On Friday I had a baby! This was a pretty big deal so I'd like to get down my impressions before they're overwhelmed by other Big Feels. Or, y'know, distractions generally
( Read more... )
Well, My operation had finished by 10pm on the Saturday, and then I had overnight to sleep in the recovery room before I was moved to a ward. The next day, I was lucky in the sense that although it was painful, I could actually walk around, unlike the other two women next to and across from me on the ward. The downside of that was that I was unofficially considered walking wounded, which meant that I was expected to get by without much help. Also, male partners were not permitted to stay on the ward overnight, and I was under strict instructions to feed my newborn every three hours. So I had to do it all myself. The advice was to try to sleep when your baby does, and while that might be good advice for being at home, in hospital it was impossible because the other babies rooming in with their mothers were usually screaming (or at least one of them was - of course, it only takes one) while mine was asleep. By the Tuesday morning I was in bad shape, therefore. I broke down in tears in bed with Stef by my side, and four of the nurses looked at me incredulously. The head one said something like "Come on now - do you want *him* [pointing at Stef] to have to look after *you* as well as the baby?" I was enraged and exhausted, but I knew I would be OK because I was expecting to get out that day.
Unfortunately, in the middle of the afternoon they diagnosed Charles with jaundice, and decided they couldn't let him out until that was sorted. They put him on a light box, and at the time I had no idea just how long I was going to be forced to stay in the hospital. Even so, utterly sleep-deprived, I pulled the epilepsy card and demanded a private room. After some resistance, I got one, which meant that over the next few days, Stef could come and be with me overnight and I could get four hours sleep or so in a row during the night. Stef told me he'd heard some of the nurses bitching about me on the ward, asking why I should get such special treatment. Being told that I was prone to very occasional epileptic fits triggered by sleep deprivation didn't seem to cut the mustard too much, and they obviously thought I was a little madam. Fuck 'em.
There were a couple of lovely nurses, though - beautifully caring ones who took the time to actually give a shit. I want to give credit to them. But generally I couldn't wait to get out of the fucking place. Anyway, there's only so much soggy overcooked broccoli one can take for lunch, day after day. But I suppose the hardest thing for me - and here I expect you will sympathise, being a fellow mouthy woman (that's meant as a compliment, btw - I hope you take it as such) - was that it was the first time in my life where I felt I simply didn't have my usual "nuclear option" i.e. that of saying "Fuck you all - I'm off home". Because maybe then that would have got us reported to Social Services and we wouldn't have been properly free. And most importantly of course, because maybe the jaundice might have got really serious, and I'd never have been able to forgive myself (the scary info sheet on jaundice they gave me listed brain damage as a rare complication). Unlikely, but possible. And no-one else could take my place. I was trapped. In a way I've never felt before.
It took ages before they were finally happy to let Charles go. We eventually got out the following Saturday, a week after he was born. We walked home from the hospital and - because Charles was already partly on formula milk because of medical advice (low blood sugar at the start - problem sorted quickly, but breastfeeding never really took off because of that), it enabled Stef to take him into his room for the night, with me in my own separate room having my first glorious full night's sleep for months. Hurrah for that. and hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Stef. Wonderful man.
The caesarean scar healed quickly - by the time I got out of hospital I was pretty much all recovered. About a month later I had a slight scare when the scar opened up again a bit for a few days. It got to about a centimetre and a half along the line, and I made an appointment with my GP. I called on the Friday and got an appointment for the Tuesday, but I kept putting sheets of cotton wool on the area (the large flat sheets rather than the balls) to keep the area dry, and changing them a few times daily. Which meant that by the time I went to see the doc on the Tuesday, it had completely healed up. Not had any problems with it since. The only lasting effect has been that I still don't have any feeling on a big patch of skin on the swell on my tummy. But in the scheme of things, I think that's pretty minor. I occasionally show the scar to younger female friends who are curious, and to a woman they are astonished by how small it is. So don't worry on that score. And remember the cotton wool trick for if the scar opening thing happens to you. Don't be too freaked out; it's perfectly easily fixed.
And as to your other point - no-one ever really tells you how fucking impossible breastfeeding is at the start. The floppy head, the uncertainty about whether your baby is actually getting enough milk because, after all, you can't see how much they're drinking etc. etc. Also, in my case, I have an awkwardly large oval-shaped right nipple which was too big for Charles to suckle from. It's not so weird that a lover would notice (unless they'd been warned and were particularly looking for it), but it was enough to stymie my baby and led to the ridiculous situation where he only suckled from my left and I had to try to pump it all out of my right. I managed six weeks but didn't have enough milk to viably continue. And you know what? Charles is still a healthy, happy little toddler. So maybe he might have a marginally higher risk of obesity as an adult? Hey well - let them come back to me when they actually prove that for certain. And even then I'll laugh at the ridiculous fascism of it. I live in London - the sports facilities and opportunities for fitness are great. The food is plentiful and healthy. The opportunities for fatal or disabling childhood disease to take hold are few. The outlook for both Charles and your little one is fantastic.
Christ, that sounds both familiar & terrible. I was actually quite scared of ending up in that situation, so I told my midwife straight out that my anxiety & Aspergers meant to I wouldn't be able to cope with either a) a mixed ward or b) being alone at night, so she arranged with the ward manager for me to get my own room & A stayed there on a fold-out mattress. It was still so dreadful I was crying by day 3, and I really really really don't cry much - maybe twice a year, if that? A did loads of the fetching & carrying & feeding & child-soothing. I have literally no idea how I'd have coped alone.
If you resisted demanding your own room for several days, you must have nerves of steel! It's utterly appalling that medical staff were bitching about you getting appropriate support for a potentially serious disability - still, I guess we all have more of this to look forward too, as the NHS is systematically destroyed *weeps* There was a bit of an unfortunate irony in my situation, in that I got Special Treatment (own room, partner) bcos of being an official Crazy Person (well, crazy + a bit autistic), but being a Crazy Person also kept me in hospital an extra night, cos I needed to be seen by the clinical psychologist to be discharged but she was too busy to get to me on day 3 so I had to wait overnight to see her. The subsequent 11 hour release delay was just bureaucracy!
Stef sounds as if he was brilliant. A. was frankly amazing IMO. I genuinely don't never stand the apparent level of antagonism & dismissiveness a lot of maternity settings seem to have towards male partners/parents/carers, and it pisses me right off. I really don't have a clue how non-male partners are treated in those settings, but there does generally seem to be a weird attitude to support people (eg not being supposed to want both my mother AND my co-parent at the birth!). But certainly with men, there seems to be an element if "she wouldn't be is hospital now if it weren't for you..."
Incidentally, thanks for this & your previous breast/bottle postings. Just trying to find out if i'll even be able to breastfeed & the whole business is quite frustrating, to say the least. I have barely any breast milk at present so it's a bit of a gamble at best. Formula is frustrating in its own ways but I was sick of the boob obsessives even before I gave birth!
Unfortunately, in the middle of the afternoon they diagnosed Charles with jaundice, and decided they couldn't let him out until that was sorted. They put him on a light box, and at the time I had no idea just how long I was going to be forced to stay in the hospital. Even so, utterly sleep-deprived, I pulled the epilepsy card and demanded a private room. After some resistance, I got one, which meant that over the next few days, Stef could come and be with me overnight and I could get four hours sleep or so in a row during the night. Stef told me he'd heard some of the nurses bitching about me on the ward, asking why I should get such special treatment. Being told that I was prone to very occasional epileptic fits triggered by sleep deprivation didn't seem to cut the mustard too much, and they obviously thought I was a little madam. Fuck 'em.
There were a couple of lovely nurses, though - beautifully caring ones who took the time to actually give a shit. I want to give credit to them. But generally I couldn't wait to get out of the fucking place. Anyway, there's only so much soggy overcooked broccoli one can take for lunch, day after day. But I suppose the hardest thing for me - and here I expect you will sympathise, being a fellow mouthy woman (that's meant as a compliment, btw - I hope you take it as such) - was that it was the first time in my life where I felt I simply didn't have my usual "nuclear option" i.e. that of saying "Fuck you all - I'm off home". Because maybe then that would have got us reported to Social Services and we wouldn't have been properly free. And most importantly of course, because maybe the jaundice might have got really serious, and I'd never have been able to forgive myself (the scary info sheet on jaundice they gave me listed brain damage as a rare complication). Unlikely, but possible. And no-one else could take my place. I was trapped. In a way I've never felt before.
It took ages before they were finally happy to let Charles go. We eventually got out the following Saturday, a week after he was born. We walked home from the hospital and - because Charles was already partly on formula milk because of medical advice (low blood sugar at the start - problem sorted quickly, but breastfeeding never really took off because of that), it enabled Stef to take him into his room for the night, with me in my own separate room having my first glorious full night's sleep for months. Hurrah for that. and hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Stef. Wonderful man.
Reply
And as to your other point - no-one ever really tells you how fucking impossible breastfeeding is at the start. The floppy head, the uncertainty about whether your baby is actually getting enough milk because, after all, you can't see how much they're drinking etc. etc. Also, in my case, I have an awkwardly large oval-shaped right nipple which was too big for Charles to suckle from. It's not so weird that a lover would notice (unless they'd been warned and were particularly looking for it), but it was enough to stymie my baby and led to the ridiculous situation where he only suckled from my left and I had to try to pump it all out of my right. I managed six weeks but didn't have enough milk to viably continue. And you know what? Charles is still a healthy, happy little toddler. So maybe he might have a marginally higher risk of obesity as an adult? Hey well - let them come back to me when they actually prove that for certain. And even then I'll laugh at the ridiculous fascism of it. I live in London - the sports facilities and opportunities for fitness are great. The food is plentiful and healthy. The opportunities for fatal or disabling childhood disease to take hold are few. The outlook for both Charles and your little one is fantastic.
Best of luck to all of you. xx :o)
Reply
If you resisted demanding your own room for several days, you must have nerves of steel! It's utterly appalling that medical staff were bitching about you getting appropriate support for a potentially serious disability - still, I guess we all have more of this to look forward too, as the NHS is systematically destroyed *weeps* There was a bit of an unfortunate irony in my situation, in that I got Special Treatment (own room, partner) bcos of being an official Crazy Person (well, crazy + a bit autistic), but being a Crazy Person also kept me in hospital an extra night, cos I needed to be seen by the clinical psychologist to be discharged but she was too busy to get to me on day 3 so I had to wait overnight to see her. The subsequent 11 hour release delay was just bureaucracy!
Stef sounds as if he was brilliant. A. was frankly amazing IMO. I genuinely don't never stand the apparent level of antagonism & dismissiveness a lot of maternity settings seem to have towards male partners/parents/carers, and it pisses me right off. I really don't have a clue how non-male partners are treated in those settings, but there does generally seem to be a weird attitude to support people (eg not being supposed to want both my mother AND my co-parent at the birth!). But certainly with men, there seems to be an element if "she wouldn't be is hospital now if it weren't for you..."
Incidentally, thanks for this & your previous breast/bottle postings. Just trying to find out if i'll even be able to breastfeed & the whole business is quite frustrating, to say the least. I have barely any breast milk at present so it's a bit of a gamble at best. Formula is frustrating in its own ways but I was sick of the boob obsessives even before I gave birth!
Reply
Leave a comment