears. Last week we weighed Little O on our home scales and were dismayed to see he still hasn't gained any weight since April. April! I took him to Seattle in April.... it seems a very long time ago. After noticing this problem I called his nutritionist and suggested to her we try feeding him his PediaSure when he's asleep ONLY. He's generally a very good sleeper and will sleep for about 11 or 12 hours at night and another three or four in the afternoon, so the idea of slowly pump-feeding him while he naps seems like a good solution. The theory is that he'll not only stop throwing up (because the rate is so slow on the pump), but it will also free up large portions of the day to concentrate on oral feeds. If I'm not having to force liquid nutrition into him while also forcing a spoon into his mouth, it means he's less likely to throw up solids, AND he'll hopefully enjoy oral feeds more. And then, the more oral intake he has, the less liquid nutrition he needs.
IMAGINE! Imagine this glorious world where your baby boy doesn't live in constant pain. Imagine packing the burp cloths and wipe-up rags into storage because you don't have to mop up sick five times a day. Imagine feeding your child like any other family, where dinner time isn't battle-time and you don't have to mentally and physically gear yourself up for war. Imagine putting your child to bed knowing they've felt no discomfort all day and that they can look forward to a tomorrow where eating is a nice, enjoyable activity. Just imagine...
Today I can't imagine this world. This world seems very far away. My baby boy is nearly 15-months-old and his reflux is still the hardest challenge he faces. He woke up several times in the night to throw up or just scream, and even when I went in at 7.30am, the pump still had nearly 100ml left to go. I don't know what to do. I can't set the pump to go any faster because he'll just throw it up, and I can't leave the food in the bag because he needs the nutrition to grow. I can't run the pump for longer because he needs to be asleep, and I can't let him sleep for longer because then he won't nap in the afternoon...
Yesterday I was so pleased that Little O went down for his nap at 12pm and slept right through until 3.30pm. I was pleased, because it meant he got all his PediaSure and I didn't have to worry about a thing. That was, until I went to wake him up and saw that the med-port on his extension tube (the tube that clicks into his stomach) had popped open during his nap, and he was laying in a large, wet pool of pink PediaSure. So after three and a half hours of pump operation, Little O had digested exactly nothing. Nada. Zilch. And this morning I went in at 7.30am because he was yelling his head off, only to discover that he'd thrown up a large volume of goo, and was now laying in a large, wet pool of chocolate PediaSure. And that brown stuff STAINS. So, for the second time in two days I had to change his bedclothes, comfort a soaking wet little boy, and fret about the fact he's not getting enough food digested.
I am just SO DONE WITH REFLUX! I cannot, cannot keep fighting this battle. I just can't do it. I don't have the patience. I certainly don't have the energy. I cannot keep explaining to experts how horrific our lives have become only to have them dismiss my words. I'm so sad and angry and frustrated. I need for this to go away; I need a Fairy Godmother to come and visit my house and whisk us all away to that lovely other world where Little O doesn't cry out in pain in the middle of the night and where bedsheets aren't stained to the point of embarrasment. I need for someone else to take care of us. I need to be able to focus on something, anything else but whether my son is growing and eating and comfortable. I need a break. A real, honest break.
I need to see to my sister. I really miss her. I miss both my sisters, but sometimes you just need a hug from your big sister and you get the energy back to fight another day.
God, I need some help. And I need to stop crying.
Tina.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Part 2
Right, where was I?
At about 12.00pm I asked to get back into the bath. (Midwife: "That's a good idea, it can really help to speed things along". So why aren't there rows of baths instead of beds on maternity wards then?) I had actually wanted a water birth but, as I say, I don't think anyone bothered to look at my birth plan, and I was too frightened to speak up. Anyway, I got into the bath, dragging my Entonox cylinder with me, and promptly relaxed and calmed down. I continued to doze off between contractions, with the Entonox mouthpiece falling out of my mouth! Before long, though, I thought, "this baby's coming." I gesiculated wildly at the midwife's pull-cord to get my husband to summon her, but he didn't know what I was pointing at and thought I wanted something from my pile of clothes on the windowsill! I finally gasped "midwife!" and he got her.
I was taken back to my bed to be examined, whereupon my waters broke. I was 7cm dilated and preparations were made to take me down to the labour ward. At this point the 'show' appeared (the mucus plug in the cervix which keeps everything sealed up for 9 months). I spotted it on the bed and asked what it was (I wanted to be sure). "Oh, that's the show," said the midwife, and threw a sheet over it. "You weren't supposed to see that." Why the hell not? "It's ok, I made it," I managed to say. The staff commented that I still had a sense of humour - which was true but that wasn't the point. It had been inside me for all that time and I wanted to see it, to be aware of everything that had and was still happening to me. Why did they feel the need to keep it hidden? Is there honestly still a belief that these natural female bodily functions and secretions are shameful and dirty? I was put in a wheelchair and taken to the labour ward - but not before a little wait because there was a hospital tour for expectant mothers taking place and, the state I was in, I don't think they wanted me to frighten them! I'm not sure what I think about this. I mean, I was about to give birth, surely my needs should have been top of the list, but it is good that they wanted to give the expectant mothers a positive impression of what they're about to endure (however misleading that may be).
So then. Onto the second stage, or 'active labour'. I had originally decided not to have an epidural as I didn't fancy the side-effects (loss of bladder control, lasting numbness that would have to wear off, etc) but at this stage I changed my mind and decided I wanted one. However, the staff said that I was doing so well and things were moving on at such a pace that I would probably get on without one. I began pushing with the contractions, and stopped taking the Entonox (no pain relief at all! I am a hardass.). This carried on for nearly two hours, during which time I repeatedly requested an epidural and was repeatedly told (very nicely, though) that it would probably not be worth it. However, before long I was shouting "I don't care if you have to keep your quotas down or whatever, I wanted an epidural and YOU wouldn't give me one!" In retrospect, I'm pleased that I made it through without one, but it's myself I'm pleased with, not the staff. They should have given me what I wanted. I was given fluids in an IV in my left hand, and I remember informng them that I give blood from my right, and that they might have more luck finding a vein there!
What nobody knew at this stage was that the baby's cord was wrapped three times around the neck, which was why the baby wasn't making progress down the birth canal. A (male) obsetrician appeared at this point (to be honest, plenty of people were in and out of that room over those few hours, and I could not tell you how many or who the majority of them were. My mind was elsewhere) and he said that they were going to 'give the baby a hand' getting out, since progress had stalled and the baby's heartbeat had slowed. Whatever my feelings on interventions during birth were prior to this, this was brilliant news. As I was moaning and complaining about the pain, a midwife said, "it's 3.00pm. Your baby will be born by 10 past". The best thing I had heard all day.
The end of the bed came away, my head went back, the stirrups appeared and up went my legs. I was given four injections of local anaesthetic and an episiotomy (cut thorught the perenium) was perfomed. Yes, it's an absolute cariacature of childbirth, and it was quite a bloodbath (and have I mentioned the shit yet? Yes, I shat myself while I was pushing. And couldn't care less). A suction cup (ventouse) was attached to the baby's head, and with a few more pushes and contractions, the head was out. I asked why I couldn't hear the baby. I still don't understand why babies don't cry as soon as their head's born! A couple more contractions and pushes and my husband cried "It's a boy! Oh, it's S------!" and my brand new son was born.
He was a huge baby - 9lb 4oz, I shortly learned - and he had shat himself too, and was grey from the birth goo and the effect of the birth on his circulation. They plonked him on my tummy and the first thing I saw was this enormous, round, grey baby bum with a brown anus! Nice! I didn't even see his face until minutes later, when the cord had been cut and he'd been wrapped in a blanket. Next time, I'm going to insist that all that can wait until I've seen my baby's face and kissed it. Nor did I see the placenta, which I really wanted a look at (see 'the show', above). In all honesty, my prevailing feeling at that point was relief and gladness at the pregnancy, labour and birth being over, rather than joy or excitement at meeting S. That sounds awful, but in my defence, I had had virtually no sleep, there was no food in my system, I had never experienced pain like it, and I was rather out of it from the Entonox. And I doubt I'm the first new mother to have felt like that! giving birth was simultaneously the best and worst experience of my life, although I would not come to see it as the best for little while. Predictably, the first thing I said was, "I'm never doing that again!" The midwives all laughed and said, "they all say that," so I pointed to my husband and said, "well, you're having the next one then!" And I meant it.
Apparently I only swore once and only told my husband to shut up once - less than on a normal day!
I've been writing this as much for me as for anyone else to read it. While women the world over give birth every minute, I have done it but once, and it was the experience of my life. Nothing else comes close. Every woman's birth story is unique and I'm glad I've now got mine on record. Having said that, it's true that nature causes you to forget the pain, so despite this being a pretty accurate account, I know something is missing. We all know that if any mother had an accurate memory of giving birth, she would never put herself through it again! I've got a lot more to tell about the first days and months of S's life, and hope I can continue to write on here a little more often. But now it's teatime.
Anthea
At about 12.00pm I asked to get back into the bath. (Midwife: "That's a good idea, it can really help to speed things along". So why aren't there rows of baths instead of beds on maternity wards then?) I had actually wanted a water birth but, as I say, I don't think anyone bothered to look at my birth plan, and I was too frightened to speak up. Anyway, I got into the bath, dragging my Entonox cylinder with me, and promptly relaxed and calmed down. I continued to doze off between contractions, with the Entonox mouthpiece falling out of my mouth! Before long, though, I thought, "this baby's coming." I gesiculated wildly at the midwife's pull-cord to get my husband to summon her, but he didn't know what I was pointing at and thought I wanted something from my pile of clothes on the windowsill! I finally gasped "midwife!" and he got her.
I was taken back to my bed to be examined, whereupon my waters broke. I was 7cm dilated and preparations were made to take me down to the labour ward. At this point the 'show' appeared (the mucus plug in the cervix which keeps everything sealed up for 9 months). I spotted it on the bed and asked what it was (I wanted to be sure). "Oh, that's the show," said the midwife, and threw a sheet over it. "You weren't supposed to see that." Why the hell not? "It's ok, I made it," I managed to say. The staff commented that I still had a sense of humour - which was true but that wasn't the point. It had been inside me for all that time and I wanted to see it, to be aware of everything that had and was still happening to me. Why did they feel the need to keep it hidden? Is there honestly still a belief that these natural female bodily functions and secretions are shameful and dirty? I was put in a wheelchair and taken to the labour ward - but not before a little wait because there was a hospital tour for expectant mothers taking place and, the state I was in, I don't think they wanted me to frighten them! I'm not sure what I think about this. I mean, I was about to give birth, surely my needs should have been top of the list, but it is good that they wanted to give the expectant mothers a positive impression of what they're about to endure (however misleading that may be).
So then. Onto the second stage, or 'active labour'. I had originally decided not to have an epidural as I didn't fancy the side-effects (loss of bladder control, lasting numbness that would have to wear off, etc) but at this stage I changed my mind and decided I wanted one. However, the staff said that I was doing so well and things were moving on at such a pace that I would probably get on without one. I began pushing with the contractions, and stopped taking the Entonox (no pain relief at all! I am a hardass.). This carried on for nearly two hours, during which time I repeatedly requested an epidural and was repeatedly told (very nicely, though) that it would probably not be worth it. However, before long I was shouting "I don't care if you have to keep your quotas down or whatever, I wanted an epidural and YOU wouldn't give me one!" In retrospect, I'm pleased that I made it through without one, but it's myself I'm pleased with, not the staff. They should have given me what I wanted. I was given fluids in an IV in my left hand, and I remember informng them that I give blood from my right, and that they might have more luck finding a vein there!
What nobody knew at this stage was that the baby's cord was wrapped three times around the neck, which was why the baby wasn't making progress down the birth canal. A (male) obsetrician appeared at this point (to be honest, plenty of people were in and out of that room over those few hours, and I could not tell you how many or who the majority of them were. My mind was elsewhere) and he said that they were going to 'give the baby a hand' getting out, since progress had stalled and the baby's heartbeat had slowed. Whatever my feelings on interventions during birth were prior to this, this was brilliant news. As I was moaning and complaining about the pain, a midwife said, "it's 3.00pm. Your baby will be born by 10 past". The best thing I had heard all day.
The end of the bed came away, my head went back, the stirrups appeared and up went my legs. I was given four injections of local anaesthetic and an episiotomy (cut thorught the perenium) was perfomed. Yes, it's an absolute cariacature of childbirth, and it was quite a bloodbath (and have I mentioned the shit yet? Yes, I shat myself while I was pushing. And couldn't care less). A suction cup (ventouse) was attached to the baby's head, and with a few more pushes and contractions, the head was out. I asked why I couldn't hear the baby. I still don't understand why babies don't cry as soon as their head's born! A couple more contractions and pushes and my husband cried "It's a boy! Oh, it's S------!" and my brand new son was born.
He was a huge baby - 9lb 4oz, I shortly learned - and he had shat himself too, and was grey from the birth goo and the effect of the birth on his circulation. They plonked him on my tummy and the first thing I saw was this enormous, round, grey baby bum with a brown anus! Nice! I didn't even see his face until minutes later, when the cord had been cut and he'd been wrapped in a blanket. Next time, I'm going to insist that all that can wait until I've seen my baby's face and kissed it. Nor did I see the placenta, which I really wanted a look at (see 'the show', above). In all honesty, my prevailing feeling at that point was relief and gladness at the pregnancy, labour and birth being over, rather than joy or excitement at meeting S. That sounds awful, but in my defence, I had had virtually no sleep, there was no food in my system, I had never experienced pain like it, and I was rather out of it from the Entonox. And I doubt I'm the first new mother to have felt like that! giving birth was simultaneously the best and worst experience of my life, although I would not come to see it as the best for little while. Predictably, the first thing I said was, "I'm never doing that again!" The midwives all laughed and said, "they all say that," so I pointed to my husband and said, "well, you're having the next one then!" And I meant it.
Apparently I only swore once and only told my husband to shut up once - less than on a normal day!
I've been writing this as much for me as for anyone else to read it. While women the world over give birth every minute, I have done it but once, and it was the experience of my life. Nothing else comes close. Every woman's birth story is unique and I'm glad I've now got mine on record. Having said that, it's true that nature causes you to forget the pain, so despite this being a pretty accurate account, I know something is missing. We all know that if any mother had an accurate memory of giving birth, she would never put herself through it again! I've got a lot more to tell about the first days and months of S's life, and hope I can continue to write on here a little more often. But now it's teatime.
Anthea
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Part 1 of many
OK, I've finally found 5 minutes to sit down and write something on here for the first time in about 8 months!
The birth of my baby seems like as good a place to start as any.
After two weeks of curries, 'romantic nights', long walks, membrane sweeps (if you have to ask...) and abject boredom, baby was showing no signs of making an appearance. In fact, the head was partly engaged and then went back up again! I had to be induced. I walked to the hospital on the Friday night and had prostoglandins (synthetic hormones) injected up me - nice. Normally, this method of induction takes about 6 hours to work and is not successful first time round for first time mothers, so the plan was that I would have it done at bedtime, sleep, and then they'd have another go in the morning which was much more likely to work.
So. My husband stayed with me while the induction took place, then got me settled and went home to get some sleep himself. Unbeknownst to him, the hormones took effect very quickly and my labour began at about 1.00am. It felt like back pain, but after a while a midwife confirmed that the pains were settling into fairly regular contractions. I was alone on the ward, in the dark, with a skeleton weekend staff whom I barely saw. Not how I'd pictured my labour. No-one asked me about my birth plan, I was too intimidated to ask for help with my TENS machine (so didn't use it in the end) and had no-one to rub my back or coach me through the pains. At 3.00am I decided I wanted to phone my husband and get him to come in so approached the front desk and informed the woman (don't know if she was a midwife, nurse or receptionist) that there would soon be a man arriving and she would need to let him in. "Why?" she asked (!!!???!) "Because I'm in pain and I want my husband to help me through it," I replied (!!!!!!!) "I'm afraid visiting hours are between 8.00am and 8.00pm," she informed me. Fucking hell. So I spent the rest of the night without pain relief (I wanted massage and the TENS machine), labouring alone in the dark, and fairly scared since this was my first time. I do plan to have another baby, and if the same thing happens again, I shall shout and scream and stamp my foot until I am allowed to have my husband with me. I mean, if we'd turned up at midnight with me having gone into labour spontaneously, would they have sent him away and told him to come back at 8.00am? I think not. The more I look back on this, the more outraged I am. I'm thinking of officially complaining. Any thoughts?
Anyway. I did take a bath after this in a huge double tub. I found it highly effective - in fact, although I'm usually happier on dry land and a bit scared of water, I had really enjoyed baths and swimming throughout my pregnancy - in terms of pain relief and calming me down. At 7.00am I rang my husband. He answered the phone and apparently I sounded really down (not surprising, considering the night I'd had!). He took this to mean that I was annoyed that the induction hadn't worked, when it was quite the opposite! "See you in an hour," I said, but 15 minutes later I the pains were getting worse so I rang him and told him to come straight there, to hell with their visiting hours. At 7.30 he arrived and was again informed of the visiting hours. "Is that going to be a problem?" he demanded, and they grudgingly let him in.
From then until about lunchtime is a bit hazy now. I walked around for pain relief and vomited on another bed ("You must really stay near your bed!" I was curtly told - minutes before another midwife recommended I try walking around!). I used Entonox (gas and air) for pain relief, which I loved. My husband massaged my back for what seemed to him like hours on end. I can't really remember much more than this as I was quite high on Entonox and had had virtually no sleep during the night so kept dozing off between contractions.
Right, baby is now demanding milk so I will return shortly with the next instalment!
Anthea
The birth of my baby seems like as good a place to start as any.
After two weeks of curries, 'romantic nights', long walks, membrane sweeps (if you have to ask...) and abject boredom, baby was showing no signs of making an appearance. In fact, the head was partly engaged and then went back up again! I had to be induced. I walked to the hospital on the Friday night and had prostoglandins (synthetic hormones) injected up me - nice. Normally, this method of induction takes about 6 hours to work and is not successful first time round for first time mothers, so the plan was that I would have it done at bedtime, sleep, and then they'd have another go in the morning which was much more likely to work.
So. My husband stayed with me while the induction took place, then got me settled and went home to get some sleep himself. Unbeknownst to him, the hormones took effect very quickly and my labour began at about 1.00am. It felt like back pain, but after a while a midwife confirmed that the pains were settling into fairly regular contractions. I was alone on the ward, in the dark, with a skeleton weekend staff whom I barely saw. Not how I'd pictured my labour. No-one asked me about my birth plan, I was too intimidated to ask for help with my TENS machine (so didn't use it in the end) and had no-one to rub my back or coach me through the pains. At 3.00am I decided I wanted to phone my husband and get him to come in so approached the front desk and informed the woman (don't know if she was a midwife, nurse or receptionist) that there would soon be a man arriving and she would need to let him in. "Why?" she asked (!!!???!) "Because I'm in pain and I want my husband to help me through it," I replied (!!!!!!!) "I'm afraid visiting hours are between 8.00am and 8.00pm," she informed me. Fucking hell. So I spent the rest of the night without pain relief (I wanted massage and the TENS machine), labouring alone in the dark, and fairly scared since this was my first time. I do plan to have another baby, and if the same thing happens again, I shall shout and scream and stamp my foot until I am allowed to have my husband with me. I mean, if we'd turned up at midnight with me having gone into labour spontaneously, would they have sent him away and told him to come back at 8.00am? I think not. The more I look back on this, the more outraged I am. I'm thinking of officially complaining. Any thoughts?
Anyway. I did take a bath after this in a huge double tub. I found it highly effective - in fact, although I'm usually happier on dry land and a bit scared of water, I had really enjoyed baths and swimming throughout my pregnancy - in terms of pain relief and calming me down. At 7.00am I rang my husband. He answered the phone and apparently I sounded really down (not surprising, considering the night I'd had!). He took this to mean that I was annoyed that the induction hadn't worked, when it was quite the opposite! "See you in an hour," I said, but 15 minutes later I the pains were getting worse so I rang him and told him to come straight there, to hell with their visiting hours. At 7.30 he arrived and was again informed of the visiting hours. "Is that going to be a problem?" he demanded, and they grudgingly let him in.
From then until about lunchtime is a bit hazy now. I walked around for pain relief and vomited on another bed ("You must really stay near your bed!" I was curtly told - minutes before another midwife recommended I try walking around!). I used Entonox (gas and air) for pain relief, which I loved. My husband massaged my back for what seemed to him like hours on end. I can't really remember much more than this as I was quite high on Entonox and had had virtually no sleep during the night so kept dozing off between contractions.
Right, baby is now demanding milk so I will return shortly with the next instalment!
Anthea
Thursday, June 18, 2009
He's here!
Well, after waiting for so long, my son finally arrived a month ago. For our eagle-eyed readers, you will no doubt notice this meant he arrived five weeks early, at 35 wks gestation. So, before we get down to the nitty-gritty of my life with a newborn, here's a no-holds barred guide to my astonishing labour.
All FIFTY-FIVE hours of it, so strap in...
I woke up early on Friday morning (the 15th of May) and my hips were hurting really badly. I managed to get a few more hours sleep but when I struggled awake around 10am the pain was getting worse and it seemed to be coming and going. Idiot that I am, I started researching "pregnancy hip pain" on the internet and honestly thought that's all it was. It wasn't until about 12pm I realised that the pain was starting in my back, not my hips, so I researched "early labour signs" instead. It seemed to make sense but I still wasn't convinced, so I sent a message to my friend on Facebook asking her what HER contractions had felt like. She called me immediately from Seattle and ordered me to call my doctor. Which I did. And they told me to go to labour and delivery. So I called my husband at work and started timing my contractions. By the time he got home it was about 3pm and I'd been in labor for about five hours. The pain wasn't too bad but I was definitely uncomfortable so we zoomed up there and I got settled in at 5pm.
Except I didn't. Because around 10pm they sent me home with Tylenol 3 and told me to try and rest. I wasn't dilating but I was around 75% effaced. I duly went home, wasn't able to sleep, and phoned them in the morning to say the pain meds hadn't done anything and I wanted to come back in. So we went back around 9am and I was 1cm dilated and 100% effaced. They told me to go home again and gave me sleeping tablets, which knocked me out for about three hours but in the last hour I was waking up during the most painful part of the contraction then falling immediately asleep again! My husband said he had to talk me back to sleep each time, but I don't remember any of it.
Around 8pm on Saturday I was starting to REALLY hurt. I called the doctor and she told me to come back in, if only so they could help me get some rest. I'd now been in labor for around 34 hours and I was getting really tired. Because I was 35 weeks along they wouldn't stop my labour (too late for that) or speed it up (too early for that), so I basically had to go it alone. When I went back in I was about 2-3cm and 100% dilated, so they let me stay. I laboured all bloody night and demanded IV meds three times. I also got into the jacuzzi water tub, tried a birthing ball (didn't help AT ALL, completely overrated) and walked around a lot with my husband. Finally, some time around noon on Sunday I was dilated enough for an epidural, so they hooked me up and I slept a little bit. However, it only took properly on my right side, which meant I had to stay slanted to my left to assist gravity. This hurt my hip a lot and I was really uncomfortable, but at least the majority of the pain went away.
At around 2pm I was 7-8cm dilated so the LOVELY LOVELY doctor broke my waters. Almost immediately I began contracting like mad and opened up to 10cm in an hour. It hurt like a son of a bitch, to be frank, and I panicked quite a lot. However, at 4.25pm I was allowed to start pushing, and that was great because it gave me a focus again. My husband told me later that I went all Earth-Mother on them at this point because I rested quietly in between contractions and then focused hard on pushing instead of yelling like a banshee (which was my own, personal approach to labour pain prior to this). I pushed for almost an hour and Owen Henri was born at 5.12pm on Sunday, 17th May, weighing 5lb 14oz and measuring 19". Including pushing I was in labor for 55 hours. During pushing I breathlessly told the doctor that under no circumstances was she to give me an episiotomy, and she told me that she never does those anyway, which was so wonderful to hear. To be graphic, she "lubed" me up down there and massaged the area to give Owen's head more room. I pushed him out without a tear or a cut, which I attribute to both me AND her. She and the nurses were just great, and the atmosphere stayed so calm. I also didn't poo! Hurrah!
When he came out he didn't breathe for about five seconds so they suctioned him, but after that he was okay and put in the little bed warmer. He was born with hernias in his groin so after a little cuddle he was taken to the NICU and the rest of the story is far too long to type up here now...
I think the things I'll remember the most are the pain... ouchee... the duration... sigh... and my body's amazing abilities. I am still astounded I was able to labour for three days, and for most of it I was without pain relief because it was either too early, or it kept wearing off because everything took so long. I'll also remember the first time I saw Owen, and thinking how much he looked like his 3D ultrasound pictures! My husband was a rock during the entire event, and I didn't feel alone. It was lovely, however, to be in an environment surrounded by women helping other women. My normal doctor is a man, but as he wasn't on call that weekend it ended up being his female colleague who helped me deliver. All the nurses were female, as were the NICU staff. Now, normally I'm very anti- this type of thing and would have said something about destroying the walls surrounding birth by having male members of staff there, but you know what? I loved it. I loved being surrounded by other mothers and a doctor who didn't do episiotomies because she believes women don't need them. It felt really warm and comforting to be with all these other women, enjoying a shared experience with them.
Except I didn't. Because around 10pm they sent me home with Tylenol 3 and told me to try and rest. I wasn't dilating but I was around 75% effaced. I duly went home, wasn't able to sleep, and phoned them in the morning to say the pain meds hadn't done anything and I wanted to come back in. So we went back around 9am and I was 1cm dilated and 100% effaced. They told me to go home again and gave me sleeping tablets, which knocked me out for about three hours but in the last hour I was waking up during the most painful part of the contraction then falling immediately asleep again! My husband said he had to talk me back to sleep each time, but I don't remember any of it.
Around 8pm on Saturday I was starting to REALLY hurt. I called the doctor and she told me to come back in, if only so they could help me get some rest. I'd now been in labor for around 34 hours and I was getting really tired. Because I was 35 weeks along they wouldn't stop my labour (too late for that) or speed it up (too early for that), so I basically had to go it alone. When I went back in I was about 2-3cm and 100% dilated, so they let me stay. I laboured all bloody night and demanded IV meds three times. I also got into the jacuzzi water tub, tried a birthing ball (didn't help AT ALL, completely overrated) and walked around a lot with my husband. Finally, some time around noon on Sunday I was dilated enough for an epidural, so they hooked me up and I slept a little bit. However, it only took properly on my right side, which meant I had to stay slanted to my left to assist gravity. This hurt my hip a lot and I was really uncomfortable, but at least the majority of the pain went away.
At around 2pm I was 7-8cm dilated so the LOVELY LOVELY doctor broke my waters. Almost immediately I began contracting like mad and opened up to 10cm in an hour. It hurt like a son of a bitch, to be frank, and I panicked quite a lot. However, at 4.25pm I was allowed to start pushing, and that was great because it gave me a focus again. My husband told me later that I went all Earth-Mother on them at this point because I rested quietly in between contractions and then focused hard on pushing instead of yelling like a banshee (which was my own, personal approach to labour pain prior to this). I pushed for almost an hour and Owen Henri was born at 5.12pm on Sunday, 17th May, weighing 5lb 14oz and measuring 19". Including pushing I was in labor for 55 hours. During pushing I breathlessly told the doctor that under no circumstances was she to give me an episiotomy, and she told me that she never does those anyway, which was so wonderful to hear. To be graphic, she "lubed" me up down there and massaged the area to give Owen's head more room. I pushed him out without a tear or a cut, which I attribute to both me AND her. She and the nurses were just great, and the atmosphere stayed so calm. I also didn't poo! Hurrah!
When he came out he didn't breathe for about five seconds so they suctioned him, but after that he was okay and put in the little bed warmer. He was born with hernias in his groin so after a little cuddle he was taken to the NICU and the rest of the story is far too long to type up here now...
I think the things I'll remember the most are the pain... ouchee... the duration... sigh... and my body's amazing abilities. I am still astounded I was able to labour for three days, and for most of it I was without pain relief because it was either too early, or it kept wearing off because everything took so long. I'll also remember the first time I saw Owen, and thinking how much he looked like his 3D ultrasound pictures! My husband was a rock during the entire event, and I didn't feel alone. It was lovely, however, to be in an environment surrounded by women helping other women. My normal doctor is a man, but as he wasn't on call that weekend it ended up being his female colleague who helped me deliver. All the nurses were female, as were the NICU staff. Now, normally I'm very anti- this type of thing and would have said something about destroying the walls surrounding birth by having male members of staff there, but you know what? I loved it. I loved being surrounded by other mothers and a doctor who didn't do episiotomies because she believes women don't need them. It felt really warm and comforting to be with all these other women, enjoying a shared experience with them.
Labour was bloody hard work, but I will look back at it with nothing but proud, happy memories.
Which helps me forget the pain.
:)
Tina
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