Little baby A was born 25 hours later at 4.44am after a prolonged labour, the details of which I wont go in to on here. I have written it down though. If you want to read that, let me know and I will send you a link. Rest assured, I have a new found love of epidurals, and managed to avoid a C section by one contraction. It was the single most overwhelming experience of my life so far.
She was taken to NICU just a few hours after being born, which was super hard, nothing really prepares you for the sight of your baby in an incubator all connected to tubes, drips and breathing apparatus. My heart broke, and that was the first meltdown.
She was in there for two days, having antibiotics to help sort her breathing out. Once she was finally out, I was told we could go home tomorrow, this was after night three where I had a complete meltdown at eleven at night, basically begging the midwives to let me go home right then and there. They tried valiantly to convince me that leaving right then was not a good idea. It was too dark, it wouldn't be good for the baby, my husband was at home asleep. But nothing would help me. I was sharing a room, which I hate, the curtained off section I was in had no sunlight or view of any kind, the other lady's baby wouldn't settle, so regardless of how well baby A was sleeping, I was not. The midwives told me that there was no reason we couldn't go home tomorrow. Baby was doing much better, all her bloods looked good, and the talk was that I would be going home tomorrow. With this stuck firmly in my mind, I nodded acquiescence to have them take Baby away for a few hours so I could attempt to sleep (not that she was the one keeping me up).
At five in the morning, I was woken gently by another midwife, "Jess," she asked, "Did Baby have a bump behind her ear earlier? Where the forcep mark is?"
I felt my anxiety rising instantly as I shook my head, "No, it wasn't swollen, it was fine."
"Ok," She sat down next to me.
"It looks like the forcep graze may have become infected and the baby doctors want to put her on a three day course of antibiotics." She was watching me very intently.
I felt like I was being sucked into a black hole. "So I can't go home?"
she shook her head. "No, she will need to be monitored here."
I was silent, but my breathing was erratic as I tried to fight back the next onslaught of tears and anxiety.
"What can we do to make it easier for you to be here?" She asked quietly.
I shook my head, I couldn't think beyond having to stay here, I couldn't see anything that would make it better.
"What if we were to find you your own room?"
I looked at her, "Is that possible?" It seemed impossible.
"We've been talking about it, and we are going to see what we can make happen."
This past week has been a blur of nights becoming days becoming nights again. I did get my own room in the hospital finally, and as soon as I did, my panic attacks diminished, my milk started to come in, and my overwhelming need to keep some form of control in a 2x3 meter space disappeared.
We are finally home now. It is making a huge difference. Slowly things are starting to become a bit of a routine, but the lack of sleep, and getting breastfeeding going is an endless, ongoing exercise in endurance.
Lets see what next week brings, although I don't know when that will be. I have no idea what day it is anymore. I'm not sure why I care about that. As though it somehow makes a difference.
In the meantime, Baby and I will continue to get to know eachother. I love it when she makes eye contact and holds your gaze. I love that she settles on me so easily and that I can calm her when others cannot. I've always been slightly afraid of babies, and now suddenly here is one that actually calms down on me, rather than crying even louder.
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