Somehow I managed three babies with next to no knowledge of Caesarian sections. I could never get past the part on One Born Every Minute where they would administer the spinal whilst saying whatever you do don’t move. Really??? To me this is like saying don’t think about elephants – you just can’t help yourself can you? My midwife was sternly of the opinion knowledge is power but I went with ignorance is bliss and it served me well until baby number 4.
Yes it was going to be a steep learning curve embarking on this emergency Caesarian journey. Here is what I discovered:
Yep theatre is very brightly lit and full of people going about their business which is rather surreal. I was distracted momentarily at the sight of hubby dressed in scrubs ‘oooh hello!’…. Hang on that’s what got me in this mess in the first place…. I carefully made sure not to look up at any lights which may reflect goings on at the business end. What I wasn’t prepared for was the silhouettes of the goings on through the screen. It was quite intriguing until I remembered that I wasn’t watching Attraction on an episode of Britains got Talent but rather becoming acquainted with the silhouette of several people handling my innards. I did feel a rather satisfying release of pressure as little bean was lifted out so was well aware of the moment he was born.
My time in recovery is a bit of a blur to be honest. I do remember the fabulous healthcare lady who came in and wiped me down with a warm flannel and brushed my hair -wow that felt like pure luxury. With the lights dimmed and a cocktail of drugs coursing through my veins coupled with the fatigue that hit me after 22 hours of established labour I actually thought I was in some weird spa having a treatment. Strange but not unpleasant!!
Eventually I was wheeled onwards and upwards to the postnatal ward which was to be home for the next three days. My brother knowing me well came to visit with a family sized box of celebrations for me, fab that’s breakfast, lunch and dinner sorted. I made sure before any visitors left that my over-the-bed-wheely-table thing was within reach with the all important choccies and water. Then every damn midwife that came in at intervals throughout the night moved that trolley so it was just out of reach. It was pure torture, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did it on purpose to get me to move but I was quite happy in the horizontal position thank you very much.
The lady opposite was awe inspiring, having had her section a few hours before me I watched her spring out of bed every morning skip down the corridor to have a shower, she then returned to the ward straightened her hair and applied makeup. I kid you not. Damn it we were going to have to have words as she was putting me to shame. I blame my age cos frankly she was young enough to be a child of mine…
I remember well when they sent the bossy midwife in, this spelt trouble for sure. Yep she had decided I needed to get up, I pleaded with her to let me keep the catheter in but nope out it came, she was not going to let me off the hook. She pulled back the covers and ……what the f***? They are not my thighs, they were mahoosive, -run me by c sections again, you are sure it doesn’t involve leg transplants??? My fluid retaining thighs freaked me out far more than my scar- when I plucked up the courage to peek.
One more thing is the injections. As if the Caesarian isn’t enough they then insist on you injecting yourself daily in your poor battered tummy as a prevention to blood clots. Just a sharp quick sting, my ass, those bad boys pack quite a punch!
So at last the time came for me to leave, now is it just me or is the labour ward of every hospital always situated as far from the entrance as possible? The slow shuffle from the postnatal ward down several floors and through the hospital felt like a marathon.
In fact it took so long I’m pretty sure I had to stop and feed Baby Bean a couple of times en route!
The final hurdle that I hadn’t accounted for was how awkward a bath would be, I just couldn’t bear the thought of immersing my scar in water and getting in and out seemed like an impossible task so I got by with showers and didn’t actually feel brave enough to have a bath for several weeks.
Six months on, would I do it again? You know what I probably would……..