Catching up - babies mentioned

Its been 13 weeks and I have emerged from the fog. I also have a new toy on which to lounge on the sofa and write. Yup this post comes to you from an IPad. And an astonishingly fine thing it is, I highly recommend it. Although I'm discovering that as there is no iPad app for Blogger using it to blog is not the dreamy easy experience it should be. It is half my birthday present and half a present to self for getting through a grim few weeks at the beginning of this latest babe's life. But first before I tell you why having a ruptured appendix when you are having a baby is absolutely not the way to go here he is at on day one and below at 2 months:





He is adorable. His brother and sister are doting on him, possibly slightly too much in the case of the younger one with mammoth bearhugs and attempts at carrying, but overall they have behaved very well given their spots in the hierarchy have shifted somewhat. Most of their miffedness has been inflicted on me.

In comparison to first two this one's arrival was not exactly how I would have planned. (Forgive me for the lengthy account that follows. It is of pretty marginal interest to nearly everyone but cathartic to write down.) I knew an earlyish birth was likely as the 1st boy turned up at 37 weeks and my consultant was predicting the same and was dragging the baby out in any event at 38 weeks but even so I had planned to work at least one more week. I left the office on the Friday with a to do list as long as my arm, a handover to my stand in to do and plans for haircut, wax and eyebrow threading all set up for week 37 (birth isn't dignified at the best of times but is even less so when as hairy as a gorilla). However by about 3 on Sunday morning I am sure I am having regular contractions so off we go down to the hospital dumping the kids on the nanny whilst my parents hot foot it from the countryside.

As a small political aside I know PFI is supposed to be crappy value for money for the taxpayer but I am so glad that the decrepit Victorian hospital which has treated me for various ailments over the years and which has also seen me through fertility investigations (although the ivf was over the other side of town), miscarriages and births has been replaced by a shiny new one where some thought has been given to what should be where including new shower rooms with better showers than we have at home and decent loos.

Anyhow I wasn't having discernible on the monitor contractions but I was in serious generalised pain. Morphine became my close friend and I was writhing in the labour suite for Sunday and in the ward for Monday and Tuesday. A merry band of Professors and random Drs hovered round my bed scratching their chins and peering at me. Blood tests revealed ridiculously elevated crp indicating an inflammatory response but ok white blood cells and no temp. Medical mystery was declared so more head-scratching and lots of iv antibiotics just in case. Thankfully by Tuesday pm I was actually in full on labour and that bit all went well thanks to a smashing Spanish midwife. I should have realised they were all super concerned as I was visited in the delivery room by what felt like the entire shift worth of drs including the consultant who are rare as hens teeth at the business end unless things are going tits up. Me however swimming in diamorphine so oblivious.

Second political aside - my world renowned teaching hospital would be totally non functional without the enormous numbers of non Anglo-Saxons who treat and care for the patients. Three cheers for immigration from other continents and free movement of EU workers I say. As well as my Spanish midwife, doctors from Greece, Egypt, Hong Kong and various bits of the Asian sub-continent were amongst those who looked after me that week let alone nurses, students, cleaners etc etc.

F (who was at that stage nameless) was born around 11 that night and as a 36 weeker was whisked off after a 5 mins to the special care unit to have a line put in and a load of antibiotics leaving me for an hour to wash and feel like a total spare part with no baby. They came back eventually but that was one long hour. At this point I felt much much better and assumed that the pain was history. Hah. More fool me.

The first night was a haze and the initial euphoria soon wore off. I remained in grim pain okish lying down but incapable of straightening up when I got out of bed to hobble to the loos. More professors peering and chin scratching and testing me for this that and the other. I was incapable of eating much and had caught some vile stomach bug too which was turning what was left in my insides to, how shall i put this explosive liquid. I had ultrasounds, prodding, tests galore and finally on the Friday afternoon a CT scan was done making me even more certain that I was appearing in my own personal episode of House (and secretly hoping that the cause of all of this was my lupus cos as you know on House it never is lupus). After the husband went to have supper with the kids the CT revealed the culprit as my appendix (although the lupus drugs might have been part of the reason I had kept going with an inflamed appendix without keeling over for so long). Late that night I had a surgeon swoop in to tell me I was off to theatre asap. Husband was summonsed. Desperate calls made to close Dr friends. Fit of morbid thoughts meant F got his name as I felt that I couldn't leave him nameless when I went under the knife. Down I went to 3 hours of oblivion.

The next day the surgeon wafted to my bed and told me yup it had ruptured and was "very nasty" and then promptly disappeared before i had the opportunity to quiz him further. Later another two gut doctors came by to say I was ok to go home as soon as I fancied. I fancied soon as regardless of shiny newness I just needed to get out. Plus I was becoming a prize sow as people kept coming by to tell me that appendicitis is super difficult to diagnose in late pregnancy, none of the Professors/surgeons had seen it in x years, no really it is very difficult etc etc so we left that evening. Big mistake but that is for another post as frankly I'll be amazed if anyone is still awake by the end of this!

Just re-read and realised I have left out some very important people in this account - F, who had some minor issues of his own, and the Husband who manfully made the creaky NHS function (somethings don't change with shiny buildings) and pressed, cajoled and generally gave a very good impression that he too was a Dr in order to get people moving on tests, bloods, BPs you name it as I was in no fit state. But more of them in that other post.

The guilty party

Is my appendix. I am going in to have it out soon. Leaving F in his dad's capable hands. Thanks to eveyone for all the lovely messages. LoveBetty xx

36w

He is here! 6lb 5oz. Gorgeous. Mystery ailment afflicting me so both of us are chock full of antibiotics and stuck here till Friday at least. Photo when I get home as phone/ blogger interface eluding me! Thanks for all the lovely good wishes.

35 plus 6

I had been hoping to do a Sock it to me post. But here I sit in a hospital bed. Been here since 8 on Sunday. First day they were convinced it was labour as was I. Now they think it is something else possibly irritable uterus ( bloody furious more like), kidney infection, random other thing as yet unspecified. Unfortunately for most of the last 24 hours I have been barely able to move and dosed up on a zillion painkillers although here at least morphine is an option and the one enabling me to blog. Each time he kicks me the pain intensifies but at least out makes kick counts easier. Hopefully we will have a plan tomorrow. He is looking about 6 1/2 lbs on today's scan so early out may be an option. We'll see.

My own x-poll post for posterity.

This was my post for the Great Cross-pollination day which was posted over at Katie's blog. Real post forthcoming soon-ish. Possibly after 30w check up later today. Yup 30 weeks - shocking eh.

I was reading a post by Kym the other day where she talked about “passport children” and how for those of us who were either infertile or have had recurrent losses the living children we have are our passport into the fertile world. That’s the world where people plan their children so they have birthdays at the beginning of the school year. Where a decision to try for a baby means a baby is created max 3 months down the line and at that point it is safe to go tell everyone and buy nursery gear. Where it is a given that the number of children you have and their spacing is a deliberate choice. Where detailed knowledge of transvaginal scan procedures and how to inject yourself anywhere from the torso to the thigh is not necessary. Where - I could go on for pages in this vein - but you get the picture.

Anyhow the post said a lot of the things that I felt as well but then I got to thinking isn’t it about time I stopped feeling like this? I have two lovely children (spaced a fertile world style 3 years apart to the week thanks to those failsafe great planning techniques of a few ivf cycles and a miscarriage) a third hopefully safely en route. To all intents and purposes I have leave to remain/a green card (depending which side of the Atlantic you are) in the fertile world. Look come on I am now that annoying woman who conceived naturally at 42 and seems to be having a successful pregnancy - quickly reaching for the copious quantities of wooden coffee tables, lamps etc in close proximity - lets keep quiet about the further miscarriages in between.

Maybe I should just suck it up and move along. Its hard though because it still bloody rankles when its easy for other people. On balance though I think the anger is marginally better than the overwhelming sadness the whole business used to engender. I wonder how much time, energy and life I have wasted on this? Too much? Almost certainly. Would it have been easier just to be public about the whole thing and not suffer in silence? Would it have made any difference to the kids if the world knew about their start in a petri dish? Should I just have got over the fact that I thought they and me and the husband would be pitied for our failings to be a real part of the fertile world? Maybe. Maybe not. Do I really need to add regret to anger and sadness over the way we had to travel to get to where we are? I think not. I think now I need to grab that stamp in the passport or that green card - which isn’t even bloody green you know - and enter that other world as if we all belonged there all along. And in a spirit of multi-culturalism try and do a bit to make it so that for those coming along behind the whole passport issue just isn’t such a big deal anymore because we can all finally get to belong however we get to build our families.

Enough of the maudlin introspection though - serves me right for x-polling whilst watching a Joan Baez documentary. And thank you for letting me take over this space for a day.

CROSS POLLINATION DAY: A beating heart

Its cross pollination day people so here is today's mystery post. See if you can work out who it is or go to the great list of pollinators over at Geohde's place.:

When I scheduled our ultrasound two weeks ago, I honestly had very little hope that we would actually arrive at this date and still be pregnant. I put the day on my calendar in pencil, so I could erase it, if need be.

Every day since the second line came up, I have expected red on the toilet paper whenever I wipe. Whenever I feel a cramp or twinge, I take a trip to the restroom and do a "spot check." I am always amazed when the tissue comes back clean. Despite my increasing symptoms and all-day nausea, I can't wrap my mind around the fact that I seem to be staying pregnant.

I have been pregnant nine times. And eight of those times has resulted in a loss. Granted, the one time that did work out, resulted in my wonderful little boy. However, I still have very little confidence in my body when it comes to pregnancy. I still don't equate a positive pee stick with a baby. My mind does not work that way. When my husband and I discuss this pregnancy, we pepper our conversations with "if" not "when" and actually, we talk very little about the baby itself. My husband asks how I am feeling, or if I have had any spotting, but he does not really talk about the baby. Neither do I. I talk about my pregnancy in terms of symptoms and logistics. I try to steer clear of emotions or hopes. I did this with Will, too. It wasn't until much later, probably after the anatomy scan, that I was really able to start placing any true emotion into the baby part. I felt like a fraud of a mother, and I feel that way now, too.

Against the odds, here we are. I am 7 weeks, 2 days pregnant and at 3:45 this afternoon, we will know if this little baby has a heartbeat or not. Though I know that this is the first of many, many hurdles, I do know that, statistically speaking, our chances for a loss would go down dramatically if we were to see a beating heart. My own heart flutters with hope.

Pollination

As I have signed up to the witty Geohde's cross-pollination on Wednesday I think it is about time I pollinated the damn blog. The usual shit gets in the way of posting: laziness, dog tiredness, work etc etc etc. I also owe the wonderous and recently(ish) transmogrified Y-Yo Mama an award/ meme thing which may have to wait until later this week.

The pregnancy is now at just shy of 24 weeks - we are 6 scans down the line and all seems fine. There has been a slight rival scan maestro spat as to whether or not the babe had a slight pericardial effusion - to which the rival answers were respectively "no" and "yes but meaningless in the grand scheme" so to be honest perhaps we would have been better off with not being told at all. I'm not usually one for keeping stuff from the patient but given the upshot was "who cares" I sure wasted a lot of my time lying on my back craning round at blurry pictures of internal organs. And in other whinges - why do all appts take over 2 hours for anything at all? In other pregnancy related news I have shifted the nausea only for it to be replaced by reflux and constipation - joy of joys. Oh and I am hobbling about as I seem to also have some sort of sciatica. This is no doubt why the chorus from the ob community is get this done in your twenties ye foolish wenches. Huh, if bloody only. Explain to me why I have been contraception free since my late twenties and not till I was 42 could I manage this on my own then.

I have also sorted out cover for my maternity leave. I have had a jobshare for years and rather than muck it up we came up with a wheeze which hopefully will keep the place ticking over in my absence as I do twice as many hours as my colleague but also can be sold as development opportunity to one of our reports. I now have some confidence that my systems wont fall apart from 6 -7 months of neglect. We are a successful jobshare but, how shall I put this, we have complimentary skills and certain things just don't get done on her watch. She will however willingly do loads of difficult staff stuff for which I am eternally grateful. Even though occasionally I curse the fact that I occasionally get in and think what the *&%^ has she been bloody doing this week, I am happy to proselytise far and wide on the benefits of a jobshare in pretty much any job but in particular in professional ones where people get narky about part timers.

In exceedingly old news I got to see the HFF, and her bags of London swag, at the Cringe reading. Always good to see that bloggers do look human in the flesh. Not that I doubted HFF's existence but she could have been a boy biker from Bolton for all I knew (she isn't for any doubters amongst you).

Anyhoo. Do check back on the 9th for the cross-pollination extravaganza. Now back to failing to buy Yule gifts. Oh I wish I was one of those super witty gift givers who buys the oh so perfect items through the year and come December has nothing to do except source recherche wrapping. I blame living in foreign climes for years of my youth and also having non-religious/non-christian parents for my failures to buy into the British Christmas shopping experience.

Also why on earth are marron glacees so expensive - if anyone can confirm that making them yourself is a) viable and b) as tasty as the offerings from fancy French deli type place I will be eternally grateful.