So here we are in Christmas week. Long time since my last post; things have been busy hence no time for next instalment of 'The Story of Last Time'. Have felt just a bit rubbish and had yet another trip to obstetric triage so have been very glad to have my wee man back after a week with his grandparents. His sense of humour appears to have developed leaps and bounds in the last couple of weeks so has been a fabulous antidote to the dark, cold misery of this long December. Thought I'd share a few of his funnies in the hope that they make you laugh and warm your heart as they've done mine.
1. We have frequent chats about 'What's inside Mummy's big tummy' so posing the following question is not unusual;
"Mummy's got a big tummy, what's in it?"
"Um... "
"Is it an octopus?"
"No...it's a baby!!!"
"What kind of baby?" Usual answer is boy/girl depending on his mood. I waited expectantly to see what he was hoping for today.
"A green one!!"
"A green one??? Really??"
"Yes." Thinks for a minute. "With pink hair!!"
2. Wearing a beautiful new hoodie from a great aunty, daddy though he'd put Noah's hood up.
"No!!! Don't do lat!!! It's not raining in here!!!"
3. On his recent potty success:
"I did a poo in the potty. It was huuuuuuuuggggeee!"
"Yes, that's right, you're a big boy. Well done"
"There was a big snake on 'octonauts'. It was the same like my poo!!!"
More from me later this week...
Saturday 29 December 2012
Wednesday 5 December 2012
Congratulations
We need a bit of context to this blog, I feel. Which means you're going to need to bear with me (or scroll up), whilst I tell the story of what happened last time. It might take a couple of posts, so you might want to stick the kettle on. I've been putting off doing this since I started blogging last week. The main reason is because it's still painful. But also because so many versions have already been told to so many people, that it's difficult to remember that it was actually a real experience I had, and not just something I saw on telly and then told my friends about. Here goes.
N was about to start his first year working as a doctor and I was about to start my final year of medical school when we decided to take the plunge and have a baby. We were both 24. We'd been married for two years, knew we wanted to have kids before hitting our 30s, didn't have loads of money but didn't really think that was hugely important. All you need is love and all that.
The first month of 'trying' came and went - or so we thought. I had a period, and therefore didn't feel the need to confirm I wasn't pregnant with a test. A couple of weeks later, I was on placement in a busy acute medical ward. One morning, I performed my first ever femoral stab (successfully!) to get blood from an artery at the top of a patient's leg. As I disposed of my needle in the sharps bin I'd taken to the bedside, I was scratched by a needle I hadn't noticed was sticking out of the box. It wasn't from my patient and there was no way of identifying who it had been used on. We had a couple of HIV+ve patients and a hepatitis B patient on the ward at the time. As per protocol, I was in touch with occupational health and had to go to A&E to get prophylactic medicine to stop me contracting HIV in the unlikely case that the needle had come from one of the positive patients. The doctor I saw asked if there was any chance I could be pregnant - I explained the situation. She wanted to do a test just in case. I was reluctant, not wanting a negative test to affect my morale in the baby-making game. We were expecting conception to take months and I felt I had to man-up to face the challenge. I gave in, she took my pee.
She came back to the cubicle looking serious, sat down and beamed at me, 'CONGRATULATIONS'. To say I was shocked would be a total understatement. I walked back to my department with emotions I can't even begin to accurately name - surprise, delight, shock, horror, confusion. Funny to experience all these when we'd been planning a baby, but there they were. Then there was the horrid realisation that actually I'd had a 'period' and bled on and off for two weeks. Was this even a viable pregnancy? And suddenly I felt protective, terrified of losing this little life I'd only known to exist for what seemed like moments. And I went home to tell N, who was cleaning the bathroom ahead of starting a night shift the following day. By the way, I'm not sure he's cleaned a bathroom since. I think he was more shocked than I was.
So then there was a couple of days of trying to work out what to do. To take the medication? Was it safe? Who could tell me? Was the baby okay? Did I need to get scanned or something?
My GP insisted I go back to A&E, get the medication and ask to see a gynae doctor about the bleeding. We did. Got the medication. Gynae doctor reluctantly performed my first ever speculum. I remembered as he was doing it that he'd been my anatomy demonstrator in my second year of medical school. He booked me for a scan the next morning.
The following morning, although I was technically 6 weeks from my last period, all was too small to see. I was booked back in for a repeat scan the following week. That week was torture. It's funny how you can be so attached to something that you can't even see. How you can be rooting for its survival. N didn't really understand... at least it proved we could conceive, we could always have another baby if this one didn't work out. But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted this one.
In the meantime, the dilemma over the medication continued. Was there any point in taking it when there was such a small risk of transmission even if the needle had been from a positive patient? I was apprehensive because of the horrendous side effects (diarrhoea and vomiting) and because it seemed wrong to put them in my body alongside my teeny tiny bean of a baby. I asked to see the obstetrics registrar for an opinion whilst I was in for the first scan. She had no helpful advice. Her words, 'we don't even know if this is a viable pregnancy' were not appreciated. I noted never to say that to a patient. She thought I should speak to the Sexual Health Consultant. I did. He assured me it was safe to take the drugs, with a minor adjustment to the regimen. He agreed to take over my care from that point of view. I took the drugs.
The following week passed so slowly. There was a lot of prayer involved. There was more bleeding involved. There were quite a few tears. Then the day came. Back to the Early Pregnancy Unit at the hospital I was on placement at. The midwife running the unit was cold, unfeeling... I had a sense she'd seen it all before and I was just another one. The scan room was filled with people waiting for scans ahead of the termination clinic that morning.
Having had a lot of scans now, I can tell you that the wait between the probe being placed on your tummy and the sonographer speaking for the first time to explain what she's seeing on the screen seems like a lifetime. Every time. But when she spoke, her words confirmed that there was an embryo with a beating heart. Relief.
I booked the rest of my care with my community midwifery team, kept taking the drugs, learned a lot about morning sickness, lost 5kg in the first 12 weeks, moved to a district general hospital residence for my next placement, wrapped up a baby knitting pattern and some wool for my mum's 50th birthday as our way of announcing her present would be late, was seen in a Consultant-led clinic due to a bleeding disorder I carry, found out baby was a boy, started thinking about having a home birth and started studying for my medical school finals... all before Christmas Day, when I turned 16 weeks pregnant.
TO be continued...
N was about to start his first year working as a doctor and I was about to start my final year of medical school when we decided to take the plunge and have a baby. We were both 24. We'd been married for two years, knew we wanted to have kids before hitting our 30s, didn't have loads of money but didn't really think that was hugely important. All you need is love and all that.
The first month of 'trying' came and went - or so we thought. I had a period, and therefore didn't feel the need to confirm I wasn't pregnant with a test. A couple of weeks later, I was on placement in a busy acute medical ward. One morning, I performed my first ever femoral stab (successfully!) to get blood from an artery at the top of a patient's leg. As I disposed of my needle in the sharps bin I'd taken to the bedside, I was scratched by a needle I hadn't noticed was sticking out of the box. It wasn't from my patient and there was no way of identifying who it had been used on. We had a couple of HIV+ve patients and a hepatitis B patient on the ward at the time. As per protocol, I was in touch with occupational health and had to go to A&E to get prophylactic medicine to stop me contracting HIV in the unlikely case that the needle had come from one of the positive patients. The doctor I saw asked if there was any chance I could be pregnant - I explained the situation. She wanted to do a test just in case. I was reluctant, not wanting a negative test to affect my morale in the baby-making game. We were expecting conception to take months and I felt I had to man-up to face the challenge. I gave in, she took my pee.
She came back to the cubicle looking serious, sat down and beamed at me, 'CONGRATULATIONS'. To say I was shocked would be a total understatement. I walked back to my department with emotions I can't even begin to accurately name - surprise, delight, shock, horror, confusion. Funny to experience all these when we'd been planning a baby, but there they were. Then there was the horrid realisation that actually I'd had a 'period' and bled on and off for two weeks. Was this even a viable pregnancy? And suddenly I felt protective, terrified of losing this little life I'd only known to exist for what seemed like moments. And I went home to tell N, who was cleaning the bathroom ahead of starting a night shift the following day. By the way, I'm not sure he's cleaned a bathroom since. I think he was more shocked than I was.
So then there was a couple of days of trying to work out what to do. To take the medication? Was it safe? Who could tell me? Was the baby okay? Did I need to get scanned or something?
My GP insisted I go back to A&E, get the medication and ask to see a gynae doctor about the bleeding. We did. Got the medication. Gynae doctor reluctantly performed my first ever speculum. I remembered as he was doing it that he'd been my anatomy demonstrator in my second year of medical school. He booked me for a scan the next morning.
The following morning, although I was technically 6 weeks from my last period, all was too small to see. I was booked back in for a repeat scan the following week. That week was torture. It's funny how you can be so attached to something that you can't even see. How you can be rooting for its survival. N didn't really understand... at least it proved we could conceive, we could always have another baby if this one didn't work out. But that wasn't enough for me. I wanted this one.
In the meantime, the dilemma over the medication continued. Was there any point in taking it when there was such a small risk of transmission even if the needle had been from a positive patient? I was apprehensive because of the horrendous side effects (diarrhoea and vomiting) and because it seemed wrong to put them in my body alongside my teeny tiny bean of a baby. I asked to see the obstetrics registrar for an opinion whilst I was in for the first scan. She had no helpful advice. Her words, 'we don't even know if this is a viable pregnancy' were not appreciated. I noted never to say that to a patient. She thought I should speak to the Sexual Health Consultant. I did. He assured me it was safe to take the drugs, with a minor adjustment to the regimen. He agreed to take over my care from that point of view. I took the drugs.
The following week passed so slowly. There was a lot of prayer involved. There was more bleeding involved. There were quite a few tears. Then the day came. Back to the Early Pregnancy Unit at the hospital I was on placement at. The midwife running the unit was cold, unfeeling... I had a sense she'd seen it all before and I was just another one. The scan room was filled with people waiting for scans ahead of the termination clinic that morning.
Having had a lot of scans now, I can tell you that the wait between the probe being placed on your tummy and the sonographer speaking for the first time to explain what she's seeing on the screen seems like a lifetime. Every time. But when she spoke, her words confirmed that there was an embryo with a beating heart. Relief.
I booked the rest of my care with my community midwifery team, kept taking the drugs, learned a lot about morning sickness, lost 5kg in the first 12 weeks, moved to a district general hospital residence for my next placement, wrapped up a baby knitting pattern and some wool for my mum's 50th birthday as our way of announcing her present would be late, was seen in a Consultant-led clinic due to a bleeding disorder I carry, found out baby was a boy, started thinking about having a home birth and started studying for my medical school finals... all before Christmas Day, when I turned 16 weeks pregnant.
TO be continued...
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