The Post That I Cant Say Out Loud So I Will Write It Instead

**Warning: this is a LONG post. It is not a happy post. It is not a post to read if you are pregnant.**

The trouble with reading other blogs is that they may one day contain something that is very close to your heart. And that makes you think. And you may not like thinking.

Then in order to avoid thinking about it all the damn time, now you find that you have to write about it and you didn't ever want to write about it but here it is, in your head, so it wants to get out.

I'm looking at you, Madame Bipolar and MrsWoog

So. Here we go.


From the very beginning, the existence of my daughter Ella is very much caught up with negative events.  She was not, unlike Felix, tried for and desperately longed for. She was the "you have got to be fucking kidding me!" baby, the "how the fuck did this happen?" baby, the "anniversary" baby.  Not planned, not even considered to be a biological possibility after the hoo-hah surrounding Felix's conception. We "came to terms with" this baby.

November 2007 was marked by 3 life-changing events.

1. Monkey Boy and I went out(!) on our own(!) to a Crowded House gig (!!!) which was magnificent and wonderful as you would expect.
2. At that concert, I sat down and made the mistake of "chair dancing" which is a bad idea at the best of times because you look like Steady Eddy but more so on this occasion because my back went "Even I know chair dancing is wrong."
3. 2 weeks later it was our anniversary. 'Nuff said. 2 weeks after that I knew, even before peeing on the stick...

So I had managed to rupture a disc in my lower back, by sitting down. Normally this could have resolved itself over a number of months with rest. When you’re pregnant and you have the joint-loosening hormones released, and the additional weight increasing right at the level of the rupture...well, not so much on the resolving.


By the time I was 12 weeks pregnant, I could hardly walk. By the time I was 20 weeks pregnant I was taking Panadeine Forte and seeing the hospital physio, which didn't help at all. By the time I was 26 weeks I was taking PanFortes 2 hourly, round the clock, and begging for them to take the baby out so I could have decent pain relief. I couldn't walk, I couldn't stand, I couldn't sit.  At 33 weeks I finally got an MRI which showed the disc herniation. I knew what it was from the start, having had one before (and had surgery to fix it. Same disc, other side), but no one would take me seriously, not until the MRI.  Even then, to get the decent pain relief, I had to cry hysterically and act like the crazy female and swear at my obstetrician that this state of affairs was unacceptable and if he didn't help me I would take my own life. I was serious.  I was given Endone.  I was referred to the Mental Health Midwife, who marked my file with all sorts of big red stickers.

Endone allowed me to sleep. Blessed blessed sleep, no longer on my hands and knees, rocking on my bed, back and forth back and forth all night while wet fire engulfed my leg as it was torn off via my big toe.  I still needed it two hourly but it gave me some relief. I loved my obstetrician from that point. At 38 weeks we all decided enough was enough. Two hourly Endone, and I can still barely walk and the pain is constant, it never stops not for a second. Ella will have to be kept in the NICU for at least 5 days and be monitored for Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome - or withdrawal from the narcs to you and me.


So I am induced. Have a read of this post and this one  to see how well that worked for me the last time.  Or more to the point, I am induced (Day 1), and induced (Day 2), and induced (Day 3), and induced (Day 4), and had my waters broken and was put on a Syntocinon drip and 21 hours later of 2-minutely contractions (Day 5) I am still only at 4cm dilation. I will never ever forget the doctor’s face as she looked at me and told me we had no choice but to do a C-section. The next half hour is full of memories that I can’t even write. Memories of distance and of pressure to do what I don't want to do, of fear. Raw, primal fear. Memories of things once done and said can never be undone. Of the end of things. Of a line drawn in the sand.

And then there is the operating theatre. And the yellow paper curtain in front of my face, hiding things to awful to see...  And the woman at my head, the anesthetist. Monkey Boy next to me.

And then pain.

White hot searing pain.  Stop. Stop Stop Stop.

I don't know if I screamed it over and over out loud or just in my head. The epidural had worked at surface level only. Once the scalpel had got past the first few layers of skin...  Monkey Boy started yelling at them to stop. "We can’t go on like this" I remember hearing someone say. MB being told he had to leave. Leave? No! Saying goodbye, I thought I was going to die. Then the mask, and I didn't care if I died. "Breathe, just breathe."

She was born - without her parents even aware of it - blue, the cord wrapped around her neck twice, meconium swallowed and inhaled and not breathing. I lost 1.2 litres of blood.

I hear "it’s all over, you've had your baby." Am I in the 1950s? A young child is screaming in a nearby cubicle (tonsils) but he is not my child. Where is my child? Is she ok? Why isn't she here?  The epidural line is still in and they bump up the level because my pain is too much, but the epidural didn't work you fuckers! What is the point in doing this??  It meant I didn't "get my legs back" for over 24 hours.  Utterly stuck. Can’t move. My legs are not mine, they are lumps of meat that are pinning me to the bed.  This causes even more pain in my spine and my legs and feet are now swollen to the point where the skin almost starts to weep.


And Ella. My baby. The one for whom my soul was dragged to hell and left there.  I don't see her for 7 hours. MB held her in the NICU.  He had to ask the staff where the hell she was. No one told him. He took photos, and a short video of her, and I look at them over and over.  When she is brought in and I get to hold her for the first time, I am allowed 20 minutes together. I won’t see her again until her first proper feed, in a few hours. When she screams or when they have staff. If they have staff.

I feel like I went through all that time and pain and damage to my body for nothing. I am alone, no baby. Just pain and immobility. Then suddenly we get caught up in the hospital admin game of finding places to put people.  We get shunted from room to room. Labour Ward is full, women are in full labour in the corridors. 4 times we were moved, with all our stuff. A ridiculous amount of stuff really, but 5 days in the Labour Ward...


The catheter and epidural line are removed after 24 hours. (Day 6)  The catheter has damaged my urethra: It feels like my urethra is being pulled out continuously. (This is a feeling that doesn’t stop until close to a year after delivery.) The doctor comes in to tell me that I am borderline for needing a blood transfusion because I lost so much blood in delivery. Because it is borderline it is my decision whether to have it or not. If I don’t, it will take about a month for my iron levels to come back up to normal and I will feel shit for that month. Who the hell lets a delirious woman make judgement calls like that? After what they have done already, there is no way I am going to agree to more interventions.


I start taking tentative steps, but I can’t do it. I need a wheelchair to get to my baby. Get me a bloody wheelchair! And so I go to the NICU and I see what will be her home for the next 5 days, and see all the other babies, babies who have been there for weeks and will be for weeks more. Not mine not mine please god not mine. We learn their observation and coding system for NAS, we learn the procedure in the Breastfeeding Room, and I hold my baby girl for the first time. She is so beautiful, so soft, and yet I feel nothing.

While MB is in the hospital with me, I can be in the NICU as often as I want. Once he leaves, I am up to the dictates of the hospital and staff levels. By Day 7 I can walk, very slowly, painfully, with much help. I can’t get my slippers on because of the swelling, but I can get to my baby under my own steam and I'm bloody well going to. The NICU is a 2 minute saunter for a normal person, for me it is 10-15 minutes.


She won’t latch onto the breast properly. She snuffles around trying desperately to find it but will not latch. So she isn't eating. Here's another failure to add to the growing list. She is on formula via a naso-gastric tube. They decide to give her antibiotics because she swallowed poo. She has a line in her nose and another one in her hand, securely bandaged like a big boxing glove. There is so much stuff attached to her, I can’t get to her at all.

MB has been sleeping in the hospital with me, on a camp bed. He went home one night to make sure Felix was ok with Nanna. Sadly for me, he chose Day 3 to do it.  Everyone knows Day 3 is the killer after delivery: the tissue box will be too hard to reach and you will start bawling. I had no baby with me, the delirium of 5 days labour and no sleep for 8 days, the trauma of the C-section, the pain of my spine, the pain of the C-section, and no baby with me. Ella’s NAS scores are borderline, which means that she may have to stay in hospital for another 2 weeks and be given morphine.  And there is an awful ruckus in the room next door. Furniture being tossed around. Hushed voices in the corridors. Then Police. Every staff member is in the nursery, around one baby. I have no idea what happened, but it scared the hell out of me. I find out months later the mother had killed her baby. 

This is the start to the Day 3 Baby Blues. For me it was the start of psychosis.

The phone calls from the NICU are incessant this day. There is no MB to wheel me down there and seemingly no staff either. One trip is enough and now I have to make several, on my own. No help from the hospital for the woman who can barely walk.  By 10pm I can no longer cope. The phone rings after I just get back into my bed from being in the NICU for a feed. She is crying again, come down.  WTF???  Thoughts reel through my head: stick a plug in her face, give her a bottle, give her Phenergan, go away, just go away I can’t deal with her.

So I call for a nurse who never comes. But the NICU keep ringing. Incessant.bloody.ringing.  (Fucking deal with her yourselves, I can’t bloody get there.)  Still no nurse, so with incredible pain and utter exhaustion I drag my arse out into the corridor and hold onto the railing, and I just can’t make myself walk down there again. And the tears start rolling, as they do.  A nurse is coming, asks me if I am alright. Bloody stupid question. I try to tell her but I can’t get much sense out of my mouth. Pain, walking, bloody baby, NICU, can't just can't.

"Well there's no point crying about it, is there? Is there? That won’t make it any better." 

Is this woman for real? It is the final straw for me. If I had enough spirit left in my body at that point I would have decked her. The best I could do was look at her and cry more. I silently beg for my mental health nurse to come and rescue me. But she never comes .

Nurse Hardarse rang the NICU and asked them to bring Ella to me. Great, fine, but they leave me alone with her. That's sensible, right?  Distraught mother with known mental health issues left completely alone... (I wonder now if that is what happened in the room next door...)

I fed her. She wasn't really interested. I needed to go to the toilet. She started crying, and it seemed the part of my brain that was used to babies crying and knew i could leave them for 30 seconds had been removed.  I dragged her bassinet on wheels contraption into the toilet with me. Why?? I don't even know. She wouldn't stop screaming and my how that echoes in a tiled room. 

I wanted her gone. I didn't want anything to do with her. And I hated myself for it.


I have no feeling in parts of my right leg.  No one knows why. (Try the epidural placement, numnuts.)  They put me through another MRI.  Have you had to get into an MRI machine 3 days after a C-section when you can’t feel your feet and your back feels like it is folding you in half all by itself.?  I can’t stand, I can’t sit, I can’t lie down. The MRI shows the herniated disc. Wow, yes it’s still there. They don't know why I suddenly can’t feel big patches of my legs: Sudden Onset Post-Partum Patchy Leg Syndrome, first case ever reported.  They are all idiots.

With Ella’s NAS scores so high, we are looking at not going home with her. We ask for the Parents' Long-Stay Room.

Nope. You can stay in this room here, but that means that you are not actually a patient in the hospital and no nurse will come to help you.

I live a 1 hour drive away, which I can’t manage anyway because I have this spinal injury and I can’t sit in the...

 Nope. Other mums do it.

Other mums don't have my spinal injury.

Express your milk and have your husband bring it in every day. 

Eventually they realise that they need to check the nerve responses in my legs (checking for damage from their fucked up epidural) so I get discharged to the “Non-hospital Room” and then readmitted within the space of 3 hours.


Day 10, and Ella is finally given a clean bill of health. Nothing on her blood screens at all, apart from all the drugs they gave me during delivery. No narcs! No Endone! I didn’t harm her in utero!  It frightens me that she came so close to being put on morphine for 2 weeks on the basis of an arbitrary and subjective scoring system.  Its 5 days since delivery and I am so delirious I am unable to see clearly.

My discharge meds in the morning consist of two Endone tablets, which is a four hours’ worth of pain relief.

What’s this?

It’s all we are going to give you, mums aren't normally sent home with Endone

Most mums don't come in here ON Endone…

You will have to see your GP.

And we were sent home. No mental health evaluation, no post-trauma counselling, no referral for post trauma counselling, no social worker visit, and no "we're sorry". 10 days, 1 baby, 1 new source of PTSD, 1 case of Post-Partum Depression, 1 case of Post-Partum Depression in baby's father, no family supports at home. 

The red stickers on my file were never looked at. The fact that my labour was 5 days long was never written in my file. The fact that I was inadequately anaesthetised and could feel them cutting me open was not written in my file.

“Length of labour: no labour” it says.  

It was all a bad dream. My file says it never happened.


So we went home, taking with us much more than we bargained for.  Within a week I was thinking up ways I could get rid of her. (I know, we all joke about this when they are being little shits, right? I actually wanted to get rid of her.) I considered the options: Its cold outside at night, she wouldn’t last long. Hide behind a bush; no one would see what I did. (What was I going to do? I didn’t think that far, it’s pretty obvious my thinking was totally fucked at this point.) Give her to MB's parents.  Just get her away from me! I felt no love, no connection. I didn’t hate her; I just thought she would be better off not with me. I felt sorry for her because she had me for her mother.  I looked for signs that she might love me: anything. I didn't see a thing. To my mind she hated me. Fair enough too, I thought.
And then, after a week, the panic attacks started whenever we were out. I wanted to scream, I wanted to vomit, I wanted to run run run and never stop. I felt like I would explode. The fear, the inescapable fear would grip me from nowhere and toss me on a sea of anguish from which there was no escape.

No one wanted to assess me. We had a CAFHS Nurse and a Mothercraft Helper in our home every week.  No one did anything, even though they both reported to the hospital they were worried about me.  I knew that I was not right but I couldn’t communicate this to anyone. My GP notices after 2 months that I am severely depressed.  She asks how I feel but I dare not tell her about my thoughts towards Ella.  She checks my thyroid and I have  Post-Partum Hyperthyroidism. I have lost so much weight, I am running around like I run a meth lab, I don't want my baby and it takes 2 months to pick it up???

With hindsight, it is clear that I should have been in an institution for Nutter New Mothers I look back with red hot shame at the things I thought of doing. When I see photos of Ella at 3ish weeks old, she is clearly smiling at me, clearly looking at my face with love. Yet at the time I couldn’t see it, not one bit of it. It wasn’t until she was about 3 months old I recognised a smile from her and thought “Ok, now I can mother this child.”

Thankfully, there is a lot of information freely available about Post-Partum Depression. Signs to look for, what to do if you need help, support groups, celebrities opening up about their own experiences, etc.  How about we also take a good look at one of the potential causes of PPD: how we are treated in the days immediately following the birth of our child. How much support we are given by those caring for us, whether we are listened to at all, whether we are given a chance to “debrief” particularly if the birth was a traumatic one, whether anybody stopped to ask “How are you? Are you coping? Is there anything you need to talk about?”

Not one person in that hospital bothered to ask me how I was. How did I feel???  I was in shock. I was severely traumatised. (I still am.) I wanted to die.

Had someone allowed me to process what had just happened to me, in a supportive environment with trauma counselling, maybe I wouldn’t have gone home with thoughts of killing my own child.

\

the minx is back...

hi folks. i'm really the worst person for this job... not only am i in a part of the world where there are a load of storms lately which means i have no power and no computer...my computer is a piece of poo... and i'm not really sure which bits i'm supposed to be posting and which bits i'm not... so heres the latest update from 11:56pm last night...

from the phone of the wench, sparklepanda, herself...

"Having contractions 3 mins apart, very painful, since 1pm, threw away birth plan at 4pm, no cervical dilation, on gas and pethadine, me likee pethadine. spud too damn comfy, doesn't want to leave" there you have it folks. more soon. xJ

Baby Steps

Spudly remains enamoured with his current abode, so an eviction notice will be served at 3pm today. I should be having gels shoved up my clacker around 4pm and having a baby sometime after that.

I dont know how I'm feeling about any of this. I think its a million different and conflicting things that when put together just make my brain go "lalalalala not listening". That will do.

I kinda feel like I did when I went on the flying trapeze at the Fringe Festival a few years ago. I really wanted to do it to get over my terror of heights. (Well, that and I was Under The Influence of some substance or another...) Climbing up the ladder I kept talking myself into doing it but by the time I got to the top I took one look at the dude and said "I have no idea why I'm doing this." I can recall that exact feeling even now. I really felt like I was going to die. It was sheer unadulterated terror. Adam says he expects me to start screaming "I wanna get off, I wanna get off" at any moment. Probably during transition.

We had a relaxing day yesterday - went out for lunch (the Last Supper), I had a nice glass of wine, we raided the library for several weeks worth of light reading, came home and did some baking for the freezer. Banana, carrot and apple muffins. Yummy. Then we ate half the baked goods before they were cool enough to freeze. Quality Control. You understand.

I've never given a great deal of thought to the actual having a baby part of pregancy. By which I mean the "now he's here what do we do with him" bit. I've thought no end about the "Will I Ever Get Pregnant" part, and about the "Will This Pregnancy Last" part and the "Will The Baby Be Okay" part. I've even thought about the "How Is He Getting Out, Exactly?" part, though with almost no consideration of medical intervention since That Wasnt Going To Happen To Me.

Now I find myself faced with the medical intervention I didnt ever think about, and the prospect of an actual baby who will ge given to me to bring home and be responsible for. This is quite a surprise to me, since I am the Queen of Considering Every Possibility. I love contingency plans. I never wake up without one. I dont know how this managed to get past me. Possibly because I never thought that we would actually get to this point, possibly because to think about it before now would have been putting too much faith in things going right. And we know what happens when you listen to Hope. Sooner or later she turns into Princess Gina and then your life is in the toilet again.

So I've had a few freakout moments over the last 24 hours, regarding the birth and - more importantly - parenthood. Mostly because this is something that I cant be totally prepared for: there arent enough contingency plans in the world to make me feel comfortable with what is about to happen. And I dont like that. What I have to make myself do though, and this is the hardest part, is to stop looking at the big picture and focus on the here and now. This minute. Like Spudly will be doing every day, I have to learn to take baby steps.

As I leap into the void, I know I take with me the support of so many amazing women. To those of you who have followed me on this journey, offered a metaphorical shoulder to cry on, held the metaphorical punching bag, and become actual friends, Monkey Boy and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Stay tuned. The Minx will keep you updated by taking over my blog again, and she may even be able to post a piccie or two.

Ummmmm... *UPDATED*

I woke up at 4.04am feeling like absolute shite, on the verge of tears because - yet again - I'm still pregnant. I lay there for just under an hour, when my bladder definately started to get the better of me. Stupid bladder.

Stumbled off to the loo.

Peed an extraordinary amount of fluid.

Wiped.

No doubt about it. That's a mucous plug. A goopy, gel-like, blood-tinged mucous plug.

I thought I should share.

Monkey Boy is still fast asleep. I cant see much point in waking him.

May this herald good news when we trundle in to the hospital today for the final CTG.


*****************
UPDATE:

The CTG was fine. As always, he's pronounced a happy healthy baby who likes to move alot.

Unfortunately it did not show me having any contractions. Not a one. Depsite the fact that it sure as hell felt to me like I was having them. Consequently, if these are not real contractions, I'm not interested in continuing further with this deal.

It was agreed that "having a show" was a good sign, but that ultimately it didnt mean jack shit about when I would actually start labour. Could be today, could be in two weeks. So we were sent home.

And told to come back in on Tuesday for the induction.

Can I go get drunk now?

Well-connected

I'm back! With a whole new computer and, at last, something to do instead of wandering around kicking stuff.

The old fashioned method of prostaglandin placement was achieved this morning, hopefully with some positive side efects. In addition to the obvious ones of course. Darling.

I got nothin' else.

If anyone has a spare crochet hook, I'm willing to try a do-it-yourself amniotomy. Cat? Bugsy?

Still Roasting

Gotta love public computers.

I had an appointment at the hospital this morning for a CTG. Spudly's heartrate is fine and dandy, and he's too damn happy where he is. Always willing to get my kit off for doctors, I asked for another internal to check my dilation, and there's been a little progress since Monday, but not much. The cervix is soft but is still posterior so its not yet "ripe". I had another stretch and sweep done, which an hour later seems to have brought on some kind of contraction thingy...

We shall see how that progresses.

Thanks for all the assvice. Raspberry Leaf tea kinda tastes like nothing. Dates are waaaay to sweet for me to be able to eat enough to do any good. I had a nice hot curry for dinner. I am NOT drinking castor oil - how disgusting! I might consider having sex if nothing has happened by the weekend, but I was kinda hoping to avoid going back to the whole "sex because you have to" thing.

Our answering machine is now on permanently. Mostly because we got sick of damn telemarketers ringing from India asking if we want to change our phone company. Not that there haven't been numerous "Well, what's happening?" phone calls too. What's happening? I'm getting sick of the damn phone ringing, that's what's happening.

I've put the Minx in charge of notifying y'all, on account of Manuela leaving the country and not being anywhere near a computer.

Stay tuned. Sooner or later, this Spud will be well and truly ready to come out of the oven.

Upstaged on my own blog!

Yes, its true. Our computer is absolutely positively one hundred percent d.e.a.d. So here I am, possibly in labour as I type, at the local library. Hope I dont get amniotic fluid all over their nice chairs...

The stretch and sweep yesterday was WEIRD. I mean...really...a wanding is bad enough, but having some strange chick's gelled-up finger shoved WELL up your cervix and twizzling round in there is just a bizarre experience I could do without. It was uncomfortable rather than painful, but mostly just plain weird.

The amniotic fluid level has decreased, and the placenta has started to calicfy, so despite my protestations and pleading to be allowed ot go two weeks past due, the Boffins insisted on no more than 8 days. Thus, we have a booking for Tuesday April 4 at 3pm to have even more gel placed on my cervix to get the whole shebang going. But 1cm dilated is a start, so lets hope my cervix keeps doing its thing and we have some Spudly action this week.

Given my desire this morning to scrub not only the saucepan lids but the saucepan bases as well...until they SHONE...I suspect that perhaps I wont need the induction after all. We have Raspberry Leaf Tea, pitted dates (naturally high in oxytocin, apparently) and I shall consume both with abandon. I will also follow Lala's advice and try evening primrose oil up my twat. In the meantime, the waiting is torture.

So...looks like there's a baby on the way. How the hell did that happen?

Unless we can get another magical machine that will allow me to communicate with all you internets, any further updates will come via that Slurry who thinks she's a minx now. Pshaw! She WISHES.

letting the minx run free in her blogosphere...

yes, hi, this is jules, aka jet x, aka the minx, and perhaps Doolie and slurry as well... but most of all Julie with a capital J for not smoking for over three weeks hooray!!!

he sparklicious pandamonius one has asked me to advise this blogosphere that she is 1 centimetre dilated and that she had a stretch n sweep (is that something like sooty and sweep - Ed.) and check on amnio fluid. She is booked in for an induce-monteriffic next tuesday if zee spudly one is not here by then.

so there you have it funsters... sharons computer is dead and she can't talk to you any more, so you'll just have to put up with my witty rep-art-e-e in the interim.

You can find a link to me around here somewhere... i won't use this space to plug the fact that i like boys or that i bought a new richard easton cd....

adios.
xJ

I'm confused

At this point, I admit its not hard to confuse me, but why does my countdown ticker tell me that there is only one day to go when Spud isnt due until Monday? By my reckoning that's two days.

*scratches head*

So to clarify, EDD is Monday the 27th.

Not that this makes any difference to anything.

Went to the geepee yesterday and got a lovely box of anitbiotics to get rid of this lurgie. I figured it was time to knock it on the head when after 5 days I still had a fever that was now going up. Still feel shite, but less shite.

Of course, now I run the rick of passing on thrush to His Spudliness. Nice.

Must send Monkey Boy out to buy some yoghurt. And possibly some eclairs.

Note to self: must not confuse the two.

Rassafrassat

Another day, another wanding.

The antenatal clinic wanted yet another ultrasound to check the position of the placenta. Today it was 3.8cm from the cervix. I doubt this will make any difference at all to the boffins who stand at the doors of the Birth Centre and say "beyond here there be cool stuff you're not allowed to have" but at least I can put my own mind at ease about c-sections and such.

The cervix, however, is doing nothing. NOTHING. Not shortened. Not effaced. Most certainly has never even heard about the concept of dilation.

He's never coming out.

And why would he, since his mother is now SICK with a fever and sore throat and sore ears and cant talk. Kick-ass timing.

So we sit. And we wait. Coz we've DONE everything else there is to do already. I'll moan quite a bit.

We cant even do the deed to speed things up (like that's something I want to do. Yeh. Uh-huh.) because we've been FORBIDDEN on account of the possibility of bleeding.

I'm sure he's already started putting up posters of The Cure and a sign on the door warning of biological hazards within.

Send chicken soup, and an Eviction Notice.

Drink Your Way To a Better Baby

Ultrasound #376 this afternoon elicited the following pertinent facts:

On account of my decision to drink my own weight in water in order to increase the amniotic fluid levels, the fluid index went up from 7.7 to 12.5, which is above the cutoff for normal.

Spudly says "thanks very much mum for drinking all that water, it sure does give me a lot more room to move around in. Being 8lb7oz doesnt give one a great deal of room to start with y'know."

Yes, that's right 8lbs 7oz.

His legs are long like mine, measuring at 42 weeks. His stomach measures 41 weeks and his head measured almost 39. His cheeks are gloriously chubby, his lips luscious (he was having a drink at the time) and we could see his eyelashes. EYELASHES! Takes after his dad in that department.

He's gonna be tall and spunky but he needs to cut down on the chocolate eclairs. Damn.

Fuckity Fuckity Fuck

Not only am I not 5cm dilated, I am also not allowed back in the Birth Centre.

We ended up spending all day at the hospital today. Depsite this radical concept called an APPOINTMENT, we were kept waiting for over an hour before we got to see anyone. Dont they realise how bloody uncomfortable - nay, impossible - it is for a woman at 38weeks to sit for that long on their stupid chairs?

Then the ultrasound from last week showed that my Amniotic Fluid Index was low. I didnt even know there was such a thing until today. And by low, I mean way low. 95% of babies have a higher amount of fluid to play in than Spudly, apparently. AND even though the amount of placenta that is 3cm from the cervical opening is only a sliver, I'm still considered at risk of haemorrhaging. So after a second opinion consult with the Big Cheese, I have been forbidden to use the Low Risk Birth Centre. There was also talk of perhaps needing to be induced early on account of the amniotic fluid issue.

I had an internal exam done that showed that the cervix is ripening, which is good because I look terrible in green. Despite what the ultrasound report said about his head abutting the cervix, his head is not fully engaged. In fact its less engaged than last visit. The Big Cheese dude had a pummell of my belly and declared I'm having a large baby. Well duh. I think we knew that! Since I'm measuring a fundal height of 41cm, guesstimates are at over 4kg (8.8lbs).

I was then sent off for a CTG to check that Spudly was not distressed at all. He's not. He was declared a very healthy happy baby. A healthy happy baby that is very BIG and likes to move an awful lot in not very much space.

I have to have another ultrasound on Thursday to assess his growth and recheck the amniotic fluid volume, and my next clinic appointment is next Tuesday. They want to keep a close eye on me.

My hopes of an interference-free birth are going out the window, with talks of IV and induction and no choice in the use of Syntocinon in the third stage, and greater likelihood of caesarian.

I've decided I will take Lioness's advice of crossing my legs and waving a muppet toy over my head. Since Spud is so happy he can stay where he is.

Not YET You Dont!

Despite Lala's announcement of imminent Enspudification, things are not progressing quite so fast as they appeared yesterday.

I did have a bit of browny discoloured stuff. Saturday night and Sunday morning there were a fair number of contractions, but I reckon they were still just Braxton-Hicks. They do get more painful when I walk around though.... Monkey Boy is obsessively checking my desire to clean power points. I dont think it's a valid sign in my case - I've been doing that shit for months.

I have an appointment first thing tomorrow morning, at which I am hoping the will say "Go back to the Birth Centre. Oh, and you're 5cm dilated."

That'd be sweet.

Do di do di do

Since I am now officially The Domestic Goddess On Holidays (or "honey, I cant get out of the chair anymore") I find myself having to distract myself from all the stuff that still needs to be done by staying on line while my darling Monkey Boy is out battling 37 degree heat to pick up our new screen door. Thus, here's a rambling post about not very much.

I'm very excited about our new screen door. We havent had one in about 3 years. Now that Muffin (of "oooh, I think I'll piss off for 6 months and not tell anyone where I'm going" fame) is home and grounded forever, we cant have the back door open or she will high-tail it. As of this weekend, we can have the kitchen door open, no flies in the house and no Muffin escaping.

We also made another very exciting purchase a week ago: our first proper sofa. It wasnt that awful share-housing make-do crap kinda sofa that we've all had at one point in our lives. It's a real, solid, stylish, comfortable, proper adult-type sofa. With a fold out bed. I feel so grown up. Dont worry - it'll pass.

Muffin's sister, Squirmy, despite being on a maximum dose of oestrogen to calm her the fuck down, is STILL spraying around the house. A couple of weeks ago she sprayed me. ME! Last night she sprayed directly onto a power point that was turned on. Our animals are so fucked up. Lioness, maybe you have some ideas? What on earth are we going to do to a little human if we cant get it right with kitties?

Am having Braxton-Hicks again today. At least, I think they're Braxton-Hicks. I have been reassured that full engagement of the head does not predict anything about when you will go into labour, apart from the fact that you will at some point. Not sure I want to now. I woke up this morning thinking "Nope. Dont want a baby. Cats are fine. Can I change my mind? Cant do this. Am running away from home now."

I thought that wasnt supposed to happen until the transition stage?

What Is That Crunching Sound??

The much-anticipated ultrasound to check on the recalcitrant placenta happened this morning. It turned into a rather unexpected (and I must say most uncomfortable) date with dildocam on account of not being able to move Spudly's head out of the way. Even with the camera stuck up there they still couldnt see much, but it appears that the main body of the placenta is well away from the cervical os, and there may be a tiiiny sliver of placenta about 3cm from the opening , but its really hard to tell with a huge scone pressing on the cervix.

So far 3 out of 3 non medically trained women think this means he's fully engaged.

What I want to know is if this means labour is imminent or if I can still expect another two weeks of waddling around and trying to get out of my own way? Should I be washing out my peejays tonight and packing the snack bag? Dr Google does not seem to want to give me answers to these vital questions. Why choose NOW to be the silent brooding type, huh???

It's dawned on me over the course of the day that I'm not actually ready for this. Hmmm....

Casa del Spud

Finally, some piccies of Spudly's room.


Somewhat of a difference from
this...

and this...

To this...


I made the nappy stacker hanging on the wall. A girlfriend made the angel bear hanging over the change table for me years ago. The three bears on the dresser are (l-r) my first bear, Monkey Boy's first bear and Spudly's first bear.

I also made the purple fake fur loveheart cushion for our wedding. It carried our rings. Awwwww.

The books are all mine from my childhood. I wonder if Spud will enjoy Anne of Green Gables and Trixie Belden?

I wanted to make curtains. After wandering around the fabric store for aaaages, I finally came across this fabulous organza with metallic silver stars embroidered on it...

which happened to tie in quite nicely with the silver star lampshade we already had in our bedroom...

I made those ceiling drapes too, by the way.

And thus, we have a theme:

It's so perdy. The shade makes stars on the walls too. I wonder if Spud would mind if we trade bedrooms?


So to re-cap; I made the nappy stacker, I made the curtains, I made the ceiling drapes, I helped put in the skirting boards and architraves (I painted them first), I painted the walls and the ceiling, I painted the door, I painted the ceiling, and I started sanding the floor but had the belt sander confiscated.

Actually, I'm quite tired.

You Pays Your Money, You Takes Your Chances

I hate doctors.

You scoff, thinking "but doctors are trained professionals and know far more than you do, O Litttle Panda."

What, you dont think that? You're all such cynical bitches.

My wonderful and superb GP decided to give up her practice (I guess she figured she knew what she was doing and didnt need to practice anymore) towards the end of last year. Since then I have been GP-less. So when I needed a new prescription for my Panda-Not-Be-Psycho pills (aka Lovan/Prozac) I figured I may as well just go to the local country-town doctor whom I havent seen for about 18 months.

I knew there was a reason I stopped going to him.

Doc: "Who put you on Lovan?"

Me: My GP.

Doc: "They know at the hospital you're still taking Lovan?"

Me: Yes.

Doc: "And they're okay with this."

Me: Yes.

Doc: "They were fine with you taking it all through the pregnancy?"

Me: Yes..

Doc: "Why didnt you stop taking it when you knew you were pregnant?"

Me: Because I have an anxiety disorder caused by hormonal fluctuations and when I am experienceing hormonal shifts I am quite capable of harming either myself or someone else."

Doc: "Well, during pregnancy hormones generally settle down"

Me: Not in my case they havent.

Doc: "You need to talk to someone at the hospital about this and see what they have to say about you breastfeeding while on it. You may have to either not breastfeed or stop taking the Lovan."

Me: Why?

GP looks up Lovan in the MIMS, where it says all sorts of nasty things that will happen to your baby should you breastfeed whilst taking the drug. Says breastfeeding should not be considered while taking Lovan.

End of consultation. I go home feeling now more anxious about the drug that is supposed to stop me feeling anxious, and start feeling the creeping guilt about what I may have done to Spudly for having taken it throughout the pregnancy, albeit under medical guidance.

Last night I consulted the Doctor Who Is Always In, and did a rather thorough search of research papers on the effects of Lovan during pregnancy and breastfeeding. Despite what the MIMS had to say, there is NO data that suggests that breastfeeding should not be attempted while taking Lovan. In fact, the conclusions drawn re Lovan in breastmilk all state that the amount in milk is so small as to make it a laughable idea that it could be worse than the mother taking it during pregnancy.

There is NO data that shows any teratogenesis in the fetus when taken during the first trimester. There is some data which suggests that in a small number of babies there may be withdrawal symptoms for the first week of life if Lovan is taken in the third trimester, but these are by no means dangerous - crying, diarrhea, general crabbiness, etc. There is the suggestion that infants should be monitored closely for the first 48 hours for any signs of withdrawal symptoms, mainly minor respiratory distress.

Furthermore, from a 7 year study there is NO data to show that there are any long term developmental issues such as neurological damage, lowered IQ etc from the mother having taken Lovan either during pregnancy or breastfeeding.

But look up the effects of a mother who needs medication during pregnancy or post-partum and stops taking the medication, and what you find is a higher incidence of miscarriage, long-term neurological and developmental problems in the child, low birthweight, intra-uterine growth retardation, suicidal tendencies, hypertension and pre-eclampsia, higher incidence of post-natal depression, inability to care for the infant and failure in the infant to reach developmental milestones.

My anxiety and guilt disappeared pretty quickly. It was replaced by anger.

We know that not all GPs can be up-to-speed with the latest research on the effects of every drug on the market. But if all that doctors are relying on is what is reported in the MIMS, how many women are badgered encouraged to either stop their medication or not breastfeed their babies on the basis of false information that is undoubtedly provided by the drug company who doesnt want to get their asses sued? To me it seems it's just another way in which women can be made to feel guilty about their needs and choices.

Monkey Boy and I made our decision last night. There will be none of this crazy "stop taking the medication that keeps you sane" bizzo going on around here. There will also be none of this "dont breastfeed your baby, it's too dangerous crap" either. I'll discuss the issue with the hospital at our next appointment and let them know that I have done my research, am aware of the possibility that there may be some withdrawal symptoms and am prepared for the potential need for monitoring of Spudly for a couple of days.

Personally, I think doing anything else would be grossly irresponsible on my part. Spud does not need a mother who cant look after him and who wants to harm anyone who gets in the way. Nor should he be denied the enormous benefits of breastfeeding because a bunch of drug company lawyers are a little nervous about the one woman in millions that wants to take them to the cleaners.

Fully Cooked

Today Spudly is officially fully cooked and ready to come out of the roasting tin. Somehow I think he feels he needs to be a bit crispier....

So here's an updated belly picture, taken at 36 weeks. I am actually bigger now.



We went and had some 3D ultrasound piccies done this week too. There's only one clinic in this state that does them and its purely for "bonding", so naturally you pay through the nose. It was soooo worth it. He looks like a little person rather than some transparent shadowy alien type creature.



He looks like Monkey Boy when he's asleep and scowls like me.

In addition, he is also a circus freak. How else can you explain the ability to scratch his nose with his big toe?



My hospital bags are almost ready. Spudly's head was 3/5 past the pelvic brim a week ago, and the Braxton-Hickses are far more regular and insistent of my attention now. It would also appear that the placenta is (touch wood) out of the way. Is that crunching I hear???

Ooooh...holy crap its all Getting A Bit Real.

Just a thought...

	Welcome to week 37 of your pregnancy.
	At the end of this week your baby will reach full term and be considered fully developed for independent life.

Blackmores do seem a little overly-confident about Spudly's development, methinks. But y'know, if he wants to move out of home already, that's fine, but while he's living under my roof he'll live by my rules. And that means NO MORE BLOODY KICKING!!!

30 Days To Go

30 days???? No, surely that's a misprint...

Umm...brain has very definately left the building.

After having only 4 hours sleep yesterday, I discovered at 6.30 pm that I had been wandering around the shops all day with my pants on backwards and my jacket on inside out.

I got nothin' else until the neurons are re-activated. Somewhere around 2015, I think.

Send positive "placenta moving" vibes for Monday's Antenatal appointment.

Send some sort of weaponry for my homicidal rampage against my family. I decided if 12 people clicked "yes" on my Poll, I would do it. (Brother hasnt responded to me explanatory email, btw. What a shocker.)

Oh, and chocolate eclairs. Dont forget the eclairs.