It was brought to my attention that I may have undersold the dramatics of little Jelly Beans birth. Apparently, according to my husband (therefore its gospel in his mind), people want the details. Really?
Well I can do details, but not gory ones. So whilst my next posting was not going to be in this direction I will go back and give the details. Please bear with me because I was a little hazy.
So I was asking the good doctors if I was a good girl, could I please be discharged, thrown into the car, driven carefully (like mad) to Auckland where I would board a plane, pop over the ditch and check myself into the first available hospital. Not unreasonable I didn’t think. I immediately thought of waddling onto one of those flying kangaroos (as many Aussies do when they are desperate to be home) and strapping myself in. I would be good, I would sit very still, and I would not cause a scene on the flight. On arrival I would call a taxi (no time for airport transfers to our car), our families would be merely four hours away (not a whole ditch away).
Apparently this was almost laughable, even though I was honestly being quite serious. There was however going to be a flight, just not what I had imagined
I have heard during childbirth, the memory can be very selective. Well in my case memory was completely vague. Once the doctors had told me that I was in labour and the Rescue Helicopter was on its way, I was out. You see it all the time in the movies, the person hears the noise but nothing goes in. I remember looking at my husband, tears in my eyes and he was expressionless. He didn’t move. Didn’t jump up and pull me into his arms to make it all go away, didn’t interrupt the incessant speech the doctors were giving us, just sat like a statue. My instinct was to move, jump, run, pace, slam a door, anything. The doctors then all walked out leaving us and our amazing midwife Gwen (whom I was just inspired to stalk a little on Facebook and send a quick email to). At some point another midwife came in whilst Gwen had to step out for a moment. To this day I would like to meet her again and tell her what I thought of her insensitive comments. Obviously she knew what was going on and she thought then it was an appropriate time to enquire from me “How could you be that far dilated and not feel the contractions”. My very polite and still stunned response was “I’m not sure”. What I should have said to the woman was (and please take a sip of coffee as there is a rant coming);

“Well for a start I have been here for two days because I am actually quite sick. Part of the symptoms of that illness is a sore back, so sore in fact that I can barely walk to the bathroom. I don’t have a high pain threshold generally but I certainly do not admit to pain to strangers so I was only have low doses of paracetamol to manage the “rigors on my right flank” (medical term). Your people have had me hooked up to a foetal monitor all morning, well before I took a bathroom break so I was assuming that my little world was all happy and rosy. So perhaps I am super tough and a mere little contraction doesn’t register on my not comfy scale. Or maybe I am so damn sick that contraction pain was nothing compared to the feel of burning hot knife sticking into my back that I’ve had for days now. Or maybe I am one of those women that get all the initial pain in my back. Or maybe, just maybe my little body thought it would save me the physical pain of contractions for hours on end, in preparation for the utter helplessness, anxiety and gut wrenching moments I would endure emotionally in the next 8 weeks. Just saying”

The next people to walk through the doors were orderlies to push the bed or wheelchair (vagueness there). I do recall asking if I could not just walk to where I needed to go. Again I am not trying, nor was I then, to be cavalier. I was in pain, sure, but I had waddled to the bathroom earlier, I saw no reason not to be walking now. I could play damsel in distress if required, but not usually my first trick nor was I really in the mood for it. With wheels providing the means, we were escorted to the delivery suite to be prepped for the flight.

This was where things got a little dicey, as far as my marriage goes. You see we are a unit, we have spent a lot of time apart but we have a pretty strong foundation and when it gets tough we have each. I was going in the big scary helicopter and my best friend was told to get in the car straight away, drive to Waikato Hospital in Hamilton NOW! I was strong. It was best for baby if I was air lifted ASAP. There was no room in the helicopter for husbands; he would meet me at the other end. The helicopter was still in transit so he had a pretty good head start. We kissed goodbye and he walked out. I was due for another set of observations and an examination so I was momentarily distracted. Staring at the midwife, I was envious. Her being at work on another normal day and me being as far from a normal day as was possible. She informed me that she just needed to speak with Doctor a moment. Seconds later she was back. “We cannot risk letting you fly, your 7cms and dilating quickly. If you give birth in the air it could be harmful to baby and you. Does your partner have a mobile on him?”

Oh dear god. How much time had actually passed? I was furious with myself that I was not more “in” the moment and watching the clock. I replied his mobile number automatically. Then felt an awful dread. His phone wasn’t working here, nor was mine. I was still waiting for international roaming to activate it was another 5 hours before it would kick in. I was just about to ask them to call the police and stop him on the road. Yes I was serious. I was not delivering our baby without him. Then I remembered my blessed work mobile phone. I took it with us in case the office needed me. No I am not so important that the place cannot run without my presence but there was something happening that caused me to pack it for some reason. Fate perhaps?

So I rattled off that number (probably with a hint of professional tone just from habit). Then I thought, I cannot remember what numbers you have to put in front of Australian mobile numbers when dialling from another country. I was just about to start to panic when I had my first contraction. Well not my actual first one but the first one I actually noticed. It was bearable.

From here to the birth my memory is so blurry. It breaks my heart sometimes and other times I think, who the hell cares if it wasn’t up to my expectations.

My husband walked back through the door and relief swept over me. I can do anything now. He started trying to tell me his activities when he left the hospital. I was interested only in so much as hearing his voice and holding his hand meant that I was not alone. I started to want to push. Again I was not sure how much time had lapsed. I was allowed to start pushing but I still had no real idea how to best do it. I just went with natural instinct and very diligent following of any instructions I was hearing. Except for my husband telling me to breathe. Like that was going to help at all, I didn’t need to breath I needed to get this baby out.

Midwife Gwen left midway through contractions to summon the doctor. He barely even looked at me before he explained that the baby needed to be out now. I was of the same opinion. He then explained that there was a small problem and that I needed some help getting baby out. He explained he needed to “make a small cut”. Could this day get any worse? Surely I was not that useless. Surely I can give birth without having my “bits” altered. I didn’t argue though. I was on their turf and with a baby on its early way I was willing to do anything, so the “small cut” was made. It was not the nicest sensation but I did not have time to dwell on it. To quote my previous blog “It’s all in the detail”

“Our daughter was born. We were parents. Now that I had done that job it was time for a shower. I was in shock. I was given a task, deliver the baby. Well I had done what was asked. It was not the moment that is aspired to my most women. I had dry eyes, I still had doctors working at the other end of my body (like they had not seen enough over the last five hours), and the baby was wrapped and whisked away. Where was that moment that everyone promises, where was the rush of love, that natural incredibly addictive “high” that everyone talks of?
It had been lost, lost in the shock that our precious little baby was here too early. What was too early? Does this early arrival mean endless days in hospitals? Does it mean she was not coming home? Was she fully developed? Was she even alive? We had just become parents of a 30+4week premmie baby and we had absolutely no idea what was in store for us.”

That was three years ago today. I still have very mixed feelings about this day. I am so happy and excited that it is our little girl’s birthday but I am also a little reserved about the events we experienced to get here.
She is strong willed, determined, self-assured, independent, head strong and so very clever. The world sure was ready for her arrival, her parents certainly were not prepared but our little Kiwi Baby was ready to take on the world… Happy Birthday Princess