Monday 25 November 2013

The Mothers of Ward 31

Shortly after the birth of my son, we were both wheeled from Birth Suite to the Maternity Ward.
Like most Public Hospitals, my ward had four cubicles, and Little Love and I filled the last available.
I never really saw my fellow Mummys, but throughout my stay I inevitably learnt a lot about them, as you cannot help but hear what goes on mere meters away from you.

And so, in my effort to create some sort of generic-hospital-voyeuristic-sit-com in my head, may I present,

The Mothers of Ward 31

Bed 1 - It's all in the Family


This bed was occupied by a relatively young Mummy, and this was her first baby.
Her partner would come in to see her and baby every day, for hours at a time, and would delight in making phone calls detailing how incredibly proud he was of his lady for going through a 27 hour labour, and how brave she was for accepting the fact that after all of those hours, it resulted in a c-section.

This young lady had a lot of support. In fact every time it was visiting hours (partners do not have to abide by these, they can visit anytime) she would have masses of people come to say hello and meet baby.
Even though she and I were separated by a drawn curtain, I could still see hints of the masses of flowers, balloons, teddies, and other congratulatory gifts that were seemingly crowding her cubical.
I heard her greet friends, uncles and aunts, brothers, sisters, little nieces, nephews and cousins (who spent the majority of their time running up and down the corridor between the cubicles, or opening the curtain and peering curiously in at me), mother, father, in-laws - it seemed like everyone she knew!
I was shocked by how many people would pay her visits, but mostly by the numbers they would come in. Instead of a few people visiting at a time, and the 2 hour block of visiting hours being divided up for various friends and family, huge groups would all cram into her cubical. Most days these groups could not all fit, and so they would open the curtain, and spill out into the corridor, almost filling it entirely.
The noise was so loud during these times, that I couldn't be heard over the phone when I tried to make a call!

It was no surprise that I would overhear her telling her partner at night how tired she was of all the company, and how she was finding it impossible to comfortably breastfeed her baby in front of so many people; all of whom it seemed knew the 'right' way to get the baby to latch.

All that being said, she was discharged with her baby the day before I was, and she seemed very happy.

Bed 2 - Tricks and Giggles

I fell in love with this couple. Just listening to their banter made me smile. This lady was also a first time Mummy, and she and her husband were absolutely over the moon.
They had been blessed with a baby boy, and were constantly debating the name that should be chosen.
Every morning the husband would arrive with a list of new name possibilities, and they would spend the day going through the list, whittling it down to one.
They were loud, giggly and a pleasure to listen to, as you could hear the love they had for each other, and for the baby.
Every evening Mrs. Giggle would tell the Midwife on duty what their sons name was, only to get a phone call from Mr. Giggle mere minutes later challenging the name they had picked, "What? No, we already agreed! Why don't you like that name anymore? But I...I just told the midwife! Fine, bring in a new list tomorrow!"
Roughly an hour later, every night without fail, the phone would ring again, and it would be her mother.
Evidently Mr. Giggle would call her mum every evening and tell her that they'd picked an old, bizarre sounding name for the baby. This would send the mother into hysterics as she hated the name, and she would swiftly call her daughter to demand an explanation. It quickly became clear that this was a prank Mr. Giggle enjoyed playing, and I'm fairly certain that all other patients in the ward, and any Midwives on duty at the time enjoyed listening too.
During my stay, Englebert, Archibald and Augustus were all names that left Mrs. Giggle defending herself, "Mum, no! No that's not what we are calling him. It's not! Don't listen to him, he's just trying to rile you up. No, I don't like the name either. Mum. Mum! I'm not lying!..I don't know why he would joke about that. He's trying to be funny. Yes, I know its not working..."
The next morning, Mr Giggle would arrive to playful hits and mock anger from Mrs. Giggle.
They would both laugh at how much mother had gotten herself worked up, then begin searching for a name all over again.

They also left a day before me. They left laughing, along with their son, Mason.
 (He finally got his name! I know this because all the Midwives cheered loudly along with Mr. and Mrs. Giggle when they announced it just before they left).

Bed 3 - Pills and Pokemon.

This was my bed.
It was free of baby cries, as my son was transferred to NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) within a few hours of entering the ward. I have a lot to write about my experience with having a baby in NICU, but I will save all of that for a separate entry.
My cubical was fairly quiet. Luke would visit me every day for as long as he could, I had a couple of visits from my housemate (she works next door to the hospital), and my Mum and Daddy came to see me too.
I spent my time reading Sookie Stackhouse novels, playing Pokemon on my 3DS, and going to see Little Love (I would be pushed in a wheelchair by my gorgeous man).

While Bed 1 had a never-ending line of people coming and going during visiting hours, I had never-ending visits from specialists, and hospital employees almost every hour of the day; Physiotherapist, Social Worker (checking how I was emotionally handling baby's stay in NICU), Pain Team Doctors, Anesthesiologist and of course OBGYN's and Midwives.
I know that I pushed the 'Call Midwife' button next to my bed so much during the first two days and nights, that they must have been sick of me.

My pain medication was increased during my stay, after one of the Pain Team Doctor's noticed how regularly I was taking Endone. I had (on top of Panadol and 10mg Oxycodone) been prescribed 2 Endone tablets every 2 hours if nessicary. Let me tell you, after pushing a baby through a separated pelvis, I felt that  it was 100% necessary!
Doc changed the dose of Oxycodone to 20mg twice daily, added 75mg of Lyrica* twice a day, 50mg of Diclofenac (Volarin tablet) 3 times daily, and 2 Panadol every 4 hours. This regime allows me to only use the Endone to act as a 'top-up' to the Oxy when I am extra sore, like after completing my physio exercises. Instead of upwards of 10 Endone tablets a day, I now take 4.  

Basically, the other patients in my ward were clearly aware that I was on a lot of medication, as OBGYN's and Midwives constantly kept coming into my cubical with more pills in little plastic cups.
That, coupled with the occasional Pokemon battle sounds from the 3DS, the conversations I kept having with the lunch lady about vampirism (thanks to the Stackhouse novels), and the muffled sounds of me crying to myself, the other Mummys must have thought me quite the fruitcake.

*Lyrica is an anticonvulsant traditionally used to treat epileptics. However, one of its other effects, is to act as a blocker for the pain receptors responsible for nerve pain.
It has all but stopped those sharp 'electric shock' type pains commonly associated with my injury.


Bed 4 - Vietnamese Please!

The lady in Bed 4 did not speak a word of English. Her husband was fluent in both Vietnamese and English though, and so would spend every available minute with her (this means 8am - 8pm, although the Midwives often allowed him to stay a little later, as he was so quiet you didn't even know he was there).
He would translate for both his Wife and the Midwives, clarifying feed times, and asking questions.
Thank goodness it was their 2nd baby - I cant imagine having to translate all the information you need when it's your first!.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly, their baby didn't cry very much, and having the husband there to translate made communication incredibly easy.

...Until her last day. For whatever reason hubby couldn't make it in, and this left Vietnamese Mummy on her own. It was also decreed by the comedy Gods, that the Midwife on duty for her last day was one of those fantastic people who think if they just speak louder and slower, everyone will understand.
On her last day it became common knowledge in our ward that she was express-feeding her baby.
She had been using a hospital breast pump up until now, and the Midwife was trying to explain to her where she could hire one of the same model from a different hospital (apparently only the other hospital hired out this particular model).
Now, whilst I couldn't physically see the conversation taking place, I could hear it clearly (as could the entire ward - guests and all), and since I had recently had my blood pressure checked by this Midwife, I knew how expressive she was, and how much she loved to use her hands and body when she talked.
Listening to this conversation was only made funnier by the little chuckles and snorts coming from all the other cubicles.
"You go to hospital. No-no to this hospital. Go far away. Go other far away hospital. Ask for pump. Yes. Yes want to hire like this pump for boob. Pump hire for boob. You go get hire pump from far away hospital for your boob."
The poor Vietnamese Mum stayed silent. She clearly had no idea what was going on, and a large white woman, using over the top body language (probably complete with squeezing her breasts to demonstrate pumping) and a patronizing booming voice was not helping.
Everyone listening could tell the Midwife meant well, but was A) not going to get anywhere, and B) was being more than a little condescending.
Just then, we all heard a miracle! A voice from the crowded Bed 1 cubical called out, "I can speak Vietnamese! Would you like my help?"
And so, the friend of Bed 1 Mummy went and translated all the information about breast pumps for Vietnamese Mummy. He must have felt a little awkward discussing breast pumps with a total stranger, but it was lovely to hear Vietnamese Mummy speak even though I couldn't understand her.
The conversation was a sandwich-like affair; 1 female and 1 male speaking fluent Vietnamese acting as bread, and a still-talking-like-you're-talking-to-a-toddler over zealous Midwife as the filling.

They must have worked everything out though, because she went home a day before me too.



I actually like building up an image of someone in my head, having not seen them.
This activity was vital in my hospital stay, as when I don't actively use my brain, I go a little crazy.

You should try it next time you're somewhere where you will have to wait a while; be it a doctors waiting room, a long train ride, or a hospital ward of your own.
What can you find out about your fellow patients/travellers just from listening to them?
What more can you add if you have the option to observe them- their body language, appearance etc?

What stories can you tell, when you give yourself a chance....


Thursday 21 November 2013

Meeting Baby

I had been waiting for the 19th of November with baited breath. I had known for just over a week that I would be induced at 37 weeks (due to SPD) and I was super excited.
To know the date I would meet my son was a totally new experience.
My eldest son had come along when he felt like it (which was after weeks of pre-labour, followed by three days of early labour, with me only dilating to 2 cm).
My daughter was induced, but I didn’t know that was going to happen.
I had been uneasy for 3 days, thinking I was leaking a type of fluid, but as I was in no pain I ignored it.
After those 3 days, I finally went to the hospital to have it checked. It was amniotic fluid. My waters had been broken for three days, and my daughter had no intention of going anywhere. Since after 72 hours the risk of infection is very high, they induced me right away.
But to have a date to circle in the calendar? To know for a fact that I would be holding my son by that day? It was incredible. And nerve racking.
I barely slept the night before. I was a bundle of nerves. Soon I would be a Mummy again! And Luke would be a Daddy for the first time!

So the morning arrived. I was up at 5am, awkwardly showering, eating breakfast, and stressing that I had forgotten to pack something, even though I had gone over the list a million times.

 We arrived at Birth Suite at 7am. After chats with the Midwife, Doctor and Anaesthetist, we had a plan of action. They would break my waters now, and start me on a saline drip. Then, at 9am the anaesthetist would insert the epidural, and begin the Syntocinon (the artificial hormone that causes contractions). Seeing as with my daughter’s induction I had gone from 4cm-10cm in 25 minutes, the docs decided it would be best to get me numb before they started the Syntocinon.
I was absolutely beside myself about the epidural. I had never had one before.
I like to move when I’m in pain, and I had birthed both my kids standing up, so the idea of having to stay lying down and bed ridden scared me. I kept reminding myself that I wouldn’t need to move around, as I wouldn’t be in pain. Plus, the pain in my pelvis and back was now so severe that the very thought of having to push a baby through there made me feel light headed and sick.

9am came. The epidural experience was weird. I leant forward, cuddling a pillow and holding Luke’s hand. The anaesthetist was really lovely, and even though she had already explained everything to me, she continued to explain everything again as she was doing it so I wouldn’t be as nervous.
She washed my back with the antiseptic, and placed the sterile plastic over me. She then used a tiny needle to insert the local anaesthetic. It stung just a little, but I felt it working almost right away.
Then came the big epidural needle. Wow. What a bizarre feeling. It did not hurt going in, but felt very uncomfortable and irksome. I made sooky noises and squeezed Luke’s hand tight. I could feel everything, but there was no pain. That is a very difficult message for your brain to process. All I knew was that I didn’t like it. But very quickly the needle was out and just the tube was left. She started to insert the numbing drugs. My feet felt weird. Then I felt really hot. And then I felt dizzy and sick. Urgh.
Everything was quickly finalised at my back, and then they lay me back down on the bed. Within 10 minutes I felt much better. No fever, no nausea, no pain.
From my chest down I felt no pain! I could still move (albeit with a little difficulty, as my legs felt heavy) and I could still feel everything, but absolutely no pain.
You must understand, I had been in horrific pain (even 'at rest’ - laying still) for the past 20 weeks. And now, all of a sudden, nothing! I was in bliss!

I was so comfortable, that I napped, played Pokemon on my 3DS, and snacked on chips and dim sims.

 But my body was being stubborn. It wasn’t responding well to the Syntocinon. The contractions I was having (that I couldn’t feel – what a new experience!) were not strong enough to be doing their job, and were far too short.
After many hours of increasingly larger does, my Syntocinon drip was set to max. This worked.

 At 1.30pm I was declared ‘In Labour’. 
I napped a little more, and chatted with the midwife about our favourite show One Born Every Minute (both of us agreeing we like the UK version best).

Suddenly I was struck with intense pain in the left side of my belly. I knew this pain. This was a knock-you-off-your-feet contraction. It was so strange to be numb on the right side of my belly (at this stage I couldn’t even feel or move my right leg), but feel everything on the left side. I reverted to my previous birth experiences and breathed through the pain while the midwife called in backup, and discussed calling the anaesthetist back so she could fix the epidural (the theory being it was favouring one side too much as it was on an angle).
Then she paused. Remembering how quickly I had dilated with my daughter, she decided to check my progress.
Gloves were applied, lamp set in place, modesty sheet draped across me, and she placed my legs in a position so she could check (they could not use stirrups as it would strain my pelvic muscles too much).
”Wow…Luke, would you like to see your baby’s head?”
He was right there. That’s why I was suddenly hurting.
Luke had a peek, while I shrieked “Nooo! You can’t un-see that!” and the midwives laughed.
They told me with the next contraction I was to push.
The next one came, and I pushed. I was told to stop – his head was already out!
Then, without any help from me, the midwives eased him out. Apparently I had a 7 second delivery time.

It was absolutely incredible to be able to feel him coming out without the pain. With the pain in my previous births, I was just trying to push through it. This time I could really focus on every aspect.
I will always remember the way it felt as I birthed him. It was amazing.
”Tara, look down!” there he was, my tiny Little Love.

 He was put straight on my skin while the midwife rubbed him with a towel then covered him in a blanket. Luke and I kissed, and stared in wonder at our tiny man. He didn’t cry, he just looked around, checked out his surroundings, then snuggled into my chest, using his tiny arms like a pillow (like I do!) and went back to sleep!

 He was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Pink and purple, with vernix all over. He was like berries and cream.

 Because of the chronic depression in my past, I didn’t have those amazing feelings at the births of my other children. I’d always regretted that, that I never felt that burst of love and awe. I feel it for them now of course (cause I don’t live in crazy town anymore), but the fact that my subconscious has suppressed most of my memories of their first few months has always saddened me.

 But here I was, with my wonderful Luke by my side, and my incredible Little Love snoozing on my chest.
I felt like my heart could explode!
Luke cut the cord, and the midwives delivered the placenta and began to clean me up. No stitches – hooray! 

 I was surprisingly exhausted, and I was overwhelmed with joyful emotions.
I fell asleep while the midwives kept cleaning, and Luke started making phone calls, telling everyone the good news.
Little Love and I napped together, in our own little World, in the eye of the storm.
I have never felt more at Peace then I did at that moment.

I have had three very different birth experiences, all amazing in their own right, but this time had to be the most beautiful. It wasn't because I couldn’t feel pain (even though that was interesting), but because for the first time, I was present in the moment.
I was a part of the experience - physically, emotionally and spiritually.
Laying there, with my baby of berries and cream, him clinging to my necklace, and me with my arms wrapped around his tiny body (all 2.8 kilos of it), both of us so comfortable and in love with each other that we could sleep while the noise and lights surrounded us – it really was the most perfect moment I could ever imagine. 
    

Tuesday 5 November 2013

Chemist Bullies.

A few days ago, I was at one of my weekly hospital visits - checking on baby, managing pain relief, checking my vitals ect.
Severe SPD poses a serious dilemma for the OBGYN's and other doctors that deal with me. They have to navigate the difficult path of feeding me with the strongest pain killers they can, whilst making sure bubs has as little risk to addiction as possible. At this last visit, it was decided we cut the codeine out of my daily pill regime, and swap the Endone for Oxycodone - the 12 hour slow release pain killer.
This was not a choice that was entered into lightly. I sat in the assessment unit, Luke holding my hand, strapped to the foetal monitor. It was showing our son in distress. The shocking pain (at a level now, if I'm to be perfectly honest, where my mental health is beginning to suffer) was making my body not a nice place to be - making bubs very agitated.
The doctors do not want to induce before 37 weeks unless 100% necessary (understandable, especially as bubs is on the very small side of normal), and so the OBGYN who was dealing with me, paged two others to get second and third opinions. That's three specialists assessing the best thing to do. And so the Oxycodone was prescribed, bubs was monitored until the pain relief had kicked in and he started to relax, and then we left to go and cash our script in at the hospital pharmacy.

I should point out, I loathe this pharmacy.
It is constantly understaffed, the wait times are excessively ridiculous, and I have had endless issues getting my medication from these people. Every single time I have put in a script for painkillers I get messed around.
Up until this time, the most memorable incident being when my Daddy took me to my appointment. I was in my wheelchair, and we had handed in the script, been given our numbered ticket, and gone to wait in the waiting area. After 20 minutes we were called up, seemingly to collect my medication, only to be told that we couldn't be issued with the drugs as the script was not 'filled out properly'. I was shocked, thinking in her rush the doctor must have forgotten to sign it or something like that, but no. What this clerk meant, was that in the column where the number of pills was to be written, the doctor had only written '20'. Only using numerals. Apparently she was meant to write '20 twenty', and write it in letters too.
Now, seeing as the doctor's personal number was written on the script, you would think that the pharmacy could've just called upstairs to confirm, but no. Instead, they sent the wheelchair lady and her Dad back up another 3 levels to track down the doctor ourselves. We were to get them to stop whatever they were doing,  just to write 'twenty' on the script. Of course, as Murphy's Law predicts, she was in theatre, so one of the nurses just wrote it in for us. We should have just done it ourselves to save the messing about.
But there you have it - that's how incompetent this chemist is.

But back to the story...
Luke was helping me hobble to the 'scripts in' end of the pharmacy (we had stupidly left the wheelchair in our housemate's car) and with much whimpering, we approached the counter. The script was collected, our numbered ticket given out, and we took a seat in the waiting area.
About 30 minutes later we were called up. Everything seemed to be going well, and I had just handed over the cash to pay, when the pharmacy girl asked;
"Are you pregnant or breastfeeding?"
"Yes, I'm pregnant."
"Does your doctor know about this?!"
"....Well, I would assume so. It's a little hard to hide!" I patted my basketball-sized belly, and smiled.
"This is a very strong drug. It could be very harmful. I'm just not comfortable giving it to you. I will have to check with my superior."
I rolled my eyes, calmed the very frustrated Luke, and we waited. A few minutes later she returned,
"Look, I know that two OB's have signed off on this script, but I'm just not comfortable. This drug poses serious risks!"
I went on to explain my condition, and the fact that baby and I were being monitored closely. I explained I knew the risks - it was the same for both of us - withdrawal. And plans for an extended stay for bubs and I to detox had been discussed, if it was deemed necessary.
But this woman wouldn't budge. She was actually greasing me now, making me feel like a monster for exposing my baby to these medications. She wouldn't give in. She took the script, left the pharmacy and walked straight past us, greasing as she went, on her way to the maternity clinic, clearly trying to find proof that I shouldn't be given these drugs.
Now, I'm no genius, but, A) What is the point of getting a doctor (let alone a specialist, and let alone two specialists) to sign off, giving consent on a script if the sales clerk at the pharmacy is going to question it, and B) Who the fuck was this woman to question the knowledge of these trained professionals in the first place?
She came back, and would you believe it, got on the phone, obviously  unhappy with the answer she had received in clinic. By this point I was in agony, unable to sit as we had been told to wait at the window, and I was leaning at the counter while Luke rubbed my back and whispered all the things he would like to say to this woman, if he thought for a second he could get away with it.
Finally she returns to the window, "Hmm, it seems your OBGYN's (note that, you rat-faced-axe-wound. OBGYN'S. Plural. Two doctors) have agreed this is the best drug for your 'condition' *she looks me up and down, not believing there is anything wrong with me*. And evidently the midwives have assured me you know the risks, and have a plan in place should they occur."
I stood there blinking, and said nothing as she gave over my meds. I had said all of this at the start!
I did not have to spend half an hour on my feet with a separated pelvis that was buckling under the weight of bubs, for this snail trail to run around and pretend to be a doctor. She had actively gone through every avenue possible to deny me the medication. That was not her job.
I mean, with no script, if was asking for something over the counter that could pose a risk, that's fine. You have the right to deny me. But with a script? Not just signed by a GP, but by two specialists? You have no right to make me beg for drugs. Because that's effectively what I heard myself doing. Begging for drugs. Drugs that should have been handed over, without all the nasty looks from Axe-Wound-Sue and the other pharmacy girls who she was talking to. It made me feel horrible - like a bad Mum.
But then I remember how many professionals are working with me, and that they all agree (especially seeing what our son does when my body is in so much pain) that this medication is the best choice, and I feel better.

I'm not entirely sure what I meant to achieve with this post. I think I just needed to vent.
Except that if you do work at a pharmacy, I will say this; Don't question a doctor's script (unless you think it's a fake of course). It is your job to correctly dispense the drugs, not prescribe them.

And don't make heavily pregnant, shaking-with-pain ladies cry in public, it's a real dick move.

Monday 4 November 2013

One thing about Motherhood that nobody warned me about.

A while ago, I posted a question on my FaceBook, asking my friends what they would like to read a blog entry about. There were a lot of good answers, but I particularly fancied the question; What are some things about being a Mummy that you wished you'd have known sooner....

I could make this a very long list. I could fill it with simple things that every new parent (particularly Mum's) discover, or things even more basic, that I probably could have figured out if I'd have given them any thought at all. But this piece is about more than just the never ending laundry and dishes, the mass amounts of puke and poop, the discovery that toddlers really are some kind of Holmes/Houdini hybrid (able to locate anything, and escape from anywhere),  and it's even about more than the discovery that you can equally feel both heart-may-explode-in-love, and hair-tearing-out-whilst-you-threaten-to-sell-them-on-the-Black-Market-furious, when dealing with your little treasure.
Here is just one of these 'things', from a list that will continue in other entries, about one thing nobody warned me about.

Standard of Beauty

Before I became a Mother, I took a great deal of pride in how I looked.
I would never leave the house without a full face of makeup, I would always wear heels no matter where I was going (even grocery shopping required at least a small heel), and I constantly put thought into how to dress 'hot' for the opposite sex.
My, my, my. How things have changed.
When I was at home with my newborn daughter and one year old son, I would feel accomplished if I managed to shower that day. If I was seen wearing something that wasn't covered in baby vomit, then I felt I'd done something incredible. And if I managed to wash my hair, or wear a bra - good God! - I was having a superwoman-style day! Although at this time, I was also deeply in the grasp of Post Natal Depression, so perhaps it's not the fairest judgement.

So lets look at a far more current version of myself...
I honestly consider it a massive win if Luke gets home and I have; smooth legs, lip gloss, a spray of perfume, and am wearing clean clothes.  
Seriously. If I have managed that whilst also managing to keep the kids happy and fed all day - then I feel like a Goddess.
Even now with my bed-ridden self, I consider it a great accomplishment when Luke gets into bed to cuddle me, and comments on how nice my hair smells :)
That's basically it - don't be a smelly Yettie. Beauty regime over.
Unless it's an occasion of course, (where I do the full works of tight dress, stiletto heels, hair extensions, dark eyes and red lips) but short of that, nobody told me how very different my standard of beauty would be once I had children. It's no longer a win if I've spent 3 hours getting ready for a night out, it's a win if I have the kids fed, bathed, and in bed, and have managed to squeeze in a shower before my Man gets home.

Lingerie, porn star hair and makeup, $200 stripper heels and long fake nails are not longer my idea of what it means to be sexy in the boudoir.
Smooth legs, clean clothes that aren't pyjamas, freshly washed hair, and a smile, are now all it takes for me to feel like I've accomplished some high standard of beauty.

It may not sound glamorous (probably because its not), but there are so many other rewarding things for me to put my time into, and dressing like a baby hooker is no longer one of them....Unless it's a costume party...You can always dress shamelessly like a whore at costume parties :P