Wednesday 24 November 2010

the life of a new mummy...


I can't remember my life clearly before Sam arrived - I sort of remember parts of it, as I remember events from my life when other people reminisce or I look at photographs.

But the reality is, there is only today. I look at photos of when Sam was born, nearly 20 weeks ago, and it feels like a lifetime ago. I don't remember him being that tiny, I struggle to recall the reality of the early days in hospital, and have hazy memories of the difficult first weeks and the tough decisions to first switch to bottle feeding and then onto formula.

There is only today. He is asleep in his pram at the end of the sofa, and soon he'll wake up with a full nappy and an empty tummy. We'll listen to the radio as I feed him baby porridge, scrape most of it off his face as he gives me that huge, accepting, toothless grin, and then we'll smile and laugh and play until he's tired and needs to sleep again. I'll hold him for a moment, looking for the cues that he's ready for a nap - him burying his head into my neck, making small cries, and trying to pull my face off - and I'll kiss him softly on his cheek, whisper that I love him very much, and lay him down gently. He'll grumble for a moment, suck his thumb, and fall asleep with his thumb just resting at the edge of his mouth.

My beautiful son, my treasure, my beloved.

Wednesday 1 September 2010

The days of Sam's birth - hospital days....

This is written from memory on Saturday 14th August, as I can now write without tears. The caveat to these memoires – time often adjusts the realities of events, so this is as I recall them from this distance.

I cannot really fault the medical care post-operatively that I received whilst in the first hospital, although having read websites and information since I got home, I was not given much advice about avoiding DVTs other than blood thinning injections and the need to wear support stockings… I also had to request the presence of and guide the physios in my need to get moving safely.

As for the care and nurture of me as a first time mother – well, I struggle with feelings of maternal inadequacy and failure, even to this day…


Saturday 10th July – a day in bed…
I am moved from the High Dependency Unit to a room on the main ward, along corridors and through doors which seem like a maze to me. My baby is in my arms. We get an admiring look from an expectant dad, and I say, “He’s worth every moment” with a sense of foggy amazement.

The room we’re in is too warm for my liking, but of course the window will only open a small amount for the security of the baby. I spend the whole of Saturday in bed, wincing with every move and wondering when I can have the canular in my right wrist taken out. Samuel is in a cot on wheels to the left of my bed, and I keep staring at him. I can hardly believe he’s real, he’s here, and he’s no longer the wriggly bump in my tummy. Now he’s out, he’s public, he’s to be shared. Other people now ‘own’ him. He’s no longer just mine.

We’ve had the all-important skin-to-skin contact in the HDU – he was cold at birth, so having spent some time under a heat lamp, then swaddled to within an inch of being fossilised, he is stuffed down my theatre gown with only his nappy on to gain from my body heat and help us to bond. He is so tiny and vulnerable, laid here on my chest, thin and wrinkly, needing me to keep him warm. It is my first realisation that he needs me for survival – the first realisation of many more to come.

We have our first visitors – Aunty Lucy and Uncle Rob! Samuel is about 12 hours old, and cuddles are a must. Lucy and Rob came up for ‘the last weekend before the baby arrives’ and have been brilliant in their support as events unfolded and took us all by surprise. It is great to have them come and visit us in the hospital, and hard to see them leave as they have to go home again today.

Samuel doesn’t know about latching on, so the precious first feeds are a struggle. Eventually we have to hand express the feeds and give them to him in other ways – the HDU nurse uses a syringe, then a pipette, the ward staff begin with the pipette and move onto tiny sippy-cups as the amounts increase from a couple of millilitres to 5ml. It seems like Samuel needs feeding every hour. And so, with an increasingly stressful regularity, we go through the trauma of trying to breastfeed Samuel, with the inevitable moment where the midwife/health care assistant/breastfeeding support worker/next random person who walks into the room says, “shall we express this feed and try again next time?”, to which I – trying to remain calm for everyone’s sake – say, “yes, I think so. I do think he’s getting the hang of it, and so am I…” I am desperate to get this right, to be a proper mother. I’ve read all the information given to me by the local midwife which stresses the importance of breast milk and exclusive breastfeeding for the first 6 months of Samuel’s life. I know the health benefits for us both, and the implication in all the ‘propaganda’ that if I don’t succeed in this then I am letting us both down. I’ve studied the pictures showing me how to get Samuel to latch on and feed properly. I even paid attention and didn’t laugh when the midwife produced knitted breasts at the antenatal class on how to breast feed (no, seriously…). The difficulty is, Samuel didn’t read the information, wasn’t paying attention at the antenatal classes, and seems to have a mind of his own on this matter… And so all through the day, and all through the night, the pantomime continues, and to my eyes Samuel looks permanently hungry. Neither of us sleep very well, both of us cry a lot… I spend many hours singing to him and holding him.

Sunday 11th July – into the wheelchair, and watch the World Cup Final…
Today 2 goals are achieved – the catheter comes out (joy) and I transfer from my bed to my wheelchair! It may be uncomfortable, but I am now mobile and more independent.

We have another day where a succession of people will walk through the door wanting to prod either me, or Samuel, or both of us. Naturally, everyone also has an opinion as to why Samuel isn’t feeding properly yet. The most well-intentioned but damning phrase I keep hearing? “Your technique is really good, you’re doing nothing wrong.” Good, excellent, but then why is my baby losing weight, crying so much and not sleeping for longer than 50-60 minutes at any one time? Most of my meals are eaten and hour after I get them brought to me, as I try again to successfully breastfeed, and yet again have to express as Samuel cries with hunger and exhaustion. I want to shout out – ‘can’t I just express and bottle feed him, surely that is what this baby needs’. But I’m a first time mother and I don’t know what is right. I continue to follow the direction of the multitude of health care professionals who come in and out of my room at all hours.

Today’s visitors – the grandparents! All four arrive around 2.15pm and stay til 3pm with cuddles and photographs all around. It is wonderful to see them, and to share their little grandson with them. There are some tears and many smiles as he works his charm on them. For a moment I can feel proud of what I have achieved. I am a mother, and this is my son. I am doing well.

I cannot face another night like last night alone, so I ask Chris to stay and the staff find him a mattress and sheets so that he can sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. He will help me during the night if I need to get out of bed for the bathroom, and to pass Samuel to me when he cries for a feed; more importantly, to be a support when the waves of inadequacy sweep over me in the wee small hours. Well, that is the plan. Chris does indeed sleep at the foot of the bed – he sleeps soundly through the 1st 3 unsuccessful feeds and is only awoken during the 4th by the midwife turning on the room light at 4am having had Samuel screaming so loudly I feared for the safety of the windows, and me throwing a soft toy at him (Chris) to wake him up (it landed on his face, bounced off the wall and hit him again, and he didn’t stir until he turned over in his sleep and hit his elbow on the wall…) It is ‘a dark night of the soul’. I honestly wonder how I can make it stop, how I can bring my failure to an end, how I can prevent Samuel from experiencing any more distress. Desperate thoughts run through my head as to how I can end this situation. I cannot entertain any of them. So I call for the midwife again, and we run through the now all-too-familiar script: Samuel is needing more feeds, and I am finding hand expressing harder to do. He still cries after each attempt at breastfeeding, even though people keep saying that he’s getting the hang of it – no he isn’t people. I know what it should feel like, and I can assure you that he isn’t feeding. Another night of singing to him, telling him I love him, crying and praying.

Monday 12th July – pyjamas on, hair washed, physios located, on my own two feet…
The canular in my wrist comes out, and the dressing over my stitches comes off. Bliss! I wash my hair over the bath – carefully, as the abdomen is tender still – and put on soft pyjamas. I am beginning to feel more human again.

The physios bring me a zimmer frame so that I can get out of the chair and up on my feet – they have no experience of Cerebral Palsy and I have to explain the condition from scratch. I stand carefully at the frame, then set off cautiously for a stroll to the door, and out of the protection of my room into the corridor. It feels great to be on the move, albeit with 2 nervous physios following me with my wheelchair 2 inches behind my backside in case I fall or get too tired. They advise me not to do this again without someone to follow with the chair, then suggest that I try using my crutches… I decline, saying that crutches would be much harder and I’d be more likely to fall at this stage. Another lesson in how CP affects the centre of gravity and co-ordination… They promise to come back tomorrow to check on my progress. I spend the rest of the day walking around the room using the frame – with no-one following me around in case I fall!

I now have a new toy – a machine to express breastmilk. Great. It will save my hand from aching so much, and speed up the process no end. Samuel now needs 20-30ml per feed and is hungry every 2 hours, so I need all the help I can get. We have tried every position and technique known to mankind in an attempt to get breastfeeding right, to no avail. I have had 20 different women handling both Samuel and me in an attempt to work out what he is doing wrong or what I am doing wrong. There is no privacy or dignity in this process, and no matter what the ‘experts’ suggest or try, nothing makes the slightest difference to Samuel, who latches half heartedly, sucks twice, realises how comforting it is to be in that position, and falls asleep! He is still losing weight, and is still unhappy and hungry. We still go through the performance of trying him on the breast, but I wish someone would allow me to call time on this rigmarole, and get on with expressing to bottle feed as his method of getting nourished.

My hope to be moved down to a local birth centre today is scuppered on 2 counts – they currently have no beds free (we’ll try again tomorrow morning), and Samuel has lost 9.9% of his birth weight. If that goes to 10% neither of us are allowed to leave the hospital. Please Sam, don’t lose any more before we hear that the birth centre has a bed for us…

The staff ask if Chris will be staying again tonight – the answer is no! He’s more use to us at home with a good night’s sleep!

Tuesday 13th July – falling apart, discovering identity, and escape…

It’s amazing how just going to the toilet can end in floods of tears… After another night of wondering how to make my baby happy, and having him finally go to sleep around 10.30am I decide to go to the toilet – he seems content, and Chris is due to arrive soon so a quick trip to the bathroom shouldn’t be a problem. Once in there, I hear Samuel start to cry – and it immediately builds up into a full-blown scream. I remind myself that he’s clean, dry, winded and ‘full’ as I’ve recently expressed and fed him, so I don’t need to rush out there, I can take my time. Calmly, I finish what I’m doing, and wheel myself back out to his cot, carefully transfer myself back onto the bed, pick him up (little red face thoroughly screwed up and big ear-splitting shrieks coming out of this tiny person) and hold his tightly swaddled body up to my left shoulder. Instantly, he stops crying and sleeps contentedly. He knows he is safe, he knows his mum is holding him. He knows there is no need to be distressed. Far from being calm, it’s now my turn to be distressed – this tiny baby needs me for everything, I am the centre of his existence, and I feel now that I let him down when he needed me. Quite irrationally, I begin to apologise to him for leaving him, and letting him cry. I sit on the edge of the bed, holding him, rocking, crying, and repeating “I’m so sorry Sam. I’m so sorry.”

15 minutes later it occurs to me that I need to get a grip and stop this – Chris is due any minute, and if he or any of the staff walk in whilst I’m behaving like this they’ll think something terrible has happened… when in fact all I did was go to the toilet and let Sam cry for 2 minutes! The tears are almost gone when Chris arrives 5 minutes later, only to start again as I tell him about the night and the morning. As I hold Samuel, so Chris holds me, and we pray in the knowledge that God holds us all.

Having prised Samuel out of my grip, Chris sends me off to have a shower and get dressed. Reluctantly I leave both my men and follow orders. In the shower I begin to work out who I am. As I emerge from the steam, I say to Chris, “for 9 months I have been pregnant Katie, on Friday I suddenly became Mummy, now I feel as though I am both together – Katie is back, and Mummy is real, and the two together make for the best combination for Samuel”. I will need to reflect on this question of identity, and the sudden enforced change with motherhood, in the days and weeks to come [more on that in another part of the diary…]

Another succession of health care professionals (including the physios to see whether they can have their frame back yet – no!) come through the door during the morning: 3 paediatricians variously wonder if Sam should have his hips x-rayed at 6-8 weeks as they are very mobile (he was born Breech, so froggy hips are normal in that situation aren’t they?); midwives who weigh him and tut at his 9.9% weight loss (but it hasn’t hit 10% yet); a member of the Anaesthetics team comes by to apologise for the fact I was never refered to their clinic to discuss options and implications pre-admission (we had asked for this at 20 weeks!), and the fact that I’d had to make big decisions on the table in theatre.

Finally the news I was desperate for – the birth centre have a bed for us. We can leave the hospital. This is life-saving news – if the centre had still been full, we would have to stay at the hospital another night (because of Sam’s weight being so low) and that would be the end of us both…

With all the paperwork, admin, and further ‘helpful’ advice on breastfeeding, it takes until 5pm to leave the hospital. I have mixed feelings – I am sad to leave behind the microcosm of the little room we have called home for the last 4 days, the cocoon it has provided from the outside world, and the framework or people and routine that has been my scaffolding. However, it also represents guilt and failure – my perception that I am not a proper mother to Samuel because of the disastrous attempts to breastfeed him.

We leave the hospital – Chris, Samuel and I – a little family. Nervous and excited, my biggest concern is being a passenger in the backseat of my own car as Chris drives us to the birth centre 40 minutes away! And that in itself is worth a whole new chapter….

Tuesday 10 August 2010

Motherhood part one - the days before he arrived...


The days surrounding Samuel’s birth…

Due date : 19th July 2010
Caesarean booked : 15th July
Birth date : 9th July 2010!!

Weds 7th July.... Hint no 1 that Samuel has his own timing in mind!
Have a nesting instinct, and convince Chris that we should turn our bedroom around as planned, but to do it tonight, not leave it any longer. We do so...

Thur 8th July...... Hint no 2
More nesting! Clean the bathroom, clean our bedroom, clean the kitchen. Should be meeting Helen for lunch, but feel very tired and uncomfortable when I drive, so ‘postpone’ our lunch date. Haven't felt the baby move all day, so call the GP around 3pm, who advise I call the midwives. They suggest I drink a pint of iced water, then wait 20mins for the baby to react, then call them back to report of baby's movements. I do so, and call Chris to suggest he comes straight home, then call the midwives to say nothing has happened. They call the Hallamshire Hospital, we call Lucy my sister to tell her the front door key is under the mat, and we head for the hospital. Monitor on tummy, and 30mins of assessment confirms the baby is fine - phew!! Midwife advises "babies in the last days of pregnancy often lie still as a practise for their experience during the contractions and labour that they know is coming soon".

Fri 9th July..... Hint no 3 and the 'punchline' as Samuel chooses his own birthday!
I wake up feeling quite tired and out of sorts. Lucy notices that I am having muscle cramps low down in my stomach during the morning, and begins to time them. They come every 30 minutes! She suggests that they could be contractions, but I put it down to Braxton Hicks as they are a little uncomfortable but not painful. After lunch they are coming every 20 minutes and starting to feel slightly more painful. I go over to church to catch up with Becky, my PA, and feel better for walking over and back, so continue to dismiss my ‘cramps’. Lucy suggests I pack my bag ready for hospital – “I’ll get around to it” I say, breezily. Lucy looks unconvinced! Early evening rolls along, and my ‘cramps’ are now 10 minutes apart, and take my breath away… At 7pm I rouse myself from the sofa where I have been snoozing, and we all start to get ready to go out for dinner – I pop to the loo, and discover my waters have broken! (At first I assume incontinence, then have a growing and speedy realisation as to what is really happening!). I call through the toilet door, “Chris, don’t panic… my waters have broken,” and a controlled panic takes us all over. Lucy calls the restaurant to cancel the booking, Chris calls the hospital to make a booking… “Hi, it’s Chris Tupling here, my wife is booked in for an elective Caesarean next Thursday – only her waters have just broken so we’re on our way to you now.” The bag is quickly packed and into the 2 cars we go – Lucy and Rob following so they know where the hospital is. On arrival I can barely walk as the ‘cramps’ – ok, let’s call them contractions now!! – are too invasive and painful. Chris fetches an NHS wheelchair (only steers if you pull it backwards…) and we all head up to the Triage. Once there, I get the wonderful gas and air, and a succession of questions. When they realise that I am having contractions every 4 minutes and my waters have broken they get permission to open up a second theatre as there is a concern that I am progressing towards labour at a fairly good speed, and we need to head this off and get to the Caesarean. I am finally into theatre at around 10.15/10.30pm and have now discovered where my pain threshold is – the gas and air is having no effect (I have never felt such pain in the whole of my life), the contractions are coming in unbroken waves, the tube is clamped in my teeth, and I am having to keep very still as they put the spinal in – just before it takes effect I have 2 overwhelming desires: one is to shout loudly “kill me now”, and the other is to begin to push…
The spinal is fantastic – the fog of pain clears, I can think again, and now hold a conversation with the theatre staff. They check to ensure that the spinal is working, and discover it has only taken in patches. Unwilling to do it again, we all agree that a general anaesthetic is the only way ahead. Chris will have to remain outside the theatre as this now counts as an emergency Caesarean, and I say goodnight to the staff as I go under… Whilst I ‘sleep’, Samuel (who it turns out is Breech!) arrives at 23:23, 6lb 7oz, safe and well.


Saturday 10th July 2010 – hello baby…
I wake up in the High Dependency Unit at around 12:30am, and am asked if I would like to see my baby son… when I open my eyes he is laid next to me, and I can see his profile. My little son. He’s real, and lying next to me. We stay in the HDU until mid morning, at which point we are moved to Whirlow Ward and our own room. Once there, it is time for me to recover from the trauma of the contractions, a general anaesthetic, a Caesarean, and the shock of everything happening before I was ‘ready’… And the overwhelming realisation that I have a son, a baby, a little boy. I am a mother, Chris is a father, and this is all real. Now the really hard part begins...

Wednesday 24 February 2010

Baby Mini-Me...


Had the '20 week' scan this morning - and all is well! Limbs and body parts all in the right places, internal organs functioning fine, lovely view of the spine - mini-me spent the time upside down and with their back to the scanner! Stubborn or camera shy? Despite being tickled and jiggled, mini-me wouldn't turn and smile, so the photos are not flattering but are functional! We know the gender - but as the grandparents all said they don't want to know, we're keeping quiet for their sakes...


Tuesday 23 February 2010

Sky, snow, and scans...

SKY
We got Sky just before Christmas! (I had promised Mr T it 2 years ago and finally got around to sorting it out!) 500+ channels, and still nothing on... How many shopping channels selling stuff we actually don't need is justifiable? And much as I love DAVE with its re-runs of classics, I don't need DAVE+1 to show me everything and hour later when the ability to record stuff the 1st time is very easy. Whilst we're on the subject, don't get me started on the 'Christian Channels'... good grief...

SNOW
again??? I've really had enough. Winter has made its point. I get it. We are capable of decent snow having bleated on about the good old proper winters when we had 40 feet snow drifts and were still able to get to work, school, shops and save the universe... But does it have to make this much of a point? Roll on the Spring!

SCANS
tommorow! The '20 week anomaly' scan is booked for the 24th Feb, 8.30am (!). Assuming of course the snow melts a little between now and then - and the clinic isn't running 1 hour late as it was last time we went (again due to snow!) I'm finally getting excited - was very cautious up to the last scan 'just in case' - but now I am getting a slight bump, and I'm half way and I think I can feel the baby tickling me, I am excited :-)

More soon... well, less SKY and snow, and more baby stuff :-)

Thursday 14 January 2010





A Mini-Me is on the way!
A baby - who will hopefully have my musicality and sense of humour, and it's dad's way with languages and words... (the horror would be my height and his nose!)

I am 11 weeks pregnant so far; I've had moments of morning (all day) sickness, some days of feeling like my body is re-wiring itself, a constant need for munchies (!), have started preferring tea rather than coffee (very wierd) and have gone off alcohol (tragic - even my beloved Port no longer appeals, and the smell of red wine makes me take a step back, not convenient when taking a Communion service I can tell you!). But really, I've been fine. Feel healthy, if a little tired, and perhaps not all my clothes fit as well as they did 2 months ago (!) but I feel good with this.

The baby was hoped for rather than a total suprise but, even with the certainty of being 11 weeks pregnant, I was still amazed when I saw the image on the scan. I really am pregnant, that really is a baby, and it really is happening to us, not just other people any more! Blimey!

So now the wonderful world of preparing for Maternity Leave begins - work: how does the Church of England handle this? As I live where I work from, how will I ensure privacy - and avoiding sidling my way back into work when I should be 'resting'?? Who's going to take my 18 weddings this year?

And never mind all that - others will cope fine without me. (sob - am I really dispensible?!) Will I be any good at this 'being a mum' thing? Will we make good parents? Will we bond with the baby, love him/her at first sight? If s/he is ill or has long term health needs, will we cope well? Will the baby be cute, or so ugly the midwife won't know which end to put the nappy.....?!

So if you have any tips for a short, mildy disabled, self-doubting but strangely calm, vicar mum-to-be, do get in touch!

More as and when...

Wednesday 6 January 2010

urban v rural...?

what is it about people?

I've been living in cities and towns for much of my life and had got used to how people behave - on public transport, in shops and crowd behaviour.

For nearly 3 years now I've been living in a village - and have got used to this way of being with other people.

So it was a shock to spend 2 days on central London over New Year - sitting in the entrance hall to the British Museum, I looked at more people in 2 minutes than I see in 1 week! Not just the numbers of people amazed me - the behaviour. Nobody sees anybody else. Shop assistants look through you, crowds walk into you and then look at you as though it's your fault, everyone is preoccupied with who-knows-what, and nobody has time to engage.

It feels as though life in rural parts is about engaging and relating. Life in the city is about surviving...

Or am I going soft?