Doctors Make The Worst Patients ... and the biggest babies

(This was written by my beloved wife before she died about the birth of her first child Alec who weighed a huge 11 pounds 11 ounces)

There is something mind boggingly frustrating about a few more days at the end of a pregnancy. Next time, if I can face a next time, I will tell everyone the due date is two weeks later, to stop them all phoning every day.

So despite having been all for a home birth, I was quite relieved to be advised to go into the QE2 for an induction. In truth, i started to loose my nerve and I was sick of pineapple, curry and various other activities.

I was pleased to be able to walk calmly into QE2, rather than sweeting and screaming. I went in a day later than the dreaded 6/6/6. QE2 antinatal, or pear-shaped ward (labour ward), was heaving. Possibly, as Hemel Hempstead birthing unit had just shut and getting induced was akin to a plane being allowed to land at Heathrow, when for some reason Gatwick was closed. So after a while I was begging air traffic control for another prostin even though the first was agony.

After going in on Wednesday, the third prostin on Saturday seemed to be doing the trick, in any case I vaguely remember phoning my mum, (who by now had been staying with me for two weeks!), and Raymond at about 4.30am.

I remember a huge kick from the baby breaking my waters. Then it becomes more heavy.

The yoga breathing exercises did not happen largely because I had my teeth clenched around the gas and air permanently. The induction seemed to cause just one long contraction which felt how it looked on the topograph – like a roller coaster of pain.

I completely forgot I had a tens machine with me although I had used it to good effect for one of the previous prostins. Gas and air taken in every breath caused a kind of conscious dream state. I was asking why Ali MaCoist was under the bed, strange since I am not interested in football.

The midwife was very young and inexperienced and said very unhelpful things like ’not in established labour’ and used the word ’discomfort’. I asked several times for another dose of pethadine. She seemed to be trying to explain something in a quiet, wordy way which I could not concentrate on at all. „give me some f%=xing pethadine you bitch” (sorry midwife).

It turned out she had asked the registrar and he said that since the initial injection had not had any effect the next one probably wouldn’t either and I might become more difficult to reason with. Personally I think he was wrong.

Next I tried a hot bath, and then standing next to the bed totally naked shouting „ow ow ow!!!” very loudly.

I think it was at that point that my husband held me firmly by the shoulders and told me loudly that I was going to have an epidural.

The room loomed into it’s correct place and everything was suddenly fine. I told the knock out doc that I loved him.

So six hours in, though time had passed strangely fast, there was fortunately a change of midwife shifts, and the rest of labour was very civilised with no pain at all. Dilating 1cm an hour calmly to the galloping beat of the CTG machine.

I got to about 8cm by late afternoon, unfortunately I stayed at 8cm. The midwife put up a drip but nothing happened. My consultant came and said that the fetal head was rather high, perhaps the head was too big, even for my childbearing hips. He was of the opinion that I was going to need a caesarean.

No sooner had I put on my white stockings than the clonking on the CTG slowed to a hair raising 80bpm and I found myself rolling fast down the corridor and suddenly, like Robin Hood and his Merry Men, 15 people in green appeared from nowhere. The epidural was topped up but I could still feel a lot of rummaging. Raymond foolishly watched closely around the side of the screen tent as the surgeons first widened the incision to get the head out and then widened it again to get the shoulders out.

At last they pulled out a baby so enormous that there was a collective gasp from the theatre staff. Then a baby cry. After the weighing they passed me my big son and I didn’t notice anymore of the operation, I just stared at this beautiful boy who opened his deep blue-green eyes at me. Raymond went for a cigarette to get over his post traumatic shock.

Considering I had only about half my blood left I felt pretty well. Breast feeding was very difficult but since I had not achieved anything in my birth plan, apart from having a baby, I was determined and went home having achieved attachment.

After a couple of blissful days in my oxytocin cloud I fell off my chair whilst doing emails and was sent back to the QE2 for a transfusion. I suddenly felt terrible, my body swelled all over with oedema (fluid retention), my breasts became engorged and the cabbage leaves left big cabbage leaf shaped dents in the oedema – lovely!

When the midwife said my blood pressure was high. I put two and two together and made five. Imagining I now had late onset preeclampsie, which was going to kill me, so I wouldn’t be with my baby. It was dark and late on the ward and I succumbed to the baby blues. The kind midwife indulged me and checked my urine for protein, which was normal.

The next day Raymond was dying to get us home again so badly that he persuaded me to sign a self-discharge so that he didn’t have to wait for the doctors’ ward round. I was so weak I had to be wheeled out. We got in the car and I burst into tears again and made Raymond take me back. I still felt terrible and wondered if I needed more blood. I had imagined the transfusion would sort me out completely. But back on the ward they checked my blood and it was normal. No more blood needed, I felt very disappointed, no quick fix then.

I didn’t know till later that my very caring husband had tried to bribe the SHO 50 quid to give me more blood ’as a placebo’ to cheer me up, ’just one unit, doc’.

It was at this point that I was asked, for the second time, whether perhaps I would like to see the nice lady psychiatrist – no thanks!

The last thing I felt was depressed. True I was a physical wreck! It was not like me to cry, but out with the river of tears flowed feelings of pure joy and huge relief. Knowing all the things that can go wrong meant I was braced against disaster and couldn’t believe the miracle of my beautiful BIG baby – and still can’t.

Alec Edward Vincent Brown was born under a full moon on June 10 at 7pm and weighed 11 pounds 11 ounces (5.3 kilos).

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