Why I’m opting for risk reducing surgery at 22

As women we are constantly told to check our breasts… admittedly I try to when I can but normally it is at the bottom of my to-do list, plus I always wondered… at 22 do I REALLY need to check? I guess after recent events it’s safe to say, yes. Back in May, I started noticing some discomfort in my left breast but I dismissed it… after all one of the many perks of being a woman is that our breasts just hurt sometimes due to hormonal changes.

A few weeks went by and following the discomfort I began noticing some discharge from my left nipple, it was blood-stained but for some reason I ignored it, completely dismissed it. I had a little feel and lo and behold there was a lump, so after sticking my head in the sand for a little bit I went to see my GP who examined it. They advised me they were not too happy with it so referred me to the breast screening team as a 2 week urgent referral.

2 weeks of stress passed and I met the specialist, she had a feel, discussed my symptoms and my family history and said she thinks there may be something called a “papilloma” and wanted to arrange an ultrasound but reassured me it was nothing to worry about…after all I am only 22.

My ultrasound came and was admittedly the worst point of this whole situation. The sonographer was rude and blunt. She looked at me while laying there, (rather exposed) and said “right well where is this supposed lump?” She then proceeded to blame my nipple piercing… wrong… so wrong.

I then saw a consultant who spoke to me about the situation, and it was a bit like de ja vu. She advised me she she too felt there were maybe 2 or 3 papillomas causing the lumps and discharge. She discussed something called a “Hadfields procedure” and wanted to refer me to the breast surgeon.

I went away and did my reasearch.

“An intraductal papilloma is a wart-like lump that develops in one or more of the milk ducts in the breast. It’s usually close to the nipple, but can sometimes be found elsewhere in the breast. Intraductal papilloma is a benign (not cancer) breast condition. Some people who have multiple intraductal papillomas may also have a slightly higher risk of developing breast cancer. “

https://breastcancernow.org/information-support/have-i-got-breast-cancer/benign-breast-conditions/intraductal-papilloma

A Hadfields procedure is an operation carried out to disconnect and remove the major nipple ducts and some breast tissue. This will take approximately 20 minutes and is usually undertaken under a general anaesthetic (you are asleep). – https://www.royalberkshire.nhs.uk/patient-information-leaflets/Breast%20unit%20Hadfields%20procedure.htm

The day came where I met with the surgeon, 11/12/2019 and she agreed as a risk reducing procedure it was beneficial to do the Hadfields procedure, taking into account that there is a family history of breast cancer. Of all things to ask, I asked the surgeon: “Will there be a visible difference? Will people notice part of my left breast is gone?” She smiled sweetly and advised; “providing you wear padded bras then no, but if you were topless or intimate with someone it would be obvious, yes.” So I nodded, signed all the forms and left. It didn’t really hit me straight away, and I still don’t think the full extent of it has hit me.

24 hours on and I’ve been crying in random bouts. I have an untold amount of questions but obviously this is the best outcome, as it stands at present. Two lumps are benign and by having them removed it is reducing a huge risk of them ever changing which papillomas have a tendency to do. If there is one thing I have taken from all of this, it is the importance of checking your breasts, and reporting any changes to your GP.

I’m sure I’ll write the outcome of the surgery once I have had it, but for now it’s time to accept what is going to happen.

Have you been through anything similar? I would love if you could share your experiences with me

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Postpartum haemorrhage : what you need to know

While delivering my daughter, I suffered a primary postpartum haemorrhage (PPH). I knew it was likely, because due to my EDS I’m prone to bleeding and have weak connective tissues. However, during my recovery in the postpartum period, I was surprised by how little others knew about PPH, but I understood every mother’s fear about suffering excessive bleeding.
Here’s what you need to know about postpartum haemorrhage.

What is it?

A postpartum haemorrhage is defined as losing more than 500ml of blood from the female genital tract after a natural delivery, or more than 1L after having a caesarean section.  There are two types of postpartum haemorrhage –
1) Primary – this occurs within the first 24h after giving birth, and affects 5 in 100 women. A severe primary haemorrhage is much more rare. This affects 6 in 1000 women, and involves losing more than 2L of blood.
2) Secondary – this occurs between 24h and 12 weeks after delivery, and affects 2 in 100 women.

What causes it?

A PPH happens most commonly because the womb doesn’t contract strongly enough after birth. It also happens because part of the placenta was left in the womb (retained placenta), or because of an infection in the lining of the womb (endometritis).

Who is more at risk?

How is it prevented?

During labour you will be offered an injection of Oxytocin as your baby is being born to stimulate contractions to help deliver the placenta.

How will having a PPH affect me?

It is important to treat a PPH quickly, as it can be life threatening. Once treated effectively, it is important to remember that having a postpartum haemorrhage can worsen the tiredness all women feel after delivering a baby.  If you had a previous PPH you have a 1 in 10 chance of experiencing it again,

How is it managed?

PPH is managed in different ways depending on the severity of the bleed. Treatment can involve massaging the uterus to stimulate contractions, inserting a catheter to empty the bladder to help the uterus contract, injections to make the uterus contract (which may cause nausea) and checking to make sure there is no retained placenta. If bleeding continues heavily, blood transfusions or surgery may be required. 
The NHS has a fabulous leaflet with more detailed information on more detailed management of PPH here.
While the concept of a PPH is scary, the reality is that doctors and midwives are trained in controlling heavy bleeding, and bleeding after childbirth is quite normal. Have you experienced a PPH or know someone who has? Let us know your story below.

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Mental Health Monday: Anxiety about having more children after PND

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When I was a 14 year old, my dream for my family life was to have twin girls (Lily and Olivia) and then a boy (Henry). I don’t think i need to go into the whys and wherefores about how that changed, but it certainly did.

Following the birth of Olivia, I suffered with Postnatal Depression for the majority of her first year. Having also had antenatal depression and just not being in the best mental state generally, I sort of knew that I would suffer with PND, though I didn’t expect it to be as bad as it was or to last as long as it did. Whenever I think back to her being a baby, it makes me sad. I didn’t enjoy her being a little baby because I was under so much mental stress at the time. Of course, I can think back to happy times as well as times when I was in the middle of a breakdown, but on the whole, reflecting on her baby stage just makes me feel angry at myself, and terrified it will happen again.

Like I said, I no longer want twin girls and a boy (and my plan for having the twins first has gone to pot anyway), but I have written previously on the blog about why I don’t want any more children now and why I never want to be pregnant again. The PND plays a huge part in that.

I carry so much anxiety with me from my experience of having Olivia that things would be the same again. I honestly could not face that same depression again. It was quite crippling in many ways, and 2 years after Olivia was born I am still dealing with the aftermath and the guilt.


There’s a great twitter chat hosted by Rosey at PND & Me which has covered this topic before, and I liked reading the comments of people joining in and their very mixed experiences…

Some had PND only with the 1st child, some with both, some only with the 2nd or subsequent. I suppose, the point is, that everyone will have different experiences and every pregnancy will be different.

But we knew that already! So…

What are the actual statistics?

  • PND affects more than 10-15% of women within a year of giving birth (that’s about 35,000 women!)
  • Up to 1 in 10 fathers also suffer from postnatal depression following the birth of a baby
  • 33% of mothers who experienced depression in pregnancy then suffered with PND
  • A history of depression makes it more likely that you will suffer postpartum depression
  • Mums who have had postnatal depression with one child are more likely to suffer again with subsequent children

I’d like to think that I’m not the only mum who worries that this would happen again, after all, there are so many of us who have suffered with it once, twice or however many times.

My husband and I often look at each other when Olivia does something unbelievably cute, suggesting another one, but he knows that I don’t want anymore and I feel guilty for that too. But at those times when we think “aww, look how cute our baby girl is,” I do wish I could bring myself to have another child. I wish I could do it knowing that I would be able to enjoy the baby stage like I couldn’t with Olivia, but there are no guarantees, and really, I don’t think I’m cut out for doing it all again.

In my moments of weakness (as I call them) when I think I want another baby, I feel so conflicted because as much as I would love to have another child, I can’t face feeling like I did during my pregnancy and feeling all of the guilt afterwards of not being able to bond with the baby and feeling like I’m simply inadequate!

I know that things are really quite different now – I have none of the external drama going on that I did during my pregnancy with Olivia, so maybe because my life is more stable now, my mind would be too. If I do end up having another one I’ll be sure to let you know 😉 but, for now, Olivia is more than enough, and I am enjoying being her mummy. I can’t go back to what I was when she first arrived, so I’ll carry on being the best mummy I can be to her and we’ll just see what fate has in store for us.

Have you survived PND and gone on to have more children? How were things a second time around?

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Midwives- The unsung heroes

It’s true what they say, you never forget your midwife. I remember nearly every midwife I had with Oliver. My community midwife was the most understanding woman I had ever come across. Even before I met her, I was texting her at 4/5 weeks pregnant, explaining I couldn’t eat or drink, and if it wasn’t for her care I wouldn’t have been diagnosed with Hyperemises Gravidarum as soon as I did, and I was extremely dehydrated when I was admitted the first time.

‘Before Labour’/Pregnancy Midwives

Throughout my pregnancy, my community midwife was there every step of the way. Hyperemises, bleeding, high blood pressure scares and just general hormones. Nothing was too much trouble for her, and honestly when the time came to say goodbye to her I was heartbroken. She understood me, the journey I had been on to get Oliver. She knew how much he meant to me and my family and she was a real angel. She knew how desperate I was to have a water birth, but she explained to me why I wouldn’t be able to have one and how I would have to deliver on the high risk ward, but she did it in the most empathetic way possible…she knew the fairy-tale pregnancy I wanted, that I never got. Even now, sometimes I bump into her and it makes my day, she is retired now sadly but I honestly feel she was one of the best things about my pregnancy.

‘During Labour’ Midwives

My “Labour Midwives” as I call them… I can remember them to this day.

Lorraine was there when I came onto the labour ward a day before my due date, tears rolling down my face. She greeted me with a sweet smile. Even when I wasn’t in active labour she didn’t turn her back. She could see the discomfort I was in and did her best to help me. Offered me pain relief (even if I did tell her exactly what to do with the initial offer of paracetamol), she gave me gas and air and got me moving to get me in active labour. My waters went over her hand (absolutely disgusting) but she was as cool as a cucumber, and was excited for me.

My waters went just at the end of her shift and she said; “Amy I’m about to hand over. If you carry on at this rate you’ll have a due date baby and he’ll be here early hours. Good Luck!” and she left, Emily took over. Who admittedly I judged… I thought to myself… She seems so young, so fresh… Lesson learnt, because that midwife who I judged practically saved my son’s life by noticing he was in distress and acting as fast as she did. She got a team of midwives and fast bleeped a doctor to get my boy out in time, who told me not to give up and keep pushing, the same midwife I thought was so young. A room of 6 Midwives, All focused on welcoming my boy into the world. All telling me to push and keep going, patting me down with a cool flannel, getting ready to check my baby when he arrived, so effortless…as if it was second nature to them.

‘After Labour’ Midwives


Now for the “After Midwives” – I was transferred to the mother and baby ward after having Oliver where we spent 2 nights. The first night was fine, Oliver and me were exhausted and just slept. However, the second night my baby found his lungs and boy did he use them. I was trying to stay awake but still had pethidine in my system, and this face peeped around the curtain, saw me crying while trying to breastfeed and said, “are you okay mum? Is baby okay?”

I started sobbing through exhaustion. “Do you want us to take him to the nurses’ bay? He’ll be fine and you can get some sleep,” the offer seemed beyond kind. “But what if he needs a feed? Or changing?” I asked with an underlying panic. “If he needs a feed we will wake you, we can change him. You need to rest,” said this woman who was like a guardian angel at that point in time. Just like that I was able to get some sleep. She would wake me every now and then just to say, “Baby is fine, I’m just checking your blood pressure. You lost a fair amount of blood in labour so we’re just keeping an eye, do you want a drink? Snack at all? If you need anything just buzz.”

I know some people might argue that this is their job, but it isn’t. The care, compassion and willingness midwives have… The patience they have, while a heavily pregnant woman is screaming, is insane. Our midwives are some of the most underappreciated people and I honestly am so, so, so grateful for the midwives I had, and I will never forget them. They saved my son’s life and without them my labour could have been very different.

Midwives of the NHS, I salute you.

Having an ovary removed at 21 – My Story

Laparoscopic right salpingo oophorectomy – I believe that is the “medical term” for it, and on the 08/11/2018 the NHS gave me my very own experience of it.

I should probably take this time to say how grateful I am for the NHS, and how amazing the staff who work for the NHS are, from the paramedics to the porters, HCAs to surgeons… 
every single one made my journey bearable and I am eternally grateful.

I’ve posted previously about my battles with endometriosis and PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) and on the 18/10/2018, my consultant and I came to the mutual agreement that it was time to say adios to my right ovary and fallopian tube (the worst out of my two ovaries, as over time my left ovary has been rather kind to me over the years).

However the week of the 01/11/2018 I had a pretty aggressive flare up, it was starting and stopping but I dismissed it, after all… I have no time to be ill, between work and my son, a trip up A&E would never fit into my schedule, as the week progressed friends urged me to go to hospital but in my stubbornness I declined (because I was clearly handling the situation so, so well). I think I mentioned to the mummykind girls all week how the pain was p*****g me off and I didn’t have time for it, as well as to Char and a friend by the nickname of Moody.

Saturday the 3rd came and I was on a half day at work, I remember going into work snappy, tired and with barely any energy where the pain was getting worse. Char and Moody had both had enough at this point with Char taking on the maternal role and telling me I needed to call someone and I believe Moody’s words were ” then stop f*****g moaning about it and go to the hospital” – bit harsh but had a point. Looking back perhaps everyone was right, If I listened and dealt with the situation properly rather than sticking my head in the sand, I might not have needed my elective surgery brought forward.

That afternoon I got home and the pain had got so severe I was on the sofa crying, I couldn’t sit up was just scrunched up with a hot water bottle (this was after taking my oramorph – oral morphine). I rang 111 who sent an ambulance, then after a trip to A&E, the on-call gynaecologist did an internal examination of my ovaries.

Worst.
Experience.
Ever.

I remember letting out this high pitched yelp as she said “hmm well it doesn’t feel twisted but I think I can feel a cyst, your ovary felt very bulky” she patted my arm and said she would admit me and book me for a scan.

The pain got more intense and more severe, and my blood pressure dropped as a result. I had an ultrasound the next day with two sonographers who did both an external and internal scan but wouldn’t tell me much, they just said there was lots of free fluid and that my right ovary was bulky. As they spoke in hushed tones I was left unsure of what was going on.

The next day I was greeted by a familiar face, my consultant. The man who had carried out all my gynecological procedures since I was 16. “Hello Amy, how’re you,” he greeted. “I have reviewed the scan, and I think the best thing to do now is bring your surgery forward, I have scheduled it for Thursday, however if you get worse it will be an emergency procedure.”

It became a waiting game, friends from work visited, mummykind friends visited and kept me entertained with gossip and laughter. The night before the operation Harriet even came up to help me wash my hair and shave my legs, and I put my new nighty on from Charlie… I was ready. My ex had brought Oliver up to see me, as we agreed he would have Oliver for the next week where I wouldn’t be able to  lift and needed to recover.

The day of my operation arrived and I was a bag of nerves. A friend visited in the morning with knickers and pads for me but after she left the reality hit me, I was on my own.  I would have nobody holding my hand as I went down to theatre and nobody waiting for me when I was out, this was something I had to face and deal with on my own.

As I got wheeled down to the prep room by two theatre assistants, one who was a very bubbly man and could tell I was anxious. I could feel myself panicking, the anaesthetist who I had met previously greeted me and the first thing he asked me to do was to slow my breathing down, I could feel myself going into a panic attack but I couldn’t stop it, I had no control.

The anaesthetsist said to me “How old is your son Amy? Who’s with him at the minute?” As I replied I didn’t realise those questions were him calming me. He made me talk about the one thing that could shift my focus, then he said, “okay Amy, I’ve just given you a strong painkiller so you might feel a bit drowsy but that’s fine,” and I felt myself sinking, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it… I lost.

I woke up in recovery and completely freaked out, I tried pulling things off and sitting up, then started crying for literally no apparent reason, however my previous surgeries had taught me anaesthetic makes me really emotional and
teary. The recovery nurse was sweet, she helped me sip water and gave IV morphine where I was tender.

A week on and I’m back at work, I’m still sore and not completely over the mental side of it, whether it was planned or not the reality is my right ovary and tube is gone and over years it is likely my left will go too. The reality has hit me that Oliver is likely to be my only child, and I lost so much time with him as a newborn due to postpartum psychosis that I’m scared I won’t get that chance again. However, if having my right ovary removed gives me a better quality of life then that is something I need to be grateful for and come to terms with. I’ve also discovered that phantom pain is so real and so, so weird. I can feel normal period cramps on my left side however my brain still associates pain with the right hand side, despite the fact there is nothing there, but I am only 1 week post-op so prehaps I need to give myself some more credit as I am already back at work.

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Mental Health Monday: 6 forms of therapy you should be trying!

Once you recognise that you potentially have mental health problems, the next step is how to deal with them. There are a number of options available, and these are the ones that myself or other mums I know have tried and had some benefit from! I hope that this list helps someone going into a GP appointment to know a bit more about the options and what they could try!

Medication

Sometimes, when you visit the GP the first response is to prescribe medication. Thankfully, when I went to the GP with my postnatal depression I had the experience of having been on antidepressants previously, and I knew that they wouldn’t be very effective for me. I did eventually end up using medication, but not for very long at all. However, there are some misconceptions about using antidepressants that need addressing!

You CAN breastfeed while on antidepressants – sertraline is the most common one for breastfeeding mothers, but the majority of tablets carry the same risk level for a low dosage. If this is one of your concerns, bring it up with the doctor because they have a handy little book they can check that tells you if it passes to the milk or not!

Side effects ARE worth mentioning to the GP – when I was on sertraline I could barely stay awake. It is a common side effect of this particular medication, and I went back to the GP to say that I couldn’t continue to use it. Easily enough I was switched onto an active antidepressant, fluoxetine, which did not make me feel drowsy at all. Even with medication, you need to find what works for you – it’s not one size fits all! I know a mum who was on sertraline successfully as she used the drowsiness side effect to help her get to sleep at night too by changing when she took the tablet to right before she went to bed.

You SHOULD NOT feel ashamed for taking medication. After all, depression is a chemical imbalance in your brain. If you had a limb amputated you wouldn’t manage it without analgesics, so why should you manage without medication when part of your brain isn’t functioning properly as it should?

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT)

I’ve tried this once in the past in the form of group sessions, but I’m fairly certain it can be done one on one too. I found the group sessions really helpful when I was younger, but my memory is failing me here as it was over 10 years ago now!

CBT can work for a number of mental health issues including depression, OCD, eating disorders and more. It is an active form of therapy which aims to change your outlook on life by setting goals and completing tasks in between sessions. It can make you feel like you’re really making a meaningful change in your life.

Counselling/Talking Therapy


Talking therapy includes a lot of different types of therapy that actively involve you talking to a therapist, but they take many forms! CBT (above) is one of them too. There’s also family therapy, relationship therapy, psychotherapy, etc. But counselling is the most common of them.

Counselling on the NHS is usually done by self-referral and it’s a pretty simple process. When you contact the GP about your mental health concerns, you can ask for contact details of local counselling services – they should all have these to hand. Otherwise, have a look on the NHS website to find your local service.

This is something that works really well for me. I’ve attended family therapy and counselling a few times and, although I don’t get on with family therapy (probably due to my family being the root cause of many issues), when I try counselling I always see a marked improvement from when I started. If I had the money to do it, I’d probably pay to see a therapist for counselling weekly because it helps me that much! At the end of the day, it’s all about finding what works for you. If you absolutely hate the thought of this, peer support might be a better option!

Peer Support

If you’re a twitter user, I strongly recommend following @PNDandMe. Rosey hosts a twitter chat every Wednesday 8-9pm for parents suffering with their mental health to talk in a supportive environment on a particular topic. Mummykind has co-hosted one in the past, and I regularly take part in them when I remember! This is a great way to remind yourself that you’re not alone, and it’s also much easier to type out how you’re feeling than to say it out loud, so it could be worth having a go if you’re daunted by the thought of going to counselling!

Craft Attack (or similar)


Harriet went through a craft therapy group after she had little Florence, and she’s written about her experience before on MummyGoesWhereFloGoes. I haven’t tried this one personally, but I can only imagine how something so therapeutic itself can really help you to overcome or manage you mental health difficulties. Even if the groups aren’t available in your area (ask your GP to check!), taking some time to yourself with a colouring book or another crafty project might just help you to calm yourself and re-centre – refocus on you!

Birth Afterthoughts

Again, this is another one that Harriet has trialled and is particularly helpful if you had a traumatic birth and are suffering with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). However, it’s not only available if you do have a PTSD diagnosis!

It’s available to any woman who has recently given birth, and the idea is in the name – it’s for you to ask questions that you only thought of after the birth, to have your questions answered so that you can maybe come to terms with things that happened during or after the birth of your baby. This service might not be available in every NHS trust so make sure to discuss it with your midwife/health visitor to find out if you can access the service where you are!

I hope you find this little summary useful, and please, if you’ve tried any other kinds of therapy let us know what they are and how you found them in the comments!

Monday Stumble Linky

Have you checked your lemons, melons or mangos? 

How many of us ladies can honestly say that we check ourselves out frequently? When did you last check? I know that we’re not quite as bad as the boys at checking ourselves… But I am very aware that I personally only ever used get round to doing it when I get reminded by online campaigns

CHECK. YOUR BOOBS png

As it is breast cancer awareness week, I thought i’d share my scare experience with our readers in the hope that it might encourage some of you to get checked out, if you’re having any breast related worries!

A few months ago, I finally made the big step in getting myself checked out after having a boobie scare. Why am I telling you lucky lot about it?! Because changes to our breasts honestly need to be spoken about more!

How many of us ladies can honestly say that we check ourselves out frequently? When did you last check? I know that we’re not quite as bad as the boys at checking ourselves… But I am very aware that I personally only ever used get round to doing it when I get reminded by online campaigns etc.

I saw the image above, on Facebook and decided that it was time to confront one of the changes I had noticed since having Florence nearly a year and a half ago. I knew that changes in your breasts and breast tissue was very common after large hormonal changes, like having a baby, but worried because I had a mark that looked like a cross between what these two lemons depicted…

Lovely I know,  but I have no time to blush when I’m here to inform! 

 

I called up my local doctors practice and asked for an appointment to discuss a concern I had with one of my breasts. I was told that as no female doctors were in and that there wasn’t a chaperone available, that I’d have to wait for the duty doctor to call me the following day and book me in, to see a lady. I said that as I was so concerned, I didn’t mind who I discussed my worries with but that I’d prefer to be checked over by a female when I came to practice.

Sure enough, the duty doctor called me the very next morning. I explained my worries over the phone and put me down for an appointment to see a lady doctor for less than an hour later. So off I went!

She asked me what my concerns where and tried to make me feel comfortable before instructing me to remove my upper layers and lye down on the examination table to be checked over. She checked my nipples, breast, armpits and even commented on how my glands felt perfectly normal.

The changes that I had been so worried about, was slight scar tissue, all caused by to me trying to breast feed and pump for almost two months with no supply. She told me that this was nothing to worry about but well worth getting checked out.

I am so relived that my scare was down to nothing more sinister and felt pleased that I had finally been brave enough to seek some help and advice for my worries.

The doctor explained how I could check myself and said that either in the shower, bath, lying or sitting down in bed whilst relaxed would be the perfect time to check myself and to try and do it as frequently as possible (but to aim for once a week!).

How do you check yourself? 

Strictly speaking, there is no right or wrong way to check your breasts. It is so important to know what your breasts usually look and feel like. Then you’ll be more likely to spot any changes quickly and get help from to your GP.

The NHS state that a good way check yourself is to “Look at your breasts and feel each breast and armpit, all the way up to your collarbone. You may find it easiest to do this in the shower or bath, by running a soapy hand over each breast and up under each armpit.
You can also look at your breasts in the mirror. Look with your arms by your side and also with them raised.”

So- when should we seek help or advice from a GP? If you experience any of the following symptoms make sure you book to see your GP as soon as possible…

  • a change in size or shape
  • a lump or area that feels thicker than the rest of the breast
  • a change in skin texture such as puckering or dimpling (like the skin of an orange)
  • redness or rash on the skin and/or around the nipple
  • your nipple has become inverted (pulled in) or looks different in any way.
  • liquid or any discharge that comes from the nipple without squeezing.
  • pains or pangs in your breast or your armpit
  • a swelling in your armpit or around your collarbone.

Any of these changes could be down to normal bodily hormonal changes like puberty, pregnancy, labour, breast feeding or menopause- but please, if anything is new or is worrying you, GET CHECKED OUT…

Useful links-

NHS information about Breast Cancer.
Breast Cancer Care Org

Thank you for reading!
(Please remember that you can never be too safe!)

Harriet’s Labour Story – There’s a Time and a Place to Die… This wasn’t it.

This is the first part to the journey and story- Of your entrance into the world. I am struggling to write the second half at the moment, but I am sure that will be easier once I have had my ‘Birth Afterthoughts’ session.

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Hello, Flo.
This is the first part to the journey and story- Of your entrance into the world. I am struggling to write it all down- even after I had my ‘Birth Afterthoughts’ session.
Anyway,
My labour story starts on the Sunday before your due date, the 31st January 2016 at around 5:30 In the evening. I thought that I would make your Daddy a lovely dinner of bacon macaroni cheese from scratch. I had spent all day cleaning, but something was up. I decided to call the Maternity ward at the William Harvey Hospital because I couldn’t feel you move and it had been that way since I had woken up! This wasn’t the first time, but the forth time you’d decided to do this. I think you secretly liked making mummy worry about you! I texted your Grandma, who came straight away to take me to hospital so we could get you checked over.
Unlike every other time that I had to go in for monitoring for your reduced movement, you didn’t start wiggling away the minute you’d heard the machine monitoring pads being put on to my tummy. Despite this, you were doing well, your heart rate was spot on with a beautiful variance and pattern. After about 15 minutes I could feel you moving and that made me feel so much happier!
However, I wasn’t doing quite so well… I had proteins in my wee, a raised pulse and high blood pressure and a headache that had lasted several days- The Midwife decided to do blood tests to make sure all was okay (little did I know this would be the first of many, many needle wounds over the next two weeks!) Two midwives tried to take my blood but failed, so they sent off for a Doctor… I have always had rubbish veins! Grandma and I joked about how, if I begged them enough they might induce me (as after months of SPD and spinal disc issues, I was in lots of pain!)
Shortly after this, I moved from the ‘Maternity Day Care Ward’, to the ‘Folkestone Ward’ because the Maternity day care unit was closing for the day! The Midwife there told me that I should expect to stay- but that it would probably just be for the one night for further monitoring. Grandma left shortly after, to help your Daddy pack my short stay night bag.
Around 30 minutes after she left, I overheard a Doctor talking to a Midwife.. She said about a lady on the ward who “had a few episodes of reduced movement and has now been diagnosed with preeclampsia” and so needed to be moved to the ‘Labour Ward’ induction room. So it would be safer for her and her baby if she was to be induced. ‘She’s a lucky lady!’ I thought to myself, as it was just 2 days away from your due date and I couldn’t wait to meet you! The Midwife and Doctor then came around to see me and told me that I had preeclampsia. OH MY GOSH! It was me that they were sending around to the labour ward to be induced!
“Harriet, my lovely- I think it’s time we start trying to get this little lady to make a move, what do you think about meeting your baby soon?” The Midwife said as she walked me across to the labour ward.
I had Induction room ‘A’. It was far too hot (the fan was broken and with hormonal hot flushes, this was a personal hell for me)… But it was a step closer to holding and meeting my sweet baby girl! I texted your Daddy and Grandma to say I was going to be induced and therefore would need all of your baby stuff and my hospital bag. While I waited, another Midwife came to see me and told me that she could start induction whenever I was ready. I asked if I could have a bath and she told me that it is an excellent idea to enjoy a freshen up before induction commences as it can be an uncomfortable process.
Your Daddy came at about half past ten, baring all of your baby bits, my hospital bags and most importantly (at that moment in time) my toiletries- I couldn’t wait to wash my hair! I had a bath, got dried and told the Midwife at the desk that I’d be in my room waiting as I was ready to be induced!
The Midwife came and she put us on a monitor for half an hour before she started the induction. You were still wiggling about and had the perfect heart rate, so she went on to inserting a pessary. It was awfully uncomfortable when it was being put in and even more painful to keep in for a whole 24 hours. We were monitored every 3 hours and with the room being stifling hot, I got no sleep. NO SLEEP (and Daddy complained about being tired?!?)
 At 6am there was a staff change over, I was introduced to a new Midwife called Louise and a student Midwife called James. Before I met James, I was so unsure about student and male midwives, but he COMPLETELY changed my opinion through being courteous, kind, patient and friendly.
Grandma came back at 10am the next morning after taking Uncle D to school- It was now the 1st Feburary. She brought flapjacks, juice, fruit and even some cheeky Malteasers to keep my energy up! She also made me walk around the hospital several times to get you moving… clockwise, anti-clockwise, outside, out to a&e, to the cafe, to the shop and up and down the stairs. I can’t even remember the total number of people I bumped into, old friends, customers- you name it! All whilst in my Pyjamas, great!
I started to get contraction pains at around 2pm, which got worse until I had to breathe carefully just to get through the pain- I really thought things were going to go quickly from there on and you’d be in my arms soon! Alas- It got to 10pm, I’d had the pessary In for 22 and a half hours and I hadn’t got any further into my labour. My cervix remained flat and hadn’t dilated in the slightest. I felt like a complete wimp, I was in so much pain and it had been for nothing so far. It made me hysterical about the pain that was to come. I was disappointed in myself and my body for not doing what it needed to do.
In time, it turned out that the pain was down to an allergic reaction to the pessary, and my cervix trying to do what it needed to do in the warm up to labour. Because of this, the Midwife decided against a second pessary (Thank goodness!) and told me I’d have a gel inserted after monitoring to see if that got things going instead. At 11:30pm the pessary was removed and the gel was swiftly inserted. I was so relieved that the pessary had gone because it made me so sore. Even when removed it felt as if it was still in there- it made weeing agonising and sitting upright almost impossible! As I kept saying to Grandma ‘My foof felt like a hoof’ and it probably looked like one too (eww!)
The Midwife said the gel could be reapplied every 6 hours and that she’d see me every three to four hours for monitoring- Then see me for another lot of gel at 5:30 am (On the 2nd February). The pains got worse and closer together that night. I just about nodded off at 4:30am… but woke up to what I thought was you giving me a MASSIVE kick at 5:20am. I tried to go back to sleep but I felt strange, so decided I’d go to the toilet. When I stood up I felt a huge rush of liquid escape into my Pajama bottoms. LOVELY! I wasn’t sure what it was, so I went to the toilet and my biggest hopes (and fears!) were confirmed… My waters had gone!
I pressed the assistance buzzer and a (unusually unhelpful) Midwife came and quite literally threw a pad at me and told me “if it’s your waters, it’ll soak the pad” and that she’d be back soon to check what’s going on. I texted your Daddy and Grandma to tell them what was going on. Daddy was going to go to work as he’d just got a new job- I was going to get him to come up when he was needed as I was fine with just Grandma helping me. Who doesn’t want their Best Friend and Mummy there when they’re in pain?
Grandma arrived as they were helping me to pack up my induction room to move me to delivery room 6, she helped me change my clothes and walk over to the other room. I felt sick walking over there and the second I sat on the bed, I threw up.. Grandma skilfully caught (most of it) in three(!!!) bowls.
As I was Strep B positive, I needed IV antibiotics to keep you safe from the infection so they inserted a cannula in to my hand. As my hand was already black and blue from bruising after several failed blood test attempts, my body wouldn’t take the antibiotics. Because of this, a midwife squeezed the bag to see if she could force the antibiotics into my body- but all that did was cause my hand to expell an enormous amount of blood all over the fresh bed sheets.
I (used to) give blood so needles and cannulas aren’t a big deal to me, but that cannula was more agonising than most of my contractions. I cried and I begged them to take it out and move it to my other hand! Which they did after Grandma reasoned with them, as I was in floods of tears!
I was successfully hooked up to your antibiotics (with help from the ward’s top anesthesiologist), your monitor and my contraction monitor. Then handed the gas and air! (I giggled lots, they don’t call it laughing gas for nothing!) The hours passed as I slowly became more and more dilated, going from 2cm to 5cm to at ease. When it got to about 12 o’clock, your Grandma texted Daddy to come up to see me. Contractions were starting to get stronger and my back was agonising (with two prolapsed and one herniated disc considered I think I did well to be so brave!) so the midwife suggested having an epidural.
The same Anesthesiologist that successfully inserted my cannula had the joys of setting up my mobile epidural. Completely drunk on gas and air, I was raised on the bed towards the ceiling. I felt like someone from a scene in Alice in Wonderland. The area was cleaned and through contractions I was trying my hardest to stay still whilst a 4 inch needle was stuck into my spine. “If you don’t stay still, this could paralyze you” I heard a voice say. I was trying so hard to stay still, but I couldn’t! I held onto your Grandma and she held onto me – Trying to keep me still as I sat on the edge of the bed breathing through contractions must have been tough!
Success, it was in!
Then James and Grandma decided it was time to get me up to do a wee! I tried and tried but I just couldn’t go, so when I came back I had to have a catheter. James applied my catheter with ease. Your Daddy came soon after then, he offered me a fruit shoot but then drank it- helpful. Both Grandma and Daddy were trying to reassure me but for some reason, their pats on the back and strokes on the face infuriated me. James jokingly said that he could tell when I was having a contraction because I went from being lovely to being really grumpy (I did shout at Daddy and Grandma to tell them not to touch me!)
Contractions turned from stomach cramps to awful back pain, which honestly really made me feel like I needed to do a poo. So James checked how dilated I was, he guessed at around 8cm but Louise checked again and said I was at 10cm. It was time to listen to the rhythm of my body and push. I was going to have you in my arms so soon! Louise left for her lunch, jokingly telling me that she hopes to see my baby when she gets back.
I wanted to touch your head as you started your journey into the world. I wanted you straight onto my bare chest for lovely skin to skin, having your cord cut at an optimum time, a physiological third stage. I was going to really bond with you, in turn stimulating my milk production so I could breast feed you until you are one and a half. That was my plan. I wanted all of that. I wanted it so much. We were going to do it all and I was so excited to see if you looked like a ‘Florence’, I secretly had my heart set on your name for so long.
Following James’ and Grandma’s instructions, I pushed every time my body told me I needed to. The first 30 minutes of pushing I wasn’t putting anywhere near enough effort into it- I don’t really know what I expected? Like you would come out if I pushed gently? I mean it hadn’t been as hard as I expected it would be so far? Maybe I could get away with it and no one would notice? NO! Grandma noticed AND James noticed AND you still weren’t here.
Louise came back and told me that the lady in the next room had just had her baby after 25 minutes of being on the ward, “it was a breeze!”… She made it clear that I had to push harder and her firm but fair voice took over from James’ instruction. Your Daddy stroked my arm. I spent 15 minutes PROPERLY pushing, with all of my might. Determined to get you here. Thoughts were circling in my head, like; I want her now. I really want my baby girl. I love her so much. Will she be a Florence? Will I miss my bump? This hasn’t been too bad so far!
“Harriet, shes crowned, we can see her head!” exclaimed the Midwives and Grandma.
Then everything started to look funny. Everything looked grey, cloudy and felt like I was watching myself on television. I assume, that I though I was overwhelmed.
“Harriet, do you want to feel her head?” asked Grandma. “No” I replied. “Are you sure?” she said. I didn’t reply. “One more push and she’ll be here” said Louise and James…
As you quite literally FLEW out at such a speed that James, had to literally catch you.
He placed you on my chest. I held you close. I looked at your little face.
It all started to go very wrong, very quickly. I had no idea of the events unfolding as I lost consciousness after a rupturing a main artery, causing what was described as a massive hemorrhage.
Everything blanked.
I looked up and saw blood on the wall, I said to your Grandmim “Take a picture of the blood on the wall, it’ll make (your Uncle) G faint and it will be funny!”
Everything blanked.
“Harriet, you’re not going to be able to have a physiological third stage, we need to get your placenta out quickly”
Everything blanked.
“Can you sign this please, Harriet? We need to take you to theatre…”
“But I don’t think I can’t write my name?”
Everything blanked.
“You’re not doing too well lovely, you’ve lost a lot of blood…”
“But I can smell washing powder?” (Who in the right mind has this as a key focus when they have just given birth to a beautiful baby girl?!)
(This next part is so hard to write, because for the most of it- I wasn’t conscious. The session that I had at Birth Afterthoughts, has helped me fill in some of the gaps and your Grandma has helped with the rest!)
A long blank covered the vast amount of the next eight hours.
There are so many things that are hazy and things that I couldn’t remember but would have loved to treasure forever. Like; Your Daddy, cutting your cord. Hearing your first cry. Seeing your beautiful face for the first time. Holding you in my arms for your first breaths. Your first moments in this world. That tiny bit of initial skin to skin that we actually got together.
I’m pretty sure that you were very happy and contented being safe and warm in the womb and that’s why you were being stubborn on your way out! During the time that it took for your head to crown and for you to Fly out into James’ arms, your tiny, little yet very robust body caused a 2nd degree tear.
This fairly minor tear (somehow) managed to rupture a main artery. So in the time that I delivered you, to when you were in my arms- my blood had started to pool. Flowing out of me, covering the bed and the floor around where our bed stood. Grandma and your Daddy were so wrapped up in the moment, that they had not yet realised what was unfolding around them.
Grandma noticed James and Louise (Both of our Midwives) looking concerned and pointing to something on the floor. I can imagine at around this point, the emergency cord was pulled.
My blood loss was increasing and becoming more uncontrollable as my consciousness plummeted. You were removed from my chest and passed to Grandma.
Dozens of people started to flood into the room. A man introduced himself and quickly began trying to stitch and fix me up. But that obviously didn’t quite do the trick. Grandma then needed to help undress me for theatre, so you were quickly passed to your Daddy.
I was asked to sign a piece of paper, but I couldn’t even remember how to write my name. It was explained that I couldn’t have a physiological third stage and I agreed. After I had my nose stud and clothes removed to go to theatre, I was rushed out of the room. Just as I was rushed out, I caught sight of Irene, a friendly face, that I hadn’t seen in years. This made me feel slightly more relaxed. I have been told that I was hurried along a corridor and taken straight into emergency theatre.
Unlike lots of other things that I am almost thankful that I can’t remember- I can remember most of the agonising rummaging that went on, to repair the tear and stop me bleeding. I wish I could say that I couldn’t feel it, but I could. I begged for more pain relief and was given another epidural and then later, I believe a spinal block was administered too. I understand that the rummaging was vital in putting me back together but experiencing what felt like two big hands squeezing my internal organs was horrific. 
Grandma – “In the meantime, Florence had squeezed out a massive meconium poo into the soft warm towel she was wrapped in! I started to go through Florence’s hospital bag to pick out her nappy stuff and an outfit, she couldn’t stay in a towel the whole time you weren’t there! I found a cat sleepsuit, Tom and I decided that this would be perfect for her first outfit.”
 
There was a man with his laptop in theatre, I don’t remember why, but I remember him being there. A lady with short hair, in scrubs with her hair net, held my hand as I sobbed and looked up at the blood on the ceiling. I looked up at my blood pressure and the systolic reading blared a hazy ’62’ at me, before I slipped out of consciousness again.
Grandma- “Florence kept crying, I knew that she was hungry and that she couldn’t wait until you came back to have milk. The midwife said that she would try and get your consent before giving Florence formula. She asked us what type of formula we wanted to give Florence- I didn’t have a clue, because I knew how much you wanted skin to skin and to breastfeed your baby. In the end I chose SMA as all of my children had SMA with no problems. I thought it was best to stick with what we knew.”
In that time period where I was unconscious and memory is a mix of non existent and hazy. I remember that I couldn’t stop shivering. I shivered so relentlessly, for so long that my jaw, arms and chest ached for over two weeks. The recovery team asked if I could stop shivering so that they could get my pulse and my temperature, but I simply couldn’t- I believe it was around this time that I had to have a arterial line inserted. I was given three units of blood and one unit of plasma. I had consented to my baby being fed formula, with a few words despite being unconscious and not remembering any of it.


Grandma – “The midwife rushed in and said to put the baby down, you need to come with me immediately. It was then that they said your condition was critical. The surgeon said that it wasn’t looking great, he didn’t know what way you were going to go and he gave you 50/50 for pulling through. I came to see you but could only get as far as your feet, there were so many people, cables, wires, drips and machines. You were white. So white. Your veins had started to look like pinpricks and blue dandelions as they had started to shut down through a lack of blood.”
I don’t remember anything else for a very, very long time.
Eventually, my Grandma brought you to me and placed you by my cheek. I don’t remember this, but I truly believe that this contact with my baby girl- even though I was unconscious brought me back from the brink. People would have come and gone, observations were made. Specialists visited. My recovery team sat by my side.
Then, something clicked. Like a flash. I was still shivering and I was beyond exhausted. But all I wanted was my baby, oh and I wanted orange juice. I really wanted orange juice. I had been monitored and nursed, quite literally back from death. I continue to beg for water because I knew that if I could drink by myself, I would be on my way to being better for my baby.
One of the recovery crew looked like my Grandpops. After I had come round, he promised me he’d sneak me a cup of tea if I promised him I’d keep fighting to get better. Him and the nurse with the short hair from theatre, held a cup and straw as I almost literally consumed my weight in water. They held my hand and offered reassuring pats on the arms and stroked my head as I fell in and out of consciousness.
Grandma- “Tom went to get us both food as we were both starving. I sat and cuddled with Florence. I cried. I promised that I’d always be there to love and look after her. I told her that we could go to Disneyland when she’s bigger. We were forced to consider, contemplate and plan in case Florence had to live her life without you. It was horrific. Completely awful.”
 
I lay in recovery with my recovery team for a few more hours as people came to check on my bleeding, progress and consciousness hourly. I was feeling freezing and totally petrified of starting to shiver again, so the man who looked like my Grandpops did a blanket round up for me and I lay there snug under 8-10 blankets.
He grabbed me a cup of tea so that it would be cool enough for me to drink after a specialist had checked me over. He came back with a slice of cake too and said that if I’m well enough, he might even give me his… Sadly after the observations I was well enough for fluids (so hell yes, give me that tea!) but too poorly for my cake, so I made him promise to eat it, enjoy it and tell me how nice it was. Which he didn’t because he felt too mean. Bless him!
I sat in recovery for at least another couple of hours. My recovery team started to try and help me to sit more upright, they did everything and anything they could to make me comfortable. Grandma brought you in to see me, this time I was actually able to hold you but this lovely encounter was cut short by my need to rest.
A senior male midwife was called to check up on my bleeding and labeled it as very heavy, but being a lady with PCOS I was very familiar with very heavy bleeding and this wasn’t very heavy to me at all, so a lady was called in and asked to check it out and also agreed that the blood loss was of a fair amount but certainly not very heavy.
A little more time passed, I had a final check and was wheeled out of recovery and back onto the labour ward. After I said a very emotional goodbye to my recovery team.
I had returned to my room on the labour ward for no more than half an hour, when my midwife- James’ noticed that temperature and pulse started to really rocket. I had a sample of blood taken, that was examined and eventually revealed that I had sepsis. For the second time in 24 hours, I was fighting my life. I was placed on IV antibiotics and as many layers were removed from me as possible to keep me cool.
Grandpa and Uncle D managed to get on the ward after Grandma was told my Direct family could see me after all that had happened. I just lay there as they met you, too exhausted to even function. Grandma then took the first picture of us as a family.

At around 10:30pm your Grandparents cuddled and kissed us goodbye and went on their way home. Grandpa had a day full of meetings about my D’s future education as he is on the autistic spectrum and with Grandma having been with me since 7am, they were both completely exhausted and very deserving of a rest.
Daddy spent some time with us – so we could just be us,  our little family. A nurse came in to help me with skin to skin and to show me how you should latch on to my breast so that I could try to begin with breast feeding.

We decided that we wanted you to be called Florence. Florence as in ‘Florence Nightingale’. We drafted our birth announcement. Sadly Daddy had to go as he had cold symptoms and didn’t want to pass them onto us. You were placed in a crib next to my bed and you fell asleep.
My catheter was removed and I was told that if I went for a bath, I could go onto the Folkestone ward and that we’d be able to go home in no time. I wanted to be at home. I didn’t want to be in hospital. This was going to be my 3rd night. I started to try and stand up, to make my way to the bathroom- but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough.
You woke up and started screaming. You wouldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t get to get up and help you. I was helpless. I was useless. Healthcare workers popped their head round the door and asked me why you were crying – as if I could have just jumped and sorted it out myself.
A student midwife came in and introduced herself, she was called Florence too! She was very lovely, helped me out of bed, helped me to walk over to Florence and even changed your nappy. A healthcare assistant helped me gather my bits for a bath and off I went. Midwife Florence passed you on to another midwife who cradled you whilst I sorted myself out.
In hindsight, I needed a loved one with me. I needed someone to sit with you whilst I bathed the blood, sweat, tears and everything else off of my half-dead, aching body. I needed someone to hold my hand. It was horrendous. I had the most agonising bath of my life. Whilst I could hear my new born baby screaming from the corridor in the arms of a total stranger. Every one of my stitches stung. I felt like my insides were going to fal out. Tears rolled down my eyes, but I had to do it, I had to be healthy so that we could go home. When I got out of the bath, it looked like a murder scene. I dried myself, put on pjs and walked back over to my room.
As I was crossing the corridor, a midwife came over and said “as you’ve managed to bath yourself, we think it’s time for you to go back onto the Folkestone ward”. They barely even helped me pack up my things before wheeling my possessions and my bed over to the Folkestone ward. I pushed you in your cot, with a tear dropping down my face for every step I took. It was agonsiging. 
I was placed on a high dependency bay opposite the midwives’ mess and reception desk, surrounded by Mums who had all had c-sections (all of which I watched leave over the next two days).
You didn’t stop crying that night, probably because you were starving and my breasts couldn’t fulfil your hunger in the way the bottle did. Every time you cried, you woke up another baby on the bay. Every time another baby cried, you cried. You cried so much that the midwives took you away so I could have a break, which made me feel like a failure of a mother.
For the hour or so that you were had gone, I tried to express milk from my breasts whilst sobbing. Sobbing and sobbing. I had never felt so scared or so alone. It was about 3 in the morning now, on the 03/02/16. I’m just glad that I didn’t know then, that through the whole of my (almost 2 weeks collectively) hospital stay, this feeling wouldn’t let up.
I had done something so amazing and given birth to the most perfect, beautiful, healthy little girl. Yet, I felt like because my body was coping so badly I didn’t deserve you in the slightest.
The hour that you were gone, felt like weeks. I hadn’t had many conscious moments without you inside my tummy and kicking. I had tried so hard to expresss, but nothing was coming. The midwife brought you back in and you latched onto my breast again. She reassured me that you were getting plenty and that I would be able to fulfil your hunger. She gave me three large pans to fill and told me that when I had filled them, we could go home. I decided that I would save my wees to make everyone count, as the stitches made wearing very painful!  
The hours passed and it slowly became the more acceptable half of morning, I had sat there for hours trying to feed you, settling you and staring at your perfect face. 
The breakfast rounds came around and I had my usual banana with porridge and a cup of tea. I needed as much nutrition as I could get so that I could feed you. 
The hearing checks were done. Your little ears were strong and perfect. Your hips were checked. Every little limb was beautifully formed and effectively placed. You had a heel prick – they were sure to check your thyroid as I’d always had problems, but nothing.
Like all Mummies, I was in awe of you – You were and always have been perfect. 
The bounty lady came around to take your photos. She positioned you with ease whilst I watched, terrified that you’d break. She said you were beautiful and that you looked like me. I had never felt so proud. 
I had painkillers but they weren’t enough. I had to have an anaesthetist ultra-sounding my arm every time I had a blood test or a drip put in place. You had your Strep B checks. I was relieved that you were fine.
I cuddled you. I kissed you. I stared at you. I was in wonder at you. I chose your 2nd outfit. I changed your nappy. I held your little hands. I tried to feed you again. You became everything. You were everything. You are my everything. 
The surgeon from the day before, came to see me during his time off. He said that he was amazed at how lovely, friendly and polite I was despite not even being fully conscious and that he was so pleased that I managed pulled through. It had got to close to me fading away and he was so pleased to see me with my baby. 

You fell asleep, so I decided to be brave and go for my first wee. I really hope that you never have to experience that pain. I was glad I held on though, because the longer you hold on- the more diluted your wee becomes, which means it stings less. HURRAH! 
When I came back, Grandma was in our little cubicle. I ate my breakfast and chilled out with her and you. I texted your Daddy and asked him to visit and whilst we waited, I braved going to the shower, but god did that hurt! 
Our student midwife, James – came to see us and to say how pleased he was to see me looking as well as I did. He congratulated me and stayed for a while to chat. It felt so lovely to be so cared for by the team that saved my life. 
Lunched passed, Grandma Stayed- Nonna and Grandpops came to visit you. Then Daddy came and so did GrandNan and Grandad.  
A very noisy and rude lady was put into the bay to the left of us. She had as many visitors as she wanted at all times. She refused to move and wouldn’t do anything to help herself or her baby. She put on a voice when a medical professional was near and made awful comments about my difficulties with breast feeding. 
Daddy went, dinner came. It was my 2nd night with you. You screamed, you screamed and you screamed. My breasts were blue from trying to feed you constantly. My milk hadn’t even began to come in. The nasty comments from the lady in the next cubicle continued to roll in.
 My after birth pains started to come in. They were agonising. My stitches were hurting, I decided that I needed more pain relief so walked over to the midwives’ desk – to be told that I should have been receiving morphine every 4 hours and that they’d get some to me asap if I waited in my cubicle. 
I got very bad tummy pains whilst you were screaming and had to buzz for a midwife to hold you whilst I ran to the toilet. Instead of just agreeing to watch over you for a minute, she decided to try and argue with me about it. I got to the toilet and had the worst antibiotic, painkiller and after pains induced upset tummy imaginable. 
I came back to you in no time and the midwife who I had left to hold you, had settled you and popped you into your cot. You looked so perfect and calm as you slept, but very shortly you woke up and resumed your screaming. I felt so helpless and so worried for my little girl. 
The hours passed until it was about 6 in the morning. My nipples were bleeding and you were starving. I hadn’t slept in 4 nights aside for when I was unconscious. My milk still hadn’t come in. 
I buzzed for a midwife as I wanted help, to be greeted by the same midwife who had tried to argue with me the night before. She told me that I had essentially starved my baby and that only if I felt it was “completely necessary” would she give me any formula. 

I begged her for a bottle for and fed you. Instantly your upset stopped. I was pleased that something so simple was behind your upset but felt so upset that my body couldn’t feed you. I raised my concerns that you were looking a little yellow, but was told that you were fine – so I tried not to worry. 
Grandma came in and sat with us so that I could finally sleep. When she arrived, I was so stressed that I physically couldn’t sleep, until she covered my head with a blanket to shut out the light and I quite literally passed out. I woke up and went for a shower. She was a total life saver that day. She told me that Grandpa and your uncles would be coming that evening to see you and I got really excited. 
I was full of love for you but I felt so alone. Grandma had so much to do but visited as much as she could. None of my friends visited and Daddy didn’t visit often either.
The woman in the next bay had visitors come and go and recounted my difficulties to every single guest, as I sat there behind the curtain sobbing. I felt like a failure. She not only had her own family to visit, but several friends and their children outside of visiting hours. 
Daddy came to visit and came bearing disposable bottles of formula but had to go back home as he was still unwell. 
Grandpa and your uncles turned up to visit, but just as they stepped into our bay – a midwife said that Uncle D couldn’t come in as he wasn’t my child. I tried to explain that the other lady had everybody and anybody that she wanted to visit, but I couldn’t get the words out through fits of tears. Grandpa and Uncle D were sent into the corridor so that Uncle G could see you and then they could swap. 
I had a plan set out in my head and because Uncle D is autistic I knew just how important it was for him to meet you and understand you. I was just so heartbroken that I got picked on for this when nobody else did. I had such a rubbish time and quite frankly missed my baby brother so much that it hurt. I calmly left you in Uncle G arms in our cubicle and went to see Grandpa and Uncle D. I very quickly became very hysterical. I sobbed into Grandpa’s arms whilst he told me that he loved us and that it was okay. 
Our student midwife James walked by and explained that I was feeling the way that I was because of hormones – I had been on a 10 month high on the most wonderful hormones whilst pregnant and afterwards is just a massive emotion-filled hangover. He let me wheel you out of the bay into the corridor so that we could spend time together. Grandpa walked us back to my bed and we chatted. He gave me a big hug and completely reassured me that it would all be okay and that the pain would pass. He gave me a massive bar of galaxy and then had to go as visiting hours were over. 
You were fast asleep and as they left I ate the whole big bar whilst I sobbed about how pants everything had been so far. I continued trying to pump, but still no milk. 
The lovely Irene came into see me and managed to get us on a list to get our own room so that Uncle D could visit, so that all the other babies and Mummies would be able to sleep and so that I could stop being tormented by the other mummy next to me. 
Half way through the next day, we were moved to our own room. My infection levels were still very high. Mummy’s friend Laurie sent her sister in with a massive box of chocolates to cheer me up, as she worked at the hospital. 
We had our own space. I finally could use the toilet or shower without cringing. You were sleeping. I felt calmer. I could have anybody to visit at any time. Which meant that Grandpa could visit more frequently as he finished work late.

As your Daddy started to feel a little better, he could come and see us a little more. He got you more formula as my milk still hadn’t come in and continued to fetch me more supplies. Your GrandNan made me a fruit salad and brought it in- which was delightful, I was starving! 
My veins became so damaged that a 20 minute antibiotic drip went from taking 2 hours to taking 4. I had over 50 different pin pricks, I was covered in nasty bruises. But I had you. 
 
 
 
 

You were referred to a paediatric doctor for jaundice, as the first midwife that I saw blatantly had no idea about it. You only had physiological jaundice but this went away with sunlight and lots of milk; we had your levels halved in only two days. 
The days passed and my milk still didn’t come in. We saw a breastfeeding expert who confirmed that you latch was fine, but still I produced nothing. Nobody explained why. I still felt useless. 
Still- no friends came to visit, Daddy couldn’t come often and you were asleep a lot of the time. I didn’t feel confident enough (very unlike me!) to express my want for people to be around more, not even to your Daddy – so it got very lonely, but just looking at you got me through. I fell in love with everything about you- your windy smile, your yawn, your stetching, even your cute little windypops! 
I’m so thankful for the amazing medical professionals who kept me alive- who made me better, who were quick to diagnose my sepsis and who took strep b seriously. The people who went above and beyond their roles – like Irene, James, Louise, my recovery team and the surgeon. Their compassion helped me through the toughest part of my life. Whenever needed, they were there. I can’t thank my family – our families – enough and the friends who were on the other side of a phone for me. My Mummy, your Grandma was our hero. I cannot put into words how amazing I think she is. I don’t know where we’d be without her. 
Then came home time. I wanted to come home so much. We were promised the Friday, but I was still too sick. It was confirmed that I had contracted sepsis through being strep b positive. God, was I so thankful to be the one who was made sick by strep b and not you. SO THANKFUL.  
You were thankfully discharged and deemed perfectly health to go home on that Friday! Then came the Saturday… and nope. I was still too sick. Then on Sunday, Irene managed to push our discharge and we could finally go home.  
I had my shower and we got all packed up. I was given a mountain of drugs to keep up to speed with.  We waited a few hours, then just like that, we were free to return to the comfort of home and take you to the place where you’d learn to feel your safest.
We could finally be a little family and I was so excited for that to happen. 
 
So that’s it… that’s how you made it into this world- my precious, beautiful and incredible miracle. 
xxx