Monday, June 20, 1994
Sentimental Mummy letter to baby Kevin
Kevin,
When you were born you had tiny white spots on your nose, “grains de milium”, which disappeared after a few weeks. The little black hairs on your ears have yet to disappear! Your hair was very dark and fine, like mine, but it’s now becoming auburn. Your eyebrows were almost invisible, but now they are darker and give your face a new expression.
Your were very tired during your first week, while we were still in hospital, and you slept all the time in between feeds. You made some funny noises in your sleep, the most alarming of which resembled a cork popping out of a bottle. Your Daddy and I jumped every time we heard it – it was SO loud! But it didn’t even wake you.
When you were born you had tiny white spots on your nose, “grains de milium”, which disappeared after a few weeks. The little black hairs on your ears have yet to disappear! Your hair was very dark and fine, like mine, but it’s now becoming auburn. Your eyebrows were almost invisible, but now they are darker and give your face a new expression.
Your were very tired during your first week, while we were still in hospital, and you slept all the time in between feeds. You made some funny noises in your sleep, the most alarming of which resembled a cork popping out of a bottle. Your Daddy and I jumped every time we heard it – it was SO loud! But it didn’t even wake you.
Friday, June 10, 1994
Kevin's birth by Caesarean section 1994
On the morning of Thursday 9th June 1994 I woke up in the maternity hospital at St Germain en Laye feeling very excited and nervous. This was the day my son would be born by Caesarean section, a decision made after x-rays and scans revealed that his skull was too large to fit through my pelvis. I felt secretly relieved that I wasn't going to have to suffer any labour pains.
I was also hungry, as I hadn’t been allowed any dinner the night before. I had been too excited to sleep much and I was also sharing a room with a young woman who had given birth the day before, whose baby cried noisily all night. A nurse came to shave my pubic hair off (dry! with no soap or foam or ANYTHING!), which tickled greatly, and I was told to take a shower and wash myself all over with disinfectant, before putting on a hospital gown. Just as I was on my way to the shower, my husband arrived in my room which was a really nice surprise. Of course he planned to be in the waiting room during the operation, but I wasn’t sure of seeing him before they wheeled me off to the operating theatre.
After the shower I waited on my bed and a nurse came to attach a catheter to my urethra, which was a VERY PECULIAR experience. At 8.30 am an orderly came with a stretcher. I climbed on and someone put by my feet the baby clothes Kevin was to wear. They started to wheel me off down the corridor towards the lifts, P. walking alongside, when a nurse noticed that I had nail polish on my toe nails. She halted the procession and sent someone to find a bottle of polish remover, explaining to me that they needed to be able to see the colour of my toes after the operation to make sure I was recovering properly! She said “I suppose you painted your nails especially for today?”. Of course I had, and shaved my legs too! I got quite a scolding and felt quite silly, but was also annoyed that nobody thought to tell me that important detail when the date for the operation had been fixed. It was the first time I’d ever been in hospital for God’s sake, how was I supposed to know something like that? So she scrubbed away at my toenails right there in the hospital corridor with all sorts of people rushing past. P. and I found it funny, at least it gave us something to laugh about.
The orderly pushed me into the lift to go down a couple of floors and then through a labyrinth of corridors. He was really chatty, but I can’t remember a thing he said. We arrived and P. kissed me goodbye as he was left behind in the waiting room. I was taken first into the recovery room where a shower cap was put on my head, yellow disinfectant painted on my belly and all sorts of electrodes attached to my chest and arms. An intravenous drip was inserted into each hand which was quite painful and left impressive bruises afterwards. At some stage I asked when I would first see my baby and I was told that he would be beside me in the recovery room afterwards. I was wheeled into the operating room where there seemed to be dozens of staff members in green robes (probably only about 6 or 7), all busy doing things with various equipment. The bright lights were quite dazzling.
A woman anaesthetist in white came and introduced herself, and while she was fiddling with her tools, asked me where I was from, as she had obviously noticed my accent straight away. When I mentioned New Zealand she was delighted, as she said she had friends living in Auckland. Then I had to sit up with my legs hanging over the edge of the operating table and she prodded my back and swabbed the part of my spine where the needles were to go in. She injected me twice, one for each side (a rachi-anaesthetic). The needles hurt quite a lot going in, and it was very strange to feel my legs going numb. Of course I couldn’t lie down again by myself after that, a nurse had to come and swing my legs back onto the table. The electrodes on my chest were plugged into a heart monitor and some other machines, I found it all quite fascinating. Green cloths were draped all over me and a kind of tent was rigged up at chest level, so I couldn’t see anything past my shoulders. However I could see my own reflection (tiny) in the metallic lampshades above me, so I decided to look elsewhere while they were cutting, but to try and watch Kevin being born.
I started to feel quite woozy and far-away, in fact throughout the whole procedure I kept wanting to drift off to sleep. A young nurse sat behind my head, often rubbing my temples and from time to time she put an oxygen mask over my face, to keep me awake, I suppose. She frequently spoke to me and asked me “Ca va? Ca va ?” over and over again. A man in white with a moustache came and said hello to me, then quickly got to work. I soon realised he was the surgeon. The first part of the operation took place within half an hour. I couldn’t resist glancing up at my reflection from time to time and was quite fascinated to see, after the initial incision was made, a layer of bright white fat under the skin and then a lot of red. Although I was completely numb from the waist down, I soon felt my body being jerked about a bit as the surgeon reached right in to pull Kevin out. These vigorous movements seemed to last quite a long time, and I can’t help but wonder now if Kevin got a fright to be pulled out feet first, and perhaps that’s why he breathed in some amniotic fluid. Stupidly I had imagined that, in a Caesarean, the baby would simply be lifted out through a large cut, but of course he was dragged out through a very small incision. No wonder I was sore afterwards!
So I felt them pulling and jerking, it seemed like quite a struggle and I looked up at the lights and vaguely saw a blue and red bundle. Someone said “Le voilà!” and I felt an incredibly heavy weight plunked down on my chest. The green tent was pulled down and I had a two second glimpse of the back of Kevin’s head. I said “Oh il est là!” All I can remember his that his hair was wet, dark and curly. During that fleeting moment I suppose they were cutting the umbilical cord, then he was lifted off me and a nurse started to carry him out of the room but someone else called her back and told her to show me my baby. I was thinking "Yeah thanks for remembering me, I'm just the bloody mother after all..." She came to my left, level with my head and bent slightly, but as Kevin was facing her, all I saw was the back of his head again. Then they were gone and I hadn’t even touched him.
The rest of the operation seemed to take a long, long time. The sewing up is more complicated of course, than making the incision. At one stage I remembered asking to see the placenta, as the midwife who ran the prenatal classes had told us that, although one side of it is just red and bloody like chopped meat, the other side is smooth, comprising an intricate network of veins and arteries. Apparently some women think it is quite beautiful and are moved to see the organ that kept their baby alive for 9 months. Naturally I was curious to see mine. Well when I asked, the bloody nurse looked at me as if I were crazy, but brought it to me in a dish anyway. Again, I only had a glance before it was whisked away and I realised that the stupid woman had shown me the wrong side.
When the operation was finished a sheet was put over me and the electrodes unplugged. As I was being wheeled away I said thank you to the surgeon and then saw that there had been a second surgeon - it was in fact Madame E. whom I had seen just once, the week before. It was she who decided I would need a Caesarean, based on my pelvic X-ray. She was taking off her surgical mask and she said goodbye, but I was amazed to realise that she had been there all that time. Perhaps it was she who delivered Kevin, I don’t even know! She hadn’t even come up to see me or say hello at the start of the operation. Yet another disappointment, but of course the worst was yet to come.
As I was being wheeled out of the room, the staff behind me were busily cleaning up, and another pregnant woman on a stretcher was wheeled in. A veritable baby factory. I was taken back to the recovery room opposite and I think the electrodes were plugged back into a monitor. I was naked under the sheet and started to feel quite cold and shivery. My arms were crossed over my chest and a blanket was put over me, but the stretcher was so narrow that my arms kept slipping off the sides and my shoulders were constantly exposed. There were three other patients on stretchers recovering from their operations and we were crammed into the tiny room like sardines. The one next to me was obviously waking up from a general anaesthetic and she kept trying to sit up and get off the stretcher. She wasn’t coherent at all, she moaned and talked quite wildly and the male nurse who was checking our monitors and vital signs kept scolding her. She coughed a lot and he told her quite nastily that she shouldn’t smoke so much.
I felt weak, cold, disoriented and the whole atmosphere was so unfriendly and alien that I wanted to cry. I just wished for some kind of comfort. It seemed that they were taking a long time to weigh, bathe and dress Kevin. I eventually asked when they would bring my baby in, and the nurse said he would try and find someone to explain it to me, which sounded very ominous. Meanwhile the new-born baby of the woman who was wheeled into the theatre AFTER me, was brought into the recovery room and I realised that the area where they bathed and checked the babies was just around the corner. I could even hear the midwives noting its height and weight. So Kevin had been in there just before me. I later found out that he and P. were in a little room just next door with a paediatrician.
Eventually a midwife came and said to me “Your baby is fine, Madame, but he swallowed a bit of amniotic liquid as he was being born, so he’s in an incubator and will be taken to the Neonatal ward where we can keep an eye on him. A paediatrician is with your husband now”. I didn’t know what to say, it was such a shock. I had to lie there for a long time feeling very unhappy, just wanting to see P. and get the hell out of there. After a couple of hours someone decided I was fit to leave, but there was no orderly around to take me back to my room. The nurse made a few phone calls but no-one was available, so I had to wait some more. I felt frantic, begging silently "Someone, anyone, get me out of here!" Finally the same old chap came and pushed me out and P. was there at the waiting room door. I burst into tears and stretched out my hand, which he took as we were taken into a lift. I said “What’s happening? Have you seen him? Is he all right?” He tried to reassure me, he told me Kevin was beautiful, but P.'s own voice was wobbling too. I can’t remember much else until we got back to my room and a couple of nurses helped P. to lift me from the stretcher to the bed. He saw how cold I was, all blue and covered in goose pimples, so they put lots of blankets over me and plugged a bottle of painkiller into one of my drips, knowing that the anaesthetic would soon start to wear off.
P. sat with me and told me that he had been taken in to see Kevin and had even filmed him with the video camera when he was just 20 minutes old. He said that he had been over to see him in the Neonatal ward, which unfortunately was a long way away, up and down several flights of stairs and along a labyrinth of corridors. He told me not to worry, because although Kevin was suffering from temporary respiratory distress, he looked so big and healthy compared to the premature babies, and that he had the most beautiful skin, a lovely golden colour. I was able to look at the miniature black and white screen on the video camera and see the film of Kevin. I was amazed to see that his hair was straight after it had dried. I also noticed he had P.'s nose. He was just beautiful, but it felt extremely unreal to see him on a TV screen. He had a tube in his nose and a drip in his hand, like me. I felt like I was dreaming. I wanted to know how Kevin was going to be fed, I wanted to get him onto my breast before he lost his sucking reflex, but P. told me that the urgent priority was to get him breathing properly on his own and that he was being fed through the drip. P. said he had already rung his parents and mine. I was very grateful that he had done it so quickly, as I knew Mum and Dad would have been sitting up late by the phone. P. jotted down the extension number of the Neonatal ward and said I could ring them anytime I wanted to ask about Kevin’s progress.
The rest of the day is now a blur. I know that at one stage a friend Stephanie rang the hospital just wanting to ask about me, but of course the switchboard immediately put her through to me. I couldn’t even reach the phone, and as P. wasn’t there, the husband of the girl sharing my room passed it to me. Steph apologised for disturbing me and said she just wanted to know if everything was all right. Of course I burst into tears and explained briefly. She said “Yes but is it a boy or a girl?” When I told her, she congratulated me of course, but I felt cross that she was delighted when I was so unhappy. She said she and Belette would come and visit if I wanted them to, but as I didn’t even know when I was going to get Kevin back, I preferred that they ring P. in a couple of days to find out what was happening. My room-mate’s husband hung up the phone for me, and her mother-in-law came and stroked my forehead, as I was still crying and just couldn’t stop. It seemed like a nightmare.
A couple of times that day I tried ringing the Neo-natal ward, but the line was always engaged, so I gave up, knowing that my baby wasn’t really very sick, and that there were probably other parents of very ill babies needing to get through.
P. must have gone back and forth several times that day to see Kevin and film him and then back to me to tell me how he was progressing. It was only recently that P. actually told me how scared he was when the doctors said they just weren’t sure what kind of progress Kevin would make. He took that to mean that there were doubts as to his survival. Of course he never said that to me at the time, thank goodness.
I think it was the following day that I realised Kevin was dressed only in a nappy in the incubator and I wondered what had happened to his baby clothes that had been taken down into the operating theatre with me. I had to make several enquiries to different nurses, all obviously very busy, who said they would try and find out. We did get them back eventually but I took it badly, considering it yet another thing that had not gone smoothly.
On the morning of that second day, the Friday, two nurse-aids came to make me get out of bed and try to walk a bit. The catheter had been taken away, but I was still hooked up to a drip which they wheeled alongside me. I was told to breathe slowly and deeply, and to look straight ahead to avoid dizziness. I felt very feeble and shaky, as I had only been given hot chocolate, a roll and jam for breakfast, and when one of them said to me quite crossly “Why are you shaking like that?”, I snapped “Because I’m starving!”. She replied “Well you should have told us!”, and later she brought me an extra croissant! I was told that the more I walked around, the better it would be for my circulation and thus the faster I would heal. So I got up a couple of times that day and walked to the toilet by myself.
I was still very upset and crying a lot that day. I asked to have my name put on the waiting list for a private room, thinking I would probably have to wait a couple of days for one to become available, but I was moved just a few hours later. I couldn’t stand hearing my room-mate relating the details of her labour over the phone for the nth time, I could just about recite it along with her! She also had quite a few visitors, who invariably asked me where my baby was, which just set me off again, naturally. Poor Mum and Dad must have been worried sick, because they rang me every night and I just sobbed down the phone every time.
I remember asking if I could be taken in a wheelchair to see Kevin and was given some excuse about the lifts being out of order. Then to my amazement, P. arranged for Kevin to be wheeled over in his incubator to my room that afternoon. I half sat up and was allowed to hold him, wrapped in a blanket, for the first time. He was sleeping and it was quite miraculous to actually see his little face in my arms. He yawned and made gummy sounds with his mouth. I kept bending my head to try and kiss his ear, but the blanket got in the way. After about 15 minutes P. got worried that his feet were getting cold, so the nurse put him back in the incubator and wheeled him away. Separated again. More tears from me. Again, it all felt unreal, like a bad dream.
On the Saturday I walked around the corridors a lot more to speed up the healing process. Unfortunately I must have overdone it, because when Kevin was brought to me in the afternoon, I was exhausted and could barely stand. The nurse tried to show me how to change his nappy and at the same time was talking to me about giving him so many millilitres of the milk I had pumped, but I just couldn’t take anything in and cried again. It was so nice when they left us alone with P. and we could all just relax. I lay with Kevin beside me in the narrow bed and finally felt that things were as they should be. What a lot of progress we’ve made since then!
I was also hungry, as I hadn’t been allowed any dinner the night before. I had been too excited to sleep much and I was also sharing a room with a young woman who had given birth the day before, whose baby cried noisily all night. A nurse came to shave my pubic hair off (dry! with no soap or foam or ANYTHING!), which tickled greatly, and I was told to take a shower and wash myself all over with disinfectant, before putting on a hospital gown. Just as I was on my way to the shower, my husband arrived in my room which was a really nice surprise. Of course he planned to be in the waiting room during the operation, but I wasn’t sure of seeing him before they wheeled me off to the operating theatre.
After the shower I waited on my bed and a nurse came to attach a catheter to my urethra, which was a VERY PECULIAR experience. At 8.30 am an orderly came with a stretcher. I climbed on and someone put by my feet the baby clothes Kevin was to wear. They started to wheel me off down the corridor towards the lifts, P. walking alongside, when a nurse noticed that I had nail polish on my toe nails. She halted the procession and sent someone to find a bottle of polish remover, explaining to me that they needed to be able to see the colour of my toes after the operation to make sure I was recovering properly! She said “I suppose you painted your nails especially for today?”. Of course I had, and shaved my legs too! I got quite a scolding and felt quite silly, but was also annoyed that nobody thought to tell me that important detail when the date for the operation had been fixed. It was the first time I’d ever been in hospital for God’s sake, how was I supposed to know something like that? So she scrubbed away at my toenails right there in the hospital corridor with all sorts of people rushing past. P. and I found it funny, at least it gave us something to laugh about.
The orderly pushed me into the lift to go down a couple of floors and then through a labyrinth of corridors. He was really chatty, but I can’t remember a thing he said. We arrived and P. kissed me goodbye as he was left behind in the waiting room. I was taken first into the recovery room where a shower cap was put on my head, yellow disinfectant painted on my belly and all sorts of electrodes attached to my chest and arms. An intravenous drip was inserted into each hand which was quite painful and left impressive bruises afterwards. At some stage I asked when I would first see my baby and I was told that he would be beside me in the recovery room afterwards. I was wheeled into the operating room where there seemed to be dozens of staff members in green robes (probably only about 6 or 7), all busy doing things with various equipment. The bright lights were quite dazzling.
A woman anaesthetist in white came and introduced herself, and while she was fiddling with her tools, asked me where I was from, as she had obviously noticed my accent straight away. When I mentioned New Zealand she was delighted, as she said she had friends living in Auckland. Then I had to sit up with my legs hanging over the edge of the operating table and she prodded my back and swabbed the part of my spine where the needles were to go in. She injected me twice, one for each side (a rachi-anaesthetic). The needles hurt quite a lot going in, and it was very strange to feel my legs going numb. Of course I couldn’t lie down again by myself after that, a nurse had to come and swing my legs back onto the table. The electrodes on my chest were plugged into a heart monitor and some other machines, I found it all quite fascinating. Green cloths were draped all over me and a kind of tent was rigged up at chest level, so I couldn’t see anything past my shoulders. However I could see my own reflection (tiny) in the metallic lampshades above me, so I decided to look elsewhere while they were cutting, but to try and watch Kevin being born.
I started to feel quite woozy and far-away, in fact throughout the whole procedure I kept wanting to drift off to sleep. A young nurse sat behind my head, often rubbing my temples and from time to time she put an oxygen mask over my face, to keep me awake, I suppose. She frequently spoke to me and asked me “Ca va? Ca va ?” over and over again. A man in white with a moustache came and said hello to me, then quickly got to work. I soon realised he was the surgeon. The first part of the operation took place within half an hour. I couldn’t resist glancing up at my reflection from time to time and was quite fascinated to see, after the initial incision was made, a layer of bright white fat under the skin and then a lot of red. Although I was completely numb from the waist down, I soon felt my body being jerked about a bit as the surgeon reached right in to pull Kevin out. These vigorous movements seemed to last quite a long time, and I can’t help but wonder now if Kevin got a fright to be pulled out feet first, and perhaps that’s why he breathed in some amniotic fluid. Stupidly I had imagined that, in a Caesarean, the baby would simply be lifted out through a large cut, but of course he was dragged out through a very small incision. No wonder I was sore afterwards!
So I felt them pulling and jerking, it seemed like quite a struggle and I looked up at the lights and vaguely saw a blue and red bundle. Someone said “Le voilà!” and I felt an incredibly heavy weight plunked down on my chest. The green tent was pulled down and I had a two second glimpse of the back of Kevin’s head. I said “Oh il est là!” All I can remember his that his hair was wet, dark and curly. During that fleeting moment I suppose they were cutting the umbilical cord, then he was lifted off me and a nurse started to carry him out of the room but someone else called her back and told her to show me my baby. I was thinking "Yeah thanks for remembering me, I'm just the bloody mother after all..." She came to my left, level with my head and bent slightly, but as Kevin was facing her, all I saw was the back of his head again. Then they were gone and I hadn’t even touched him.
The rest of the operation seemed to take a long, long time. The sewing up is more complicated of course, than making the incision. At one stage I remembered asking to see the placenta, as the midwife who ran the prenatal classes had told us that, although one side of it is just red and bloody like chopped meat, the other side is smooth, comprising an intricate network of veins and arteries. Apparently some women think it is quite beautiful and are moved to see the organ that kept their baby alive for 9 months. Naturally I was curious to see mine. Well when I asked, the bloody nurse looked at me as if I were crazy, but brought it to me in a dish anyway. Again, I only had a glance before it was whisked away and I realised that the stupid woman had shown me the wrong side.
When the operation was finished a sheet was put over me and the electrodes unplugged. As I was being wheeled away I said thank you to the surgeon and then saw that there had been a second surgeon - it was in fact Madame E. whom I had seen just once, the week before. It was she who decided I would need a Caesarean, based on my pelvic X-ray. She was taking off her surgical mask and she said goodbye, but I was amazed to realise that she had been there all that time. Perhaps it was she who delivered Kevin, I don’t even know! She hadn’t even come up to see me or say hello at the start of the operation. Yet another disappointment, but of course the worst was yet to come.
As I was being wheeled out of the room, the staff behind me were busily cleaning up, and another pregnant woman on a stretcher was wheeled in. A veritable baby factory. I was taken back to the recovery room opposite and I think the electrodes were plugged back into a monitor. I was naked under the sheet and started to feel quite cold and shivery. My arms were crossed over my chest and a blanket was put over me, but the stretcher was so narrow that my arms kept slipping off the sides and my shoulders were constantly exposed. There were three other patients on stretchers recovering from their operations and we were crammed into the tiny room like sardines. The one next to me was obviously waking up from a general anaesthetic and she kept trying to sit up and get off the stretcher. She wasn’t coherent at all, she moaned and talked quite wildly and the male nurse who was checking our monitors and vital signs kept scolding her. She coughed a lot and he told her quite nastily that she shouldn’t smoke so much.
I felt weak, cold, disoriented and the whole atmosphere was so unfriendly and alien that I wanted to cry. I just wished for some kind of comfort. It seemed that they were taking a long time to weigh, bathe and dress Kevin. I eventually asked when they would bring my baby in, and the nurse said he would try and find someone to explain it to me, which sounded very ominous. Meanwhile the new-born baby of the woman who was wheeled into the theatre AFTER me, was brought into the recovery room and I realised that the area where they bathed and checked the babies was just around the corner. I could even hear the midwives noting its height and weight. So Kevin had been in there just before me. I later found out that he and P. were in a little room just next door with a paediatrician.
Eventually a midwife came and said to me “Your baby is fine, Madame, but he swallowed a bit of amniotic liquid as he was being born, so he’s in an incubator and will be taken to the Neonatal ward where we can keep an eye on him. A paediatrician is with your husband now”. I didn’t know what to say, it was such a shock. I had to lie there for a long time feeling very unhappy, just wanting to see P. and get the hell out of there. After a couple of hours someone decided I was fit to leave, but there was no orderly around to take me back to my room. The nurse made a few phone calls but no-one was available, so I had to wait some more. I felt frantic, begging silently "Someone, anyone, get me out of here!" Finally the same old chap came and pushed me out and P. was there at the waiting room door. I burst into tears and stretched out my hand, which he took as we were taken into a lift. I said “What’s happening? Have you seen him? Is he all right?” He tried to reassure me, he told me Kevin was beautiful, but P.'s own voice was wobbling too. I can’t remember much else until we got back to my room and a couple of nurses helped P. to lift me from the stretcher to the bed. He saw how cold I was, all blue and covered in goose pimples, so they put lots of blankets over me and plugged a bottle of painkiller into one of my drips, knowing that the anaesthetic would soon start to wear off.
P. sat with me and told me that he had been taken in to see Kevin and had even filmed him with the video camera when he was just 20 minutes old. He said that he had been over to see him in the Neonatal ward, which unfortunately was a long way away, up and down several flights of stairs and along a labyrinth of corridors. He told me not to worry, because although Kevin was suffering from temporary respiratory distress, he looked so big and healthy compared to the premature babies, and that he had the most beautiful skin, a lovely golden colour. I was able to look at the miniature black and white screen on the video camera and see the film of Kevin. I was amazed to see that his hair was straight after it had dried. I also noticed he had P.'s nose. He was just beautiful, but it felt extremely unreal to see him on a TV screen. He had a tube in his nose and a drip in his hand, like me. I felt like I was dreaming. I wanted to know how Kevin was going to be fed, I wanted to get him onto my breast before he lost his sucking reflex, but P. told me that the urgent priority was to get him breathing properly on his own and that he was being fed through the drip. P. said he had already rung his parents and mine. I was very grateful that he had done it so quickly, as I knew Mum and Dad would have been sitting up late by the phone. P. jotted down the extension number of the Neonatal ward and said I could ring them anytime I wanted to ask about Kevin’s progress.
The rest of the day is now a blur. I know that at one stage a friend Stephanie rang the hospital just wanting to ask about me, but of course the switchboard immediately put her through to me. I couldn’t even reach the phone, and as P. wasn’t there, the husband of the girl sharing my room passed it to me. Steph apologised for disturbing me and said she just wanted to know if everything was all right. Of course I burst into tears and explained briefly. She said “Yes but is it a boy or a girl?” When I told her, she congratulated me of course, but I felt cross that she was delighted when I was so unhappy. She said she and Belette would come and visit if I wanted them to, but as I didn’t even know when I was going to get Kevin back, I preferred that they ring P. in a couple of days to find out what was happening. My room-mate’s husband hung up the phone for me, and her mother-in-law came and stroked my forehead, as I was still crying and just couldn’t stop. It seemed like a nightmare.
A couple of times that day I tried ringing the Neo-natal ward, but the line was always engaged, so I gave up, knowing that my baby wasn’t really very sick, and that there were probably other parents of very ill babies needing to get through.
P. must have gone back and forth several times that day to see Kevin and film him and then back to me to tell me how he was progressing. It was only recently that P. actually told me how scared he was when the doctors said they just weren’t sure what kind of progress Kevin would make. He took that to mean that there were doubts as to his survival. Of course he never said that to me at the time, thank goodness.
I think it was the following day that I realised Kevin was dressed only in a nappy in the incubator and I wondered what had happened to his baby clothes that had been taken down into the operating theatre with me. I had to make several enquiries to different nurses, all obviously very busy, who said they would try and find out. We did get them back eventually but I took it badly, considering it yet another thing that had not gone smoothly.
On the morning of that second day, the Friday, two nurse-aids came to make me get out of bed and try to walk a bit. The catheter had been taken away, but I was still hooked up to a drip which they wheeled alongside me. I was told to breathe slowly and deeply, and to look straight ahead to avoid dizziness. I felt very feeble and shaky, as I had only been given hot chocolate, a roll and jam for breakfast, and when one of them said to me quite crossly “Why are you shaking like that?”, I snapped “Because I’m starving!”. She replied “Well you should have told us!”, and later she brought me an extra croissant! I was told that the more I walked around, the better it would be for my circulation and thus the faster I would heal. So I got up a couple of times that day and walked to the toilet by myself.
I was still very upset and crying a lot that day. I asked to have my name put on the waiting list for a private room, thinking I would probably have to wait a couple of days for one to become available, but I was moved just a few hours later. I couldn’t stand hearing my room-mate relating the details of her labour over the phone for the nth time, I could just about recite it along with her! She also had quite a few visitors, who invariably asked me where my baby was, which just set me off again, naturally. Poor Mum and Dad must have been worried sick, because they rang me every night and I just sobbed down the phone every time.
I remember asking if I could be taken in a wheelchair to see Kevin and was given some excuse about the lifts being out of order. Then to my amazement, P. arranged for Kevin to be wheeled over in his incubator to my room that afternoon. I half sat up and was allowed to hold him, wrapped in a blanket, for the first time. He was sleeping and it was quite miraculous to actually see his little face in my arms. He yawned and made gummy sounds with his mouth. I kept bending my head to try and kiss his ear, but the blanket got in the way. After about 15 minutes P. got worried that his feet were getting cold, so the nurse put him back in the incubator and wheeled him away. Separated again. More tears from me. Again, it all felt unreal, like a bad dream.
On the Saturday I walked around the corridors a lot more to speed up the healing process. Unfortunately I must have overdone it, because when Kevin was brought to me in the afternoon, I was exhausted and could barely stand. The nurse tried to show me how to change his nappy and at the same time was talking to me about giving him so many millilitres of the milk I had pumped, but I just couldn’t take anything in and cried again. It was so nice when they left us alone with P. and we could all just relax. I lay with Kevin beside me in the narrow bed and finally felt that things were as they should be. What a lot of progress we’ve made since then!
Wednesday, June 08, 1994
Preggy Diary 1993-4 (gestating Kevin!)
Warning: this post can only be of interest to Kevin, pregnant women and my Mother!
Diary Sunday 7th June 1992
Life is the best it’s ever been, as I’ve been living with P. for nearly one and a half years now. I'm settled, earning good money, and looking forward to a trip to NZ and then having a baby! Not pregnant yet though, it will be a planned baby.
Diary Sunday 24th April 1993:
P. and I got married on March 13th and we’re so happy it’s impossible to write down. Next ambition is of course a baby, and I’m hoping I may already be pregnant (by 3 or 4 days! Too early to tell!)
Diary Saturday 16th October 1993
This is potentially the eve of the best day in my life, because I’m 99% sure I’m pregnant and tomorrow morning I’ll do a wee-wee test and will hopefully be 100% sure. The ups and downs, the expectation and disappointments that occurred every month this year since I stopped the Pill have been really hard to take. I’ve become really obsessed with having a baby, and can’t wait to stop work.
Diary Sunday 17th October 1993
The test is positive! I feel quite delirious, and relieved. P. is thrilled, and feels quite strange. My poor darling didn’t sleep at all last night and when I got up to go and do the test, he said his heart started beating really fast and he felt really nervous! Happy, happy day....
4th week: Headaches, sick when eating, but hungry between meals! Allergic to my Arpège perfume.
5th week: Cravings mild – ate a lot of green grapes and boiled eggs for breakfast.
6th week: Had to take 2 POLARAMINE for hay fever attack – not very happy about that, but the doctor said no risk.
Diary Sunday 7th November 1993
50 kg
I’m trying to keep a pregnancy diary but keep forgetting to make entries! Nausea waves getting quite strong now first thing in the morning and especially at lunch time. Not enjoying the walk to work very much as the car exhaust fumes are awful. All odours seem much stronger. Can’t wait to finish work and be free of cigarette smoke. Hungry every 2 hours because I can only manage very small meals.
I rang Mum and Dad last weekend to let them know – of course they are thrilled. I think word is gradually spreading at work.
Cravings this week are for Comice pears and Royal Gala apples!
Last night we announced the news to Sylvie and Thierry on the phone, with Robert, Steph and Belette present so it was simultaneous. It’s nice to see how happily everyone reacts! We went out for dinner at the Bistro Romain afterwards and Belette bought champagne.
I proudly talk about “my embryo” and try to imagine him/her, but think of it as an it. Must be about an inch long now. Hard to believe that he’s really inside me, sharing my body. Can’t wait for the first échographie (ultrasound) in 3 weeks’ time. Afterwards we’ll announce it to P.’s parents. Dr M. gave me special preggy vitamins to take with every meal for the first 3 months. They’re called OLIGOBS!
8th week: My aversion to meat has gone but now I’m finding it difficult to eat salads and drink milk! I vomited once this week, but only because I ate too much for breakfast. Now I’ve learned to eat very small meals, but frequently. My belly seems to be getting firmer, but I haven’t put on any weight yet.
12th week: 49 kg
Just had a terrible week! Last Saturday was marvellous, we had the first échographie and it was very moving. I was astonished to see the baby moving his arms and legs so vigorously! He or she measures 5 cm in length already – such progress! I also learned that – counting from the date of my last period – I’m technically at 11 ½ weeks, which really pleased me. Feel like we’re movin’ right along.
So all that was a real buzz, but the day degenerated and everything went wrong. We had to go to Steph’s birthday party that night, but neither of us really wanted to. It was too loud, too smoky and filled with people we don’t know. We ate a little, and left early. I slept well, but felt strange on Sunday morning. I vomited horribly after eating just an apple. Dozed for most of the day. At 4 pm I went to the loo and discovered I was bleeding slightly. Naturally I thought it was the start of a miscarriage. However I went to lie down straight away and felt very calm. P. called the médecin de garde, who came about an hour later. She said it was probably not serious, and almost certainly due to the late night, but gave me some tablets – SPASFON – to stop the cramps and bleeding and sent us to the hospital at St Germain en Laye for tests. The emergency maternity personnel were fantastic – saw us straight away and spent a long time examining me and asking questions. I had another échographie and everything was perfectly all right – what a joy to see the baby’s arms and legs kicking about again!
On Monday I was very careful to rest all day, and went to my gynae on Tuesday. She said everything was fine, but by this stage I had started a bloody throat infection! She gave me antibiotics – AGRAM 500 mg – which I was to take for 6 days, and LYSOPAÏNE throat pastilles. I spent the rest of the week in bed, completely feeble and lacking in appetite, it was horrible. My temperature went up to 38.7° and I couldn’t sleep for 2 nights. Took 2 POLARAMINE as well. So I wasn’t able to do any of the things I had planned. That will all have to wait until next week.
15th week: 49 kg. Not much to report. My appetite is improving and I haven’t had much nausea. No more vomiting either, which is a relief. Had 3 or 4 days of indigestion, awful wind pains in the chest after eating, even after small meals. Since the first bleeding scare I had 3 or 4 other slight bleeds but without cramps, so we didn’t panic and I just made sure to rest. It always seemed to happen after exertion or fatigue, i.e. long walks or lack of sleep.
17th week: 51 kg. Went to the gynae for my monthly check-up and listened to the baby’s heartbeat! Sounded like a horse galloping! Dr M. was surprised at how big my uterus is for only 3 months, and said luckily we already know it’s only one baby, otherwise she would have thought it was twins!
19th week: Yesterday I felt the baby move for the first time! It was a definite tapping sensation, quite independent of any wind problems or internal movements! It felt as if someone was poking my belly with a finger, but from the inside. I was really excited, of course, but as P. was sleeping I waited till he woke up before telling him.
Then last night I was really tired and thought I would fall asleep straight away, but the baby poked me again, much more strongly and I actually gasped in surprise. The second time was so strong I thought P. was doing it on purpose! Oh boy, I can’t wait for the next ultrasound. I wonder if we’ll find out the baby’s sex. I have a feeling it’s a boy. But we’ll just have to wait and see.
14th week: 55 kg. Had the second échographie and saw the baby has a tiny penis! He looks lovely, has all the right bits: 5 fingers on each hand! Has P.’s profile. He’s going to be a BIG baby because his father is so tall. His head already measures 6 cm across, his thigh bones are 4 cm long and he’s 28 cm tall! I feel him moving every day now, at morning, noon and night. It’s very pleasant to feel his kicking getting stronger, but it’s not enough to keep me awake yet.
We’re really pleased to know he’s a boy: I feel I can create a stronger relationship with him now, because I’m now able to start imagining him and the little clothes he’s going to wear. For P. this whole pregnancy thing has become more concrete now he knows it’s a boy. We’ll probably call him Kevin Christopher. However, we are keeping it a secret, we want to be able to surprise the family and friends in June so we won’t tell them now.
28th week: 57 kg. All’s well, I’m doing more sport. Swimming twice a week, gym class at the maternity hospital once a week and lots of walking of course. Feeling quite a lot heavier and have to walk gently. My most recent blood and pipi tests are fine, the only thing a bit low is my red cell count, so I shall have to eat more steak!
Have had three or four “nightmares” (more like stressful dreams really) about the budgies escaping!
My mother-in-law is getting on my nerves with her incessant “Do”s and “Don’t”s, and she keeps changing her mind about what she wants to sew and knit for the baby. She comes up with the wildest ideas – I should go over to their place on a Tuesday because her cleaning woman wants to meet me! Ludicrous idea which I certainly will not participate in. She would also like me to sit in on one of her English classes “as it would be fun for the other students.” Yes, but what about me? She’s really narked that we won’t tell her the baby’s sex, and I have to keep reminding her that we don’t necessarily want pink or blue baby clothes anyway, only yellow, green, etc., suitable for both sexes. Anyway, that’s the only stress in my life, everything else is going brilliantly! We think we’ll call the baby Kevin Robert (or Bob!), and save Christopher for a possible second son.
The baby’s kicks are so strong that P. can feel them easily and often. I’m feeling huge (God, still three months in which to get bigger!) and am now into proper maternity stretch pants. Will sew myself a tent dress soon.
31st week: 58 kg. My belly is satisfyingly huge now and the skin stretched tightly; it’s shiny and smooth and I think it looks really nice. No stretch marks, brown lines or varicose veins yet! I really enjoy the baby’s vigorous movements, even in bed when it’s getting difficult to sleep. The weight of my belly has really slowed me down when I’m out walking, which makes swimming that much more enjoyable. Up until four days ago I was sleeping really well but now I have trouble dropping off at night and for the last few days have been waking up at 4 or 5 am with nightmares or bad dreams: the sweaty, tossing & turning kind. I have to be so careful about my posture now too, especially when eating. I have to sit up really straight, if I even start to slouch, the baby thumps against my ribcage, and the dreaded heartburn starts. I can only eat really tiny meals now, and hence nibble every two hours. I’m always hungry! In restaurants I can only eat a salad and have to take it really slowly. It’s fairly unpleasant going out in the car as well. The bus is even worse, especially when there are a lot of speed bumps.
We bought the pram and pushchair last Tuesday, it’s really great having them in the spare room and trying to imagine using them every day! Today I went out shopping with P.’s parents and bought all the baby clothes we’ll need for the first month.
My mother-in-law is really getting on my nerves, as we see each other so often. [Editor’s note: I’m slightly ashamed of these comments now, 10 years later, as we get on really well, and she turned out to be an excellent grandmother and sometime ally!] We always have the same bloody conversations and she will not shut up about what “torture” it is, not being allowed to know the baby’s sex. God she pisses me off, why can’t she simply respect our decision like Mum and Dad do? I wouldn’t get so worked up about it if I didn’t see her so often. I wish I could reduce our contact. Vivement qu’on aille en Seine et Marne ! I wish she was in N.Z. and my parents were here instead. They are far too considerate to impose their advice and opinions on me like she does.
I didn’t really want to vent my spleen in this diary, especially as I’m extremely happy most of the time, and it seems a shame to spoil the “tone” of my writing but if I don’t get it off my chest now, I won’t be able to get to sleep! It’s a quarter past midnight and I’ve had to get up and pee, eat something and drink a verbena infusion because I just couldn’t get to sleep. Every time I felt myself dropping off after forcing myself to think pleasant thoughts, another of HER stupid comments would pop up in my mind and I’d start feeling irritated all over again. And the worst thing is that I sound like a real bitch, because she means well, and is so generous with material things, but she just doesn’t seem aware that everybody has their own point of view, and that her opinions are not necessarily shared.
Ouf ! Feeling a bit better, I think. I would love to ring up Mum or my brother, or Sonia [Ed: best friend from childhood], anybody!, to get if off my chest properly, but don’t want to be a whining old hag. Truly, when I’m at home on my own with the baby gambolling around my insides, or lying in bed in P.’s arms, life is such bliss, I could cry with happiness (and sometimes do).
We’ve added Jonathan to the list of names.
33rd week: 60 kg. Blood pressure down, due fatigue. Sleeping less well. Courses going well. Had a third échographie, ‘cause the baby is BIG. He’ll probably weigh between 3.8 to 4 kg at birth. Saw the gynae last week, she told me he’s in the breech position. Saw the midwife this morning, she tried to turn him. She twice got him halfway round, then he slipped out of her grasp and wiggled his head back under my ribs! The manipulation of my belly hurt a lot. They strapped me up to the monitoring machine for an hour. Baby’s heartbeat fine, but all that pummelling set off some slight contractions, so they gave me suppositories to stop them. Have to go back in 2 weeks, they will try again and probably will want me to have my pelvis x-rayed. I think all this is leading up to a programmed Caesarean , possibly before the full term is up. They say the baby still has time to turn by himself but I don’t think he will – he’s so big! – and besides, seems perfectly happy where he is.
39th week: 62 kg. Well I seem to have become too lazy to write over the last few weeks. In fact the novelty of being pregnant eventually wears off – but I haven’t become disenchanted at all, quite the contrary. I’m now at 8 ½ months and, although I look enormous, I don’t feel particularly heavy, and keep wondering when the discomfort is supposed to start! The baby never turned, no surprise, and last week I had another ultrasound (head now 10 cm across) and then a pelvic x-ray. The gynae who saw me afterwards, Mme E., confirmed I would need a Caesarean, as my pelvis is too small and the wrong shape. The great surprise is that I’m to have the operation tomorrow morning, which is much sooner than I expected. At first it was a shock and I felt slightly panicked, thinking that I wasn’t nearly ready in my preparations at home. So P. and I rushed out that same day to buy the few last minute things we needed I thought I would spend the next couple of weeks finishing off my knitting and embroidery and now I haven’t time!
This morning we had to come up to the hospital with an empty stomach at 8 am for my blood and pipi tests. P. went down to the admissions office to do the paperwork while I was strapped up to the monitoring machine. That lasted an hour, they didn’t take the blood samples until 9 am and I was starving by then! The midwife said she only took 5 mls of blood, but my hand was tingling and my whole arm felt empty! When she finally took the needle out it really hurt and my arm is still quite bruised and sore. Perhaps the Caesarean isn’t going to be as painless as I thought! Of course if the spinal anaesthetic works properly I won’t feel anything during the operation, but it’ll be different a few hours later. I expect I’ll be completely excited and very high tomorrow afternoon, and then by Friday I’ll probably be quite sore and unable to move. But if I can have little Kevin in my arms, that’s all that matters.
They brought me up to my room on the third floor around 9.30 am and very kindly gave me breakfast. I felt slightly embarrassed by the yoghurt, cake and fruit in my bag! P. stayed for a while – I’m lucky and have no-one else in my room yet, then went home to get some sleep. I’ve unpacked my stuff and checked out the toilets and shower. It’s so exciting seeing the new-borns in the other rooms. I wonder if I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
An anaesthetist came in to see me, but left again, saying she had to find my dossier first. Haven’t seen her since!
Feels very strange to be in a hospital as a patient for the first time in my life. It feels a wee bit lonely, it’s so quiet, which I didn’t expect, and I’m a bit shy about walking around the corridors – don’t want to disturb anyone. I’ll hopefully feel more at home in a few days.
I’m supposed to be seeing a nurse this afternoon who will explain the whole procedure for tomorrow morning. It’s 12:25 and I hope I’ll get some lunch soon, as I suppose I won’t be eating tonight. I’m not particularly hungry, but I need to occupy my time! I’ve got loads to read, plus my Walkman and knitting, but find it difficult to concentrate.
Diary Sunday 7th June 1992
Life is the best it’s ever been, as I’ve been living with P. for nearly one and a half years now. I'm settled, earning good money, and looking forward to a trip to NZ and then having a baby! Not pregnant yet though, it will be a planned baby.
Diary Sunday 24th April 1993:
P. and I got married on March 13th and we’re so happy it’s impossible to write down. Next ambition is of course a baby, and I’m hoping I may already be pregnant (by 3 or 4 days! Too early to tell!)
Diary Saturday 16th October 1993
This is potentially the eve of the best day in my life, because I’m 99% sure I’m pregnant and tomorrow morning I’ll do a wee-wee test and will hopefully be 100% sure. The ups and downs, the expectation and disappointments that occurred every month this year since I stopped the Pill have been really hard to take. I’ve become really obsessed with having a baby, and can’t wait to stop work.
Diary Sunday 17th October 1993
The test is positive! I feel quite delirious, and relieved. P. is thrilled, and feels quite strange. My poor darling didn’t sleep at all last night and when I got up to go and do the test, he said his heart started beating really fast and he felt really nervous! Happy, happy day....
4th week: Headaches, sick when eating, but hungry between meals! Allergic to my Arpège perfume.
5th week: Cravings mild – ate a lot of green grapes and boiled eggs for breakfast.
6th week: Had to take 2 POLARAMINE for hay fever attack – not very happy about that, but the doctor said no risk.
Diary Sunday 7th November 1993
50 kg
I’m trying to keep a pregnancy diary but keep forgetting to make entries! Nausea waves getting quite strong now first thing in the morning and especially at lunch time. Not enjoying the walk to work very much as the car exhaust fumes are awful. All odours seem much stronger. Can’t wait to finish work and be free of cigarette smoke. Hungry every 2 hours because I can only manage very small meals.
I rang Mum and Dad last weekend to let them know – of course they are thrilled. I think word is gradually spreading at work.
Cravings this week are for Comice pears and Royal Gala apples!
Last night we announced the news to Sylvie and Thierry on the phone, with Robert, Steph and Belette present so it was simultaneous. It’s nice to see how happily everyone reacts! We went out for dinner at the Bistro Romain afterwards and Belette bought champagne.
I proudly talk about “my embryo” and try to imagine him/her, but think of it as an it. Must be about an inch long now. Hard to believe that he’s really inside me, sharing my body. Can’t wait for the first échographie (ultrasound) in 3 weeks’ time. Afterwards we’ll announce it to P.’s parents. Dr M. gave me special preggy vitamins to take with every meal for the first 3 months. They’re called OLIGOBS!
8th week: My aversion to meat has gone but now I’m finding it difficult to eat salads and drink milk! I vomited once this week, but only because I ate too much for breakfast. Now I’ve learned to eat very small meals, but frequently. My belly seems to be getting firmer, but I haven’t put on any weight yet.
12th week: 49 kg
Just had a terrible week! Last Saturday was marvellous, we had the first échographie and it was very moving. I was astonished to see the baby moving his arms and legs so vigorously! He or she measures 5 cm in length already – such progress! I also learned that – counting from the date of my last period – I’m technically at 11 ½ weeks, which really pleased me. Feel like we’re movin’ right along.
So all that was a real buzz, but the day degenerated and everything went wrong. We had to go to Steph’s birthday party that night, but neither of us really wanted to. It was too loud, too smoky and filled with people we don’t know. We ate a little, and left early. I slept well, but felt strange on Sunday morning. I vomited horribly after eating just an apple. Dozed for most of the day. At 4 pm I went to the loo and discovered I was bleeding slightly. Naturally I thought it was the start of a miscarriage. However I went to lie down straight away and felt very calm. P. called the médecin de garde, who came about an hour later. She said it was probably not serious, and almost certainly due to the late night, but gave me some tablets – SPASFON – to stop the cramps and bleeding and sent us to the hospital at St Germain en Laye for tests. The emergency maternity personnel were fantastic – saw us straight away and spent a long time examining me and asking questions. I had another échographie and everything was perfectly all right – what a joy to see the baby’s arms and legs kicking about again!
On Monday I was very careful to rest all day, and went to my gynae on Tuesday. She said everything was fine, but by this stage I had started a bloody throat infection! She gave me antibiotics – AGRAM 500 mg – which I was to take for 6 days, and LYSOPAÏNE throat pastilles. I spent the rest of the week in bed, completely feeble and lacking in appetite, it was horrible. My temperature went up to 38.7° and I couldn’t sleep for 2 nights. Took 2 POLARAMINE as well. So I wasn’t able to do any of the things I had planned. That will all have to wait until next week.
15th week: 49 kg. Not much to report. My appetite is improving and I haven’t had much nausea. No more vomiting either, which is a relief. Had 3 or 4 days of indigestion, awful wind pains in the chest after eating, even after small meals. Since the first bleeding scare I had 3 or 4 other slight bleeds but without cramps, so we didn’t panic and I just made sure to rest. It always seemed to happen after exertion or fatigue, i.e. long walks or lack of sleep.
17th week: 51 kg. Went to the gynae for my monthly check-up and listened to the baby’s heartbeat! Sounded like a horse galloping! Dr M. was surprised at how big my uterus is for only 3 months, and said luckily we already know it’s only one baby, otherwise she would have thought it was twins!
19th week: Yesterday I felt the baby move for the first time! It was a definite tapping sensation, quite independent of any wind problems or internal movements! It felt as if someone was poking my belly with a finger, but from the inside. I was really excited, of course, but as P. was sleeping I waited till he woke up before telling him.
Then last night I was really tired and thought I would fall asleep straight away, but the baby poked me again, much more strongly and I actually gasped in surprise. The second time was so strong I thought P. was doing it on purpose! Oh boy, I can’t wait for the next ultrasound. I wonder if we’ll find out the baby’s sex. I have a feeling it’s a boy. But we’ll just have to wait and see.
14th week: 55 kg. Had the second échographie and saw the baby has a tiny penis! He looks lovely, has all the right bits: 5 fingers on each hand! Has P.’s profile. He’s going to be a BIG baby because his father is so tall. His head already measures 6 cm across, his thigh bones are 4 cm long and he’s 28 cm tall! I feel him moving every day now, at morning, noon and night. It’s very pleasant to feel his kicking getting stronger, but it’s not enough to keep me awake yet.
We’re really pleased to know he’s a boy: I feel I can create a stronger relationship with him now, because I’m now able to start imagining him and the little clothes he’s going to wear. For P. this whole pregnancy thing has become more concrete now he knows it’s a boy. We’ll probably call him Kevin Christopher. However, we are keeping it a secret, we want to be able to surprise the family and friends in June so we won’t tell them now.
28th week: 57 kg. All’s well, I’m doing more sport. Swimming twice a week, gym class at the maternity hospital once a week and lots of walking of course. Feeling quite a lot heavier and have to walk gently. My most recent blood and pipi tests are fine, the only thing a bit low is my red cell count, so I shall have to eat more steak!
Have had three or four “nightmares” (more like stressful dreams really) about the budgies escaping!
My mother-in-law is getting on my nerves with her incessant “Do”s and “Don’t”s, and she keeps changing her mind about what she wants to sew and knit for the baby. She comes up with the wildest ideas – I should go over to their place on a Tuesday because her cleaning woman wants to meet me! Ludicrous idea which I certainly will not participate in. She would also like me to sit in on one of her English classes “as it would be fun for the other students.” Yes, but what about me? She’s really narked that we won’t tell her the baby’s sex, and I have to keep reminding her that we don’t necessarily want pink or blue baby clothes anyway, only yellow, green, etc., suitable for both sexes. Anyway, that’s the only stress in my life, everything else is going brilliantly! We think we’ll call the baby Kevin Robert (or Bob!), and save Christopher for a possible second son.
The baby’s kicks are so strong that P. can feel them easily and often. I’m feeling huge (God, still three months in which to get bigger!) and am now into proper maternity stretch pants. Will sew myself a tent dress soon.
31st week: 58 kg. My belly is satisfyingly huge now and the skin stretched tightly; it’s shiny and smooth and I think it looks really nice. No stretch marks, brown lines or varicose veins yet! I really enjoy the baby’s vigorous movements, even in bed when it’s getting difficult to sleep. The weight of my belly has really slowed me down when I’m out walking, which makes swimming that much more enjoyable. Up until four days ago I was sleeping really well but now I have trouble dropping off at night and for the last few days have been waking up at 4 or 5 am with nightmares or bad dreams: the sweaty, tossing & turning kind. I have to be so careful about my posture now too, especially when eating. I have to sit up really straight, if I even start to slouch, the baby thumps against my ribcage, and the dreaded heartburn starts. I can only eat really tiny meals now, and hence nibble every two hours. I’m always hungry! In restaurants I can only eat a salad and have to take it really slowly. It’s fairly unpleasant going out in the car as well. The bus is even worse, especially when there are a lot of speed bumps.
We bought the pram and pushchair last Tuesday, it’s really great having them in the spare room and trying to imagine using them every day! Today I went out shopping with P.’s parents and bought all the baby clothes we’ll need for the first month.
My mother-in-law is really getting on my nerves, as we see each other so often. [Editor’s note: I’m slightly ashamed of these comments now, 10 years later, as we get on really well, and she turned out to be an excellent grandmother and sometime ally!] We always have the same bloody conversations and she will not shut up about what “torture” it is, not being allowed to know the baby’s sex. God she pisses me off, why can’t she simply respect our decision like Mum and Dad do? I wouldn’t get so worked up about it if I didn’t see her so often. I wish I could reduce our contact. Vivement qu’on aille en Seine et Marne ! I wish she was in N.Z. and my parents were here instead. They are far too considerate to impose their advice and opinions on me like she does.
I didn’t really want to vent my spleen in this diary, especially as I’m extremely happy most of the time, and it seems a shame to spoil the “tone” of my writing but if I don’t get it off my chest now, I won’t be able to get to sleep! It’s a quarter past midnight and I’ve had to get up and pee, eat something and drink a verbena infusion because I just couldn’t get to sleep. Every time I felt myself dropping off after forcing myself to think pleasant thoughts, another of HER stupid comments would pop up in my mind and I’d start feeling irritated all over again. And the worst thing is that I sound like a real bitch, because she means well, and is so generous with material things, but she just doesn’t seem aware that everybody has their own point of view, and that her opinions are not necessarily shared.
Ouf ! Feeling a bit better, I think. I would love to ring up Mum or my brother, or Sonia [Ed: best friend from childhood], anybody!, to get if off my chest properly, but don’t want to be a whining old hag. Truly, when I’m at home on my own with the baby gambolling around my insides, or lying in bed in P.’s arms, life is such bliss, I could cry with happiness (and sometimes do).
We’ve added Jonathan to the list of names.
33rd week: 60 kg. Blood pressure down, due fatigue. Sleeping less well. Courses going well. Had a third échographie, ‘cause the baby is BIG. He’ll probably weigh between 3.8 to 4 kg at birth. Saw the gynae last week, she told me he’s in the breech position. Saw the midwife this morning, she tried to turn him. She twice got him halfway round, then he slipped out of her grasp and wiggled his head back under my ribs! The manipulation of my belly hurt a lot. They strapped me up to the monitoring machine for an hour. Baby’s heartbeat fine, but all that pummelling set off some slight contractions, so they gave me suppositories to stop them. Have to go back in 2 weeks, they will try again and probably will want me to have my pelvis x-rayed. I think all this is leading up to a programmed Caesarean , possibly before the full term is up. They say the baby still has time to turn by himself but I don’t think he will – he’s so big! – and besides, seems perfectly happy where he is.
39th week: 62 kg. Well I seem to have become too lazy to write over the last few weeks. In fact the novelty of being pregnant eventually wears off – but I haven’t become disenchanted at all, quite the contrary. I’m now at 8 ½ months and, although I look enormous, I don’t feel particularly heavy, and keep wondering when the discomfort is supposed to start! The baby never turned, no surprise, and last week I had another ultrasound (head now 10 cm across) and then a pelvic x-ray. The gynae who saw me afterwards, Mme E., confirmed I would need a Caesarean, as my pelvis is too small and the wrong shape. The great surprise is that I’m to have the operation tomorrow morning, which is much sooner than I expected. At first it was a shock and I felt slightly panicked, thinking that I wasn’t nearly ready in my preparations at home. So P. and I rushed out that same day to buy the few last minute things we needed I thought I would spend the next couple of weeks finishing off my knitting and embroidery and now I haven’t time!
This morning we had to come up to the hospital with an empty stomach at 8 am for my blood and pipi tests. P. went down to the admissions office to do the paperwork while I was strapped up to the monitoring machine. That lasted an hour, they didn’t take the blood samples until 9 am and I was starving by then! The midwife said she only took 5 mls of blood, but my hand was tingling and my whole arm felt empty! When she finally took the needle out it really hurt and my arm is still quite bruised and sore. Perhaps the Caesarean isn’t going to be as painless as I thought! Of course if the spinal anaesthetic works properly I won’t feel anything during the operation, but it’ll be different a few hours later. I expect I’ll be completely excited and very high tomorrow afternoon, and then by Friday I’ll probably be quite sore and unable to move. But if I can have little Kevin in my arms, that’s all that matters.
They brought me up to my room on the third floor around 9.30 am and very kindly gave me breakfast. I felt slightly embarrassed by the yoghurt, cake and fruit in my bag! P. stayed for a while – I’m lucky and have no-one else in my room yet, then went home to get some sleep. I’ve unpacked my stuff and checked out the toilets and shower. It’s so exciting seeing the new-borns in the other rooms. I wonder if I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
An anaesthetist came in to see me, but left again, saying she had to find my dossier first. Haven’t seen her since!
Feels very strange to be in a hospital as a patient for the first time in my life. It feels a wee bit lonely, it’s so quiet, which I didn’t expect, and I’m a bit shy about walking around the corridors – don’t want to disturb anyone. I’ll hopefully feel more at home in a few days.
I’m supposed to be seeing a nurse this afternoon who will explain the whole procedure for tomorrow morning. It’s 12:25 and I hope I’ll get some lunch soon, as I suppose I won’t be eating tonight. I’m not particularly hungry, but I need to occupy my time! I’ve got loads to read, plus my Walkman and knitting, but find it difficult to concentrate.
