Tuesday, May 21, 1996
The Day That Pauline Burst Out Of Me!
My darling Pauline,
This is how you arrived in the world.
I had to go into Fontainebleau hospital two weeks before you were actually due to be born. Kevin had been born by elective Caesarean section exactly two years previously, because his skull was supposedly too large to fit through my pelvis. So although the obstetricians I saw during my pregnancy assured me I could try for a vaginal delivery this time, they preferred to start things off before full term, before my second baby grew too big. I really wanted to avoid another Caesarean if possible, as Kevin and I had both suffered a miserable experience! So I agreed to an induced labour.
Granny came over from New Zealand three weeks before my due date, so she was happily into Kevin's daily routine and I knew he adored having her to look after him every day. I went into hospital in the morning of Sunday 19th May and heaved myself into that lovely, welcoming gynaecological armchair with the stirrups so they could put a prostaglandin gel on my cervix to soften it up and hopefully start things along gently. The procedure itself was painless. I was alone in that wee room for hours and it was very boring, but of course I had some knitting and reading with me. By evening there was absolutely no change, so they slapped some more gel on my cervix and let me go to bed, but with no dinner. I had to have an empty stomach in case I went into labour but ended up needing an emergency Caesarean. I couldn't sleep at all and was cross, hungry and tired all day Monday. They allowed me some soup at midday, but nothing in the evening. I was particularly miffed at the idea of surviving a real labour without having eaten for so long. Where did they think I was going to get the strength to push?! They applied more hormones & gels during the day, but by Monday bedtime there was still no progress, and they threatened me with the oxytocin (or pitocin?) drip for the next day. I was absolutely dreading that idea, as my friend Lee had suffered that procedure for the inducement of her daughter. She said it was a big shock for her body to suddenly go into violent contractions, without having time to get used to a slow build up...
Well my clever baby girl, you must have been listening. Although I tossed and turned for most of the night, I finally managed to doze off at some stage. And at around 2 am you suddenly gave an almighty kick down low in my womb and broke my waters with an dramatic splash! I jerked awake and the stuff came gushing out, soaking the bed. It was a terribly exciting moment! “Hooray, this is it!” I silently jubilated.
I pressed the bedside button to call the nurse, and apologised for waking my room mate, a Portuguese woman who had given birth just the day before. The night nurse sauntered in and casually examined me. She put a plastified sheet underneath me, as the amniotic goo I was lying in was damn cold. She pronounced my cervix not dilated at all, so a midwife would come and look at me eventually but there was really no hurry. She asked if I had had any contractions and I truthfully answered "No, nothing at all", so she left the room. Well just five minutes later, the first contraction hit and it made me gasp. It was such a shock! It felt like I'd been punched in the belly. Cold sweat began pouring off my brow and rolling into my pillow. It was one of the strangest things I'd ever experienced, to have my body doing something so violent and so utterly beyond my control. It was scary and exciting and plain bizarre, all at once. My room mate told me to do the good old breathing exercises, but when the contractions came, they were so strong I couldn't catch any breath to breathe with! This went on for over an hour until the midwife finally came to examine me. I moaned "I'm going to ring my husband now!" but she laughed and said "You're only a few centimetres dilated, he won't need to come for hours yet. Let the poor man sleep!"
Like hell was I going to let him snore merrily, while I was sweating and groaning. I needed my hand holding no matter how many centimetres dilated I was or wasn't. I rang and woke your Daddy at 3 am. He shakily asked if he had time to drink a coffee and take a shower. He did come to the hospital within half an hour, but in the meantime the midwife had discovered I was fully dilated! So she whisked me to the delivery room, thank God! I was really suffering and panicking by now, and had asked for an epidural. Just as your Daddy came into the delivery room and I stretched out my hand to touch his, the anaesthetist also arrived and asked him to leave! I was very cross, and still am, and always will be, that Daddy never saw the full extent of my suffering, not to mention my heroic sweating and grunting!
Now here’s a little aside to help you cope with future snooty doctors who don’t know how to explain things properly to Mr and Mrs Joe Average. This was my first labour, and first epidural ever. The anaesthetist explained I had to sit on the edge of the bed and make my back nice and round so the could first insert a needle between two vertebrae. He would then place a soft plastic catheter into the space, tape it to my back and withdraw the needle, so I would be able to lie down and not have a needle sticking out of my back, and yet the drugs could still be administered when necessary. As he was probing my spine with his fingers he warned me sternly that I might feel 'une sensation', but no matter what, I must stay absolutely still and not jump or move in any way whatsoever. He inserted something somewhere, and the sensation I felt was like an electric shock going through MY KNEE!
I jumped.
The horrible little man shouted at me. I burst into tears of rage and fear, but was too polite to say “WELL IF YOU HAD BLOODY WELL WARNED ME THAT THE ‘SENSATION’ MIGHT POSSIBLY OCCUR IN A LOCATION OTHER THAN MY SPINE, PERHAPS I WOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO CONTROL MY REACTIONS A TAD MORE MASTERFULLY, YOU STUPID, UNPLEASANT LITTLE MAN.” I didn't say it, but I thought it as venomously as I possibly could.
So my love, please, please stick up for yourself in the future if you ever get treated like that. I swear if I had known what to expect I wouldn’t have jumped. Luckily nothing untoward happened – I didn’t suffer instant paralysis, and you are a perfectly normal child (if somewhat grumpy in the mornings)!
So, they pumped the drugs in, and the epidural was bloody magic. It took the pain away, without making me completely numb, so I could still feel you wriggling around in there. I was transformed from a snarling, moaning über-bitch (much like my present day pre-menstrual self) into a smiling, pleasant and chatty human being. By the time Daddy was allowed back in to see me I was completely stoned and gleeful, singing and humming and joking with the midwife. I told her that they could use me as the Before and After pictures for an epidural advertisement.
My feet were cold, so Daddy put some socks on my feet. He chatted to the midwife, stroked my forehead and got the camera ready. He claimed that my belly looked extremely bizarre now that the amniotic fluid was out, because he could see the shape of the baby – that was you! I don’t recall having sufficient energy to crane my neck down and look bellywards, so we’ll just have to take his word for it.
The really nice thing was that no more doctors were involved. Daddy and I were alone with the midwife, who took care of us with no further interruptions. Eventually she told me to push: I held my breath and heaved with all my might. Daddy stood behind me with his paws on my shoulders and I discovered finger-shaped bruises there the next day!
It only took four or five sessions of pushing – resting – pushing until your head was out. The midwife said the umbilical cord was looped once around your neck, but only very loosely and she was able to get you out safely without strangling you. There was absolutely no sense of alarm. Soon the rest of you slid out extremely quickly, at 6.08 am precisely. The midwife said “It’s a girl!” and plunked you on my chest for a very quick look. I was able to touch the creamy vernix on your skin and look into your surprised dark blue eyes for a few seconds (they didn’t stay blue for long, they are now green, which I'm sure you know, as you spend plenty of time in front of the mirror these days!). Your little body was purple and white at first, but turned nicely pink a little later. Daddy cut our hitherto shared umbilical cord, thus laying claim to you for the next twenty years or so. He said cutting the cord was 'Beurk' and a surprisingly tough membrane to cut through. The baby nurse came in to weigh, measure, bathe you, do the Apgar tests and dress you in blue pyjamas. The lovely thing was that all this was done in front of me, and you were not whisked away into a separate room, as Kevin had been.
Meanwhile the placenta was delivered and someone cleaned me up and gave me a few stitches. A woman doctor came and thrust her arm right up into my uterus to check the state of my Caesarean scar from the inside. Thank God the epidural was still on duty! I was also given antibiotics for two days to prevent any chance of infection.
I was frantic with impatience to get you onto my breast immediately, as I had not been able to do so with Kevin, and he had no sucking reflex after three days of being fed by drip and bottles. I will always regret this bitterly. I consequently developed an absolutely obsessive determination that I would breast feed you no matter what, and you would have no say in the matter! So you latched on hungrily and sucked and sucked to both our hearts’ content. It was a magical and fulfilling moment. You clutched my finger tightly in your fist and I was able to see how nicely shaped your head was, with only a few ridges scored along the sides of your skull, the marks of your passage through my pelvis. I felt quite stunned to have a daughter. Daddy had known all along you were a girl, but I wanted to have a surprise, so he kept the secret right until the end. And what a lovely surprise it was!
Meanwhile Daddy went down the hall to phone Granny, then Méemée and Pépé.
The midwife warned me not to leave you on the breast too long, as I would get sore nipples. She was right, but I just didn’t want to take you off. You and I conducted an extremely satisfying and productive mammary relationship for the next eighteen months – I fed and you grew – perfect! In fact I was determined to breast feed you until you were old enough to leave home, but you weaned yourself at eighteen months (hmph!), and I was allowed no say in the decision. I suspect you wanted to be just like Kevin, who had so many cool plastic cups with handles, pictures and cartoon characters. So you went straight from breast to cup, skipping bottles and dummies completely. (You also went straight from nappies to toilet, bypassing the potty completely, by the way. It’s so cool having a older rôle model).
The three of us were completely alone in the delivery room for over half an hour, so Daddy videotaped a message of us talking to Grandad who was still in New Zealand. At just two hours old you raised your fist and waved at the camera. I think you may be destined for theatrical greatness my dear. By 8 am we were taken back to our room so I could have a stonking great breakfast and get to you know you. Daddy brought Kevin and Granny to hospital to see you just a few hours later, much to Granny’s great joy.
What a wonderful day it was!
This is how you arrived in the world.
I had to go into Fontainebleau hospital two weeks before you were actually due to be born. Kevin had been born by elective Caesarean section exactly two years previously, because his skull was supposedly too large to fit through my pelvis. So although the obstetricians I saw during my pregnancy assured me I could try for a vaginal delivery this time, they preferred to start things off before full term, before my second baby grew too big. I really wanted to avoid another Caesarean if possible, as Kevin and I had both suffered a miserable experience! So I agreed to an induced labour.
Granny came over from New Zealand three weeks before my due date, so she was happily into Kevin's daily routine and I knew he adored having her to look after him every day. I went into hospital in the morning of Sunday 19th May and heaved myself into that lovely, welcoming gynaecological armchair with the stirrups so they could put a prostaglandin gel on my cervix to soften it up and hopefully start things along gently. The procedure itself was painless. I was alone in that wee room for hours and it was very boring, but of course I had some knitting and reading with me. By evening there was absolutely no change, so they slapped some more gel on my cervix and let me go to bed, but with no dinner. I had to have an empty stomach in case I went into labour but ended up needing an emergency Caesarean. I couldn't sleep at all and was cross, hungry and tired all day Monday. They allowed me some soup at midday, but nothing in the evening. I was particularly miffed at the idea of surviving a real labour without having eaten for so long. Where did they think I was going to get the strength to push?! They applied more hormones & gels during the day, but by Monday bedtime there was still no progress, and they threatened me with the oxytocin (or pitocin?) drip for the next day. I was absolutely dreading that idea, as my friend Lee had suffered that procedure for the inducement of her daughter. She said it was a big shock for her body to suddenly go into violent contractions, without having time to get used to a slow build up...
Well my clever baby girl, you must have been listening. Although I tossed and turned for most of the night, I finally managed to doze off at some stage. And at around 2 am you suddenly gave an almighty kick down low in my womb and broke my waters with an dramatic splash! I jerked awake and the stuff came gushing out, soaking the bed. It was a terribly exciting moment! “Hooray, this is it!” I silently jubilated.
I pressed the bedside button to call the nurse, and apologised for waking my room mate, a Portuguese woman who had given birth just the day before. The night nurse sauntered in and casually examined me. She put a plastified sheet underneath me, as the amniotic goo I was lying in was damn cold. She pronounced my cervix not dilated at all, so a midwife would come and look at me eventually but there was really no hurry. She asked if I had had any contractions and I truthfully answered "No, nothing at all", so she left the room. Well just five minutes later, the first contraction hit and it made me gasp. It was such a shock! It felt like I'd been punched in the belly. Cold sweat began pouring off my brow and rolling into my pillow. It was one of the strangest things I'd ever experienced, to have my body doing something so violent and so utterly beyond my control. It was scary and exciting and plain bizarre, all at once. My room mate told me to do the good old breathing exercises, but when the contractions came, they were so strong I couldn't catch any breath to breathe with! This went on for over an hour until the midwife finally came to examine me. I moaned "I'm going to ring my husband now!" but she laughed and said "You're only a few centimetres dilated, he won't need to come for hours yet. Let the poor man sleep!"
Like hell was I going to let him snore merrily, while I was sweating and groaning. I needed my hand holding no matter how many centimetres dilated I was or wasn't. I rang and woke your Daddy at 3 am. He shakily asked if he had time to drink a coffee and take a shower. He did come to the hospital within half an hour, but in the meantime the midwife had discovered I was fully dilated! So she whisked me to the delivery room, thank God! I was really suffering and panicking by now, and had asked for an epidural. Just as your Daddy came into the delivery room and I stretched out my hand to touch his, the anaesthetist also arrived and asked him to leave! I was very cross, and still am, and always will be, that Daddy never saw the full extent of my suffering, not to mention my heroic sweating and grunting!
Now here’s a little aside to help you cope with future snooty doctors who don’t know how to explain things properly to Mr and Mrs Joe Average. This was my first labour, and first epidural ever. The anaesthetist explained I had to sit on the edge of the bed and make my back nice and round so the could first insert a needle between two vertebrae. He would then place a soft plastic catheter into the space, tape it to my back and withdraw the needle, so I would be able to lie down and not have a needle sticking out of my back, and yet the drugs could still be administered when necessary. As he was probing my spine with his fingers he warned me sternly that I might feel 'une sensation', but no matter what, I must stay absolutely still and not jump or move in any way whatsoever. He inserted something somewhere, and the sensation I felt was like an electric shock going through MY KNEE!
I jumped.
The horrible little man shouted at me. I burst into tears of rage and fear, but was too polite to say “WELL IF YOU HAD BLOODY WELL WARNED ME THAT THE ‘SENSATION’ MIGHT POSSIBLY OCCUR IN A LOCATION OTHER THAN MY SPINE, PERHAPS I WOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO CONTROL MY REACTIONS A TAD MORE MASTERFULLY, YOU STUPID, UNPLEASANT LITTLE MAN.” I didn't say it, but I thought it as venomously as I possibly could.
So my love, please, please stick up for yourself in the future if you ever get treated like that. I swear if I had known what to expect I wouldn’t have jumped. Luckily nothing untoward happened – I didn’t suffer instant paralysis, and you are a perfectly normal child (if somewhat grumpy in the mornings)!
So, they pumped the drugs in, and the epidural was bloody magic. It took the pain away, without making me completely numb, so I could still feel you wriggling around in there. I was transformed from a snarling, moaning über-bitch (much like my present day pre-menstrual self) into a smiling, pleasant and chatty human being. By the time Daddy was allowed back in to see me I was completely stoned and gleeful, singing and humming and joking with the midwife. I told her that they could use me as the Before and After pictures for an epidural advertisement.
My feet were cold, so Daddy put some socks on my feet. He chatted to the midwife, stroked my forehead and got the camera ready. He claimed that my belly looked extremely bizarre now that the amniotic fluid was out, because he could see the shape of the baby – that was you! I don’t recall having sufficient energy to crane my neck down and look bellywards, so we’ll just have to take his word for it.
The really nice thing was that no more doctors were involved. Daddy and I were alone with the midwife, who took care of us with no further interruptions. Eventually she told me to push: I held my breath and heaved with all my might. Daddy stood behind me with his paws on my shoulders and I discovered finger-shaped bruises there the next day!
It only took four or five sessions of pushing – resting – pushing until your head was out. The midwife said the umbilical cord was looped once around your neck, but only very loosely and she was able to get you out safely without strangling you. There was absolutely no sense of alarm. Soon the rest of you slid out extremely quickly, at 6.08 am precisely. The midwife said “It’s a girl!” and plunked you on my chest for a very quick look. I was able to touch the creamy vernix on your skin and look into your surprised dark blue eyes for a few seconds (they didn’t stay blue for long, they are now green, which I'm sure you know, as you spend plenty of time in front of the mirror these days!). Your little body was purple and white at first, but turned nicely pink a little later. Daddy cut our hitherto shared umbilical cord, thus laying claim to you for the next twenty years or so. He said cutting the cord was 'Beurk' and a surprisingly tough membrane to cut through. The baby nurse came in to weigh, measure, bathe you, do the Apgar tests and dress you in blue pyjamas. The lovely thing was that all this was done in front of me, and you were not whisked away into a separate room, as Kevin had been.
Meanwhile the placenta was delivered and someone cleaned me up and gave me a few stitches. A woman doctor came and thrust her arm right up into my uterus to check the state of my Caesarean scar from the inside. Thank God the epidural was still on duty! I was also given antibiotics for two days to prevent any chance of infection.
I was frantic with impatience to get you onto my breast immediately, as I had not been able to do so with Kevin, and he had no sucking reflex after three days of being fed by drip and bottles. I will always regret this bitterly. I consequently developed an absolutely obsessive determination that I would breast feed you no matter what, and you would have no say in the matter! So you latched on hungrily and sucked and sucked to both our hearts’ content. It was a magical and fulfilling moment. You clutched my finger tightly in your fist and I was able to see how nicely shaped your head was, with only a few ridges scored along the sides of your skull, the marks of your passage through my pelvis. I felt quite stunned to have a daughter. Daddy had known all along you were a girl, but I wanted to have a surprise, so he kept the secret right until the end. And what a lovely surprise it was!
Meanwhile Daddy went down the hall to phone Granny, then Méemée and Pépé.
The midwife warned me not to leave you on the breast too long, as I would get sore nipples. She was right, but I just didn’t want to take you off. You and I conducted an extremely satisfying and productive mammary relationship for the next eighteen months – I fed and you grew – perfect! In fact I was determined to breast feed you until you were old enough to leave home, but you weaned yourself at eighteen months (hmph!), and I was allowed no say in the decision. I suspect you wanted to be just like Kevin, who had so many cool plastic cups with handles, pictures and cartoon characters. So you went straight from breast to cup, skipping bottles and dummies completely. (You also went straight from nappies to toilet, bypassing the potty completely, by the way. It’s so cool having a older rôle model).
The three of us were completely alone in the delivery room for over half an hour, so Daddy videotaped a message of us talking to Grandad who was still in New Zealand. At just two hours old you raised your fist and waved at the camera. I think you may be destined for theatrical greatness my dear. By 8 am we were taken back to our room so I could have a stonking great breakfast and get to you know you. Daddy brought Kevin and Granny to hospital to see you just a few hours later, much to Granny’s great joy.
What a wonderful day it was!
