Birth story, part 5 (final)

5 weeks later and we're… doing as well as can be expected. She's at the point where she hates being held while I type. So it's really hard to do updates. So I'll take this moment of quiet to finish off the birth story.

All told, the birth went off quite well. No real complaints from me – only minor ones. I really liked the fact that our midwife, after it was all said and done, told us how much she appreciated and was just plain honoured being there at this very special moment. I found that to be be rather sweet and made up for any of the minor grievances I had. And I really appreciated it, since she got to find out the child's name before anyone, including her grandparents. The staff were certainly good at what they did, and I've no complaints about their skills. The only real issue I had was them not understanding/believing when we told them it's likely to be a quick birth. Given how rare that is, I'm not too surprised.

The birth plan

I'll end this chapter with a record of what we'd planned and what actually happened. Just an aside, this is my first time re-reading the plan after the birth.

Turns out, anything that actually followed the birth plan was more coincidence than actual design. I don't the midwives think ever actually read the plan, but I don't really blame them too much, since I'd much rather they did the really essential bits of ensuring the baby came out properly than memorising our wishes – which they could (and sometimes did) ask us about at any point.

First off, we'd planned for a mutual friend and experienced mother to join us at the birthing centre to make sure everything went smoothly and to keep us company during a prolonged birth. The tag-team concept came from experience with tattooing. It seems to help distract the tattooee to just have conversation they can drift in and out of, rather than involve them directly. A friend and I did this with L's last tattoo, and I did that a couple of weeks before the birth with another friend. I figured, long continuous pain is long continuous pain – how different can a tattoo be from labour?
Well, the baby was born the one weekend our tag-teaming friend couldn't make it – she was camping out of mobile reception. So all plans involving extra support were out the window. But, then again, the birth can hardly be considered prolonged, so the help was thankfully not needed.
Outcome: inconsequential fail.

Please knock on door before entering — I have't the faintest idea of they did or not. I don't recall ever being surprised at someone walking in.
Outcome: incidental win.

In case of unexpected problems calm and full information with time to make choices — the only thing unexpected was L started crowning while the midwife was out of the room. It was more us not providing them time to think.
Outcome: win by circumstance.

Pain relief of TENS, breathing, massage, birth pool, gas and air — All except the birth pool, which means we hit that on the head. That said, there was no time at all to get any stronger pain relief if even if we wanted it.
Outcome: accidental win.

Call hospital in advance, request birthing pool — No answer when we tried calling before coming in. They finally understood we wanted the birthing pool maybe 5 min before the birth started.
Outcome: full on fail.

Notify immediate family on way in — oops. We did tell the in-laws after the water broke at least. Perhaps I should have read the birth plan while in the waiting room.
Outcome: fail.

Lighting as low as possible — I don't think the room even had a dimmer.
Outcome: hardware fail.

Music system set up — no iPod doc as expected. Turns out there was an unused one in room 2, where we'd spent 5 minutes after we came in.
Outcome: facilities fail

stay as mobile as possible — she ended up giving birth lying down.
Outcome: failure of possibilities.

Offer father to feel head as crowning — Oops. I forgot we'd planned that. Well, I've cuddled her head enough since then, so I don't see any loss only behalf. L got to feel the crowing head though. I was too busy finding and hitting the Call button.
Outcome: fail.

Foetal monitoring without lying down — nope. The last monitoring of the baby was why L was lying down for the birth – she was unable to get up after that.
Outcome: fail.

Keep vaginal exams to a minimum — Just the one (the can't find your cervix one), so that at least was followed.
Outcome: win.

cord not cut till done pulsing — I'm pretty sure it was pulsing a little, but I've no real basis for comparison,
Outcome: probably fail.

Father to catch baby — forgot about that one too. Oops. I was too busy staring in astonishment. I can't believe I thought I'd be on the ball enough to manage this. I'm glad I didn't – the midwife was very good about the catch-and-put-on-chest motion.
Outcome: fail.

skin to skin immediately after birth — got that one spot on
Outcome: important win.

no wiping or cleaning off of vernix — nope. We'd read shortly before the birth that a study showed that leaving the vernix on means the baby is less likely to suffer dry/peeling skin shortly after birth. turns out the only parts where the vernix wasn't removed, the hands and feet, are the only ones that ever really peeled. No idea if it's a coincidence or not.
Outcome: fail?

no interruption of contact — yup. they were very good about leaving her with us non stop till we left. She was out of our hands for a few seconds while being weighed. Then for a bit while she slept overnight (a few inches from my hand). And once more when the doctor was checking her out.
Outcome: win.

…intervention… — nothing to intervene.
Outcome: win.

placenta to come out naturally, no pulling — "plop" it fell right out. No special convincing needed.
Outcome: win.

Oral only vitamin K — they did try to use scare tactics to get us to take the injections. But it's such a tiny chance of needing it, and generally only if there is a traumatic birth or bruising. So we at least stuck to our guns on this one. I'm still dubious it's needed at all. Regardless, we finished the last oral round a few days ago, and she's still alive.
Outcome: win.

No observing students — I suppose they were all in the labour ward, which was completely full that day.
Outcome: win.

…induction… — she came out nicely on her own. No inducements necessary.
Outcome: win.

avoid formula — she managed to latch on during the first night, so no need to provide other food.
Outcome: win.

All in all, it seems there are more wins than fails. Though most are more wins due to the complete lack of complications to sort out. As I was told, a birth plan just gives the midwives something to ignore. The most important thing is we gave things some though in advance, and that nothing in the birth process came as a shock to us. Well, except (ironically) the startle reflex...

Sunday, 31 July. Most of that morning was spent doing incidentals like holding the girl and taking pictures and sending SMSs and announcements online. And drifting and and out of sleep. My plan of taking chilled coffee and storing in the fridge proved to be a brilliant idea – ice coffee kept me on the ball nicely and let L recover a bit while I watched the girl.

We got though a couple of nappy changes (chocolate-coloured meconium is surprisingly innocuous looking, though rather hard to wipe off), and puzzling at the right level of clothes that would keep her warm, but not too warm. We settled on a onesie and swaddling blanket. Eventually they told us all that was left was the paediatrician and then we could go. So we packed our stuff, readied the girl and waited. Like four hours. Which we spent taking photos, sending more SMSs, and arranging with my in-laws for take-away dinner at the flat.

Apparently the paediatrician saw everyone on the very full labour ward before seeing the two people in the birthing centre. At just before 6 the midwife took us to see the paediatrician. She asked is there anything which concerns you? – something I wasn't quite ready for, or I'd have made notes. She did a bunch of tests. She even checked to make sure the left eye (which I was curious if it was alright) was responding to light ok. Then she did the startle test, which involved her dropping the lass a tiny bit (over the cot) and catching her to make sure she reflexively stuck out her arms – which she did perfectly. The paediatrician told us she was the first infant that day to not cry at this – which made us quite proud of our wonderful child already outdoing her peers.

That and the startle reflex is really neat to look at. I still really have to stop myself from trying it. I'm sure that would be a great way to make the kid hate me.

After the paediatrician, the midwife handed us a shedload of pamphlets and paperwork, including the red book, which is the born-baby equivalent to the pregnancy notes they kept (we made a photocopy of them in advance since we knew they'd not let us leave with them).

L wrapped up the girl in a sling for the trip home. The midwife, in a bit of security theatre, then walked us out of the building, telling us security'd stop anyone with a newborn who wasn't accompanied by a midwife (which I doubt, but I appreciate the chat and company on the way out).

The walk from the exit to the taxi rank on Tottenham Court Road was the longest it had ever been. Such precious cargo, and every step a sort-of first for us, and certainly a first for her. L waited outside the Sainbury's while I looked for an available taxi to hail. A few minutes later we were on the way home. The driver dropped us off and congratulated us on the newborn, which made us both smile.

We arrived back at home at 6:45ish. Fifteen minutes later, we had barely just enough time to settle in before the in-laws showed up with chinese take-away. And thus began the wonderful madness of living with our baby girl.

The birth story. Part 1

Saturday, 30 July, 5:30 in the morning. I woke up to go to the loo. I came back to find the wife was awake. Both of us could not sleep. The baby was wriggling a bit. The wife played games on her PDA while I tried to get back to sleep. Eventually we both dozed off.

8:30 exactly. The wife taps me on the shoulder twice. Annoyed, I thought This better be important.

My waters just broke

Oh

And, to myself, I thought damn, I was enjoying that sleep, I guess I should get up. I mean, it's not like she was having contractions – water can break at any time, but we should probably do something about it.

So, after a bit more harsh wakeup, we get up. I check the heartbeat – it's just fine, and she's definitely still moving. Now that water is going the wife's belly is all solid. Which is an interesting change from its previous fullness. She asks me to check the colour of the water. To which, in my colourblindness, I respond I am not going to be able to differentiate a subtle green tint. Use your magic colour vision to tell.

After a bit more blather, we eventually call birth centre. There's a nice person on the other end who had a calming effect on us. She redirected us to the foetal assessment unit (MFAU). They are not nearly as friendly. They start out by asking if I'm calling from within the hospital. No, I'm at home. I was transferred on the phone to you (from someone who seemed to have more of a clue, to my annoyance). They don't want to speak to me, they'll only speak to the wife. I say fine, and in a great relief, hand her the phone, saying she'll only talk to you and walk off, relieved that I don't have to deal with that call.

I go off to put the dishes in the dishwasher. I don't want to come home after a week to moulding dishes. I finish as the wife gets off the phone. They say come in for a speculum exam. Leave the bags at home and just come in, she tells me. But without any contractions to go along with it, I figure we have 92 hours max, 48 most likely. So we will see the baby soon. There's no need to rush now. I wonder if we have time to make the NCT meet at the pub later.

Our roles seem to have reversed. The wife is panicking and worried about foetal distress. I'm calm and don't see anything untextbookish or worth worrying about. The heartbeat is solid. She's moving a bit less – but there's so little room for the wee one to move around in. I suppose the foetal assessment unit put some panic in the wife by implying she was out of the midwives' hands and now only fit for the labour ward. I figure it must be the clueless person on the other end of the line confusing the matter. Water breaking is hardly a birth complication.

So at 9:30 it's not-very-rushed breakfast of smoothies for everyone. I bathe, since this could be my last time for days. The wife doesn't since she thinks she's guaranteed to get messier from here on out.

We pack an ipod, camera and the pregnancy notes. Neither of us have any cash, so no taxi for us. So we take the bus which miraculously comes soon. We transfer to the tube at Finsbury Park. It looks like it'll be an Arsenal game later, so it could be very hard to get home afterwards. I push that to the back of my mind for later.

On the tube there are plenty of seats, but the wife makes a man move out of the priority seat anyway. I giggle. I'm guessing it'll be her last chance to do this and it gives her some sense of control. This, of course, was violated by london transport inspectors accosting her and demanding to see her card on the way out of the station. Bloody twats. She's clearly very pregnant and exiting the tube at a big maternity hospital. The these two London Transport idiots surround her, stopping her from going anywhere and don't let her say more than Do we have to do this now — before cutting her off and demanding ID. Really uncalled for and certainly did not help her mood.

After that unwarranted attack from London Transport, we make our way to the UCLH MFAU. When we arrive there just after 10am, there's no one there. A nice very pregnant woman sitting in the waiting room lets us in. People with appointments start showing up, and we let them in. Eventually some staff show up just as we started regretting not making pancakes for brekky.

We're finally seen at just before 11. The midwife is very friendly and bubbly. Thankfully – our mood had been slowly darkening since that fist phone call at 9. The midwife spent most of the time chuckling. Everything is fine. The waters are clear, her blood pressure is fine. She decided there was no point checking dilation or anything since it's just a question of waiting for contractions to start. We're now at 80% chance of a spontaneous labour in the next 7-10 days. She asked us to come back Sunday morning (the next day) after the morning shift change at 9ish. They'll check the state of the baby, and if there's no strong need to induce, they'll start the wife on antibiotics (since once the waters break the risk of infection goes up) – though the midwife was rather keen on inductions. After that morning I had not intention of putting any effort into making it there on time. I figured if we did need to go back, we'd have a proper leisurely breakfast first.

So out we go, and back home on the tube. We stop on the way to pick up some cash so we can get a cab next time.

Seeing the GP

She had the wk16 appointment on Monday. A minor event which consisted only of getting the GP up to speed with what the midwives at UCH have done so far. I joined her, as usual, since two brains remember things better than one. For the most part it was going through what paper work the UCH had and what the GP needed, and how they kind of, but don't really talk to each other except via the folder we take to the appointments. So the wk16 appointment appears to be more administrative that medical.

However, Our attendance was rewarded at the end, when the doctor asked do you want to hear the heartbeat?

Of course, the answer was yes, so she spent the never several minutes waving a small wand over the wife's belly trying to find the heartbeat. We got to hear the placental blood flow plus the various standard noises the innards make, but the foetal heartbeat was being elusive. Eventually she found the little tyke, and we got to listen to the rapid thumping for a little bit before the batteries finally gave out. Which makes me rather glad she found it when she did.

It was nice to hear the heartbeat. Any reminder that my offspring is still in there is a good thing – there are not enough clear external signs yet. It seems to cheer me up as well, so I spend the rest of the day in a fairly good mood.

The first antenatal appointment

We had our first antenatal appointment at UCH on Thursday.

First of all, the EGA wing at UCH has like fifty different maternity and baby-related departments, so even if you know what floor you're going to, that doesn't really help. Finding the right building was easy, especially since I went to UCL next door and have been up and down Gower Place hundreds of times (though that was before the renovations). But finding the right room... I guess they don't realise that to someone not used to the whole having children thing, that every single department is a synonym for pregnant, child, or mother (maternity, fetal, antenatal, etc).

We found the right room after a small diversion in the ultrasound waiting room.

About 1/4 of the women there were accompanied by men. I definitely plan to go with the wife to all her appointments. It's not that I don't trust her, I just want to know what’s going on with my offspring and what we should expect.

I also know how easy it is to get swept up in things and never get a chance to ask those burning questions which have slipped your mind. With two of you, there's more of a chance to not miss anything. It's like when one of us sees a spider – the one who sees the spider freaks out, and the other one mumbles "Oh, FFS" and just deals with it. It doesn't matter who sees the spider first. I guess it's the whole "I must protect my partner" instinct that kicks in. The same thing happens in doctors offices. The one who's being seen is intimidated by the doctor and the other one asks all the difficult questions.

They took blood and urine and a bit of a family history. Eventually they asked some questions about me, so at least I didn't feel too much like a fifth wheel. Then came the shedload of paperwork and information. I've only made it most of the way though one of the pamphlets, so I'll likely post about that later.

Apparently she needs to be seen every fortnight or so, alternating between our GP and UCH. We set up two more appointments and I suppose we have to sort out the GP ones ourselves. The next is the 12 week ultrasound which is coming up soon. I'm really looking forward to that since, so far, we have no idea if things are going well or not. I mean, the wife seems healthy and getting by just fine, but, beyond the sore bosoms, there's really no active sign anything's going on.

We're going with UCH now

The paperwork from UCH (UCLH?) arrived in the post the other day. They sent us two appointments, one for the initial "let's get the ball rolling" appointment (or at least I assume that's what it's for) in a week and another on 10 Jan for the first ultrasound. It strikes me as odd that they just say "and you show up here now" rather than "call to make an appointment for when it's good for you." Not that we couldn't just phone to fix it.

The other thing that strikes me as odd was some of the terminology. The ultrasound is described using both least-common-denominator words like "tummy" as well as precise jargon like "transducer".

The paperwork comes with the appointments, a couple of pamphlets (more on that later) , plus two forms to fill in if you want to do any studies. The scientist in me is fascinated. Yes please. I want to enrich human knowledge. I've always wondered things like where they get people for tests like this, or, for that matter, newborns for TV shows and movies.

I mean, you've got a really small window for when they look like a newborn. And births don't lend themselves to planning well. I can just picture planning the shooting schedule for a season:

"Ok, we need a newborn for next October for the birth show. We're shooting on the 11^th. Can you find six women due just before then? Whoever's got the most attractive kid by the 8^th we'll hire. "

Scientific studies I suppose are harder:

"I've got a theory that we can detect Foobars Syndrome as early as 7 weeks!"

"Great. Now we just need to find someone freshly knocked-up and knows it and has a GP aware and willing to pass on your study and can get referred to us in time."

"You're right. Maybe I should ask for volunteers in the department."