An insight into a birthing experience with no gory bits!
20 March 2005, Sunday 10pmish
The blonde midwife stood silently shaking her head. Her bob neat, her eyes telling all. Her lined brown hands trembled as she took in what the machine was telling her. Clearly, things weren't good. My baby's heartbeat was high and she wasn't moving much. Seconds passed.
Was she going to say something?
I cleared my throat. "So this isn't good then?"
Well…?
Blondie couldn't look at me. "I'll get someone else."
She dashed out. I waited in anticipation. All was quiet on the maternity ward at Nelson Hospital. Eerily so. My obstetrician arrived on the scene and confirmed what I knew deep down had to be coming.
"We're going to have to get this baby out." And she flurried off after a few brief pokes and prods. I lay there frozen.
"Um - can I ring my husband?"
But the one portable phone in the ward wasn't working. Blondie was frazzled - but not apologetic. There wasn't time for this nonsense.
For the love of…
"Don't worry, I'll use my mobile."
I phoned my husband up, a tear sliding down my cheek.
"She's coming tonight." I managed to splutter out.The next bit happened fast.
A couple of the medical staff helped dress me in a checked hospital gown. It was shaped like a sack. My underwear was removed. My dignity was going the window fast. I wondered how much of this my roomie was taking in. Only a thin curtain separated us. This was unfolding just inches away from her.
I was wheeled to the delivery room to be prepped for theatre. I had a little cry - out of fear but also relief. Finally they were going to work out what was wrong and my baby was coming!
In the delivery room a team of medical staff buzzed around me. There was no time for introductions. I felt like I was on the Shortland Street set - although a slightly less glamorous version. Dr Warner was nowhere to be seen. Someone was shaving "down there" where they were going to make the bikini-line incision, a drip was put into my arm and other things were going on that I just couldn't take in. I met the asethesist - tall and tanned. Oh yeah - and fairly cute. Oh god - now what exactly was he going to see?
My husband appeared amongst the organized chaos. I was just one of a series of c-sections performed in Nelson hospital yet for me it was all frighteningly new.
As I was wheeled to theatre my husband walked beside me. He was strong and reassuring. He'd been asleep when I'd called and had hastily dressed to come to the hospital. He'd grabbed a T-shirt off the floor from his side of the bed. It was inside out. The asethesist was with us and had forgotten the code on the door. Another medical staff member didn't know it and so one of them ran off to find out. Crikey, this was an emergency situation and they didn't know the code on the door?! Hubby and I shared a bit of a laugh about that - at least it lightened the situation a little.
Once in theatre I had to get off the bed and on to the operating table.
They can't expect me to move when I'm in this much pain. Oh - they do…
Geeeeeez! Holy mother of…
I sat upright cowering forward in pain.
The asethesist was getting the epidural ready. He explained the procedure to me. Thank goodness it was inserted in my lower back so I didn't see it, as I hate needles. I was embarrassed slightly sitting there in the shapeless checked gown with my back exposed. I wasn't sure what the asethesist could see or what exactly was going to be exposed once I was on the operating table. I was warned that if the epidural didn't kick in fast enough that I would have to have a general. I lay down on the operating table and was covered with a material that resembled a horse blanket with my lower stomach region exposed. Then I was basted like a chicken with iodine.
The prick test was done and I was asked if I could feel anything. I could on my right side. A general was the go.
Oh God. Now I'm really scared. What if I don't wake up? Is this the end? And our baby...?
I asked my husband to pray for me. He held my hand. It was the closest to death I've ever been yet there wasn't much time to even take that in. Now I felt like I was on an episode of ER. The mask was put over my face and just like in the movies - everything went black.
21 March 2005, after midnight
When I woke up my husband was holding our daughter tightly in his arms. She was polished and perfect and unlike the images of newborns I'd seen where they were covered in gunk and blood. It was explained to me that an ovary was removed, as it was "torted and blackened." The only explanation given for why it happened was "bad luck".
My husband handed this angelic-looking baby to me whose birth I hadn't witnessed and said…
"This is Amelia."
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