We made it to the finals of the MAD blog awards!
Around 7 months ago, I started writing my pregnancy diary, Return of The Bump. Still in shock, truth be told. Severely sick and absolutely terrified of what might be ahead. Terrified because this was real. Terrified because this was my last chance. Terrified because I wanted to get it right this time.
Those who know me, and my blog, will know that I haven’t really had a birth that went to plan. And you’ll know my thoughts on whether or not birth really matters. It does. It’s not just one day, its the start of a whole life.
My pregnancy diary was the beginning of a new chapter for this blog, and for our family. We were to become six. The Fantastic Four was almost complete! (more…)
I wasn’t sure I wanted to write this, and I am still not really that sure either. But when we were told that our beautiful Elsie Rose (at that point unnamed, simply The Poppyseed) was an IUGR baby and likely to be born very early and very sick, I made a promise to myself. To learn all that I could about IUGR. To be strong. To talk to the doctors with knowledge and confidence. To be her advocate. Her strongest supporter.
To never give up.
We were told at 31 weeks that there was reduced blood flow through the cord and that our precious little Poppyseed was not getting enough oxygen or nutrients. She was not growing as she should be; my body was failing her and there was little I could do. We lived on a knife edge for many weeks. Constant trips to the hospital for growth scans, doppler scans, and CTG monitoring for reduced movements. I used to lie in bed at night with my hand over my bump and will my baby to be ok. To kick just once. To move. To fight. (more…)
In May I published this post to announce my fourth pregnancy. I was 14 weeks pregnant and already weeks into the horrendous sickness that debilitated me for so long.
I was happy to be pregnant. I was excited; I’d always wanted four children and that dream was becoming reality at last!
But the sickness was horrific. The medication helped, but it never really went away. The emotional scars of feeling so desperate, too scared to leave the house incase I was sick all over people I didn’t know, hating the sight of the kitchen because it meant food, lying on the floor at 7pm every night while my eldest daughter helped to put her brother and sister to bed… the emotional scars of all of that run deep, even now.
I stopped taking my medication at 27 weeks pregnant, and give or take a few sick days here and there I was lucky enough not to need any more at all.
My Positive Pregnancy
Walking into an operating theatre is never an easy thing to do. Yes, it is much calmer and more peaceful to do this than to crash through the doors in a panic, but it is still hard to do. To walk into that brightly lit room, to be introduced to people with job titles that seem alien. To allow your eyes to travel over the machines and the beeps and the faces behind the masks. The huge lights over the table. The board with your name on it. The letters and numbers that scream a foreign language to the patient. To be a patient.
Once upon a time I was a woman having a baby. I was not ‘high risk’. I was not a problem, as far as I could see. I was just a woman having a baby. And then I became a patient. A woman who was having a baby that needed intervention. A woman unable to deliver her baby by herself. A woman who needed a team to inject her, fill her with drugs and slice her open. But still a woman.
The team inside that operating theatre went to very great lengths to look me in the eye and to speak to me with respect and kindness. Everything was explained to me at every step of the way. The team inside that operating theatre knew that the pregnancy had not been an easy one; they knew that the baby inside might need some special attention. They could see that I was scared. (more…)